"A heist?" Tom asked, his consciousness settling into the grey mist of the Learning Space. "You, the embodiment of justice, are suggesting we steal?"
"It's not stealing if it's for the sake of your progress!" Andros declared without a hint of shame. "Besides, that man has things you need. Things I need for you."
He then launched into a lecture on his philosophy of combat. "Magic is a wizard's primary weapon, Tom, but you must not neglect the power of the flesh! Huge muscles, passionate combat! A strong body allows you to dodge, to strike faster. In close quarters, a fist is often more useful than a spell."
Andros, it turned out, had a complete regimen for physical enhancement, a series of powerful, ancient potions. The ingredients were fantastically rare and expensive—dragon heart, sphinx eyes—and nearly all of them were sitting in Snape's private stores, unprotected by any magical alarm.
"I'm in," Tom agreed instantly. A professor should be willing to sponsor a student's education, after all.
He returned to his dormitory later that evening, cloaked in a Disillusionment Charm, to find his roommates celebrating his downfall.
"He's gone! Surely he's been expelled!" Rosier crowed.
Tom let the charm drop.
The celebration died in their throats. Three faces turned pale with terror. Using a combination of silent, non-verbal spells Andros had taught him, Tom levitated them, bound them, and forced them to their knees.
"You thought I was gone?" he asked, his voice a low whisper.
After a brief but effective session of punishment, Tom turned to psychological warfare. "Who was the brilliant strategist who suggested telling the professor?"
The three boys remained silent, bound by a sliver of pure-blood pride.
"No one wants to talk?" Tom's wand began to glow with a faint, sickly green light. "Excellent. I've just learned some delightful new hexes. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to practice."
"It was Rosier!" Zabini shrieked, breaking instantly. "He said his parents were friends with Professor Snape!"
"Zabini, you traitor!" Rosier howled.
Tom smiled. He released Zabini and helped him to his feet. "Blaise," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "I am so glad you've seen the error of your ways."
He then proceeded to give Rosier and Nott a far more severe punishment, all while Zabini watched in horror, realizing he had made the right choice.
"Now," Tom said, turning to the bruised and weeping boys. "About the emotional distress you've caused me. My time is valuable. An afternoon wasted dealing with you and the professor… that requires compensation."
He produced three pre-written IOUs. Ten Galleons each. For "emotional damages." Payable upon graduation.
Defeated, the boys handed over their money. For Nott and Rosier, it was half their allowance for the entire term. The small, fragile alliance between the three pure-bloods was shattered, replaced by fear, resentment, and betrayal. The law of the dungeon was simple: might makes right. And Tom was the mightiest.