Chapter 5: Purchase Proposal

When Tom reappeared in the bright, spacious area of Abraxas' living room, he was alone on the couch. The few others in the room were engaged in quiet conversation with each other, but most of the seats were unoccupied.

"Nearly everyone is still playing," Barty said from behind Tom's shoulder. "Some of the games take longer than others." He came around the side of the couch and sat down on Tom's left. "Who did you pick? Slytherin, I assume."

"I did." Tom opened a private holo-screen to view his inventory. His prize gleamed faintly green and silver, signifying its ultra-rare status. Salazar Slytherin's Locket. Tom sucked in a slow breath, savouring the moment, the proof of his success. He was officially the Heir of Slytherin. If he was to check his profile, the option to add that in-game title would be there.

"Tom?" Barty asked, nudging him. "Something good?"

Tom opened the locket's function menu and glanced through the options. Quickly, he activated its multi-item function and transformed it into a different item: Salazar's Cloak. The item's sheen remained, but it was less noticeable than before. A peek at the market revealed the going rate was hovering at the four million mark. Respectable for someone of his reputation.

"The Cloak," Tom said, summoning the item to his palm. A miniature version of it hovered there for a few seconds before he closed his fist and banished it.

Barty whistled. "Not bad. Not one of mine, but we can't have everything."

"And yourself?" Tom asked politely.

Chagrin coloured Barty's cheeks. "Ah, well, I decided on more of a... shall we say... adventurous route?" To Tom's questioning look, he added, "I chose Gryffindor."

That explained why Barty had finished so soon. He was a clever man with many admirable traits, but courage and chivalry were hardly the most prominent of them.

"Did you get something decent out of it, at least?"

Barty's face soured further. "No. One of Brown's gaudy item designs. Fairly common, so I'll wait for the value to stabilize before I see about selling it off."

"Fair enough." Tom lounged back in his chair, attempting a casual demeanour, but his nerves were shot from the game. He could barely keep still. It took every ounce of willpower to maintain a calm, to stop himself from checking his inventory every other minute. "What was your task?" he asked, determined to distract himself. "I assume you already know mine."

"I had to steal a golden egg from a Hungarian Horntail," Barty groused. "I had no stats and no useful spells. They gave me Accio, but not Stupefy, if you can believe it. Summoning doesn't even work on the egg! At least a proper Stupefy might have helped to confuse the damn thing. Who needs to summon the dragon they're trying to steal from?"

Tom frowned. "Did you try summoning anything else?"

"There was nothing else! Rocks, boulders. Dirt." Barty scoffed. "As if rocks would hurt it."

While Barty complained about the dragon, more guests returned from their games and recounted their stories. Overall, there was a mix of successes and failures. With each new story, Tom gained deeper insight into the mechanics involved with the Hogwarts Legacy box.

First of all, each of the tests had taken place either at or around the Founders' castle.

Gryffindor's dragon task was located in the large arena that was typically used for Quidditch matches. Tom suspected that the Accio Charm had more purpose than had Barty given it credit for—not that he would say so to the man's face.

Ravenclaw's examination had taken the form of a hedge labyrinth filled with puzzles. Although it was unusual for the game creators to reuse concepts, a labyrinth challenge would admittedly work well for culling the participants. Intimate study of the previous Snitch saga run would aid a prospective heir with the newer, more challenging version.

Hufflepuff's test, which was located in the Great Lake outside the castle, had been shockingly complex. A waterlogged Bellatrix spoke of aggravated merpeople who had held her beloved hellhounds Sweetie and Ruby hostage. No doubt it had not occurred to her to attempt diplomacy.

Eventually, the topic of the game exhausted itself. Those who wanted to trade did so, while the rest planned to wait until the market settled before selling off their unwanted items. In short order, several people departed; Tom wished he could have been one of them, but unfortunately he would be expected to keep up appearances a while longer.

When Bellatrix finished recounting her tussle with the merpeople, Barty turned his attention back to Tom. "How is the work on your estate going, by the by? Abraxas told me you purchased some services from the company that did his gardens."

Suddenly, every single useless fact about garden items that Myrtle had told him was gone. What came to mind was not the garden swing, or the birch trees, or the neat rows of trimmed hedges. All Tom could think of was Harry. Viridescent eyes and tiny, lopsided smile. Baggy clothes and skinny stature.

Harry was unlike other bots. He was so very realistic, and that echo of humanity had influenced Tom's perception of him. Tom might have claimed it was the mystery of Harry's personality that had drawn him in, but that was not the whole truth.

There was a significant part of him that wished to protect Harry. Keep him close, keep him safe. Set him free from the virtual shackles that bound him to his owners. Because Harry was brilliant at what he did, he was wonderful at it, and Tom loathed to think that people like Petunia Dursley were profiting off of Harry's hard work.

Though Harry was only a bot, he deserved to work on gardens that brought him joy, gardens that permitted him to exercise his creativity in a positive, uninhibited way. He deserved to work without the fear that Tom had glimpsed in the upstairs bedroom of Riddle Manor.

"Let me show you," Tom said to Barty, thinking it would be easier that way. He pulled up the photos he had shown Myrtle the other day and explained the changes that Harry had made since then. "I will be adding a terrarium somewhere," he added, "for snakes. The bot—" Harry, his brain filled in, the bot's name is Harry. "The bot has yet to decide where it ought to go."

"That's very clever of you," Bellatrix said thoughtfully. "Terrariums for people may no longer be in style, but I think we've forgotten what they were originally intended for. Such a vintage idea, Tom, how delightful!"

"Delightful," Tom echoed, then seized the temporary pause in conversation as his chance to escape. "Speaking of, I must go check on the bot's progress." He rose to his feet and smiled. "I'll say goodbye to Abraxas before I leave. It was nice seeing you both."

Barty echoed the farewell, offering a half wave in response. Bellatrix tried to convince him to stay longer, but Tom was not feeling generous. His desire to socialize had died as soon as he'd finished the game.

Now that Salazar's Locket was in his possession, he had a lot of planning to do. The locket was his ticket to freedom. Once he sold it, he could move out of his flat and buy a proper house in a safer area. He could buy some nicer clothes and start to look for a real job. People would take him more seriously when his address wasn't some dump in the middle of London.

Now incensed, Tom shook himself out of those thoughts and went to bid Abraxas goodbye. One brief conversation later, he was finally free to go. Tom brought up the coordinates of his house and Apparated home.

When Tom materialized in the master bedroom, his instinct was to step out onto the balcony. Harry was down below, firmly entrenched in the gardens and working on a group of trees. The hedges from before were trimmed to perfection; the long, languid form of a hedge snake reminded Tom of Slytherin's basilisk.

As Tom watched, his excitement from the game faded until it was a distant thing, detached from the tranquil atmosphere of the manor grounds.

Harry cycled through several tree designs before he settled on a juniper. The sapling appeared, already buried in the ground, and force-grown using credits. Harry then retrieved his virtual clippers and set to work sculpting the shape. Soon, leaves and twigs were littered across the ground like sprinkles

Tom tore his gaze away and went downstairs. Harry glanced up as the back door opened. His bright eyes contained the barest hint of curiosity in them—however, it was unlikely Harry would satisfy this curiosity by asking where Tom had been.

"The hedges look wonderful," Tom praised as he drew near, hands pressed casually into the pockets of his trousers.

"I'm glad you like them." Harry smiled, the left side of his mouth tilting upwards. "How was your afternoon?"

It was funny how a simple question from Harry could spur an urge to share absolutely everything. Was it Harry's modesty that had endeared him to Tom so deeply? Tom had never taken well to those who were boastful, often thinking to himself that most had truly little to boast about.

"It went well," Tom settled for saying. He did not know how much Harry would share with his owners if asked, so it was safer to say nothing. Then, after further consideration, Tom added, "I will have better news in a few days, I suspect."

Harry nodded. "I hope I'll be around to find out, then."

Tom could make that happen. In fact, he could do even more than that. With the wealth he stood to gain, he could purchase Harry from his owners. The saleswoman, Petunia, was susceptible to Tom's charms, and perhaps her husband would be no different. Simple-minded people like the Dursleys did not deserve such a priceless treasure. What they deserved, really, was retribution for their poor treatment of Harry.

"I think," Tom said, "there is an excellent chance you will be. As I said, I am willing to extend your contract—"

Harry's levity faltered a moment. "You don't have to do that."

Again, there was that modesty. Tom shook his head. "I want to. I enjoy your company. I'd like to have you around for as long as possible."

Harry frowned and adjusted his glasses. "Don't tell them that. They'll charge you more if they know."

Tom nearly laughed. Instead, he took a step closer and tried to convey his honest intentions with the warmth of his gaze. "Harry, I appreciate your concern, but you needn't worry about me. I can take care of myself." And you, he did not add. "Whatever the additional cost may be, trust that I can afford it." Though Harry did have a point—it would be better to make the purchase offer now rather than extend the contract and let on just how valuable he believed Harry to be.

Harry fiddled with the handle of his clippers. "It will be…" he trailed off and bit down on his lower lip. "It will be worse, I think, when I have to leave."

Tom couldn't quite decipher the meaning behind that statement. Surely not all of Grunnings' clients were so terrible? Surely to stay here, even a short while longer, was a welcome offer?

"Do you like it here?" Tom asked instead, hoping to redirect the conversation. Knowing that Harry had to be honest made it easier to ask.

Harry shrugged, but his gaze dropped to the dirt below their feet, which was all the answer Tom needed. Even if Harry was not perfectly content here, he would be safe, and that was what mattered.

"I'll return tomorrow," Tom promised. Slowly, he raised his hand and settled it on Harry's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Take your time."

Harry half-nodded and glanced at where Tom was touching him. If he was uncomfortable, he was doing a great job of hiding it.

Tom pulled his hand away and, with some regret, disconnected.

After making his excuses to Myrtle, Tom returned to his own apartment to have his first meal of the day.

While he ate, he drafted a purchase proposal to send to Grunnings. If he was charming enough and clever enough, if his offer was generous but not too generous, he would convince the Dursleys to sell Harry to him.

In the best case scenario, his plan would succeed. If it failed, he would have to consider other avenues of procurement. Perhaps he could scope out their security systems and gauge how much it would cost to hire a competent hacker. Tom had the connections to arrange for such a thing and the Dursleys did not strike him as proactive people.

What stayed Tom's hand was the risk. He had to be careful going forward. There was a great deal to be gained, but there was also a great deal to be lost. Winning Salazar's Locket from the mystery box had changed everything. If he was caught, he would end up in prison.

Theft was an action that could only be taken if he was sure he would succeed. Tom would speak with Harry to unearth more information about this 'wholesome' family business before he made any rash decisions.

Tom reviewed his proposal draft. It was an artform of sorts, to compose one of these. The proposal could not look too professional, lest the Dursleys feel intimidated by him and refuse to negotiate. Nor could it seem amateurish, which would diminish the seriousness of the offer. Tom knew these kinds of people very well. They were stupid, greedy swines who would bleed him dry if given half the chance; doubly so if they knew about the ultra-rare item sitting in his inventory.

It was with a sinking feeling in his stomach that Tom realized he would have to spend more time with Myrtle Warren.

She was the only person who lived in this building whose motivations he trusted. She believed they were friends and so she would not sell him out for a quick paycheck; Myrtle was the only one who could watch over him while he was connected to the virtual world, and didn't that speak volumes about how absolutely piss poor his situation was, that he had to rely on a woman who lived alone with her cats to be his bodyguard?

Luckily, Tom was used to—not quite accepting, but rather, moving on from obsessing over—situations that were out of his control. Tomorrow morning, Tom would show his purchase proposal to Harry and ask for feedback before he presented it to Petunia Dursley.

Tom had not given Harry much of his personal information. Not the names of his associates, not the work that he did, not where he lived in the real world. While his identity remained a secret, he could bluff and manipulate his way into the result he wanted. Anonymity was key. In the eyes of the Dursleys, Tom was a moderately-wealthy player with some connection to Abraxas Malfoy. This gave him a measure of protection. There was nothing for Harry to give away if his owner asked about Tom Riddle.

Tom spent the rest of his day researching third-parties to broker the sale of his locket. In cases where such sales went wrong, the game moderators tended to side with the victims who lost credits and items to scammers.

However, Tom also had another, more pressing concern—namely, whoever brokered the deal would have some level of access to his life outside the game.

There was no avoiding this. The laws and regulations around bank accounts were too severe for the transfer of such a large sum to go unnoticed. Even the strictest levels of security could not protect him, a nameless orphan in one of London's poorest neighbourhoods, from scrutiny. At the very least, he would expect his name to be made public, mostly likely by the game itself, once the Hogwarts Legacy release ran its course.

Which meant, again, that his current advantage lay with his anonymity. He needed to act quickly. Tom scoured the internet for the best of the best, for those brokers who were known to be kind as well as competent.

Eventually, he narrowed his options to not one, but two people: a pair of brokers who were said to be ruthless with both efficiency and ethics. The man, described as irritable and ornery, was proclaimed to be 'the most paranoid bastard in the industry', whereas the woman, the friendlier of the two, according to most, was praised for her flexibility, firm neutral stance, and general down-to-earth attitude.

The duo had begun working together over the past year, which was a benefit in Tom's eyes. Better if they were less familiar with each other; they would be less likely to conspire against him.

Tom sent them an encrypted message from a throwaway account he had made for these kinds of dealings, and received a one-word response right away.

Proof?

Fair enough. But how to provide it? Photos and videos could be doctored, and Tom would never agree to a meeting with strangers he had no reason to trust.

Minutes passed while Tom considered the problem. The Hogwarts Legacy was only on its second day of release; most of the item drops had yet to be discovered or listed on the market. He could provide evidence in the form of a list, the entire Hogwarts Legacy catalog compiled into screenshots. As the items were revealed, his ownership would be relatively confirmed. The downside of this plan was it would take time that he could not necessarily afford.

However, he could not think of anything better, so it would have to do. Tom wrote back with his idea and waited.

Nearly half an hour later, he was still waiting. Tom got up to make something to eat. When he returned to his desk, there was a new response waiting for him.

They had sent him a detailed list of questions about the Hogwarts Legacy items. Relieved at the simplicity of this task, Tom promised a completed questionnaire the following morning, copied the list down into a notebook, and disconnected from his secondary account for the evening.

Tomorrow, he would log onto Hogwarts, gather the answers to the brokers' questions, then speak with Harry about his purchase proposal.

A/N:

wooo! funnily enough, i've made a surprising amount of progress on this story as of late. you may expect another chapter in the next little while.

comments are loved and encouraged to help motivate me while i churn this out!