Garlic and Vampires

Tom took the opportunity to ponder spell proficiency. While there were no explicit levels, it could be roughly divided into several stages: entry-level was barely managing to cast, with success being hit-or-miss.

Once mastered, the success rate was nearly one hundred percent, and one could improve their control—for instance, with the Levitation Charm, some could only make objects float up and down, while others could make them dance.

Further up was the non-verbal spell, which made casting more covert. However, many wizards would still shout the incantation even if they knew how to cast non-verbally, as doing so helped focus their mind and channel their magic, resulting in greater power.

At the very pinnacle was wandless magic, and Andros was a master in this regard.

According to Andros, wandless magic had nothing to do with proficiency; it relied primarily on one's understanding of magic and innate talent.

Some people could practice the Disarming Charm until they could stand up to the Killing Curse, yet they were like cripples without a wand—that was simply a lack of talent.

Tom discovered that his own talent lay entirely in control; once he grasped a spell, he could use it proficiently after practicing it a few times. This was somewhat like Hermione; she knew many spells, but their power was average.

Tom was different. He possessed Andros's magical talent, giving him a very high ceiling; perhaps one day he could use basic spells with the potency of Unforgivable Curses.

After wandering for two hours, Tom finally reached the second floor. He unlocked the doors one by one, lingering in each room for a while, and earned twenty achievement points.

Exhausted and hungry, he decided to head to the kitchens for a bite to eat.

The Slytherin common room was in the south of the castle, while the kitchens were directly below, still quite a distance away.

Tom walked down the spiral staircase into the vast underground space, where barrels were lined up and oil paintings hung on the walls.

Opposite a painting of fruit sat a large barrel—the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room; one could open it by tapping the barrel in a specific rhythm.

However, only Hufflepuff students could open it, or they would be punished by being doused in vinegar.

Tom felt a pang of envy: Hufflepuff really had it good, with their dormitory right next to the kitchen—a kitchen on call twenty-four hours a day—and close to the Great Hall and classrooms as well.

In contrast, the other houses were far away; Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were on the top floors, and Slytherin was tucked away in a remote corner, requiring thousands of extra steps every day.

Tom walked up to the fruit painting and tickled the green pear in the bowl. The pear squirmed, let out a giggle, and finally transformed into a door handle.

Tom's mouth twitched. "Tsk, quite whimsical. Helga certainly had a playful heart." He pulled the handle, revealing a room about the size of the Great Hall, filled with copper pots and pans.

As soon as he entered, a house-elf appeared with a "pop" and bowed deeply. "Sir! I am Hobby, may I be of service to you?"

"I'm Tom Riddle," Tom said casually. "I'm hungry, just looking for something to eat."

"Hobby will prepare it at once!" the house-elf shrieked and scurried toward the stove.

Tom leaned against a table to wait for his food when the kitchen door opened again.

Two identical red heads poked in and locked eyes with him—it was George and Fred.

The two hurried over, speaking in a rapid-fire, tag-team fashion: "What a coincidence, running into the new little snake from Slytherin!" "Riddle, you're the fastest first-year we've ever known to find the kitchen, aside from the Hufflepuffs."

Tom clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "I really suspect you two have telepathy; otherwise, how could you be so in sync, finishing each other's sentences without a seam?"

The twins shared a smile and introduced themselves with smug satisfaction: "I'm Fred! I'm George! We're both from the Weasley family, remember that!"

Tom lifted his chin, his tone tinged with mockery. "Tom Riddle. The famous Weasley twins—even though school only started a few days ago, it would be hard not to know you."

"Our prefect, Phyllis, rants about you two in the Slytherin common room every single day, using insults so foul they redefine the bottom line."

Fred curled his lip dismissively. "Eh, what else could it be? Probably complaining about us stuffing Dungbombs into his bookbag. Such a small-minded fellow, can't take a joke at all." Just as George was about to chime in, Fred poked him in the arm, his tone disgusted: "Idiot, you got the introduction wrong, I'm the one who's Fred!"

"Bullshit, you were the one who gave the wrong name first!" George retorted indignantly. "If you don't believe me, ask again—I'm the one who's Fred!"

"Did I? I don't remember that," Fred feigned confusion, and the two instantly dissolved into a squabble.

Tom leaned against the table, laughing incessantly. Once they had finished bickering, Fred leaned in and whispered mysteriously: "Riddle, honestly, you're much more famous than us; you set a record the moment you enrolled."

"What record?" Tom played along, feigning curiosity, though his eyes remained calm.

George cleared his throat, deliberately drawing out the suspense. "You're the first Muggle-born student to get into Slytherin in over a decade."

Fred immediately added, his tone slightly more serious: "To be precise, thirty-two years. The last Muggle-born in Slytherin disappeared after graduation; everyone says they were killed by a Dark wizard."

"That's it?" Tom shrugged with a look of disappointment, his tone flat. "I already knew that. What's so strange about it?"

Fred persisted, his eyes full of curiosity. "Aren't you being targeted in Slytherin? Those purebloods have their noses so high in the air they could touch the clouds. Doesn't it suffocate you, being with them all day?"

"Not really." Tom waved a hand, spouting nonsense with a straight face. "My roommates are very enthusiastic and take good care of me. We get along exceptionally well."

He had no interest in airing his dirty laundry to outsiders, especially not about how he had "disciplined" his three roommates.

The three chatted while eating their late-night snack, and Fred and George were indeed the know-it-alls of Hogwarts.

They spoke of the secret passages and interesting corners of the castle as if they were counting their own family treasures, even knowing exactly where to find the sweetest mead.

Tom fished for information with casual remarks, and the twins didn't call him out on it. It was rare for them to meet such an interesting first-year—someone who could both deflect their pranks and dish them back out was far more entertaining than their own younger brothers.

After they were full, the three parted ways in the entrance hall.

Before leaving, the twins patted their chests and promised with righteous fervor: "Riddle, if anyone in Slytherin bullies you, just come find us! We guarantee those guys will be covered in the stench of Dungbombs and lose all their dignity!"

Tom twitched his mouth but didn't respond, muttering to himself: these two weren't trying to help him at all; they were clearly looking for an excuse to pull a prank. Did they really think he was a fool?

The night passed without incident, and in the blink of an eye, it was Friday.

On Friday morning, Tom went to Potions class with Daphne. As they passed Snape's office, he cast a calm, sidelong glance at it.

He had learned from the upperclassmen that Snape's living quarters were connected to his office.

He had no intention of acting rashly for the time being; he would wait for a secure opportunity to "zero-cost purchase" some potion ingredients.

At nine o'clock sharp, the bell rang for class. Snape strode into the classroom right on the chime, his pace swift, his black robes billowing behind him, and the low pressure radiating from him instantly enveloped the entire room.