Born Warriors

Andros's powerful spells would all count as Ancient Magic nowadays, and they were a nightmare to learn.

Not only did they require a deep grounding in theory, but you also had to study Ancient Runes, Cretan, Mycenaean, and the Ionian Dialect used to write the Iliad. They were all magical languages, and you needed every one of them.

So far, apart from the Patronus Charm, the stunning spell he'd used against Zabini and the other two (Andros's specialty), and the two Protective Charms he'd just acquired, Tom had only learned basic spells from his books.

Anything more advanced? He couldn't even begin to approach it, let alone dream of learning it.

The Restricted Section might have what he wanted, but whenever he thought about his name, his background, and his Slytherin status, he lost his nerve.

Forget it. He didn't want to go wandering around the Restricted Section this early. That would be like tap-dancing on Albus Dumbledore's nerves—sheer suicide, and a good way to get himself killed.

Tom had finally figured it out: Andros had definitely "done his part" in getting him sorted into Slytherin.

The Sorting Hat's remark about "ancient magic purer than Salazar's" had to be because he'd drawn Andros's magical talent, which had caused the whole unexpected turn of events.

In Slytherin, where bloodline mattered, his magic was purer than anyone else's. He was practically the ancestor of them all—even Salazar himself would have to take a back seat. No one would believe it if he told them.

But after turning it over and over in his mind, Tom gave up on looking for another teacher. A King Realm wizard and an Epoch wizard might be just one rank apart, but the difference in their abilities was enormous.

King Realm wizards appeared in every generation. The four Heads of House at Hogwarts, for example, were all more than qualified in their respective fields.

But wizards like Albus Dumbledore and Andros, Epoch wizards, didn't come along once every hundred years. They were as rare as phoenix feathers.

He was better off saving up until he had enough points to draw an Epoch wizard.

As for an Eternal Saint? That was far beyond him, like a star in the sky. He'd think about it later, if he found some other way to earn achievement points.

It was all this damn system's fault for setting the bar so high right from the start. It had made him so picky that ordinary teachers just didn't appeal to him. He was making trouble for himself.

Tom didn't know when he'd fallen asleep. All he knew was that he'd been jolted awake by the noise.

Zabini and the other two were up earlier than roosters. They'd gathered together first thing in the morning, laughing and chattering so loudly that his head throbbed. His temper flared in an instant.

Furious, Tom bolted upright, drew his wand, and gave each of them three lashes. Cursing under his breath, he drove them out of the dormitory. "Get out and make your noise somewhere else! Keep it up and I'll whip you to death!"

At last, the world was quiet. He turned around, flopped back down, and went right back to sleep. He slept like a log.

The three roommates he'd kicked out were so angry their teeth were grinding, their faces red with fury. They were just about to curse him out through the door when the door to the neighboring dormitory suddenly opened.

A sleepy-eyed Malfoy walked out, his hair a mess. Seeing the three of them standing in the doorway, he paused, then said irritably, "What are you lot standing around here for? You're blocking the way."

The curse Zabini had been about to spit out stuck in his throat. His face twisted with the effort of holding it in, while the other two quickly schooled their expressions and pretended nothing was wrong.

It wasn't that they believed family shame should stay private. They simply couldn't bear the humiliation. Three Pure-blood heirs had been beaten by a "Mudblood" and kicked out of their dormitory.

If word got out, they'd be mocked all the way to graduation. Especially by that Malfoy boy. They'd already seen at dinner the night before how, with two hulking lackeys at his side, he strutted around like he owned the place. He was even more punchable than they were.

Rosier was quick-witted and immediately made up an excuse. His voice even stuttered a little. "N-nothing. It's our first day here, and we were too excited to sleep, so we came out for a walk."

Still half asleep, Malfoy didn't think much of it. He rolled his eyes and muttered, "What a bunch of country bumpkins."

Then he shuffled off to the washroom, not even bothering to look at them again.

"Damn, that kid's even more obnoxious than Riddle!" Zabini stared at Malfoy's back and spat viciously.

He wished he could give Malfoy a few lashes, just like Tom had done to him.

They were both Pure-bloods, both from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. What gave Malfoy the right to act so smug? Was it because his father was such a fence-sitter?

Nott spat too, his voice dark. "Neither of those two is any good. Let's take it one step at a time. We'll deal with Riddle first, then we can take care of that Malfoy boy."

The other two nodded, and they reached an agreement.

Perhaps it was because they'd all been whipped twice together. In just one night, the three of them had somehow formed a strange kind of "comradeship." They found a corner in a common room, huddled together, and furtively plotted how to deal with Tom.

"We could ambush him!" Nott whispered, his eyes darting about. "Find a secluded corner, or hide in a classroom, then attack him from behind and catch him off guard. It'll definitely work!"

"No, no, that's too risky," Rosier immediately objected. Remembering the sting of the lashes from the night before, his arm started to ache. "If he gets a chance to cast a spell, we'll definitely lose.

"You saw how skilled he was last night. His Transfiguration Spell and attack spells were smoother than ours, and we're Pure-bloods. If we fail, I guarantee we'll get whipped again. I don't want to go through that."

Zabini's face darkened. Gritting his teeth, he said, "We can use a magical artifact.

"My family has a Dark Magic artifact. Anyone who touches it by accident gets cursed. Let's see how cocky he is then."

"Don't do anything reckless!" Nott was startled and hurriedly grabbed him, his voice changing.

"This is Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore's territory! If he finds out, Tom Riddle might get away with it, but you'll definitely be expelled. Won't your mother skin you alive?"

Zabini fell silent, his face turning from pale to flushed.

Most Slytherin students both respected and feared Albus Dumbledore, with a good dose of resentment mixed in. They'd inherited all those feelings from their parents.

They didn't want their revenge plot to attract the Headmaster's attention either. They might end up hurting themselves along with Tom.

Actually, according to their families, Albus Dumbledore always favored "Mudbloods" and Half-bloods. If things got ugly, they'd most likely be the ones to suffer. It wasn't worth it.

"Maybe... we should tell Head of House Snape," Rosier said slowly, rubbing his still-sore arm.

His voice carried a hint of confidence. "My parents were classmates with Snape, and colleagues, too. He'll look out for me. He'll deal with that Riddle kid."

Zabini frowned, looking disgusted. "Tell a teacher? Isn't that too embarrassing? We'd sound like little kids. And what if he tells my mother? I'd be finished."

Rosier was very confident about this. He thumped his chest and said, "Don't worry, he absolutely won't. My parents are already in Azkaban. He can't exactly send a letter there, can he? Dementors aren't going to deliver the mail. It'd be a complete waste of effort."