People Should Know Their Place

Albus Dumbledore smiled as he explained, "No, Severus, you misunderstand. I meant that the other Slytherin students might be the ones who run into trouble."

He added, "This Riddle is not the Tom of years past, but the two share many similarities. He is highly gifted, an orphan by birth, and accustomed to using force to protect himself. If a conflict truly arises, I only hope he goes easy on them."

Snape fell silent—he understood now; the old man was worried that the other Slytherin students would get beaten to a pulp by this Muggle-born wizard.

Dumbledore's judgment of character was indeed accurate. On the very first night after school began, Tom gave his three new roommates an unforgettable "orientation lesson."

After the feast concluded, Tom followed the Slytherin group back to their common room.

There were twelve boys in this year's Slytherin class, perfectly divided into rooms of four. Malfoy and his lackeys shared a room with Monet Selwyn, while Tom was assigned to a room with Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Casare Rosier.

As soon as they entered the dormitory, Zabini crossed his legs and sneered, "How unlucky, having to live with a Muggle-born wizard. Riddle, go make my bed. Use the sheets I brought; the pathetic junk the school provides isn't fit for my bed."

"Mine too, hurry up, don't dawdle," Rosier chimed in, his tone imperious.

"And pour me a glass of cold water, I can't be bothered with hot," Nott added, joining the chorus. The three of them laughed arrogantly, treating Tom like a servant.

Tom sighed, his expression one of helplessness.

When he was sorted into Slytherin, he had anticipated something like this, though he hadn't expected these idiots to be so eager to get beaten.

Since he had no prior plan, he simply followed his instincts—he had never been one for a mild temper.

Tom slowly drew his wand, turned around, and as his smile vanished, his eyes turned cold: "Concussive Impact!"

With a bang, an invisible shockwave exploded. Zabini and the other two were sent flying, slamming into the wall and grimacing in pain.

Before they could recover, Tom pointed his wand at a pencil holder; three quills transformed into thick hemp ropes, instantly binding the trio.

Next, Tom flicked his wrist, and his wand elongated and softened into a whip. With a sharp crack, the whip lashed across Zabini, who let out a shrill scream. The other two were not spared either; the whip struck again and again, leaving all three howling and rolling on the floor.

After a dozen lashes, Tom stopped. He looked down at the wailing trio with a mocking tone: "I heard that Slytherins are all shrewd and ambitious, so how did you three idiots end up here? You didn't even bother to gauge my strength before picking a fight. Did you really think I was that easy to push around?"

He scoffed, "Pure-blood? In my eyes, trash is trash, regardless of bloodline."

"Waaah, I'm going to tell my mother and have the school expel you!" Zabini cried out.

"Let me down! Riddle, you dare hit me? I won't let you get away with this!" Rosier blustered, though his voice trembled.

"I was wrong, stop hitting me, I'll never do it again!" Nott begged outright.

They were, after all, only eleven-year-old children, and their pure-blood ideologies had been force-fed to them by their families.

They couldn't grasp the logic Tom spoke of, but the pain of the whip left them no choice but to listen.

Tom treated them to another ten lashes until the three were crying for their parents and had lost all their spirit, only then did he stop.

Tom dispelled the magic, and Zabini and the others immediately knelt on the ground, shivering, not daring to look up.

"Remember, from today on, I am the one who calls the shots in this room," Tom said, twirling his wand and sweeping his gaze over the three with a playful look.

"Whoever doesn't listen or breaks my rules will either get the whip or I'll strip you bare and hang you at the school gates."

He emphasized his words: "Rosier, Nott, you are from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. If your elders found out you were beaten into kneeling and begging by a Muggle-born wizard, how do you think they would deal with you?"

"And Zabini, at the feast, you kept mentioning 'my mother'—I assume you care a great deal about her opinion? If I told her how pathetic you looked today, do you think she would feel you've brought shame upon your family?"

The three nodded frantically, repeating, "I know, I won't do it again."

This Tom Riddle was more terrifying than the Dark Lord they had heard stories about; his methods were ruthless and defied all convention.

"Don't say I didn't give you a chance," Tom said, putting away his wand and flashing a roguish grin.

"We are Slytherins; the winner takes all. As long as any of you can beat me, by any means necessary, you can take your revenge however you like. I won't fight back."

If the Sorting Hat knew Tom had embraced the Snake House identity so quickly, it would probably spend a month bragging about it in Dumbledore's office.

"But if you lose, you must pay the price—like another round of the whip. Do you understand?"

"Understood!" the three shouted in unison, terrified that a quiet voice would lead to another beating.

They buried their hatred deep in their hearts, their eyes filled with resentment—they would remember this grudge, and one day, they would take revenge tenfold!

After dealing with those three blind roommates, the stifling frustration in Tom's chest finally dissipated.

He kicked their shins and waved his hand impatiently: "Get lost and wash up for bed. If you dawdle any longer, I'll whip you again."

Once the room was completely silent, he dove into the Study Space, not even catching his breath.

"What were you dragging your feet for?" Tom had closed the space as soon as the feast ended, so Andros had no idea about the beating that followed and frowned as he asked.

When Tom, with a sullen face, recounted the whole story of how the three pure-blood young masters had looked for trouble and been dealt with, Andros burst into laughter, slapping his thigh and nearly jumping up.

"That's hilarious! Reality is even more absurd than what's written in the books!" He laughed until he couldn't stand straight, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Pure-blood? In the face of real, tangible strength, that stuff isn't worth a fart; it's just gilding one's own lily."

"Seriously, Tom, you did a great job today. You didn't hesitate when you needed to act; too light and you wouldn't command respect, too heavy and you'd invite the teachers' nagging. This is just right—you beat them so they'll remember it for a lifetime."

Tom slumped onto a nearby platform, looking like a boneless salted fish, a cold smile tugging at the corner of his mouth: "It wasn't that easy. This is only the first day of school; there's bound to be more trouble ahead."

He sighed, his tone full of resignation, "I just wanted to stay quietly and bury my nose in books to get top marks. Why on earth was I shoved into Slytherin? This wretched place, all this backstabbing and scheming—it's exhausting."

Andros scoffed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his tone uncharacteristically serious: "Kid, I didn't call you out before because I wanted to save your face and respect your naive 'I just want to study' attitude. But I've gone through so much information on Hogwarts, and honestly, Slytherin is the place that suits your appetite best."

"Suits my appetite?" Tom raised an eyebrow, sitting up in defiance. "I don't engage in conspiracies or lust for power. Wouldn't it be better to just sit quietly in Ravenclaw and study? Who wants to stay in this wretched Snake House and take all this grief?"