Dumbledore scratched the back of his head, pushing aside that inexplicable sense of oddness, and waved a hand. "All right, all right, enough about that. Let's get going, Mr. Riddle. We've got a ton of things to buy."
The two of them left Gringotts and went from shop to shop along Diagon Alley, buying everything from uniforms and textbooks to scales and cauldrons. They couldn't leave a thing off the list.
With Dumbledore accompanying him, the shopkeepers were all polite and even offered discounts. Even so, after making the rounds, more than forty Galleons had vanished. And with a wand still to buy, the fixed expenses were already closing in on sixty Galleons.
Tom did the math in his head. Going by the original amount from Gringotts, he'd have only a few Galleons left at most. Hogwarts would provide food and lodging, so he could scrape by for a term, but who wanted to live on a shoestring?
Ron's allowance for an entire year was less than a Galleon, so Tom was practically a wealthy wizard by comparison. But he'd set his sights on several expensive books, and could only come back to buy them in secret next time. With Dumbledore keeping an eye on him, he felt uncomfortable all over, afraid the old man would read too much into everything. He'd have to dip into the six hundred Galleons in his vault.
"Tsk, why couldn't I have a system?" Tom grumbled inwardly as he followed Dumbledore into Ollivander's wand shop. "If I can't have a system, fine, but I still have to study hard to get stronger. I can't even slack off. What rotten luck."
As soon as he pushed open the door, Tom instinctively held his breath—not out of reverence, but because he was afraid the dust shaken loose by the hinges would get up his nose. Sneezing would be embarrassing. He glanced at the wand boxes filling the shop and thought that the place looked like a junkyard.
"Well, well, Albus. What a rare visitor." A soft, aged voice drifted over. A thin old man emerged from a heap of wand boxes, a wand blank clutched in his hand. "The last time you set foot in here was the summer forty-eight years ago."
Dumbledore smiled helplessly. "Garrick, stop showing off that ridiculous memory of yours. You're only making me unbearably jealous."
"Hahaha! My brain's only good for remembering things about wands and the shop." Garrick Ollivander stepped forward and embraced Dumbledore, then turned his gaze to Tom. His eyes lit up. "And what's the name of this lucky young wizard? Anyone Dumbledore personally guides must be quite something."
With his hands in his pockets, Tom replied in a languid drawl, "Tom. Tom Riddle."
With a thud, Ollivander sat right down on the floor. His eyes went round, his face went pale, and he looked as if he'd seen a ghost.
Dumbledore reacted at once, rushing over to help him up and smooth things over. "Garrick, did you sleep badly last night? You look like you can barely stand."
Ollivander hurriedly seized the lifeline. "I certainly did. I was thinking about materials for a new wand last night, and nearly thought my brain to bits. I really didn't get enough rest."
He gathered himself and forced a smile at Tom. "Don't worry, child. Even if I'm too old to walk, I can still find the wand that suits you best."
Tom knew perfectly well that the old man had been startled by his name, but he didn't point it out. He stood obediently while Ollivander measured his hand—his fingertips, wrist, and knuckles—all with great care.
A moment later, Ollivander brought over a black box containing a deep purple wand. "Try this one."
Tom took it, and Dumbledore's eyelid instantly twitched. Yew! The wood symbolized death and rebirth, and powerful Dark wizards favored it. The last Tom Riddle had used a Yew Wand.
Tom gave it a casual wave. A small flame burst from the tip, nearly setting the wand box on fire.
Ollivander frowned and snatched it back. "No, this one's too gentle. It doesn't suit you." He handed Tom a light brown wand. "Try this one. Thestral tail hair for the core."
Tom waved it again. A flock of birds burst from the tip and crashed into the cabinets with a clatter. Ollivander's face darkened as he swapped it for another wand. "Still no good. Thestrals and you don't get along. Try this one!"
The moment the third wand touched Tom's hand, a sense of ease unlike anything he'd felt before washed over him. Without thinking, he flicked his hand toward a broken flowerpot in the corner. It instantly crumbled into dust.
[Host successfully selected a future development direction. System direction anchoring in progress... Anchoring successful. The Strongest Learning System is at your service]
Tom didn't even bat an eyelid. He kept his face blank. As if. The system's shown up out of nowhere. If Dumbledore and Ollivander notice it, they'll start reading all sorts of things into it. Best to pretend I don't know.
Ollivander slapped his thigh and laughed. "Perfect! A fourteen-and-a-half-inch Yew Wand with a Dragon Heartstring core. This was made for you!"
Tom toyed with the wand and replied nonchalantly, "Thanks, Mr. Ollivander. I'll take good care of it."
"Remember, a wand isn't a tool. It's a partner." Ollivander looked solemn, then immediately slipped back into his merchant's role. "That'll be eight Galleons."
Tom took out eight Galleons and handed them over. Clutching the wand and the complimentary care kit, he thought, It really does feel good to cast with. The old man knows his stuff. There's truth to the saying that the wand chooses the wizard. Before you have real skill, having a wand that suits you makes a big difference.
The two of them had barely left the wand shop when the door closed behind them. Ollivander's smile vanished, and cold sweat sprang across his forehead. He muttered to himself, "A fourteen-and-a-half-inch wand, unusually long. It represents absolute confidence and a desire for control. And with a Dragon Heartstring core..."
He remembered that his shortest wand had gone to the petty, mean-spirited Umbridge, while the longest was the one that boy had just bought. Add in the Yew, and he wiped the sweat from his brow and muttered to the empty air, "Albus, you must know what this means, don't you?"
As he spoke, he hurriedly put the scattered wand boxes back in order.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore suddenly slapped his forehead. "Oh, right, Mr. Riddle! I nearly forgot. First-year students can bring pets. Shall we take a look at the pet shop across the street? You could get an owl, a toad, or a rat."
Tom shook his head like a rattle. "I'll pass, Professor. I have no use for an owl, and toads and rats are too ugly for my taste. They'd be a bother to look after, too."
Dumbledore didn't press him. He nodded. "All right, then. That's enough for today. Let's grab a drink at Tom's pub, and then I'll take you home."
Tom didn't refuse and followed Dumbledore back to the Leaky Cauldron. It was dinnertime, and the place was bustling. Only two seats were left, and the landlord had specifically saved them.
As soon as Dumbledore walked in, the din died down by more than half. The wizards all snuck glances at him, looking very restrained. The two didn't stay long; they each had a glass of non-alcoholic Butterbeer and then said their goodbyes.
Outside the pub, the evening breeze made something suddenly click for Tom. No wonder he'd thought Dumbledore was lonely in his previous life. The old man's status was too lofty; all the wizards in Britain were practically his disciples and descendants. He'd ended up a lonely old soul, like an emperor.
Tom couldn't help grumbling inwardly. At least an emperor has an empress. Dumbledore, on the other hand, sent his "empress" to Nurmengard himself. No wonder he's lonely. He brought it on himself.
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