Chapter 3: Queen of Hepzibah
When Tom returned to England from Albania, he was pleased that no one was talking about how he had departed from the country for several weeks under mysterious circumstances. From the absence of chatter, it appeared that no one important anyway was even aware he had breached Hogwarts Castle even for just a short time and spoken with the Grey Lady. And no one knew about Albania. The authorities might find the body of that peddler he had murdered eventually, but it was a poor bastard whom no one would miss and at any rate, it was doubtful the Aurors would be alerted to something that seemed so ho-hum on the face of it: a pauper dead in the woods.
Nevertheless, people all over the British Isles were talking about Tom Riddle, but not out of any suspicion. No, they were speaking with shock and regret – over, of all things, his choice of employment fresh out of school.
The refusal of a professorship in Hogwarts had been a setback, to be sure. Yet, for that decline, Tom had received plenty of acceptances and job offers to prestigious posts within the British Ministry for Magic.
Here was where he made news, further cementing to him that his choice had been the right one: he turned them all down! The idea of it was setting wizards and witches in the streets abuzz – that such a handsome young fellow, so talented, would so humbly decline posts in the Ministry, their magical consulate, for a job as a store clerk of all things in a back alleyway in the shadow of Diagon. An antique store of disrepute, many said. Had the boy taken leave of his senses? What a shame, many clucked. What a shame….
Tom knew better. The choice had solicited the media attention he craved. He would need to build up a portfolio of making news before he truly began making some waves. One of the things every aspiring leader needed (yet many did not wield) was patience. Tom knew inherently that to accept a Ministry post might seem advantageous, even to his ambitious goals and designs for the wizarding world as a whole – after all, better to be on the inside of an institution in order to bring it down. But Tom also was clever enough to understand that to appear to eager in ambition might arouse suspicion in certain circles. If there was one lesson to be learned in applying for the Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts post, it was that. He had almost shown his hand, even without fully realizing that he might be showing said hand to someone other than his intended recipient, which had been Armando Dippet. He had unwittingly tipped off someone else, and Tom understood that if he were to enter a job at the Ministry, he definitely would be showing his hand to someone he absolutely did not need towering over him.
Dumbledore sat on the Wizengamot court now, his star rising fast in a way that made Riddle envious. To cede the spotlight to that man, even now, was going against so many of his instincts, but he always had to remind himself: Dumbledore may be looking like a comet now, but he, Riddle, was the moon. Tom would be the one everyone remembered eons from now, for Tom was playing the long game.
As to everyone else's judgment about his choice of situation, Tom tried not to let it bother him. Much of the dismay was thinly veiled elitism anyway, from 'woke' types who thought themselves morally superior, even though they were really inferior in the only ways that counted. Knockturn Alley might not get many customers, and the few it did may have seemed like people of disrepute, but all in all, acting as a shipping clerk at Borgin and Burke's was good work, with fine pay. Plus, it allowed Tom to further one of his interests at the moment: ancient magical antiques. He stocked shelves, took inventory, eventually working his way up to overseeing pawning sales. Furthermore, Caractacus Burke, the store's owner and partial namesake, seemed to like him, and that's what counted to Tom in the end: the importance of making good connections. Old Man Burke never said outright, but Tom could tell they shared the same politics and many of the same opinions when it came to magical blood relations.
Tom got to be such a model employee that eventually, Burke was having him close up the shop at the end of business. There might be several long lulls during the workday, but it simply made Tom savor talking and politicking with the few customers who did come in. Repeat customers were an even rarer novelty – you had to be a brave sort to ford Knockturn Alley's streets more than once if you didn't live along the row.
Which is partially why Tom took such an interest in one Hepzibah Smith. Upon speaking with the lady and learning of her background, her vast wealth, he was hooked.
Hepzibah was a wealthy old antiques collector – a lady after Tom's own heart – who claimed to be descended from Helga Hufflepuff herself. Her husband had died some time ago, and even in what turned into frequent chats with Tom when she came in often to just browse the inventory, she never mentioned him. She did have a son by the marriage, though, not quite yet of Hogwarts age. Tom found his discussions with the woman fascinating, all the more so when he became aware of just what she might have in her possession. His heart began to race when Hepzibah confessed to him one morning, all red cheeks and powdered nose, that she had obtained the legendary Cup of Hufflepuff as part of her inheritance.
"Is it the genuine article?" Tom wanted to know. Then, quite deliberately, even though he knew Burke had stepped out of the store: "I imagine Mr. Burke would be very interested in a piece like that…"
As he predicted, Hepzibah balked. "Oh, but I could never part with it, my boy, you understand! Will you keep a secret, Tom? Will you promise you won't tell Mr. Burke I've got it? He'd never let me rest if he knew I'd shown it to you, and I'm not selling – not to Burke. Not to anyone!"
Tom's heart flounced in his chest, and he tried not to pounce along with it. "You would really show it to me? I could even give it an appraisal, just hypothetically, of course. I respect your decision to keep such a rare gem in the family. After all, if we purebloods don't have our wealth – in some ways the physical embodiment of our glorious status, well….. we haven't got anything."
Hepzibah giggled and blushed. "Owwwwwwww, Sir Riddle, you are too kind! I'd be happy to show it to you, my boy. You can come round my flat for teatime, after you close up! What do you say to that?"
Tom's lips quirked with delight. "I'd say…. Pour the tea liberally, my dear Hepzibah. I'll be sure to call on you. Tonight? Would that be fair?"
Hepzibah twittered out an agreement. Tom beamed.
"Excellent."
Tom came to Hepzibah's manse with a bill of sale anyway, as a pretext, of course. It was for an entirely different sale on which he and Burke were hoping to close – a goblin-made suit of honor in Hepzibah's possession, very prized. Very valuable. He wondered only briefly why the lady would be interested in making the sale on this suit of armor and not on an item once belonging to the Founders. In the latter, she could make a pretty pound. Prettier than even goblin armor.
Hepzibah greeted him warmly and escorted him into her private study. A house elf whom the widow Smith called Hokey served them tea and scones, though the diminutive slave seemed confused as to why Missus had not wanted the cups and saucers served in the parlor.
Across the desk from Hepzibah, Tom pulled out the bill of sale contract for the goblin armor and pushed it across the desk.
"I thought I'd at least bring some official business with me…"
Hepzibah signed away the piece with a flourish. Tom smiled and pocketed the notarized document. "Caractacus will have some hired men come by to pick it up in the morning. Now:" Tom's eyes gleamed, though not too brightly. "Where is this historic piece you wish to show me?"
Hepzibah grinned at him. "Oh, Tom, my boy: I have more than just one. There are two, actually, if you wish to make that hypothetical appraisal of yours…" she clucked as if this amused her.
Tom feigned a look of astonishment. "Two secret items of note? Unless the goblin suit was the other, and if that was the secret, it was a secret well-kept…"
"Oh no, darling boy: I am talking about another item of deep….. historic consequence."
She had his attention now. Tom felt his heart battering against his ribcage. What could it be….?
"But first:" And Hepzibah presented Tom with a grimy old cup. If gold lay beneath, as was according to legend, then it would need a good washing. Tom studied the piece carefully. Carbon dating would have to be decided later, to determine if it was the real thing. Tom prided himself on being a very careful man. His very objective gut was telling him this may well be the real thing. The real Cup of Helga Hufflepuff.
He let out a sigh through his nose and appraised it, fascinated. "If it is genuine…." And he placed careful emphasis on his words. "I'd say it would go for…. oh, at least half a million pounds at auction…."
Hepzibah's beady eyes popped. "Half a million…..?"
"Provided it was carefully cleaned and preserved. Careful testing would be required – again, all hypothetical, you understand." Tom sat back, scrutinizing the Cup. "What about this second, secret piece?"
Hepzibah's eyes gleamed. "It would be…. this." And she opened her fist, allowing something to drip down and dangle sharply once the chain went taut.
Tom leaned forward and stared. The secret piece appeared to be locket, attached to a chain, which Hepzibah now waved the barest bit, but enough to give it the vibe of a hypnosis charm.
"Is that….?"
"I present to you the locket of Salazar Slytherin," Hepzibah stated proudly. When Tom reached out a hand to finger it, then retracted it back politely, she beamed and gingerly passed it to him. "I figured that, as a Slytherin yourself, you would be interested in seeing this…"
"I am interested. Interested indeed!" Tom giggled a little in delight and pleasant surprise, holding the locket gingerly in his palm as though it might break. He shook his head in wonder. "Oh, Miss Hepzibah, you could be a very, very rich woman…"
She shook her head. "I already am, just in owning them. And isn't there more wealth in that than selling them off for piles upon piles of Galleons. What we own is much more substantial than how much money we have, or might make from something."
Tom lifted his gaze. "Or power," he noted, even if he didn't share Hepzibah's viewpoint. Didn't believe in it.
She furrowed her brow curiously. "I'm not quite sure I know what you mean, my boy…."
Tom made the decision in all of a split second, and he stood sharply. "Avada Kedavra."
The foolish woman didn't even time to cry for help before she was collapsing, the life quickly leaving her large body. She had just long enough for it to dawn in her eyes his betrayal.
"You…. you snake…"
Tom loomed over, leering, looking more serpent than man even then, in his handsome features. "Oh, shut up, silly woman," said the reptile with a grin. "You knew damn well I was a snake before you took me in!"
It was the last thing Hepzibah heard. Tom chuckled as he scooped up not one, but two items belonging to the Founders. And he already had a third.
It was only when he turned that he realized that he had a witness to the crime. No matter. He could fix that. Approaching the house elf Hokey, now frozen in stunned shock and with a silver platter and shattered cups of spilled tea scattered about her, he knelt before her and waved an incantation: a cousin of the Memory Charm. Not Obliviate, but something antecedent to it. Once the False Memory was planted, Tom absconded with his treasures, departing Hepzibah's house as though nothing was wrong.
It was the moving men Tom had arranged for Caractacus to hire who arrived at the Smith residence the next morning and found the woman's body. The only other creature in the house was the house elf, Hokey, who Aurors were called in to question. To their saddened dismay and shock, the house elf confessed to the whole sordid murder. Poisoned, it was claimed. Even if anyone had thought to check the lady's body for spellwork residue, it wouldn't have mattered anyway: Tom was enough of a genius to have hidden his tracks well, using complicated magic to conceal even this. But some poison – planted – did turn up at the scene, and the Aurors took the bait.
They did still interview Caractacus Burke as well, though, for it was the men he had hired who had found her. Tom was brought in for questioning too, about the sale of the suit of goblin armor, but no evidence was found to hold him on any charges.
Several months later, after the scandal had died down in the papers, Tom quietly resigned from his situation at Borgin and Burke's and vanished.