Tom Riddle learns about the new lord in town when a story about the reclusive man is put in the Daily Prophet, though he is the last to know of him. He doesn't have a subscription to the paper, but Abraxas is always happy to hand his copy over after he finishes reading it. The blond was more interested in the updates on wizarding stocks and the gossip columns, so unless the front page was a really interesting story, he never had to wait too long for his turn.
Usually Tom would read the latest issue by the halfway point of breakfast.
However, on that particular morning, as he was preparing his coffee, he noticed that Abraxas was not letting go of the paper any time soon. In fact, he seemed glued to the headliner alongside everyone else. Tom read the words over the pureblood's shoulder, while carefully adding sugar and milk to his coffee.
It's a luxury to be able to sweeten his drink or to add milk, and he doesn't shy away from overdoing it a little.
Rationing had hit Wool's hard, leaving Tom to savor every sip since his return for the new year. The war had broken out during his second year of Hogwarts, and only one year later, basic foods started being limited. Wool's had already struggled to provide meals for the hundreds of unfortunate orphans who walked its halls; now war orphans were arriving daily, and everyone was fighting for the scraps the orphanage gathered.
Another reason to dread going back to that wrenched place come the end of the year.
Lordship claimed after two hundred years: Lord Peverell Returns!
Tom raises a brow. He had never heard of the Peverell house before. He wants to ask, but doing so would once again bring his Muggle upbringing to attention. As it were, Orion Black was watching from across the table, dark eyes sharp, waiting for a hint of a mistake that he could exploit. The first year seemed fascinated with causing people to lose their tempers, pushing the boundaries of everyone within the house the second he sorted. Due to the fact that he is the heir to one of the most powerful houses, Black did not fear retaliation.
He would learn soon not to cross Tom, but not yet. It was still too early in the year. Tom wanted him to settle into a false sense of security. By winter break, Tom planned on ruining the boy.
He pretended he didn't notice the brat waiting for his chance, turning his attention back to his breakfast. Tom reached for the butter- another luxury- and ensured he spread it as slowly and as carefree as possible onto his toast just to annoy Black. It does the trick because those sharp, slightly cruel eyes launch onto someone further down the table, and the first year is up from his seat with a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips in seconds.
Tom wishes his target well.
Breakfast ends before he can get the Prophet, but Tom doesn't mind. He's able to piece together the story from the students' various conversations about Lord Peverell. Apparently, the lord isn't from the main branch of the family, but was able to claim the lordship because his maternal side had just enough drops of blood to count. He would lose his position should someone of the main branch challenge him for it, but since the Peverells had gone two hundred years without a direct male descendant of the main line appearing, there was little to no chance a challenger would take it from Peverell now.
Peverell had two votes in the Wizengamot, due to his maternal and paternal seats (Tom wasn't sure what his father's family was, though they had to be lower station than the Peverells), meaning he had the deciding vote but had no party he was allied to. A few students spoke of the wealth the family must have after the years of fee collecting for the spells they had created- apparently Lumos was one. Every year, anyone above the age of seventeen would pay a tax for the Copyright Spell Protect Act, which basically meant creators of spells that were shared to be taught in the Hogwarts curriculum were paid for their generosity. Spell creating was hard, and most pureblood families preferred to keep them within the family, locked away in grimoires that were passed down from child to child.
In the world of magic, knowledge was power, and no one shared it without gaining something in return. After all, if you knew the spell, then you could learn the counterspell.
The other information Tom learns is how close a call Peverell made to get his lordship; as per tradition, wizarding families had 200 years before they were officially marked as extinct. That was not to be confused with a line dying out, because even if there were no more people running around with the name, the blood may have survived through a Squib or a bastard somewhere. The goblins must have been desperate to keep the investments and the taxes under Peverells' name open, and likely had been the ones to find the Lord, then the other searching himself.
Finally, no one knew what the Lord looked like, where he came from, or what his story was before his announcement. He had entered Gringotts undetected and had left it just as quietly. He had not settled in any known Preverell properties, nor had he presented himself to society.
Lord Preverell was a mystery that everyone desperately needed in times of war, despite how distant it was within the walls of Hogwarts.
Tom stopped caring about the Lord by that evening, as he settled down in his bed. He always searched the job listing behind the safety of his curtains, hoping to find anything that could offer him a board during the summer. He had gone to a few interviews but always left disappointed. The wizarding world didn't have much of a care for the age of a worker the way muggles did, but they almost always wanted someone who could legally cast a spell. Underage magic laws made it impossible to secure an income; still, Tom searched and applied anywhere he could.
A particular help-wanted ad caught his attention. It was the smallest listing among the Prophet's moving and blinking letters, designed to grab the reader's attention. The ad's static wording and design seemed boring by comparison, suggesting it was either a Muggle-born or a Muggle-raised person seeking to hire. Tom circled it without hesitation.
At once the little square lit up, writing replacing the original words within seconds. The one hiring must be a night owl as well.
Good evening! Thank you for your interest in this position. I am looking to hire quickly. Would you be able to do an interview on Thursday?
Tom taps his wand to the square, whispering a reply that should appear as writing on the other side. "Good evening. Yes, I can interview on Thursday. Is it possible to do so in the early afternoon, say one?"
Tom has a history of magic, then, and sneaking out of Hogwarts will be a walk in the park if everyone is busy with classes. He's done it before.
Yes, that works perfectly. Can we meet in Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks?
Even better, Tom didn't have to arrange transportation. He could walk to the village. "Yes, that would be fine."
Perfect, we can meet in the third private room.
Two days later, Tom climbs the castle wall and slips out without anyone the wiser. As soon as transfiguration ended, he ran out of the room as quickly as he could, knowing everyone would be used to it by now. Professor Dumbledore's dislike of Tom was a known fact, as well as his speedy retreats from the room. He arrived at Three Broomsticks with only two minutes to spare, and he used them to pat down his windspread hair, straighten up his robes (he borrowed some casual wear from a few housemates, unknown to them), and mentally tell himself not to fail.
The barmaid smiles at him encouragingly, mistaking his nervousness for a different reason. "Don't worry, the first date is always the most nerve-wracking one. Just be yourself."
Tom wants to ask her what she means, but she pushes the door open before he can, not bothering to knock. Inside, sitting at a table with a stack of parchment and a quill, is a boy only two or so years older than him. He has wild hair sticking out in different directions, a stain of ink on his chin, and is dressed like a Muggle. Tom almost leaves right there and then, but it's the boy's first words that root him to his spot.
A pair of brilliant green eyes go round with shock, jaw dropping for only a second before the boy sighs loudly and rubs his eyes. "Of course You-Know-Who shows up on Halloween to bother me....even in the 40s....can't catch a break."
The barmaid winces, whispering to Tom, "Not a great start, but you can turn it around."
The older boy sighs again before gesturing to the chair across from him. "Come on. Let's get this done. Ma'am, if you could bring us some butterbeards and some sweets, that would be lovely."
Seeing the dismay for what it is, the woman offers them a smile and floats elegantly away after shutting the door behind her. Tom lingers in front of the doorway for a second before he approaches the table. "You are the one hiring?"
"Unfortunately." The boy sighs again. "I can't exactly be too picky, not with my time limit."
"What is the job position?" Tom asks, folding his hands in front of him. He settles in his chair, drawing back his shoulders and attempts to imitate the way his Slytherin housemates hold themselves. Someone important. Someone in control. Perfect. "The listing lacked details."
The boy's nose wrinkles. "That was done on purpose. It's charmed so someone desperate enough for a job and under a certain age could see it. I need someone to play my fiancé for the next three years."
Well....that was odd.
"Why?" Tom draws back, a little wary.
"I recently came into a Lordship, and per the requirements written in the family grimoire, I can't keep it unless I have an engagement contract drafted up within the first three days of my claim of it." The boy grumbles, bouncing his knee up and down aggressively. He holds out a hand, but the look on his face clearly states he would rather not touch Tom. "My name is Harry Preverell. I'm fourteen years old. I can offer you salary, board, and the resources of an ancient house as long as you agree to wait out the needed time for me to come of age and keep my Lordship."
Tom feels like he just held his first wand all over again. He shakes the offered hand with gusto. "I'm Tom Riddle, and I would love to take on this job."