It seemed the trial had judged the gargoyle, the mischievous guardian of the Headmaster's Tower, as Tom's summoned ally, a creature called forth by his magic and fighting under his command.
Still, Tom wasn't about to let that stone brute steal his glory.
The Basilisk was clearly on its last breath, hissing weakly as its massive coils twitched across the shattered ground. With a flick of his wand, Tom ordered a few suits of armor to carry the protesting gargoyle off the field.
"Oi, Riddle, lad! I'm not done smashing yet!" the gargoyle bellowed indignantly, struggling against the enchanted armor.
"Next time," Tom said without looking up, his tone utterly perfunctory. "I promise you can smash to your heart's content next time."
Then he stepped forward, lifting his wand high.
Crack, crack, crack!
The hundreds of animated statues and armored golems halted as one. Whatever weapons they had once held, swords, maces, halberds, shifted and merged, reshaping into gleaming spears.
With a synchronized thrust, they drove those weapons upward.
The sound was like thunder splitting the air.
The spears pierced through the Basilisk's armor-like scales, through flesh and bone, lifting the enormous serpent, nearly fifty meters long, into the air like a monstrous skewer.
Its great tail lashed once, twice… and then fell limp.
It was over.
From Tom's back, a blinding white radiance flared. A towering phantom figure rose behind him, a blurred silhouette of a warrior, sword in hand.
Tom's voice rang out, low and resonant:
"Sever!"
The phantom's sword fell.
Every witness, students, professors, ghosts, watched in stunned silence as the gleaming blade cleaved through the air.
The Basilisk's massive head separated cleanly from its body.
A torrent of blood erupted from the wound like a crimson geyser, staining the stones beneath it.
For one perfect heartbeat, there was silence.
Then, an explosion of cheers that shook the castle walls.
"He did it! Riddle won!"
"He really killed the Basilisk! Merlin's beard, that's a 5X-class magical creature! Just looking at it could kill a person!"
"What was that final spell? That was insane! I want to learn that!"
"Forget being a wizard, I'm becoming a Swordmaster!"
For that moment, there were no Houses, no rivalries, no grudges.
Every student, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin alike, was on their feet, roaring Riddle's name.
It was as if a living legend had just unfolded before their eyes.
The hero had slain the dragon. The myth had become real.
And no one felt that pride more fiercely than the Slytherins.
Zabini, Nott, and the others, their eyes wide with awe, stared at the boy standing on the corpse of the great serpent, bathed in divine light.
Then, losing all restraint, they exploded into wild celebration, setting off enchanted fireworks inside the castle and shouting at the top of their lungs:
"Do you see it now?! Tom Riddle is the one true sun of Hogwarts!"
Even if Voldemort himself were to return from the dead, they knew, every single one of them, that they would stand beside Tom, not out of loyalty, but because they believed in his power.
"Riddle!"
The fiery circle surrounding the battlefield dimmed, its purpose complete. The creature that had maintained it, a blazing phoenix-like construct, soared back toward the Forbidden Forest under Tom's command.
With the Basilisk confirmed dead, the barrier spell lifted, and the professors finally rushed onto the scene.
At the front was Professor McGonagall, her face caught between a proud smile and a trembling fury.
"Mr. Riddle!" she snapped, her voice rising despite the grin she was clearly fighting to suppress. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was? That was a Basilisk, a thousand-year-old Serpent King! How dare you face it alone?!"
"Professor…" Tom shrank back slightly, feigning guilt. "I wasn't completely alone. Look, " he gestured at the still-marching statues, ", I had a few hundred friends."
McGonagall sputtered, half furious, half envious. "But I wanted to use Piertotum Locomotor!"
She froze immediately, realizing what she'd just blurted out in front of everyone.
The awkward silence that followed could've swallowed a Hippogriff.
She cleared her throat hastily, straightening her robe. "What I meant to say is, I am more practiced with that spell. As a professor, I cannot allow a student to take such dangerous risks!"
From behind her came Snape's unmistakably oily chuckle.
"Well, well… who would've thought? Riddle, making the same impulsive choices as a Gryffindor. If it were Potter doing something this brainless, I wouldn't be surprised, but you…" He smirked. "Perhaps the Sorting Hat does make mistakes."
Hidden behind a group of students, Harry's face went utterly blank.
In his mind, he cast the Cruciatus Curse on Snape a hundred times in rapid succession.
Tom merely rolled his eyes, ignoring the bat-like man entirely.
He turned back to McGonagall, his voice sincere.
"Professor, it wasn't about being a hero. I just wanted to protect everyone else. If all the professors had gone to fight the Basilisk, then who would've kept the younger students safe? They didn't have the counter-charm to resist its gaze."
McGonagall paused, eyes softening.
Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick exchanged approving looks, nodding silently.
Finally, McGonagall sighed and placed a hand over her chest. "I understand your intentions, Mr. Riddle. Truly, I do. But you must remember, you are still one of the students we are sworn to protect. Promise me you will not put yourself in danger again. Understood?"
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Tom said quickly, nodding like an obedient child.
Snape's eyes rolled so hard they nearly left his skull.
Riddle, needing protection?
The day Hogwarts found someone capable of protecting him would be the day dragons started teaching Potions.
He was just opening his mouth to deliver another snide remark when Tom casually added:
"Oh, right, Professor. About the Basilisk, its hide and venom, they're mine, aren't they?"
McGonagall blinked, caught off guard. "Of course. It's your trophy, your victory. The school wouldn't dream of taking what you've rightfully earned."
Snape froze.
What?!
He wanted to shout no! To claim it for the Potions department!
Did McGonagall have any idea how much Basilisk venom and hide were worth?!
He could already see the galleons slipping through his fingers.
McGonagall, you ruinous woman! he thought, clutching his chest in silent agony. Do you realize how much money, no, how many priceless materials, you've just given away?!
And beside them, Tom Riddle, calm, composed, and faintly smiling, pretended not to notice the Potions Master dying inside.
The battle was over. The Serpent was dead.
And Hogwarts' "sun" burned brighter than ever.