Principal, Let's Explode Gold Coins

Albus Dumbledore scratched the back of his head, suppressing a strange sense of unease, and waved his hand. "Right, right, let's not talk about that. Let's get going, Mr. Riddle. We have a mountain of things to buy."

The two left Gringotts and went from shop to shop along Diagon Alley—uniforms, textbooks, scales, cauldrons; not a single item could be missed.

With Dumbledore accompanying him, the shopkeepers were all incredibly courteous and even offered discounts of their own accord. Even so, after one round, over forty Galleons had vanished, and with the wand he still needed to purchase, the fixed expenses were nearing sixty Galleons.

Tom did some quick mental math: according to his initial balance at Gringotts, he would have at most a few Galleons left. Although Hogwarts provided food and lodging, making it through a semester would be fine, but who wanted to live hand-to-mouth?

Ron's annual pocket money didn't even reach one Galleon, so Tom was technically a little rich kid in the wizarding world. However, he had his eye on several expensive books that he would have to come back and buy secretly later—with the old man watching him, he felt completely uncomfortable, terrified of being over-analyzed. The six hundred Galleons in his vault would have to be touched eventually.

Tsk, why can't I have a system? Tom pouted to himself as he shuffled into Ollivander's Wand Shop behind Dumbledore. Forget the system, I still have to study hard to get stronger; I don't even have the right to lie flat. What rotten luck.

As he pushed the door open, Tom instinctively held his breath—not out of reverence, but for fear that the dust stirred up by the hinges would get into his nose; sneezing would be too embarrassing. He scanned the room full of wand boxes, silently criticizing the dump of a place.

"Rare guest, Albus," a soft, aged voice drifted over. A gaunt old man emerged from a pile of wand boxes, clutching a wand blank in his hand. "The last time you stepped in here was the summer forty-eight years ago."

Dumbledore smiled helplessly. "Garrick, don't show off that heaven-defying memory of yours; it only makes me green with envy."

"Hahaha, my brain is only good for remembering wands and shop matters." Garrick Ollivander stepped forward to hug Dumbledore, his gaze landing on Tom, his eyes lighting up. "What is this lucky young wizard's name? To be personally guided by Dumbledore is no small feat."

Tom shoved his hands into his pockets and replied with a slouch, "Tom, Tom Riddle."

With a "thud," Ollivander sat straight down on the floor, his eyes wide and his face pale, as if he had seen a ghost.

Dumbledore reacted quickly, rushing over in a few steps to help him up, smoothing things over. "Garrick, did you not sleep well last night? Look at you, you can't even stand steady."

Ollivander quickly took the out. "Indeed, I was pondering new wand materials last night and nearly broke my brain over it. I truly didn't get any rest."

He steadied himself and forced a smile at Tom. "Don't worry, child. Even if I'm too old to walk, I can still pick out the most suitable wand for you."

Tom knew exactly what was going on; the old man had been spooked by his name, but he didn't point it out, standing obediently while Ollivander measured his hand—fingertips, wrists, knuckles, measuring with meticulous care.

Before long, Ollivander brought out a black box containing a deep purple wand. "Try this one."

Tom took it, and Dumbledore's eyelids twitched instantly—yew! This wood symbolized death and rebirth and was the preference of powerful dark wizards. The last Tom Riddle had used a yew wand.

Tom gave it a casual flick, and a small flame erupted from the tip, nearly scorching the wand boxes.

Ollivander frowned and snatched it back. "No, this one is too gentle; it doesn't suit you." He handed over a light brown wand. "Try this one, Thestral tail hair core."

Tom flicked it again, and a flock of birds burst from the tip, clattering against the cabinets. Ollivander's face darkened, and he swapped it out again. "Still no, the Thestral doesn't get along with you. Try this one!"

The moment the third wand touched Tom's hand, an unprecedented sense of fluidity washed over him. He instinctively flicked his hand toward a broken flowerpot in the corner, and the pot instantly shattered into powder.

[Host has successfully determined future development direction, system is anchoring... Anchoring successful, the Strongest Learning System will serve you wholeheartedly.]

Tom didn't even lift an eyelid, his expression blank—Are you kidding me? The system arrived so suddenly; if Dumbledore or Ollivander found out, they'd start overthinking things again. Playing dumb is the safest bet.

Ollivander slapped his thigh and laughed. "Perfect! 14.5 inches, yew, dragon heartstring core. This was tailor-made for you!"

Tom toyed with the wand and replied nonchalantly, "Thanks, Mr. Ollivander, I'll put it to good use."

"Remember, a wand is not a tool; it is a partner." Ollivander looked serious, but a second later, he returned to his merchant persona. "That will be eight Galleons."

Tom fished out eight Galleons and handed them over, clutching the wand and the complimentary maintenance kit. Casting is indeed smoother. This old man really has some skill; the saying that the wand chooses the wizard is true. Before you have real strength, whether a wand fits your hand makes a big difference.

The moment they stepped out of the shop and the door closed, the smile vanished from Ollivander's face. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he muttered to himself, "14.5-inch extra-long wand, representing absolute confidence and a desire for control, plus a dragon heartstring core..."

He remembered giving the shortest wand to the petty and mean Umbridge, and the longest was the one that boy just took. Combined with the yew wood, he wiped his sweat and murmured to the air, "Albus, you must know what this means, don't you?"

With that, he hurriedly began to tidy up the scattered wand boxes.

On the other side, Dumbledore suddenly patted his head. "Oh, right, Mr. Riddle, I almost forgot! First-year students are allowed to bring a pet. Would you like to go to the pet shop across the street and take a look? Owls, toads, rats—anything is fine."

Tom shook his head like a rattle. "Forget it, Professor. I have no use for an owl, and toads and rats are too ugly; they don't fit my aesthetic, and keeping them is a hassle."

Dumbledore didn't force the issue and nodded. "Very well, then that's all for today. Let's go to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, and then I'll send you home."

Tom didn't refuse and followed Dumbledore back to the Leaky Cauldron. It was dinner time, and the place was rowdy, with only two empty seats left, which the owner had specifically saved.

As soon as Dumbledore entered, the noise died down by more than half. The wizards all glanced at him furtively, looking quite restrained. The two didn't stay long, each drinking a glass of non-alcoholic butterbeer before taking their leave.

Walking out of the pub, the evening breeze blew, and Tom suddenly grasped the reality of the situation—no wonder he felt Dumbledore was lonely in his past life. This old man's status was too high; every wizard in Britain was his student or grand-student, leaving him to live as a solitary figure, much like an emperor.

He couldn't help but think to himself: At least an emperor has an empress. This old Dumbledore, on the other hand, sent his own "empress" off to Nurmengard. He has no one to blame but himself for his loneliness.