The moment Tom spoke, the first-years all sighed with relief.
So he wasn't here to punish them—only to assign them something. For a terrifying heartbeat, most of them had been certain they were about to be "disciplined."
They'd all heard the stories, after all. Even if they hadn't witnessed last year's chaos, the tales of how Tom Riddle had dealt with the prefects had spread far and wide. Too many students had seen it happen to keep such things secret.
And now… the aura he carried only grew heavier by the day. Except for Astoria, there wasn't a single first-year who wasn't frightened of him.
"Who are the first-year prefects?" Tom asked casually.
Two nervous students shuffled forward at once. Astoria whispered quietly at his side, introducing them: Celeste Rowle, her roommate, and Caspar Bulstrode.
Tom inclined his head and said smoothly, "This is a simple matter. You all know Luna Lovegood, yes?"
"Loony Lovegood?" one girl blurted out without thinking.
"…Hmmm?"
Tom's eyes slid toward her—just a glance, but it was enough. The girl froze, horror flooding her face as if she had been pinned under the gaze of some ancient beast. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her.
"I won't hold your past ignorance against you," Tom said softly. "But in the future—be careful."
His finger tapped lightly on the armrest, each precise beat strangely resonating with the rhythm of their own hearts. Everyone held their breath, bodies taut, focused only on what he would say next.
"Lovegood helped me once. From today onward, she is my friend. The name 'Loony'—never again."
The first-years nodded furiously, eager to prove obedience. The tapping stopped, and the invisible pressure lifted; only then did they feel like they could breathe again.
"And another thing," Tom continued lazily. "I've heard she doesn't get along with her dormmates."
Celeste Rowle perked up, eager to contribute. "That's true. I once heard Melrose mocking her behind her back. She even hid Lovegood's slippers. The poor girl searched for days and never found them."
"Mm. Then let's start with her." Tom nodded as if issuing judgment.
"Anyone who bullies my friends," his smile sharpened, "is bullying me. And I simply cannot allow that. She deserves—well, never mind. I'm merciful, after all. I dislike bloodshed."
Several older students lowered their eyes quickly, hiding the incredulous looks on their faces.
Merciful? Gentle?
Was he referring to the time he slammed a professor into a wall so hard they had to pry him out, before giving him fifty lashes? That kind of mercy?
Caspar Bulstrode swallowed hard. "I understand. We'll… warn those Ravenclaws. Make sure Miss Lovegood is treated fairly."
"Wrong," Tom corrected him instantly, his tone sharp. "Not warn. Retaliate. Luna doesn't need fair treatment. She only needs those gnats too afraid to bother her again."
Cold sweat ran down Caspar's neck. "R–retaliation I can do, but if the professors find out—"
"Then let them come to me." Tom's glance cut him like a knife. "If you can't handle such a simple task, perhaps I'll find someone else to replace you."
He leaned back, voice calm and smooth:
"Detention? Filch runs most of those—I'll handle him. House points? I'll earn them back. As for Snape, just tell him it was my idea. Our Head of House is… an understanding man."
The prefects stared at him, wide-eyed.
"Any other objections?"
"N–No!" a pudgy boy blurted loudly. "I swear, we'll make sure those Ravenclaw girls steer clear of Lovegood forever!"
Celeste Rowle added quickly, "They're only bullies because Luna's an easy target. Once they're hit back hard enough, they'll fold."
At last, Tom repeated his promise: whatever punishment came down, he would take the blame. If any older students interfered, the Slytherin upper-years would handle it.
Then he dismissed them for breakfast.
Slytherins, after all, were professionals when it came to bullying. Even their youngest were well-trained. They'd been raised on pure-blood pride, taught from childhood that they were entitled to whatever they desired, and that others were beneath them.
And so, by mid-morning, Melrose and her clique—those who normally took delight in mocking Luna—were in for a shock.
Before class, Celeste Rowle deliberately bumped her hard, then stood nose-to-nose with her, unleashing a five-minute tirade of insults. Melrose's friends tried to intervene, only to be shoved aside by other Slytherin girls.
In Potions, her seat was stolen. The ingredients she was given were all defective, and her cauldron was ruined before class even began.
Melrose thought it was just a run of bad luck—until a group of Slytherins cornered her and made it plain: this wasn't chance. It was deliberate.
Touch Lovegood again, and whatever you did to her will be returned tenfold.
Melrose's head spun. Since when had "Loony" Lovegood been shielded by half of Slytherin House?
By the end of the day, her eyes brimmed with tears.
"Save your disgusting tears," Astoria sneered, arms folded as she loomed over her. "Where was this pitiful act when you tormented Luna? You thought it was funny then, didn't you? Now you've only been given back a fraction of what you dealt out—and you can't take it?"