After experimenting for so long, Tom had gradually pieced together the rules behind the rewards of his "scholar system."
If he could use his academic prowess to influence the world, to reshape the environment in which he studied—rewards followed.
Of course, a single student stirring up the world was tedious business. But with Rouse acting as his hidden hand, everything became far more convenient.
As for exactly how Rouse carried out his work, Tom didn't bother to care. As long as he produced the "catfish effect," it was enough.
Closing his "WhatsApp" notebook, Tom shifted his consciousness into his small world to check on the state of his Runic Serpents.
The changes there were already considerable. The giant stones Tom had once placed were now riddled with burrows, and the air in that area was noticeably hotter than elsewhere.
The serpents had shed once already, and the quality of their discarded skins was excellent. Tom had collected them carefully—once he finished upgrading "WhatsApp," these materials would be put to good use.
But one problem still nagged at him.
Life was good. Eat, sleep, bask in the sun—repeat. And yet… why were they not reproducing?
Only two female serpents were pregnant. The rest? Not a twitch of progress.
The greatest failure of filial duty is leaving no heirs!
Tom had even consulted old Newt about the matter. The answer had been simple:
"Runic Serpents are naturally lazy creatures. To spark their biological urges, all three heads must agree. If even one slips into… shall we say, the sage's calm, then nothing will happen."
And at such times, Newt had hinted, "external aids" might be required to encourage their enthusiasm.
Cough, cough. His wording was vague, but Tom understood perfectly well.
Still, Newt hadn't studied the subject deeply—after all, the Runic Serpent was not yet endangered enough to require that kind of intervention.
So Tom decided to seek out a true Potions Master.
"Riddle… do you dare repeat that?"
Severus Snape fixed the boy with a stare cold enough to kill. He was certain this brat had finally grown too arrogant.
He was asking him—a Potions Master—to brew… that kind of potion?
"Professor, please don't think so crudely," Tom said with an expression of total seriousness. "This is for a far greater cause. My own knowledge base is insufficient. Only a master such as yourself could manage it. A student turns to his teacher when in need—what could be more reasonable?"
"Reasonable?" Snape let out a sharp laugh. "Reasonable, you little poltergeist?!"
"Professor, don't be so quick to refuse." Tom calmly laid his trump card on the table.
The Strengthening Elixir.
With Lady Greengrass' tireless efforts in gathering ingredients, Tom had accumulated all he needed for this rare potion. In his spare time, he had brewed quite a stock.
"What is this?" Snape asked, frowning at the crimson liquid in the vial.
Tom answered leisurely, "My progress is not merely talent and effort. This potion has played no small role."
Snape's face twitched, though he said nothing, simply staring at Tom as if waiting for the performance to unfold.
When he heard the Elixir's effects described, however, his expression changed.
"Riddle… are you certain this potion truly strengthens the very essence of life?"
A potion to enhance life itself?
That was something altogether different. Snape knew many recipes that could increase magical power, but such potions always carried a price—draining the future to bolster the present, leaving lasting scars. He had never dared touch them.
But this—this potion had no side effects. It enhanced, rather than diminished.
"Honest business, Professor. If I'm lying, I'll pay tenfold. You'll see the results immediately," Tom said with a dramatic flourish. "Not just me—Daphne, Hermione, even Astoria have all used it. No harm at all.
And really, Professor, wouldn't you like to step beyond your current limits? Though you'd still be no match for me, at least as Head of Slytherin, shouldn't you be stronger than the other Heads?"
Snape could only stare at him. "Riddle, I must admit—I envy how you can speak such outrageous words with a perfectly straight face."
"I merely acknowledge my strengths and weaknesses honestly. That, Professor, is something you cannot do. After all, aside from your skill in potions, you've no other virtues worth mentioning."
Snape drew in a deep breath. Even Voldemort himself had never needled him so. He wisely changed the subject.
"So. A… stimulating potion. For Runic Serpents. Is that right?"
"Exactly."
"Three bottles of your Elixir. And five Runic Serpent skins. Then I'll help you."
"Are you mad?" Tom retorted. "One bottle. Three skins. Professor, these are relic-grade potions. If you don't want them, plenty of others do. I hear one of Slytherin's former Heads—Horace Slughorn—was quite the Potions Master himself.
And they say he adored talented, ambitious students. Talent, I've never lacked. Influence? I'm not above using it. I daresay he'd be delighted to help me."
Snape's face tightened at the name.
He had asked so boldly because he thought Tom had no one else to turn to. But Slughorn… Slughorn was another matter entirely.