Malfoy's Attempt to Turn the Tables

"Right, it seems I'll need to learn some sensory magic later; I can't just keep fumbling around blindly."

He muttered to himself while dodging, not panicked in the slightest, but rather finding the situation somewhat novel.

Tom's eyes suddenly lit up: if you can't blow it away, suck it in!

The tip of his wand transformed into a small trumpet, and a burst of suction erupted. The mist surged toward him frantically, and his vision cleared in an instant.

Snape stood to the side and couldn't help but nod. Setting aside Tom's reckless temperament, this method of response was truly brilliant.

It was merely a variation of the Cleaning Charm; using a technique meant for dusting to deal with thick fog was incredibly clever.

He almost wanted to take him on as an apprentice, but he immediately suppressed the urge. Tom's ambition was vast, and his talent was uncanny.

If not for Albus Dumbledore's guarantee, he would have suspected the boy was the reincarnation of Voldemort. This matter had to be reported to Albus Dumbledore.

Borgin was stunned to see the mist being neutralized. He hurriedly fired off two spells in an attempt to stop him, but Tom's footwork was agile, and he dodged them with ease.

Borgin gritted his teeth and hissed, "Soul-Devouring Poison Mist!"

The remaining fog turned a murky green, sizzling as it touched the walls and floor; it was pungent and foul, comparable to sulfuric acid.

Tom's expression turned serious, recognizing it as Dark Magic. He glanced at Snape and, seeing the man remain calm, knew the spell hadn't reached the level of an Unforgivable Curse.

"Reducto!" Tom flicked his wand, and a violent fireball lunged straight at the poison mist. With a thunderous boom, half the mist evaporated, while the rest continued to drift.

But before he could act again, two venomous snakes suddenly lunged from the mist, coiling around his legs from left and right, their gaping maws dripping with venom.

Yet, the moment the snakes were about to touch his trousers, they slammed into an invisible barrier with a "thud" and fell to the ground in a tangled heap.

Borgin's face changed drastically. "When did you cast the Shield Charm?" He realized immediately that the boy must have cast it secretly while the mist was obscuring his vision!

Tom flicked a wind blade to finish off the snakes, held his breath, and unleashed a barrage of blasting spells, clearing the remaining poison mist and forcing Borgin into a desperate defense.

Borgin's Shield Charm shattered, and a miscast spell caused a fireball to graze his arm and slam into the wall, blasting out a large crater.

"Stop!" Snape barked. "Tom Riddle wins. Borgin, do you have any objections?"

Borgin clutched his scorched arm and shook his head repeatedly. "No objections, I concede!"

His arm burned with a stinging pain, and he couldn't even grip his wand properly; he couldn't fight anymore. In his heart, he cursed Tom as a monster.

His own blasting spells were like lighting a candle compared to Tom's.

Snape gave Tom a deep look and cast a healing spell on Borgin. "Come to my office to get some dittany for those burns. Don't go to the hospital wing, understand?"

Borgin nodded quickly. "Understood, Professor." He knew perfectly well that Snape wanted to suppress this incident and keep today's farce from spreading.

He himself didn't want to make a scene; losing to a first-year student was something that should stay within Slytherin.

If those foolish lions in Gryffindor found out, he would be mocked until graduation.

Before leaving, Snape dropped the unconscious Lucius Malfoy and warned Tom, "Don't go too far. Lucius Malfoy is not someone to be trifled with." With that, he took Borgin and left.

"Don't worry, Professor!" Tom smiled innocently. "I won't bully him!"

But the moment the common room door clicked shut, Tom's face changed instantly, and he flicked his wand.

Malfoy, who had just hit the floor, along with his two lackeys, were hoisted into the air again by some invisible force. They dangled three feet off the ground, swaying back and forth like cured meat.

The Slytherins present shivered collectively, a single thought crossing their minds: this Tom Riddle was far too vengeful!

They must never provoke him in the future, or there was no telling how he might torment them!

The Slytherin common room was so quiet one could hear the sound of breathing.

Whether they were the current prefects or ordinary students, they were all huddled at the entrance to the dormitory stairs like a group of frightened quails, staring straight at Tom.

Tom tilted his head and looked at them with disdain. "Why are you all standing there? Don't tell me you expect me to put all these tables and chairs back by myself?"

"You're all so lazy; you've brought shame upon Slytherin."

Only then did the crowd snap out of their stupor, scurrying over in a panic to move tables, chairs, and sofas, busy as could be.

"Tom, you're too amazing!" Daphne hopped over and gave him a solid hug. Her small frame was soft and carried a faint, pleasant fragrance.

Tom subconsciously took a deep breath, muttering to himself: Madam Spire's shampoo, mixed with a hint of milky scent—much better than that soap smell from the Potter household.

Outwardly, he waved his hand with feigned modesty. "Hey, what's the big deal? I just beat up a few students who didn't know any better. Is it really worth getting so excited?"

The Slytherins who were moving tables nearly dropped them on their own feet upon hearing this.

Tsk, this humble-brag—is he running a palace of vanity at home?

Just a few students? You even beat the seventh-year prefect into the ground; are you trying to replace Professor Snape next?

Daphne tilted her small face up, looking completely bewildered. "But you're only in your first year! If I had your skills, my mother would definitely double my pocket money!"

Tom reached out and ruffled her blonde hair; it felt soft, and he sighed, pretending to be profound.

"Silly girl, enemies won't show mercy just because you're young. In this magical world, you have to learn more skills just to survive a few more days."

Daphne was even more confused. The Dark Lord was gone; who would dare come to Hogwarts to cause trouble?

The purebloods might complain that Albus Dumbledore was too friendly to Muggle-borns, but no one dared to question the old man's strength—after all, he was a ruthless character who had defeated two generations of Dark Lords.

Tom looked at her naive expression and didn't offer further explanation.

He knew perfectly well that the next few years at Hogwarts would be anything but peaceful, and Albus Dumbledore's control over the school was no longer what it once was.

Sirius Black could charge in and out seven times over, and Moody could be swapped out by an impostor; there was no telling when some major trouble might arise. It was useless to talk about such things with a little girl.

Ten minutes later, the common room had finally been restored to order, save for the pitch-black crater on the wall and a few scorched marks on the floor, which made it look just like a battlefield that had seen recent combat.

The layout, however, had changed: the most magnificent armchair had been placed right in the center, with the other seats arranged in a circle around it, a perfect display of stars surrounding the moon.

Tom sat down without a hint of hesitation. The sofa was wide enough to accommodate two people, and Daphne naturally took a seat beside him.

His three roommates—Zabini, Nott, and Rosier—stood foolishly behind the sofa. Far from feeling diminished, they looked proud, acting just like Tom's little lackeys.

Before long, Borgin returned with the burn ointment Snape had provided. Seeing the setup in the common room, he froze for two seconds before catching on.

He found a seat as close to Tom as possible and began applying the ointment in silence.

Nearly two-thirds of the students had stayed behind. No one spoke; they simply waited quietly, their eyes filled with awe as they all looked toward Tom in unison.