Aragog whimpered like a dying nightmare, his vast body shaking uncontrollably. There was no anger left in him, only pure, marrow-deep fear.
"Please… please put it away! Hagrid, help me! I beg you!"
How terrified were Acromantulas of the basilisk?
Even at the height of Voldemort's power, wizards had never feared him with such primal horror. This was no learned fear, it was engraved in instinct. When Aragog was still young and kept by Hagrid, he had known the basilisk had awakened in the castle.
And even then, falsely accused of killing Moaning Myrtle, he didn't dare reveal the truth.
He was too afraid to even speak of it.
"H, To…"
Hagrid swallowed. His pulse hammered in his throat. His mind screamed the name, but he couldn't force it out.
First a dark lord named Tom Riddle, now this one… are all Toms cursed?!
"You think you can still run?"
Aragog tried to retreat fully into the pit, but Tom casually tossed forward the basilisk's corpse. Only twenty meters remained from dissection, yet the beast still fell like a stone pillar.
CRACK!
It slammed down like a whip, Tom barely put strength into it. It was little more than a tap.
But Aragog spasmed like he'd been electrocuted.
"I beg you, Master, merciful Master, spare me! I was wrong! I truly repent!"
Hearing an elder spider sob like a frightened infant was so pathetic that even Tom grimaced.
Disgustingly pathetic.
He retracted the snake remains. Aragog didn't stop shaking, but at least he slowly regained control of his limbs. Not a single child dared to return.
"Stand still," Tom said lazily.
Aragog froze instantly.
"I came with sincerity."
His voice was calm, but lightning flickered across his wand, sizzling the air.
"But sincerity means nothing until you understand your place. Isn't that right, Aragog?"
"Brilliantly spoken, my lord." Aragog bowed his massive head so low it scraped the ground. "I am old, nearly blind, and foolish beyond belief. Please forgive my ignorance… for Hagrid's sake."
Tom smirked.
This spider was more eloquent than half of Hogwarts.
But then his eyes flicked inward toward the silent palace in his mind, still closed.
Sincerity alone isn't enough, hmm?
"Oh? So even spiders have learned to lie."
He stepped forward. The wand cracked into a golden whip and swept once. Dozens of trees behind Aragog exploded, raining splinters like a storm.
"Last chance, Aragog."
"I know your desire. It isn't family. It's life. Long, uninterrupted, safe life. You don't care about your children. You care about dying peacefully… and not being eaten alive by your own kin."
Each word struck like a hammer against the spider's core.
"Compared to the basilisk, your species is laughably weak. Let me think… what's the quickest way to kill you?"
"Fiendfyre?"
Blue flames blossomed from his hand, igniting into a miniature sun. The air burned. Aragog's leg hairs shriveled and curled black, but he didn't move.
He didn't dare.
Not even to tremble.
Hagrid swallowed hard.
Fiendfyre?! A student has Fiendfyre?! Someone get Dumbledore, NOW!
Tom closed his fist, crushing the flame.
"Well? Die like a proud beast… or live like something obedient?"
Aragog didn't hesitate a single heartbeat.
"I submit, my lord! My children and I are yours!"
He bent his legs and lowered his fangs, presenting himself, spider-style submission.
The moment intelligence approaches human logic, dignity becomes expendable.
A beast with brains bows faster than a beast with pride.
The forest knew who ruled now.
And in Tom's mind, the Sixth Palace ignited.
Trial VI: Serpent , Completed.
Tom sat down. A stone chair sprang from the earth and caught him comfortably.
"Aragog," he said lightly, "congratulations. You are now the second species officially employed by the Riddle Consortium."
"Em… employee?" the spider repeated, baffled. "What work can a spider do?"
"Manage your children. I'll collect venom regularly. If any of them die, Hagrid will retrieve the corpses."
He turned to the stunned half-giant.
"Hagrid, come here once a week and gather spider corpses for me, understood?"
There were two kinds of Acromantula venom:
Normal venom, stored in the living spider's sacs, valuable, but merely special.
And post-mortem mutated venom, created only when an Acromantula dies. One drop could sell for close to a hundred Galleons. It blocked magic, catalyzed brewing, enhanced alchemy, beautiful, potent, priceless.
Tom needed the normal venom for WhatsApp production.
The mutated kind?
For himself.
Slytherin's legacy contained too many poisons and experiments requiring it.
Hagrid stammered, "I-I don't mind helping… but Acromantulas… they eat their dead. It's instinct. To them it's sacred. "