Two men were deep in the well. They were burdened by the oil and by the air. The air was saturated with vapor from the crude, and it was beginning to make Tom Riddle light headed. He slumped over the iron pump that he was supposed to be guiding into the wet ground, but his partner quickly shook him awake. He was embarrassed.
"Thanks James" he told his associate and business partner.
"No problem Tom," replied James Potter with a smile, the whites of his teeth were in stark juxtaposition to his face covered in the black stuff, "one of the vicissitudes of the industry, I suppose."
Tom peeled back his lips in an artificial smile, attempting to empathize with James' emotion.
Just then, the two men heard the soft sound of splitting wood and the light clink of a snapping chain. It was very distant. James looked up just in time to see the large piece of their makeshift derrick that would impale him. Tom had been knocked against the side of the well they had dug, and sat there, in the pool of oil and blood, speechless. The whole scene reminded Tom of a childhood memory, when he had stolen a porcelain figurine of his mother's and driven a nail through it's head. Tom wasn't hurt, he felt nothing but the fumes of oil billowing in his head. He lifted James's arm by the wrist, and then let it go. He watched as gravity pulled it back down in a splash. He waited a little longer before a genuine smile manifested on his face for the first time: the claim now belonged to him and him alone.
"One of the vicissitudes of the industry I suppose." He whispered to himself through his grin.
The air was dry above ground, and warm; the tragedy went unnoticed by the languid afternoon sun. Tom's small crew helped him remove and bury James' body, but one more thing needed attending. Tom Riddle kneeled in front of the cradle of James Potter's now orphaned boy, and watched for a long time, listening, and thinking. He was hypnotized by the infant's cries. Awakening form his hypnosis, he felt a mechanical impulse; he dipped his finger into a bucket and baptized the boy with a lightning bolt of oil on his forehead.
The decade old memory came rushing back to Tom, as clear as if he had just seen it through a pensive. He stood up, and raised his hands to silence the auditorium.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming, it pleases me to see that this town's interest in this matter is sincere. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I'm an oilman. This is my son, and my partner, H.P. Riddle. I hope you'll agree that the oil you've all found here is best left in the hands of a family business, and a very professional one like ours. I currently have three wells in the Hogsmeade Hills, producing $5,000 a week, and more being drilled near Charing Cross. I have a team, I have the capital, and I have the equipment. I know and work with the team very closely, and can promise that no time will be lost because of incompetent mistakes. Now I believe, with your agreement, that we can begin drilling within the month- nobody else can offer you that, and nobody else can guarantee the level of quality that I can."
At first there was silence. Then the crowd erupted in argument, people were shouting, and yelling, and waving their hands in the air. Some called for order to be restored, but most screamed insults at each other in disagreement. Tom was sickened by the squealing sound of the muggles. He covered his face with a long hand and sighed. He turned to the eleven-year old boy.
"Harry I want you to wait out side while I sort this confusion."
Harry nodded, he wanted to look professional because he though it would help them get the contract. It was cold outside. Harry had on a suit, but no overcoat. The small eleven year old shuddered and watched his breath condense. He kicked around his feet in the frost, before seating himself on a stump. A green glow emanated through the windows of the lecture hall. And then another. And another. Harry stood up on the stump to try and get a better look. The green light continued in pulses. He jumped off the stump and shoved his hands in his pockets. It couldn't hurt to go a little closer and investigate…