— — — — — —
Snape was done holding back.
A wave of overwhelming magical power burst out from him, and only then did Tom realize—he had seriously underestimated Snape.
This kind of raw power? It was nothing like the calm, collected image the books painted of him.
"How the hell did Nagini even manage to bite this guy to death?"
The sarcastic thought flashed through Tom's mind, but now wasn't the time for random musings—he had to survive this attack first.
Snape's magic kept surging as he channeled an attack that clearly came from deep within.
The grass beneath his feet started shifting. Tiny weeds twisted and hissed, morphing into slithering little snakes. They began crowding Tom's feet, messing with his footing and interfering with his spellcasting.
Tom blasted a shockwave downward, scattering the snakes for a moment. Then he tried to transfigure the incoming flaming javelin—but failed. Snape was keeping a tight grip on the spell, maintaining control.
He wasn't casting one spell after another—he was multicasting. This wasn't just a fire spell or a transfiguration charm—it was a composite spell that blended both.
If he couldn't transfigure it, then he'd just blow it up.
Tom narrowed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. A glowing orb shot from the tip of his wand, hovered above him, and unleashed a beam of concentrated energy straight at the flaming javelin.
BOOM!
The explosion that followed shook the Quidditch pitch. Thankfully, Tom had cast soundproofing charms all over the field beforehand. If he hadn't, that blast would've woken three whole houses—and every professor in the castle.
Well, maybe not Slytherin. They were buried underground. Sound wasn't reaching them anytime soon.
The flaming javelin shattered into thousands of pieces. Not wasting a second, Tom waved his wand, transfiguring the shards into a flurry of tiny flaming arrows, then sent them flying back at Snape.
But Snape moved like a damn eel, slippery and impossible to pin down. His cloak shimmered with defensive enchantments, letting him dodge and deflect with ease.
The whole Quidditch pitch lit up with crisscrossing beams of light, bursts of magic colliding midair and creating swirling shockwaves.
Tom was going all out now—and still losing.
So what if he'd taken a potion? So what if he had cheat-level boosts?
It hadn't even been six months since he started learning magic. Snape, on the other hand, was no slouch—he was a meticulous, obsessive genius who'd been at it for years.
Tom couldn't match the sheer number of spells Snape had mastered. Not even close.
Not the power. Not the precision.
And it seemed Snape had noticed Tom was slipping. His casting speed increased.
Duang—!
A thick, metallic panel appeared midair, blocking Snape's whirlwind-like barrage. Snape flinched.
"Wait... that's metal?"
Was that something Tom conjured out of thin air?
"Nope." Snape squinted at Tom's pocket and realized—he summoned it. From inside his pocket.
"Wait, hold up... is this kid seriously carrying around a shield?!"
Tom traced a square in the air with his wand. The panel reshaped itself into a metal box that sealed tightly around him. From inside came his muffled voice:
"Professor, let's call it for today. We can continue next time."
Snape literally laughed out of disbelief.
"I was about to win—and this little shit calls a timeout?!"
"Despicable Riddle!" Snape shouted. "Did you really just use an Impediment Jinx? That sneaky little curse?!"
Without waiting, he launched another round of attacks.
Tom was left dumbfounded.
Could Snape be any more shameless?
But no matter how violently Snape unleashed his spells, the metal box stood strong. Just some scratches and burn marks on the outside. Nothing broke through.
Snape finally stopped, exasperated. "Riddle, where the hell did you find this thing? What's it made of, dragon scales and goblin steel?!"
From inside the box, Tom's voice drifted out, calm and smug:
"Professor, save your energy. I don't even know this thing's limit myself. Unless you're planning to use some nasty Dark Magic, you're not getting in."
He'd found it in the Room of Requirement, thinking 'I need the most durable defense item possible'. And the room delivered—this absurdly overpowered shield.
If it could stump Snape, it must be good.
Snape glanced around. The pitch was already a warzone. Any more powerful spells and it'd be beyond repair.
"Get out of your bloody turtle shell," Snape snapped. "If you bring that thing to our next duel, don't bother showing up."
Tom's voice turned cautious. "Are you sure you won't attack me the second I come out?"
Snape gritted his teeth. "I'm a professor. You think I'd lie to a student?"
"You said Slytherins don't lie to other Slytherins."
Snape turned and walked away. "Fine. Stay in there all night."
Tom quickly deconstructed the box, shrunk the panel, and stuffed it back in his pocket. "Wait, Professor, don't go! Look at this mess—I can't clean it all up by myself!"
Snape shot him a cold smirk. "Using an Unregistered Extension Charm, huh? If you weren't in my House, I'd take points and send you straight to Azkaban."
Tom pretended not to hear that and started casting Reparoall over the field. He drew a visible center line across the pitch.
Very clearly: 'You clean your half, I'll clean mine. Don't be lazy.'
Snape didn't argue. He raised his wand and joined in the repairs.
Tom wasn't about to waste this chance. While working, he started asking questions.
---
"Your biggest flaw is showing off," Snape said, cutting straight to the point.
His eyes were sharp as ever. "In a wizard's duel, what's the most important thing?"
Tom thought for a moment. "Disarming your opponent. Or making them unable to fight back."
"Exactly." Snape shot him a look. "Then why were you so obsessed with countering my spells—making them look all elegant and flashy? You think this is some kind of performance art? A talent show?"
Tom paused, reflecting.
Now that he mentioned it… yeah. His focus had shifted more to Snape's magic than to Snape himself. After that first flurry of attacks, it really did become more of a spell duel than an actual fight.
"Fighting isn't just about spell-casting," Snape said, his tone softer now. He was actually pleased—Tom caught on fast. If it had been one of his denser students, they'd still be clueless.
"Often, there are simpler and more efficient ways to deal with your opponent. But instead, you wasted time on spell-for-spell battles. That cost you the chance to go on the offensive."
Snape glanced at him meaningfully.
"You've got way more magic than a student should. But there's always someone stronger. Until you reach the top, keep your head down. Stop drawing attention. The one who laughs last is the true winner."
Tom nodded seriously, memorizing every word.
On the way back to the castle, he couldn't resist asking one more stupid question:
"Professor... have you ever seen Dumbledore actually fight? Based on where I am now... how long would I last against him?"
Snape stared at him like he'd lost his mind. After a long silence, he let out a small laugh. "Ten to one. He'd knock you into the ground nine times with a single spell."
Tom: "..."
"Well… what about compared to other wizards?" he pressed on. The power scale in the wizarding world was frustratingly vague, and the number of experienced wizards he'd actually seen in action was depressingly low. Snape's judgment was probably the best he could get.
Snape stopped walking and stared at him for several seconds.
"With your current skills," he finally said, "you could pass the Auror combat exam with flying colors. But shady tricks and underhanded tactics don't show up on tests. Don't let arrogance ruin your future."
He had a feeling Tom was planning something dangerous. This was the only warning he could give.
"I understand," Tom replied with a nod.
---
By the next morning, while eating breakfast, Tom was still thinking about last night's fight—and Snape's critique.
Up until now, whether he was facing a human opponent or some magical beast, he'd always been the one with the upper hand. That meant he could afford to fight with style, using clever and flashy spells to overwhelm his enemies. He had developed a flair for the dramatic—because he could.
That's why so many older students feared him. He looked terrifying when he fought.
But Snape wasn't a beast to be hunted. In just a few exchanges, he'd turned the tables with nothing more than a couple of basic spells—and won.
When the tables turned and he became the challenger, that flashy fighting style suddenly didn't hold up. All show, no substance.
That's when it hit him.
His style didn't need to change. Strength was a temporary issue. Style was forever.
No need to change it. Even if it kills him, he'd keep fighting like this. The problem wasn't his approach—it was that he wasn't strong enough yet. He just had to get stronger.
Once he surpassed Snape in every area, fighting him with this same stylish, overwhelming style would be domination, not delusion.
Realizing that put his mind at ease.
"Stupid old bat," he muttered inwardly. "Almost made me lose my nerve."
"Tom! Tom!"
Daphne's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "We still need to fill this out before we can board the train!"
Tom looked down at the paper in front of him—an official Ministry notice titled: {Underage Wizard Holiday Magic Restriction Agreement.}
It laid everything out clearly: Anyone under the age of seventeen was considered an underage wizard and forbidden from using magic outside school. For Muggle-borns, it was even stricter—they weren't allowed to talk to direct family members (like parents or grandparents) about anything related to the magical world. And no magical objects were to be brought into the Muggle world, period.
So many rules. It felt… deliberate. Like it was meant to hold Muggle-borns back.
And honestly, it was.
The Ministry relied on the Trace to monitor underage magic—but it wasn't perfect. It couldn't pinpoint who cast a spell, only that magic had been performed near a registered wand.
So if you were in a wizarding home with adult witches or wizards around, it was easy to get away with using magic unnoticed. Half-bloods had it easier. Pure-bloods? Even easier.
But Muggle-borns? Totally screwed.
No wand use all summer. By the time school started again, they'd forgotten half their spells. They always lagged behind. Every. Single. Year.
And by the time they graduated? Good luck competing with pure-bloods for jobs.
Tom gave a smile—but there was no warmth in it.
He picked up the enchanted parchment and signed his name.
He was too weak to fight this now. He wasn't even a "piece" yet in this game. Just a small fry with no power.
But he'd remember this.
The Secrecy Act had been signed in the late 1600s. Everyone who wrote it was long dead.
Didn't matter.
"Debts from the past? I'll make the future pay them back."
---
At 9 a.m., the students climbed into the carriages headed for Hogsmeade Station. The first years stared curiously at the front of the carriages—there were no horses, nothing pulling them. Just magic.
Tom couldn't see the Thestrals either. But when he reached out, he felt soft, leathery fur.
They were gentle, as always, not holding grudges, and patiently pulled the carriages toward the station.
...
On the train, Tom sat in a compartment with Hermione and Daphne. Since some students were staying at school for the holidays, it wasn't nearly as packed as it was at the start of the year.
As usual, Daphne had bought a ridiculous amount of snacks, and the three of them munched their way through the ride. Before they knew it, the train was pulling into King's Cross.
Platform 9¾ was already filled with people—parents waiting to greet their kids.
Hermione's parents were there too, but without a wizard escort, they couldn't come onto the platform. They waited on the other side, in the regular station.
When the train stopped, the trio waited for the crowd to thin out before stepping out of their compartment.
Tom immediately spotted a woman who stood out from everyone else.
Tall—at least 5'9"—wearing a stunning white fur coat, with just a few elegant accessories. A small leather handbag dangled from her arm.
Yeah, no doubt about it.
"That's Daphne's mother."
Daphne saw her too. Her face lit up, and she started bouncing with excitement. "Mum!"
The woman smiled. Daphne grabbed Tom's hand and dragged him toward her.
Tom turned to Hermione, gave her a quick look, and made the universal 'call me' gesture with his hand.
Hermione smiled knowingly, then walked toward the stone pillars to exit the platform.
"Mum!" Daphne threw herself into her mother's arms. "I missed you so much! These past few months have been so hard without you."
"Oh really?" Mrs. Greengrass clearly didn't buy the sweet talk. Her eyes were already scanning Tom, who stood quietly nearby.
"You must be Tom."
Tom gave a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, Auntie. I'm Tom Riddle."
.
.
.