Snape wasn't wrong. A basilisk fifty meters long, covered head to tail in a hide with terrifying magical resistance, was far more troublesome to process than a handful of dragons.
Yesterday, Tom had planned to start dismantling it, but the moment he looked at the sheer size of the thing, he felt his scalp go numb.
So he simply froze the whole creature with an Ice-Sealing Charm, turned it into a massive basilisk-shaped ice sculpture, shoved it into an enchanted dragon-hide bag, and decided he'd deal with it… whenever he had the emotional capacity.
Now, with Snape volunteering as free labor, Tom was more than happy to accept.
He didn't doubt Snape's skill.
He doubted Snape's integrity.
Letting him handle the basilisk?
Tom suspected he'd lose more than a few brain cells the moment he turned his back.
Snape's chest rose and fell, livid. Yes, he would absolutely "skim a little off the top," but did Tom have to say it so bluntly?!
Dropping all pretense, he shot a glare in every direction, scaring off the curious little wizards who had been eavesdropping. Then he leaned close and spoke in a low growl:
"Riddle, I am the Head of Slytherin House. That basilisk is an heirloom of our Founder. Even if you won't hand it all over, I should at least get a share, shouldn't I?"
"Eating alone won't earn you any friends."
"Professor, you're mistaken."
Tom corrected him very seriously:
"First of all, Salazar Slytherin's personal property has nothing to do with Hogwarts. There are piles of dark-magic inheritances sitting in the Chamber of Secrets, why don't you ask Dumbledore for those?"
"There's dark-magic inheritances down there?" Snape froze, muttering, "Why… why didn't Dumbledore tell me?"
Tom stared at him pityingly.
So Snape truly knew nothing.
"Don't look at me like that," Snape snapped, cheeks flushing. "Inheritance can be discussed later. The basilisk, I'm getting a share. That's non-negotiable."
"No."
Tom refused instantly. "I wrestled that basilisk out of Voldemort's hands. What's wrong, Professor? Planning to collect interest on behalf of your former boss?"
"Nonsense!" Snape nearly jumped. "This has nothing to do with… with him! Just tell me what you want in return for basilisk flesh and fangs."
Tom clicked his tongue. "See? Isn't being straightforward easier? Nobody gets free handouts from me."
"Professor, my rune-scaled serpents are starving, you know. It's been ages and only a dozen little ones have hatched. Their future population depends entirely on you."
Snape's face turned sickly pale, then faintly green.
He had resisted for months, resisted the temptation of the strengthening potion, resisted the lure of physical enhancement, only to wind up here again: trapped, cornered, and apparently destined to brew bizarre potions for Tom Riddle.
Tormented by indecision, Snape struggled silently while Tom patiently waited, completely relaxed.
"…Fine. But I want some of the materials first. And then I'll brew your strengthening potion."
At last, after nearly two months of resistance, he caved.
"I can't give you the materials yet, they're not processed," Tom said bluntly. "But I'll give you one bottle of the strengthening potion now. The rest will be payment-on-delivery."
"…I want the basilisk eyes."
"They're destroyed," Tom said without hesitation.
The potions master looked as if someone had stabbed his heart.
"Sacrilege… utter sacrilege! Do you even understand what you've wasted?!"
Tom laughed. "If you really want basilisk eyes so badly, you could always hatch and raise your own. Just… keep your eyes open while it hatches, if you're feeling brave."
"In any case: you'll get some flesh, three fangs, and part of the gall bladder. Oh, plus one extra condition."
"…What condition?" Snape asked warily.
Tom's expression was unreadable. "You'll know when the time comes. It's a small matter."
Snape hesitated, but in the end reluctantly nodded.
Tom immediately produced a bottle of the strengthening potion, no theatrics, no delay.
Snape had a sudden, powerful urge to mug him. If he could just get his hands on Tom's vault of treasures, he could feast for a lifetime.
Too bad… he wouldn't win.
Tom was in a great mood.
As for the basilisk materials, he planned to break down part of the creature over the weekend, no point having Snape deliver potions while Tom himself couldn't uphold his side. His reputation mattered, after all.
But before that, something far more important needed to be done.
Publicity.
….
The next morning, students got their hands on the Daily Prophet and were stunned.
On the front page was a large illustration of a basilisk, beneath a bold headline:
"Shocking! Hogwarts Exposed as a Serpent's Nest, Twelve-Year-Old Wizard Saves the Future of Magical Britain!"
The article detailed the basilisk incident as though the reporter had been standing right there, describing the spells Tom used, how he decapitated the creature, every detail astonishingly accurate.
And in the final section, the reporter's tone turned biting:
"It is well known that Hogwarts is considered the safest place in the world under the leadership of Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the century.
Yet under his very nose, a basilisk carried out two attacks, one fifty years ago, costing a student their life, and another on last year's Halloween.
Fortunately, the latter incident claimed no lives.
Last weekend, when danger struck again, the one who stepped forward was not the esteemed Headmaster, but a second-year student.
Had Mr. Riddle not lured the basilisk away from the castle, preventing it from roaming freely inside, one can hardly imagine how many innocent students might have died.
Killing is effortless for a basilisk, one brief moment of eye contact is enough to claim a life.
This is no exaggeration: Mr. Riddle has saved the future of magical Britain.
Mr. Riddle should be awarded the Merlin Medal, Level One Merlin Medal, no less!