Punishment

As these words fell, the common room erupted in irrepressible snickers. The little snakes stared at Tom with mocking eyes, waiting to see him lose his footing.

To everyone's surprise, Tom wasn't the least bit annoyed. He waved his hand languidly and said, "No need for that, no need. I don't have such grand ambitions."

"To study magic in peace, be bothered less, and be an 'invisible prefect' is quite enough for me."

He paused, his eyes brightening as he added, "If you find that title unappealing, we could change it. How about 'Uncrowned King of Slytherin'? What do you think, Professor?"

Snape's face froze instantly, as if he had swallowed ten slugs—ugly and foul.

He finally understood: this brat was deliberately trying to get under his skin. An "Uncrowned King"? That sounded even more imposing than his own title as the actual Head of House; he'd rather be called an invisible prefect!

"Stop your glib talk." Snape flicked his sleeve, suppressing the irritation in his heart. "An 'invisible prefect' is nonsense, but the idea of an invisible prefect you mentioned... that actually has some merit."

He swept his gaze across the room, his tone cold and hard. "As long as you can defeat Avery, you shall be the invisible prefect for the first year."

"The same applies to other years. Anyone willing to duel may do so; the winner shall be the invisible prefect for their respective year."

Deep down, Snape was a Slytherin through and through. The worship of the strong was carved into his bones; otherwise, he never would have plunged headlong into the ranks of the Death Eaters.

Not only did he not oppose Tom's proposal, but he also decided to extend it to the entire house.

For one, he wanted to see exactly what Tom was made of. For another, he wanted to use this opportunity to discipline those empty-headed fools who relied solely on their bloodline to put on airs.

He always felt that this boy, Tom, was wickedly strange. He wasn't afraid of him, nor was he afraid of any pure-blood. Either he was ignorant and fearless, or he was emboldened by absolute confidence.

And given how clever Tom was, it was clearly the latter.

As soon as Snape finished speaking, the current prefects turned green, but the little snakes in other years had eyes that lit up instantly, each of them rubbing their palms in anticipation.

Slytherin ambition could never be hidden. Being able to secure authority through a duel was far more satisfying than currying favor with professors to become a prefect.

Without waiting for Tom to respond, Snape raised his wand and gave it a flick. The tables, chairs, and sofas in the common room floated up, stacking neatly against the walls to clear a large space for dueling.

"I shall act as the referee. No Unforgivable Curses or uncontrolled Dark Magic allowed. Ordinary hexes are fine; rest assured, I am capable of healing you."

He curled his lips at Tom, his smile full of schadenfreude, clearly hoping to see Tom lose in a humiliating fashion.

"No problem." Tom shrugged, twirling his wand.

Avery nodded through gritted teeth, rubbing the injury on his chest. He had to regain his standing today, or he would have no place left in Slytherin.

The two stepped back, raised their wands, and bowed—their dueling etiquette was impeccable. Snape barked, "Begin!"

The moment the word left his lips, Avery lunged forward like a madman, chanting rapidly, "Protego! Expelliarmus!"

A transparent shield instantly enveloped him, and a red bolt of light shot toward Tom. His movements were crisp and clean, showing he indeed had some dueling experience.

This was the advantage of the pure-bloods; from a young age, they were taught combat techniques by their parents and ancestors. As long as they were willing to learn, their starting point was far ahead of Muggle-born wizards.

Unfortunately, he had run into Tom.

Tom gave his wand a light flick—a seemingly casual gesture—that deflected the disarming charm, and immediately followed it by pressing the tip of his wand downward.

The previously flat, hard floor suddenly turned soft, undulating like waves.

Avery was busy preparing his next spell when his feet slipped, and he nearly fell flat on his face, scrambling to cast a spell to stabilize the ground.

But Tom gave him no chance. A plain, unremarkable Stupefy blasted forward, shattering Avery's Shield Charm outright.

Avery's face changed, and he scrambled to put some distance between them, roaring, "Oppugno!"

A dozen red-hot coals flew from the fireplace, hurtling toward Tom.

He wasn't stupid; he knew the ground was unstable and that targeted spells had a low hit rate, so he opted for an area-of-effect attack instead.

Tom sneered and waved his wand: "Ventus!" A violent gust of wind erupted from thin air, blowing the coals straight back.

Avery dodged in a panic, but two coals still struck his arm, burning him so badly he winced and nearly cried out.

Tom scratched his head, looking bored. Was this the level of a sixth-year prefect?

He looked the part, but the moment he fell behind, he lost his nerve and couldn't even manage basic improvisation.

Too lazy to play any longer, Tom pointed his wand and said flatly, "Expelliarmus."

A red bolt of light struck Avery with precision and force. His wand flew from his hand and landed steadily in Tom's grip.

Without a wand, a wizard was no different from a lamb waiting for the slaughter.

Snape's face was dark enough to drip ink. He glanced at the disheveled Avery and announced with a blank expression.

"The duel is over. Tom Riddle is the victor. From today on, he is the invisible prefect for the first year of Slytherin."

Avery hung his head, wishing he could crawl into a hole in the ground. He hadn't just lost; he had been toyed with like a monkey by Tom.

Snape was in a foul mood. Avery's performance had brought total disgrace to Slytherin.

A sixth-year prefect, played in circles by a first-year freshman, losing in a way that was both decisive and humiliating.

He hadn't even had the room to offer a shred of resistance; it was no exaggeration to say it was a total crushing of both intellect and technique.

Yet, at the same time, his heart was filled with shock.

To judge the strength of a wizard, one looked not only at the power of their spells but also at their casting proficiency, tactical planning, and spell combinations—all of which were crucial.

Throughout the fight, Tom had controlled the rhythm of the battle, using the softened ground to restrict Avery's movement and then using the wind spell to rebound the attack. The entire sequence was so fluid it didn't look like the work of a freshman.

What puzzled him most of all was the way Tom had deflected that disarming charm.

To an outsider, it looked like a simple deflection of an attack, but Snape saw it clearly: that was precise control over magic.

Coupled with an ultimate understanding of the Disarming Charm, only then could one perform such a feat with such effortless ease.

Saving magic while simultaneously countering sneak attacks—this was a technique that many adult wizards might not even master.

"Professor." Tom's voice interrupted his contemplation. Snape looked over instinctively, only to see the boy wearing that insufferable smirk again.

"As you said, if I defeated Avery, I would be the invisible prefect, so logically, this matter should be over."

He shifted his tone, feigning grievance: "But I've already thrown my gloves down; I can't just treat honor like a joke the way Malfoy does, can I? After all, I'm a person with principles."

As soon as these words were out, stifled laughter erupted in the common room. Everyone knew about Malfoy's cowardice, and Tom was clearly taking a roundabout way to mock him.

"So, Professor, could you let me finish the remaining duels?"

"Otherwise, if word gets out, people will say that I, Tom Riddle, bullied a senior and then ran away, which would be quite lacking in grace," Tom said with a straight face.