The three Slytherins—Zabini, Rosier, and Nott—were already on their knees, red-eyed and trembling. Their cries echoed like ghostly howls, but Tom only looked at them calmly, wand tapping against his palm.
The boys thought it was over. They thought the punishment had ended.
They were wrong.
This was only the beginning.
---
Who Betrayed Me?
Tom's voice was soft, almost conversational, but it froze the air.
"Now… who came up with the idea of filing a complaint?"
He twirled his wand lazily. "We could have handled our dormitory issues internally. But one of you carried it to the dean. That, gentlemen, breaks my heart."
He arched a brow. "Tell tales to the Head of House? Is that the glorious tradition purebloods brag about? Betraying your own for scraps of favoritism?"
The three boys flushed crimson, shame battling with rage. They had been pampered sons of great families all their lives—never once spoken to like this.
But still, none of them spoke.
Nott's lips pressed shut. Rosier glared defiantly. Even Zabini, the cleverest, stayed silent.
Tom's smile sharpened.
"No volunteers? A shame. Because I've just learned a few… experimental curses. And I'd love a chance to practice."
---
The First Betrayal
Zabini paled instantly. Beatings he could endure—but curses? The thought of having his body warped by a botched hex terrified him.
He cracked first.
"It was Rosier!" Zabini blurted. "He came up with it. He said Professor Snape knew his parents and would favor us. He lied!"
Rosier's eyes bulged. "Zabini! You traitor!"
Nott's face twisted in disgust. Betrayal was always the foulest taste.
Tom only chuckled.
"Bruce, I'm glad you've chosen honesty. Better late than never."
He released Zabini from his bindings, helped him up, and even patted his shoulder. Zabini flushed with shame, but the relief of freedom outweighed guilt.
---
The Whipping Continues
Rosier and Nott were not so lucky.
Tom flicked his wand, stringing them back up, and resumed the lashes. This time, he didn't stop at three strikes, or even thirty.
Fifty lashes each.
Their screams tore through the stone walls, sharp enough to raise goosebumps on Zabini's arms. He watched, scalp prickling, while Tom worked with unnerving precision: lash, heal, lash again.
By the hundredth blow, Rosier and Nott were sobbing wrecks, bodies untouched by marks yet minds shattered. Evidence erased, pain preserved.
---
Payment for Wasted Time
When the cries dwindled, Tom's voice returned, smooth as silk.
"Will you dare to complain again?"
Both boys shook their heads so violently their necks cracked. They stared at him like he was a demon.
But Tom wasn't done.
"Good. Now, how shall we calculate my damages?"
Rosier blinked, dazed. "Damages…?"
Tom sighed dramatically. "Of course. I wasted half an hour arguing with Professor Snape because of you. Add the time walking there and back—it nearly cost me my whole afternoon. And as everyone knows, time is money."
His gaze sharpened. "Shouldn't you compensate me?"
The three nodded automatically. It sounded logical—yet felt wrong.
---
The IOU Trick
Zabini, always the shrewder, swallowed hard. "Riddle… are you asking for money?"
Tom's face hardened. "How crude. This is not extortion—it is compensation for mental damage. And because I am a generous man, I will consider it a loan. I've even prepared the IOUs."
Three slips of parchment fluttered into their hands. Each read:
10 Galleons. Due upon graduation.
The boys gawked.
"After graduation?! That's seven years from now!"
There was no interest, true. But seven years without that money meant seven years poorer. Nott and Rosier nearly fainted. Their families gave them only twenty Galleons pocket money each semester—half gone instantly.
Zabini, with fifty Galleons allowance, winced as well. Losing a fifth of it in one night burned.
But what could they do? Refuse? File another complaint?
Snape had already dismissed the matter as "minor friction." Tom had returned from his office not punished but grinning. Clearly, the professor was no shield against him.
With heavy hearts, they handed over the coins.
---
Tom's Business Model
Tom pocketed the thirty Galleons with satisfaction.
"You see? Being in Slytherin has its perks. Other Houses wouldn't have such cooperative students. But here? A little pressure, and suddenly thirty Galleons fall into my lap."
His eyes gleamed. "If I scaled this up, I could drain the entire House and become rich…"
But he stopped himself. "Not yet. Beating up seventh-years or bleeding every family would invite Dumbledore's attention. For now, better to grow in the shadows."
He clapped Zabini's shoulder warmly. "Reflect on your mistakes. I'm going to dinner."
And with that, he strolled out, humming.
---
Cracks in the Trio
Silence drowned the room once he left.
Rosier and Nott glared daggers at Zabini. Betrayal still stung worse than lashes. Had they been stronger, they would have leapt at him. But battered and broken, they could only crawl under their blankets, nursing hatred.
Zabini lingered, guilt gnawing.
"What else could I have done? If I hadn't spoken, I'd have been whipped too. Survival matters more than loyalty."
Yet he couldn't shake the looks on their faces.
He slipped out to the common room and sat alone, staring at the flickering green light of the Black Lake.
Nott's bitterness deepened. Rosier simmered with pure rage. Zabini, torn between shame and relief, sat apart.
A small crack had appeared in their alliance—and in Slytherin, cracks always grew.
---
🔑 Highlighted Insights from This Chapter:
Tom identifies the true betrayer by threatening "practice curses." Zabini folds instantly.
Rosier and Nott endure fifty lashes each, healed instantly, leaving no proof.
Tom extorts "mental damage compensation"—10 Galleons each, documented with IOUs due after graduation.
The trio's allowances are gutted, leaving them resentful but helpless.
A fracture opens in their small group: Rosier hates Zabini, Nott resents his surrender, Zabini justifies survival.
Tom sees Slytherin as fertile ground for profit, but restrains himself to avoid Dumbledore's eye.
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