For nourishing spiders, the Essence of Life was more than sufficient. There was no need to slaughter magical creatures outright. Periodic blood extraction was enough to refine what he required.
For a fleeting instant, a dangerous thought crossed Aragog's mind.
What if he kept all the Essence for himself?
The idea vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
Foolishness meant death.
If he dared to seize it, he might survive long enough to drink it, but not long enough to enjoy the benefits.
As long as he followed Tom, as long as the venom of the Acromantulas retained its value, he would continue to live.
"My lord," Aragog said, lowering his massive body in a trembling bow, "once the growth of my kin is secured, I swear we shall increase production for you."
Tom inclined his head slightly.
"You are an intelligent spider. Do not entertain foolish ambitions. I am certain many among your offspring would gladly replace you, feasting on your corpse the moment you fall."
Under Aragog's repeated vows and prostrations, the boy's figure dissolved like mist in the night.
No beast, however cunning, could match the malice of human hearts. With both temptation and threat firmly in place, Tom had no doubt Aragog would exploit not only himself but every descendant beneath him.
...
Back in the dormitory, Tom had intended to go straight to sleep.
Instead, his enchanted notebook lit up with a friend request.
He smiled faintly and accepted it, adding a remark almost immediately.
[Tom: That was quick. You already got one?]
[Cassandra: Just had someone bring it from Germany. It is unbelievable. I am in North America and speaking to you in real time. Even more unbelievable is that this is your creation.]
[Tom: I would not call it a creation. I merely adapted Muggle techniques and concepts.]
[Cassandra: In the magical world, that counts as an invention. Muggles do not have your version. Do not pretend otherwise.]
[Cassandra: Why did you not release it in North America?]
[Tom: Production capacity. And distance. I also lack anyone trustworthy over there.]
The American continent was where Tom's influence was weakest. The remnants of Grindelwald's followers had no foothold there. He could hardly ask Newt and Tina to handle distribution, and in any case, neither of them had the temperament for business.
[Cassandra: Give me stock. I will sell it.]
[Tom: I do not know your family well enough. No.]
[Cassandra: Not my family. Me. You said capacity is limited anyway. Since you cannot expand globally yet, let me sell it at Ilvermorny. I guarantee I will earn more than you do in Britain.]
Across the ocean, Cassandra stared at the notebook, heart pounding as she waited for his reply.
She had resolved this summer to become fabulously wealthy. With enough Galleons, she would one day use money itself as leverage against Tom.
But she had struggled to find an opportunity. As a student, her mobility was limited. Only after seeing the enchanted notebook in action and finally acquiring one herself did clarity strike.
This was her chance.
Though she could not help noticing the irony.
Sell Riddle's goods.
Use the money to overpower Riddle.
It sounded suspiciously improper.
Tom considered it.
It was not a bad idea.
Establish brand recognition at Ilvermorny first. Once production increased, expansion would be far smoother.
[Tom: Very well. I will send you stock in a few days. I require only my standard retail price. Whatever extra you earn is yours.]
[Cassandra: Deal. And hurry up. Do not delay my fortune.]
Tom closed the notebook with a puzzled expression.
Had Cassandra not once treated wealth as beneath her? Now she sounded like a budding miser.
Was the Voray family on the brink of bankruptcy?
...
Early the next morning, many students stumbled out of their common rooms yawning.
Most had spent the entire night finishing homework. Even those who had completed it earlier were revising furiously. Placement exams loomed only two days away.
Yet there were always a few students whose curiosity outweighed their sense.
Three Gryffindors, driven by morbid fascination, sneaked toward the castle gates at dawn to experience the sensation of standing near a Dementor.
They nearly did not make it back.
Hagrid discovered them, pale and barely conscious, and carried them inside like errant chicks before delivering them straight to Professor McGonagall.
Upon hearing what they had done, McGonagall was so furious she nearly fainted.
She had issued a clear warning only yesterday. On the first day of term, they chose to challenge the rules.
Gryffindor's hourglasses lost a significant portion of points.
The three students received two weeks of detention. Not merely on weekends, but every single day after classes under Filch's supervision.
"A group of fools," several Slytherins sneered when they heard the news. "No growth whatsoever."
Once, they had regarded Gryffindor as rivals. Now, some felt almost insulted to share the same competitive arena.
"Oh, Malfoy," Tom said suddenly, turning toward him. "Send me your father's WhatsApp. I forgot to ask earlier."
Malfoy complied immediately, flipping open his notebook to retrieve it. He also added Tom as a contact, making a deliberate show of his Professional Edition cover before closing it.
Even in Slytherin, students whose families spent a hundred Galleons on the premium version were few.
"What are you so proud of?" Zabini muttered, producing his own. Then Rosier followed suit. Nott, looking miserable, reluctantly revealed his standard version. His family name was ancient, but the coffers were not overflowing. He had purchased even the basic model with his own allowance.
Tom paid little attention to their childish competition.
In fact, he silently encouraged it.
Without envy, without hierarchy, how could he profit?
"Come on, Daphne."
After breakfast, Tom rose and headed toward the Charms classroom with her.
The first lesson of the new term awaited.