"Eating the dead is sacred to them," Hagrid explained nervously. "It's their instinct. Their… best nourishment."
"What a barbaric old habit." Tom dismissed it with a wave. "Other spiders can keep it. But here, all Acromantula corpses belong to me. Aragog, can you enforce that?"
"Yes, my lord." Aragog vowed without hesitation.
"With your command, they will not dare resist. I will preserve what Hagrid collects."
The spider king had already sold out his children for survival; Hagrid could hardly object now. He nodded obediently.
Tom smiled. "Hagrid, I won't make you help me for nothing."
"N-No, Tom, I'm not, " Hagrid waved his giant hands frantically. "I don't want any payment. I come here almost every day anyway, it's not, "
"You don't want payment," Tom cut him off, "but that doesn't mean I shouldn't reward you. In the Chamber, I gained access to Slytherin's research. His knowledge wasn't just in magic, he studied cross-species fusion. Otherwise, he couldn't have bred a live basilisk in the first place."
Hagrid froze, eyes going wide, breath suddenly ragged.
Crossbreeding… magical creature genetics… Slytherin's methodologies…?
Hagrid's dream had always been to create new magical species, to nurture beasts no one had ever seen. The man worshipped creatures more than logic. And now…
Could he breed something even more impressive than manticores or thestrals?
He wanted to refuse, he truly did, but the word "No" simply died in his throat. His cheeks reddened, and all he could manage was a tiny:
"…Thank you."
Tom nodded calmly.
It wasn't generosity, it was investment.
He didn't need Hagrid's loyalty or betrayal of Dumbledore. He just needed weekly labor.
And there was only one person besides Newt Scamander capable of such work.
But the difference was simple:
Newt cost a fortune.
Hagrid came practically free.
Business was… profitable.
"Aragog, summon your children. Work begins now."
The spider king screeched. The entire colony returned, but kept a terrified distance from Tom, huddling like students awaiting exam results from the world's most violent professor.
Tom produced three enchanted vats, each as large as wagon carriages.
One for adult venom,
one for juvenile venom,
and the last, for Aragog alone.
Extraction began.
Two hours later, every spider lay twitching on the ground, legs limp, too exhausted to stand.
Pitiful. Such weaklings.
Tom decided to ease up.
Overexploitation today meant no workers tomorrow.
He promised Hagrid he'd deliver his portable magical chest next week, then left the forest satisfied. Meanwhile, Hagrid wandered into his garden in a daze, tilling soil like a zombie.
Tom's ruthlessness was terrifying.
Yesterday, his name alone frightened people.
Today, his actions did.
More tyrannical than the old "Tom Riddle." Nearly as oppressive as Voldemort at his peak.
If today it was Acromantulas…
what if it were people next?
Hagrid's mind couldn't wrap around it. The more he tried, the more tangled it became.
"Hagrid! Hagrid!"
A familiar voice snapped him back. He dropped his tools and rushed out.
"Dumbledore?! When did you, how long, ?"
"That plot of soil has suffered quite the ordeal," the Headmaster observed lightly. "Pomona needs a pest repellent from Knockturn Alley. She hopes you'll purchase it. You know which shops make the better batch."
Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes lingered on the giant pit Hagrid had dug.
"Is something troubling you?"
"I… I was with Tom in the forest," Hagrid admitted after hesitation.
"Oh?" Dumbledore lifted a brow. "Riddle hardly needs assistance to enter the forest."
Hagrid clenched his jaw, then told him everything.
Tom hadn't intended to hide any of it. Controlling dangerous beasts was nothing illegal.
If he had to sneak around just to handle spiders, life would be unbearable.
But as Hagrid finished, panic flashed across his face.
"I only, only got scared of the Fiendfyre, Professor. I was worried he couldn't handle it. But Tom's a good lad, he even promi- "
He slapped a hand over his own mouth too late.
Dumbledore chuckled softly.
"I don't doubt Mr. Riddle's intentions. Fiendfyre is dangerous, but so is flying, and I don't ban that either. As long as he doesn't misuse it, this old man will not interfere."
"It was simply… a negotiation strategy. No lives were lost, and Mr. Riddle achieved peace."
Hagrid squinted at him. "If that's true… why do you seem unhappy?"
Dumbledore's gaze grew distant.
"No. I merely remembered someone else."
Fiendfyre was normally a chaotic swirl of red and gold, a searing magical curse that devoured what it ignited.
But Tom's flame was blue.
Blue Fiendfyre belonged only to wizards who altered the spell, who fused extra properties into its structure, making it not just destructive…
…but personal.
Someone else once used blue Fiendfyre.
That memory chilled Dumbledore more than the fire itself.
Someone who changed the world with flames not of wrath, but of ambition.
Someone who terrified him far more than Voldemort ever did.
Tom wasn't walking in Voldemort's footsteps.
He was walking in that person's steps.
And that was far more dangerous.