Snape and Tom's Tacit Understanding

Tom spoke with such solemnity that it seemed as if he were defending his honor rather than pushing his luck.

Pushing his luck! That phrase echoed in the minds of every little snake.

The boy had already won and achieved his goal, yet he refused to stop, insisting on thrashing every single prefect.

He was clearly intent on grinding the faces of Snape and all the prefects into the dirt!

Only Burke, a seventh-year, and Snape understood that Tom was establishing his authority.

Only by defeating every prefect could he truly secure his position as the shadow prefect and command the respect of all the snakes.

Snape took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to strike the boy, and gritted out, "Fine. Since you're looking for a beating, let's continue. But there will be no breaks. Phyllis, you're up."

Imogen Phyllis, the fifth-year female prefect, stepped forward immediately, her face flushed with fury; she had long been disgusted by Tom's arrogance.

Yet Tom showed no mercy. The moment Snape announced the start, he fired off two non-verbal spells.

Phyllis had never expected Tom to use non-verbal magic. Before she could finish chanting the Iron Armor Charm, both spells slammed into her.

The next second, her wand flew from her hand, and she collapsed, falling into a sleep deeper than Malfoy's.

"Next." Tom weighed the wand in his hand, his expression as indifferent as if he had just stepped on an ant. The remaining prefects were burning with rage, yet secretly terrified.

"I'll do it!" Enrique Flint, a fifth-year male prefect, didn't wait for Snape to call his name before jumping out in a fit of anger.

He had an older brother, the Slytherin Quidditch captain Marcus Flint, who unfortunately was in detention with Professor McGonagall today and missed this spectacular show.

Flint was smarter than Avery. Taking a lesson from the previous two, he conjured a massive wooden door to block his front the moment the duel began.

He then used Transfiguration to turn the surrounding chairs and cups into a swarm of small animals, serving both to harass Tom and act as living shields against spells.

The frost on Snape's face finally thawed a little. At least he has some brains, he thought, knowing how to play to his strengths.

Flint was gifted in Transfiguration and a member of Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration Club; many sixth and seventh-year students couldn't match the animal transfigurations he performed.

This was the first time today that Tom hadn't ended a fight instantly. His eyes lit up, and he finally felt a spark of interest, his tone growing excited: "Interesting. Give me more!"

"Incendio!" Tom flicked his wand, and flames erupted from the fireplace, causing the temperature in the common room to soar.

He waved his wand with elegance, molding the fire into three serpents. The fire snakes hissed, their mouths agape with scorching tongues, charging across the dueling arena.

The animals Flint had transfigured were burned back to their original forms upon contact with the snakes, turning into piles of charcoal in the blink of an eye.

The wooden door didn't last long either; soon, the fire snakes burned a massive hole through it, threatening to consume it entirely.

"Magic Molding!" Snape gritted his teeth, enunciating every syllable, his eyes filled with disbelief.

This was a high-level transfiguration technique even more advanced than material conversion, one not even covered in the N.E.W.T.s. How could Tom, a first-year freshman, possibly know it? By what right did he possess such skill?

Just as Snape was questioning reality, Flint looked at the three fire snakes before him, let out a helpless, bitter laugh, and lowered his wand.

"I yield." He knew that continuing would only be a waste of effort and would lead to further humiliation.

Next was the sixth-year female prefect. She fared even worse than Flint, spending the entire time frantically casting Iron Armor Charms on herself.

But her casting speed couldn't keep up with Tom's, and within moments, she was disarmed and forced to concede in embarrassment.

The little snakes watched in a stupor. Tom had won four consecutive matches, toppling all the fifth and sixth-year prefects, yet he wasn't even winded, looking as calm as if nothing had happened.

Many girls looked at Tom with stars in their eyes. Daphne, in particular, clenched her fists, dying to cheer on the spot; had there been fewer people around, she would have rushed up to applaud him.

Even some of the senior girls had changed their gaze. Such a powerful and adorable young sprout—if they raised him for two years, he would surely grow into a handsome man. Even if they were "eating young grass," it wouldn't be a loss!

"I yield."

The crowd froze and turned to see Yuxil Carrow, the seventh-year female prefect, speaking.

Facing everyone's gaze, she wasn't the least bit embarrassed. Instead, she winked at Tom and smiled.

"I can't beat Riddle, so I won't go up there and humiliate myself. Burke is much stronger than I am. I'm just saving your magic so you can have a proper fight with him."

Burke took a deep breath and stepped out from the crowd, bowing slightly to Snape before walking to face Tom.

His expression was so grave it seemed to drip with intensity. He knew this next match would be the real battle.

The Burke family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, with a long and storied history.

The most famous member today was Caractacus Burke, the owner of Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley, whom everyone simply called Old Burke.

Old Burke held immense influence; even Lucius Malfoy sold dark magical artifacts to his shop when he couldn't handle them himself, trusting that Burke could withstand any Ministry investigation.

The Burke family was mysterious, with no one serving in the Ministry, and they had always been fanatically obsessed with dark artifacts.

Tom felt that Sithwell Burke was no simple character; he was likely the deepest-hidden person in Slytherin.

He couldn't gauge the strength of Burke's magic—magic could not be quantified, not even by Albus Dumbledore.

He only watched Burke's expression. No matter how many prefects Tom defeated, Burke merely frowned, showing not a hint of cowardice.

This meant Burke was confident in his ability to handle Tom's strength, even if it would be troublesome. Tom grew intrigued: Out of all the prefects, you're the only one this capable?

Carrow had conceded directly, which suited Tom just fine; it saved him from a boring fight.

"Prefect Burke, please go easy on me." Tom's smile was infuriating, though his etiquette remained flawless.

Burke found it grating. He felt as though Tom were looking at him the same way one might look at a lab rat, and he felt entirely ill at ease.

Snape shouted "Begin" with a darkened face, and Borgin immediately chanted: "Cloudy Mist Spell!"

Thick fog instantly filled the common room, and in the blink of an eye, one could not even see their own hand.

The little snakes hurriedly retreated under the stairs to avoid getting hurt; only Snape, having cast an Iron Armor Charm, stood firm at his post as the referee.

Tom had originally intended to repeat his old trick and wave a Gale Spell to blow the mist away, but he was left dumbfounded.

There wasn't much ventilation in the room; the Gale Spell blew through, but the mist only thinned by a tiny bit, and the path remained obscured.

"Not bad, brother, you even know how to account for the terrain?" Tom praised him sincerely. In this wizarding world where everyone's mind was filled with nothing but blasting spells at each other, being able to consider the terrain meant he had at least some brains.

With two sharp whistles, a pair of spells flew over, cutting through the air. Tom flicked his wrist, and his wand deflected them with precision.

At the same time, he casually fired back a few spells, shooting blindly toward the source of the sounds like a cat stumbling upon a dead mouse.