No potion master alive could resist the allure of rare materials,
and nothing screamed rare like the remains of a 5X-class magical creature.
A Basilisk.
They couldn't be bred or farmed. They couldn't even reproduce normally.
Each one had to be crafted, painstakingly raised by a dark wizard from a cursed egg.
Even Gellert Grindelwald, in all his brilliance, had nearly gone mad cultivating twenty Basilisk eggs.
And then Newt Scamander, the saint of magizoologists, had destroyed every last one.
No wonder Grindelwald had wanted to hex him into next week.
Snape, of course, had read every ancient record he could find on Basilisks,
recipes for potions infused with their flesh, their blood, even their scales.
He'd dreamed for years of experimenting with such ingredients,
and now one of the greatest sources of magical alchemy in the world lay sprawled dead before him.
His dark eyes gleamed red with desire.
And then, McGonagall had the nerve to give it all away with a single sentence.
Just… handed it to Riddle!
Snape's lips parted to object, but Tom moved faster, much faster.
Before anyone could stop him, he waved his wand, and the colossal serpent's remains vanished, sealed neatly into his enchanted storage.
Even the blood pooling across the grass didn't escape his notice. He drew his wand once more, murmured a charm,
and the silvery, viscous blood lifted from the ground in streams, gathering into a hovering orb before solidifying into a glass vial.
Not a drop wasted.
"Riddle, lad," came a deep, rumbling voice behind him.
The gargoyle, Hogwarts' ancient stone sentinel, landed beside him with a thud that shook the earth. Its granite wings folded proudly against its back.
"I'll be heading back now," it said, puffing out its chest. "But next time you've got something this fun, don't you dare forget me! Whoever your enemy is, I'll smash them to rubble for you!"
Tom almost laughed. Honestly, he was tempted.
The creature was nearly indestructible, resistant to both physical and magical attacks.
A perfect tank, if he ever needed one.
So he asked with a grin, "What if I meet enemies outside the school?"
The gargoyle froze, mid-boast.
"Outside the school? Why would you be outside?"
"It's called summer break," Tom deadpanned. "I can't live here forever, can I?"
He paused, arching a brow. "Speaking of which, you've been on duty for decades. Don't you ever get a holiday? How about you come with me next time? The world's huge. I'll take you to see it."
"The world's… huge… take me to see it…"
The gargoyle's stony expression softened. It blinked, almost dreamily. No one had ever said such words to it before.
"Ahem." McGonagall cleared her throat sharply, snapping the creature (and herself) out of it. If Riddle kept talking, she was certain Hogwarts would lose its gatekeeper tonight.
She turned toward the cluster of wide-eyed students still loitering at the courtyard's edge.
"Prefects and sub-prefects!" she barked. "Lead all students back to your dormitories immediately! No one is to remain in the castle corridors. If even one student is missing, the prefect responsible will write a five-thousand-word report! And if I catch anyone wandering about, detention for a month!"
Her tone brooked no argument.
Grumbling, the students began to disperse, though most dragged their feet, their curiosity burning.
Even the prefects looked reluctant to leave, they wanted to know what had really happened tonight.
Where had that Basilisk come from?
Who had unleashed it?
And why had something that dangerous been hiding beneath their school all along?
McGonagall turned to her colleagues. "Filius, Pomona, Severus, thank you. I'll need you to patrol the castle tonight. Once I've gathered the full account, I'll join you."
All three nodded at once.
Then her sharp eyes turned to Tom. "And you, Mr. Riddle, "
"Harry!" Tom suddenly called, catching the boy just before he slipped into the dispersing crowd. He turned back to McGonagall, his expression composed. "Professor, Harry and I need to visit that place again. You'll want to see it too, it'll explain everything faster if we talk on the way."
McGonagall hesitated, but the logic was sound. Harry had already mentioned the Chamber of Secrets, and now that Riddle was offering to show her directly,
"…Very well," she agreed.
As the trio began to leave, the gargoyle was still standing where they'd left it, lost in thought, its massive stone brow furrowed.
McGonagall sighed, half exasperated, half amused. "You should return as well, good sir. The Headmaster's office still needs its guardian. We can't have the entrance left open, it wouldn't do for appearances."
The ancient statue blinked, then straightened, flustered.
"Ah? Oh, right, right. Of course."
It turned back to Tom, its heavy jaw creaking into what might've been a grin. "Riddle, lad! Next time you come by, we'll have a proper chat! I'll hold you to that!"
And with a mighty thud, it leapt away, each jump leaving a crater in the ground large enough to swallow a Hufflepuff.
Harry watched nervously, wincing at every impact.
At this rate, he thought, the castle's staircases might not survive till morning.
Then he looked down at himself, at the hospital robe still hanging loosely around his shoulders.
…Right.
Even if the stairs did survive, he wasn't going back to his dorm tonight anyway.
To give McGonagall the clearest understanding of the situation, Tom led her straight to the second-floor girls' bathroom.
He politely asked Moaning Myrtle to leave, and when the ghost floated off in a huff, he turned to the sink, hissed a few sibilant syllables in Parseltongue, and the stone shifted open.
McGonagall's eyes widened. "Mr. Riddle… you can speak Parseltongue as well?"
Tom smiled faintly. "Professor, I learned it later in life, by study. Not like Harry here, who's a natural-born Parselmouth… a true dark wizard in the making."
Harry gave him a flat look.
McGonagall just sighed.
And together, the three of them descended into the depths below Hogwarts once more.