— — — — — —
Aragog let out a dreadful, keening whine, but there was no anger in it, only raw terror.
"Please, please—take it away. Hagrid, help me!" the giant spider begged, inching helplessly into the hollow.
How terrified were the Acromantulas of a basilisk? It was an instinct carved into their bones. Back when Aragog had been raised by Hagrid, he had known, in the deepest part of himself, that the castle housed something that could awaken such fear. He had never once dared speak the truth about it. Even when the world branded him a murderer, he kept quiet.
"Tom…" Hagrid's throat bobbed. His breathing and heartbeat were fast. He tried to say Tom's name but never finished.
Tom moved forward, calm as ever. He hauled the basilisk's corpse and laid it over Aragog as if it were still living.
The serpent's torso cracked down like a weighted whip. Tom didn't need to strike hard; the mere press of that ruined body across the spider king was enough to make him convulse.
"Please, my lord, merciful master, spare me! I was wrong—I was so wrong!" Aragog sobbed in a voice that sounded almost human. Hearing it made Tom's brow crease. The sound was painfully ugly.
Tom pulled the corpse away. Aragog recovered slowly, shaken to his core. Not a single spider dared return to his side.
"Stay where you are. Do not move." Tom toyed with his wand and spoke in a lazy tone. Every little twitch among the Acromantulas stilled immediately.
"I come with sincere intention," Tom said softly, though the tip of his wand flickered with a chill light.
"But only when you understand your place will you appreciate how valuable that sincerity truly is. Am I right, Aragog?"
"Master, I… hear and obey." Aragog lowered himself, posture humble, not daring a single infraction. "My eyes fail me. I am old, foolish, and blind. I did not perceive your power. For Hagrid's sake, please forgive me."
Tom's eyebrow rose. This spider could speak flatteringly when it needed to. Fifty years in the Forbidden Forest had not been wasted on Aragog. He had learned survival, and flattery.
Tom glanced at the Zodiac Palace in the study space—still no reaction. He smiled.
"Spiders can lie now?"
He stepped forward. His wand became a golden whip. The lash cracked through the trees behind Aragog. Dozens of trunks exploded outward in a spray of splinters and leaves.
"Aragog, one last chance," Tom said. "I know what you want. Your brood means little to you. You only care about yourself. Even now, old and near death, you wish only to live out your life in peace."
Tom's words landed like heavy hammers on Aragog's heart.
"You are pitifully weak compared to a basilisk. Let me think—what's the quickest way to kill you all?"
"How about burning?" Tom suggested.
A pale blue flame flared in his palm, swelling from a small ball into a falling sun. Heat rose so fast that Aragog felt the tiny hairs on his legs singe. He could not move. He dared not move.
Hagrid's throat worked. He swallowed with difficulty. "Is that… Fiendfyre?"
Tom narrowed his eyes, then slowly let the fire shrink until he pinched it out with one hand.
"Will you be a tamed sheep, living out your days in peace, or a lion who fights to the last?" he asked.
"Of course..." Aragog gasped. "I submit, master."
Survival is the root instinct. The closer an animal's mind moves toward human reasoning, the lower its final line becomes.
Because Aragog had been kept by wizards, he had learned to think like one of them. His descendants would panic but would not grasp the meaning of full submission. Sometimes too much intelligence only makes humiliation more rational and therefore more complete.
At that moment, the sixth Zodiac Palace ignited.
[Sixth Trial complete]
Tom smiled faintly and stepped back, settling onto a stone chair that formed beneath him.
"Aragog, congratulations. Welcome to the Riddle Corporation. You are now its second species employee."
"Employee?" the spider king echoed, bewildered. "What work can a spider do?"
"Manage your brood properly," Tom said. "I will come by regularly to collect venom. If any of your kind die, hand the bodies over to Hagrid."
Tom turned to Hagrid like an afterthought. "Hagrid, from now on can you come by each week and collect the spider corpses for me?"
Tom explained there were two types of Acromantula venom.
The first is the ordinary venom stored in the venom sacs—scarce and valuable, but nothing compared to the second. When an Acromantula dies, its corpse undergoes a mutation that produces a different venom. Each drop of that mutated venom could fetch nearly a hundred Galleons. It not only has powerful magical isolation properties, it's a perfect catalyst for many potions and alchemical processes—capable of leaping their quality forward.
Ordinary venom would be used for The Codex. The mutated venom was for Tom's own projects. In Slytherin's legacy there were a number of poisons and experiments that required that mutated venom.
Hagrid stammered when asked to help. "I don't mind… but the spiders always eat their dead. Carrion's the best feed for them."
"What kind of backwards custom is that?" Tom flicked his hand dismissively. "I don't care what other spiders do. At least in the Forbidden Forest, every Acromantula corpse belongs to me. Aragog, can you manage that?"
"Yes, Master. I can." Aragog swore it as if carving the words into his own shell.
"With my command, even if the younglings don't like it, they won't dare resist. I'll make sure Hagrid gets them intact."
Aragog had already bartered away his children to save himself. Hagrid wasn't about to oppose that, so he nodded along obediently.
Tom smiled. "Hagrid, I won't let you help me for nothing."
"N-no, Tom, I'm not—" The half-giant flailed his massive hands. "I come to the forest nearly every day anyway. This isn't any trouble. I don't want a reward."
"Just because you don't want it, doesn't mean I shouldn't give it." Tom cut him off. "In the Chamber of Secrets, I came across Slytherin's writings. His genius wasn't limited to magic—he also had unique insight into crossbreeding magical species. Otherwise he could never have raised a basilisk that survived for a thousand years."
"You don't want that knowledge?"
The mention of the basilisk made Aragog shudder violently, while Hagrid's eyes nearly popped out of his head. His breathing turned ragged.
Merlin's beard... he really did want that.
Hagrid's dream had always been to breed new magical creatures, filling his life with more "little darlings." Knowledge of Slytherin's crossbreeding methods? If he learned that, could he one day mate a dragon with a basilisk?
He couldn't force himself to say no. His face turned red as a beet as he mumbled a thank you.
Tom only gave a faint smile, telling him it wasn't necessary.
Why would Tom ever pass up a chance to profit by dangling someone else's legacy in front of them? He didn't expect Hagrid to betray Dumbledore or pledge his undying loyalty. All he needed was for the half-giant to keep collecting materials every week.
In this world, aside from Newt Scamander, no one was better suited to the job.
And hiring Newt would cost a fortune compared to Hagrid.
In short, Tom came out ahead.
"Aragog, bring your children back. Time to get to work."
At Tom's order, the old spider gave a shriek and began calling his brood. The Acromantulas who had fled earlier soon crept back, but this time none dared approach Tom or Hagrid. They kept their distance, trembling in the shadows.
Tom pulled out the containers he'd prepared in advance—three enormous glass jars, each the size of a carriage.
One for venom from adult spiders. One for venom from the younger ones. And the last, reserved for Aragog alone.
It took two hours of work before every spider had been drained. By the end, most collapsed weakly to the forest floor, their legs too wobbly to stand.
Pathetic, really. A little venom drained and they were already useless.
Tom decided not to overdo it. He couldn't afford to cripple the colony's reproduction; if the brood line collapsed, he'd just have to find another.
Leaving the forest, Tom promised Hagrid that he'd deliver the enchanted trunk he'd agreed on next week, then returned to the castle. Hagrid, still shaken, wandered distractedly into his vegetable patch and began turning over soil.
Today, Tom had truly unsettled him. It wasn't just the name anymore—it was his way of handling things.
Too domineering. More arrogant than "Riddle" had been back in the day, his presence rivaling Voldemort at the height of his power. Today it was the Acromantulas, but if it were people instead?
Would he force them down the same way?
Hagrid's mind wasn't built for this sort of question. The harder he thought, the more tangled his thoughts became.
"Hagrid! Hagrid!"
The repeated call jolted him from his daze.
"Professor Dumbledore? What are you doing here?"
Hagrid dropped his hoe and hurried out of the garden. He hadn't even noticed when Dumbledore had arrived.
"Pomona needs a batch of pest repellent," the old wizard explained kindly. "She thought you could pick it up in Knockturn Alley. She says you know which shop has the best stock."
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the patch of soil. A deep pit had been dug there, the mark of Hagrid's distracted digging.
"Something troubling you, Hagrid?"
"Well..." Hagrid scratched his shaggy head. "I just went into the forest with Tom."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's brows arched. "Tom? He doesn't really need you to escort him into the Forbidden Forest."
"It's like this..." After a moment's hesitation, Hagrid recounted everything that had happened.
Tom hadn't exactly intended to hide it. If he had, he wouldn't have brought Hagrid along in the first place. Taming a few spiders wasn't worth sneaking around for. If he had to live in fear of being seen for something so trivial, what kind of life would that be?
Hagrid, of course, wasn't trying to tattle. But after finishing, he noticed Dumbledore's silence, his furrowed brow, and quickly rushed to defend Tom.
"I was just spooked by the Fiendfyre, is all. I was worried he couldn't control it, that's all! But Tom's really a good lad—he even promised—"
He stopped himself abruptly, clapping a hand over his mouth. No way could he bring up breeding experiments or enchanted trunks. Those things were illegal.
"I don't doubt Tom," Dumbledore said gently, just as Tom had predicted. He wasn't angry. He even smiled a little. "Fiendfyre is not so dangerous to him. As long as he doesn't abuse it, I've no reason to interfere."
"It was simply a negotiating tactic. And wasn't the outcome favorable? No Acromantula deaths, and Tom got what he wanted."
"Then why do you look troubled, sir?" Hagrid asked in confusion. He'd known Dumbledore long enough to read the man's moods.
That expression—Dumbledore was wrestling with something thorny.
"No... it only reminded me of the past."
The old wizard's voice grew distant, his gaze faraway.
Fiendfyre was usually a blend of red and yellow flames, terrifyingly hot, cursed, and capable of shaping itself into forms.
But some wielders were different. They could conjure other colors, flames carrying unique properties.
But.... Blue Fiendfyre?
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