A/N: By the way, I am currently looking for a cover for my story. I'd like something original, but I don't know how to draw…So if someone is willing to make something for me I will greatly appreciate it.
If multiple people respond, I can unfortunately only pick one – but I'll still link back to the rest on my profile.
So, if you're interested, just pop a review or whatever. Merci danke por flavor! (That means Gracias in Polish. I think.)
"#74. I will not let anyone know my plans for being an Evil Overlord, nor will I let anyone know that I have plans in the first place."
Professor Dumbledore had indeed returned the following day to take Tom to Diagon Alley to assist him in shopping for school supplies. Apparently, Wizarding London was located behind a tiny, rather inconspicuous public house named the Leaky Cauldron, which would have been a brilliant idea if it hadn't been for the name. Then again, most people didn't believe in magic anyway, so maybe he'd let that one whim slide.
"Welcome," Professor Dumbledore said grandly, "to Diagon Alley."
"Whoa," Tom breathed, partly out of awe, but mostly out of exaggerated interest. Admittedly, the fact that a place like this could remain completely hidden was quite impressive; however, what exactly was hidden remained to be assessed.
You know, apart from the whole "moving brick wall" and "mysterious shopping center inside pocket of universe" thing, this isn't that amazing. I mean, it's just like any other shopping center. Except smaller, and more medieval, and…magic.
Wow. Ungrateful.
You mean realistic.
You are such a little cynic.
I was born with the voice of a grown man inside my head. Of course I would be a cynic.
Tom, naturally, had been extremely put off by the fact that there was a very eccentric old man following him around all the time (it was just shopping; it wasn't as if they were going to ship him off to war or something, and he certainly didn't need anyone to hold his hand, even in this new place!), but at the very least Jerry had been correct in that Professor Dumbledore commanded a great deal of respect. Nearly everyone seemed to know him – though Tom eventually realized that of course they'd know him; Hogwarts is the only damn school in Magical Britain and he teaches one of the "core" subjects!
Well, of course.
Let me guess – it's the same in all the other magical countries?
As far as I'm aware of. Maybe the more highly populated ones have multiple academies, but there's still going to be very few.
This conquering the world business might be more complicated than originally estimated, if we live in a society where nearly everyone knows each other. Unless I become a teacher, too. Then I can influence entire generations of people without ever losing anyone's trust. The teachers here seem to have a very unrealistic information monopoly.
Well, of course. Moriarty was a professor, too. His only mistake was leaving a paper trail for Sherlock Holmes to meddle in.
To be honest, these wizards don't seem too bright, Tom thought, frowning at a few old-fashioned quills in Flourish and Blotts. It's nineteen thirty-seven and they're still acting like they're in the Middle Ages. Slightly cleaner, but still. The Middle Ages. If I was a wizard, I'd mass produce stuff like we mass produced those Christmas candies, and then overload the Muggle market with them and screw everyone over. And I'll never go out of business no matter how low the price drops because magic doesn't cost me anything to use.
Now that's what I call economics on steroids.
Steroids?
Never mind. Futuristic reference.
Sometimes I wonder if you're making all this stuff up.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Tom asked. "I know we have a limited amount of money, but I was wondering if I could get a few more books. You know, on wizards' laws and customs, so I don't accidentally do something wrong or offend people. I'm fine with using cheaper Muggle things instead of those quills; honestly."
"I'm afraid quills are just another Wizard tradition," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling. "But not to worry. A few extra books does not hurt my wallet much. Consider this a gift."
"Oh, no, I couldn't, Professor," Tom said meekly.
"There is no harm in helping another person, Tom," said Professor Dumbledore.
"It's not that…it's just…I don't have anything to give you in return…"
"Gratitude is more than enough."
"Then…er…thank you so very much, Professor." Tom offered him an awkward grin.
"Oh, you are quite welcome, Tom."
"I really do want to give you something in return. It's only polite," Tom pushed. "I haven't got much money, but…"
"Oh, there's really no need for that, Tom."
Offer to get him thick woolly socks for Christmas.
What?
Just trust me.
"…I'll get you some thick woolly socks for Christmas or something," Tom mumbled.
Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "That is very kind of you, Tom. I've always wanted thick, woolly socks. People always insist on giving me books simply because I have a career in academia. It's very frustrating."
"I'm sure it is," Tom replied, smiling awkwardly again.
Internally, however, his state of mind was a completely different story.
How did you know that? he demanded.
I told you; I'm from the future, Jerry yawned. I know these things.
What about MY future?
I can't tell you that. It would cause a paradox.
Oh for the love of…You don't seem too concerned about telling me about other peoples' futures!
Whatever. Just pay attention.
They continued walking through the shops, buying textbooks, robes, and the like. Some of them were quite fascinating, and others basically a weird wizard version of the same Muggle things. Tom wondered which one had come first. Probably the wizards had adapted from the Muggle way of doing things via a bunch of rather inventive and opportunistic Muggle-borns, because Tom couldn't think of doing it backwards. Besides, it wasn't as if there were Muggles here to copy the wizards in reverse.
Along the way, Professor Dumbledore continued to point out important landmarks, such as what the Leaky Cauldron looked like from the back of Diagon Alley, certain stores, and Gringotts, the wizarding bank, which also happened to be run by goblins.
And everyone keeps their money here? Tom asked.
Yep.
But surely they've got to have multiple branches, right?
Nope.
But what if the bank fails, and everyone loses all their money?...
One: the Wizarding World still operates on the gold standard. Two: there are no standard protection laws, meaning if you fail to repay a loan to the goblins, they will find a way to get every cent of it back from you somehow, including slave labor – you don't get to declare any bankruptcy. Even if you die and have no heirs, the goblins will repossess everything you ever held dear and outprice the hell out of it. Three: the economic situation is much simpler than that of the Muggle world. No stock market, or loans, or buying on margin, or any of that overspeculation business that led to the Great Depression.
I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It sounds really boring to me. What are my options in this place, anyway? It sounds very limited.
Well, you could become a teacher. Or a shopkeeper. Or a government worker. Or you could pull some strings to marry into a rich family somehow and never have to work again.
...And that's about it. Yeah.
And a Dark Lord?
You can't exactly broadcast something like that to the world.
…Teacher it is, then.
I thought so.
…Wizards are stupid.
Which we can take advantage of. Ask him what the Muggle-Wizard exchange rate is.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Tom asked. "Is it possible to convert Muggle money to this Wizard money? Or do all the Muggle-born kids like me, even ones with family of their own, have to use the charity system?..."
"There is an exchange rate, yes. I am not quite sure what it is, though. I know it has something to do with the current price of gold in the Muggle world, whatever it is in each of the different currencies in every country. Galleons are a secret alloy made by the goblins, so it cannot be melted down, and constantly adjust in quality to keep the market stable. The Goblin Nation has ways of keeping these tabs."
Damn. And here I thought we could create an infinite loop of gold-to-paper money exchange. I wonder if the goblins know what German Marks are really worth right now…?
Isn't it getting a little better, though? Because of Hitler and whatnot?
Yeah, well, the numbers still fluctuate. It should take a little while for the goblins to adjust, at least. And if it doesn't, we can always make a fortune introducing pencils.
Pencils.
Yes. Magical quills that allow you to correct mistakes and don't smudge.
And then we take over the world with this money.
Obviously. But first we have to create a secret identity and a power base. An eleven-year-old, even in disguise, would look very suspicious, waltzing into this tiny society and suddenly making a boatload of money.
I wonder why we have to buy all this stuff, Tom mused, looking at his bags of robes. They're wizards. Can't they just make this stuff themselves?
Conjuring is a pretty difficult art. I think that there's just very few people who can actually make a robe or whatnot appear out of thin air, and there's probably more complicated steps in maintaining it. Dumbledore is probably one of those people who don't have to spend any money on clothes, though.
How do you know? Other than "he's super powerful"?
Look at what he's wearing. You think people can sell stuff like that normally and still turn a profit?
Well…why did we have to buy so many robes, anyway? I can duplicate candy. Duplicating robes shouldn't be that big of a deal, right? We could have just bought one good one!...
I repeat: Wizards are morons.
"This is the last stop," Professor Dumbledore said, "and it is one I think you will like very much, Tom."
"I think so, too, sir," Tom murmured respectfully. The store they had stopped in front of was named Ollivander's – Quality Wands since 382 B.C.
Was Britain even civilized that long ago?
I have no idea. Do I look like a liberal arts major to you?
The shop was dark and musty, and consisted of an entire wall filled with boxes. An old man with a sharp pointed noise and piercing gray eyes leaned against the counter, and smiled toothily as they walked in. "Hogwarts, hm, Albus?"
"Yes, Garrick," Professor Dumbledore said. "This is Mr. Tom Riddle."
"How do you do," Tom said automatically.
"Just as ever," Ollivander rasped. "But enough of this chit-chat, eh? Let's get you a wand."
He snatched a random box off the shelf and handed it to Tom (cherry and unicorn hair; ten inches), and before either he or Jerry could even touch it for a proper look, it had been snatched away again. Tom couldn't help this one – that jump of shock had been genuine.
"Don't worry, Tom," said Professor Dumbledore. "He's always like this."
"Um…okay?"
"No, no, not at all…try this one! Oak and dragon heartstring, twelve inches." Ollivander grinned, handing Tom a different box.
That one got snatched away as quickly as the first one. And the next one. Ollivander let Tom hold the fourth, only for a window to explode. And then after that, the desk splintered, and floorboards started coming out. Oddly enough, Ollivander kept smiling, even when Tom stopped profusely apologizing for all the damage done to the shop and settled for wincing instead.
"Tricky customer, eh? I always like a challenge."
Does he even know what he's doing? Or is he just using your Gobosort algorithm?
It's Bogosort.
Whatever.
"Am I just a really bad wizard?" Tom asked meekly.
"Not at all. You're just a very…complicated personality," Ollivander explained. "The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around, and no two wands are alike. I wonder…" his grey eyes shifted slowly over to Professor Dumbledore. "…here." He produced another box. "Try this. Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches."
Tom touched it resignedly, and was surprised to find that instead of the normal violent reaction, there was a warm feeling in his arm. Some bright silver sparks erupted out of the end, bathing the inside of the shop in a bright glow.
Tom stared at it contemplatively. "…Is that a good thing?"
"Well, of course. Any match is a good one. But how curious. How very, very curious." At this, Ollivander looked between him and Professor Dumbledore.
Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, before asking, "Was it one of the two, Garrick?"
Ollivander smiled. "Oh, yes it was, as a matter of fact."
"Excuse me?" Tom asked. "Is there some trouble?"
"Oh, no, not at all. You see, it just so happens that the phoenix feather that makes up the core of your wand was donated by Fawkes – my familiar," Professor Dumbledore told him kindly. (What was it with this man and being kindly?) "Fawkes has only given two feathers in his lifetime, and now one of them is yours."
"And the other one, not sold yet," Ollivander shrugged. "Still, it is interesting. Very interesting."
"Oh. Okay, then," Tom said.
"That will be five Galleons," said Ollivander, and Tom paid him accordingly.
There wasn't much else to do, now that the shopping had finished, and Dumbledore had to get back to the school to start preparing more lesson plans, anyway. So with that, he returned Tom to the orphanage, and after some more obligatory exchanging of pleasantries and instructions on how to get to Platform 9 ¾ (because apparently, while most conservative wizards were against the idea of Muggle technology, they had no problem in boarding a massive red steam engine), Tom was alone with Jerry again.
I'd say that was an informative day, Tom mentioned, opening up the lawbook and starting to read. It was highly boring, like all law books were, but it was not as complicated as Muggle laws, simply because wizards hadn't figured out what earmarks were yet, even thousands of years after the first civilizations had sprung up. Anyway, he had plenty of fun every time he came across one of the more ridiculous, wizard-level eccentric sorts of laws ("Turning one's neighbor into a hippopotamous on Tuesdays is illegal") that prompted the question of the background context of the law.
Does that mean it's legal on Wednesdays? Jerry wondered.
Too bad you're not allowed to use magic underage.
We should test our boundaries. I notice Dumbledore forgot to tell us it was illegal to practice magic outside of Hogwarts before graduation.
How far do you think my boundaries will be, before someone else gets mistaken for my magic, anyway? There's got to be more wizard kids in London, right?
We'll see. For now, let's finish that book. Thank Zoroaster you've got an eidetic memory.
Zoroaster?
I'm atheist.
Oh for the love of Pete…
In fact, as the lawbook went on, the less and less it seemed to make sense. Half of the laws Tom didn't think anyone even remembered well enough to apply. However, the few important rules scattered about in there were worth the idiocy. And when Tom and Jerry said important, they meant the loopholes that could be exploited from those rules, not the actual rules themselves.
For example, the description of underage magical restrictions, through the wording, implied that it could only be detected within the building where said child was residing. If there were multiple children within a building, the Ministry depended on the presence of responsible adults for discipline.
Obviously, this gives the children with less scrupulous magical parents a distinct advantage.
Well, of course. It's not really about forbidding underage magic; it's about preventing stupid little kids from accidentally poking someone's eyes out and causing months of bureaucratic backlog. They probably figured that if a parent let their kid cheat, it would be fine because the parent would be there to prevent the worst of the damage.
Or they could just be to incompetent to bother with fixing a flawed system.
That, too.
Though Tom was a fast reader, and Jerry was experienced enough to help Tom through some of the more technical legal jargon so that he wouldn't have to waste five minutes staring at the same line, it still took the rest of the day and a little over an hour of reading under the sheets with a glowing ball of magic for light to finish the rest of the book.
But at least all that was the worst of it. The cumulative legal portfolio of the past few centuries' worth of Wizarding legislation, including the useless and overly complicated ones, was easily thicker than any other three of the rest of the textbooks combined – possibly longer than all of them, if all the font was the same size (all the first year textbooks had HUGE print, while the law book was almost completely written in fine print).
The next day, Tom woke up early, swore as he realized he could no longer use magic to finish his chores, and then decided that since he was never told explicitly that he couldn't, anyway, decided to wandlessly try it. When nothing happened for a few hours, Tom shrugged, and decided that until they sent him some sort of warning or deposited some wizard policemen at his doorstep, he continued to work as normal. He burned through all of the coursework like mad. There was nothing that he couldn't memorize at first reading, no spell that he couldn't perform perfectly on the first try.
Of course, he still left his room at regular intervals so that people wouldn't be suspicious, and gave the excuse that he had been "randomly" selected by the government for a special program when questioned about that mysterious school that he was going to be attending in the fall.
The last book he picked up was Hogwarts, a History. He had deliberately procrastinated on reading that particular one because of previously poor experiences with other history textbooks (including the standard first-year text). After all, if the Muggle ones were bad, just how skewed were the wizards? The wizarding population was very small – whereas one could fine hundreds of different historians arguing on one topic at a single university in London, there might be only one or two guys dictating the whole thing in Magical Britain.
Tom took everything he read with a barrel of salt.
Thankfully, it turned out to me much more entertaining in a good way than the law book and the other first-year history text was in a bad way, which was something. Apparently not all wizards (or witch, since the author was one Bathilda Bagshot) were completely incompetent.
There were, however, still a few issues. It was no fault of the author, but Tom (mostly due to Jerry's rather overly logical interjections) was constantly questioning the so-called traditions of these wizards.
Not that he was going to scream it aloud where everyone could hear him. He knew quite well how touchy people could get about foreigners insulting their culture, regardless of how right or reasonable said foreigner was. Even now, there were certain cultures that still actively condoned sex-selective infanticide, among other things.
Weird…so they sort kids here according to personality? Tom asked as he read. How do they even know this? Do they even know what psychologists or personality tests are? Or do they read our minds?
There's this magic hat that they put on your head, and then it shouts out for the world to hear if you're a loudmouthed idiot, a boring nerd, a lying cheater, or a pushover who will never get anywhere in life.
…Are you serious?
I was serious about the wizards, wasn't I?
Wait, so does this hat read your mind?
I guess…
How are we supposed to get out of this one?
We don't. But luckily, there's confidentiality involved. The hat's not allowed to tell anyone about anything it saw in your head.
Are you sure? How do you know?
Because things. And wizards don't make sense.
How are you being so calm about this? You were completely freaking about about Dumbledore being able to read our minds before!
Yeah…well…it's even more suspicious declining to be Sorted, right?
I suppose so. But if that hat thing DOES blab, how are we going to pass this off?
Cry. Cry deeply.
I'm being serious!
You really think they'll believe that a crying kid is going to become a Dark Lord one day?
Genghis Khan probably cried as a kid, too.
Logical wizards is an oxymoron, Tom. Remember that.
What about Dumbledore? Will he believe the hat?
If worst comes to worst, just pretend to have a change of heart. People can change between the ages of eleven and seventeen.
…Fine.
Anyway, now that you know what all the Houses represent, which House do you want to be doomed to for the next seven years of your life?
What, you get to choose? I thought it was like the wands.
Yeah, well, apparently the Hat takes your choice into account. Apparently, everyone's smart enough to determine their fate for the rest of their lives by choice alone.
At age eleven.
Wizards are stupid; have I mentioned that?
I like Slytherin, but you said that was the house of lying cheaters, so would that hurt our chances in lying low? Maybe I could throw everyone off by being sorted into Gryffindor.
Maybe. You want a house that would optimize your recruiting potential. You will need plenty of accomplices to get this whole "World Domination" thing up to speed. At this point in time, the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry is probably not that strong, but it's still there. You'd have better luck in the middle ground houses. The centrist political strategy and all that.
Yeah, well, Hufflepuffs aren't taken too seriously, are they? So that just leaves Ravenclaw. The house of the smart kids. I can live with that.
There are actually plenty of respectable Ravenclaws. Not all of them are completely boring.
Did you plan for me to choose Ravenclaw?
Well, it's not like there's any other House that will allow you to maximize your recruitment potential. If you're going to have minions, you should get smart ones. Ravenclaw's the best House to start.
What about Slytherin? Cunning and ambition have to count for something, right? The fact that they have two different houses for "intelligent" and "clever" mean that there has to be a visible difference.
Slytherin…eh. I guess once upon a time, that was true. Now the whole value system has been oversimplified and bastardized.
How so?
Well, in Slytherin House, half of it's true cunning, and then the other half is a bunch of spoiled brats sitting on their parents' fortunes.
Let me guess…they only got into Slytherin because they "chose" that House at the urging of their parents or grandparents who truly deserved to go there.
Pretty much.
But Evil Overlords need dumb mooks, too, don't they?
You never actively recruit dumb mooks yourself. None of the dirty work should be traced back to you. Ever.
Ah, the chain of command. I see.
Exactly. Find yourself a few people who are smart, and, if not trustworthy, then at least not smart enough to fool you, to deal with directly. It'll be too hard to keep track of thousands of minions and wondering just which one is going to betray you.
Let me guess: preferably people who you can also fool to think that they are the ones controlling you when in fact it is the other way around?
Mind control always helps, too.
But never mind control them directly, right? You have to mind control someone to mind control someone else in a massive chain – no, a massive complicated web – and have them wipe their own memories afterwards so that no one can ever trace it back to you. And while we're on that topic, why don't we gain control of the underworld black market while we're at it?
You know me too well.
Tom turned the page and continued to read. All citation failures aside, Bathilda Bagshot truly was a pleasant surprise compared to the rest of wizarding authors, considering that she wasn't afraid to mention multiple versions of the same story and give equal credence to each. It wasn't long, though, before he had questions again.
Hey…it says here that Salazar Slytherin can speak to snakes.
So it does.
And it says that his gift is hereditary.
So it is.
And all of his direct descendants are Parselmouths.
So they are.
…
…
HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK? THAT COMPLETELY DEFIES GENETICS! EVEN IF IT WAS A COMPLETELY DOMINANT GENE AND THE SLYTHERIN LINE INBRED LIKE CRAZY THERE SHOULD STILL BE PEOPLE WHO GET BOTH RECESSIVE TRAITS! WHAT THE HELL! DOES MAGIC SIMPLY EXIST TO MAKE GREGOR MENDEL CRY –
Interesting.
What?
I would have thought you would have drawn the conclusion that since you can speak to snakes as well, you must be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, too. That fact that you're more concerned about the genetic implications seems to be –
Because we both already know that! You're not stupid; we both came to the same conclusion. To say so again would be redundant.
Oh. I see.
Anyway, I'm pretty sure that it was my mother who was the magical one, because who else but a witch would have a father named "Marvolo"? Speaking of magical relatives, I wonder if they're still alive. I mean, it's not every day a witch dies in a Muggle orphanage, right?
…Trust me. You're better off in this orphanage than with your magical relatives.
Why?
Well…you remember that comment you made earlier about inbreeding?
…
...
...Oh, god.
Yeah.
Okay.
Mmm-hmmm...
How bad is it?
Let's just say that they made the Hapsburgs look completely normal.
Mentally or physically?
…Both.
That's…
...Yeah.
Wait – so why am I not a deformed hemophiliac or whatever?
Well, your father was a Muggle. Fresh genes and all that.
This makes no sense. One generation of fresh genes can't do THAT much…can it?
*Magic!*
Oh, come on. Surely you must be exaggerating their excessive faults…
The Hapsburgs inbred for a few generations during the Holy Roman Empire era. The Slytherins have been inbreeding since the 900s when Hogwarts was founded.
Yikes.
One day we might go visit your relatives.
I'm guessing it's not for a very philanthropic cause.
Our dream is to become a Dark Lord. Since when were we philanthropists?
Oh, I don't know. That Machiavelli book you made me read talked about being nice and merciful when you could use it to your advantage…
Still makes you a selfish bastard.
Well, THEY don't need to know, do they? I'm sure idiots always have some use. After all, what is family for except eliminating your competition to the throne?
*Sniff sniff*
What's wrong?
Nothing…I'm just so…I'm just so…
You're so…what? Are you all right? You're not going to go insane on me, are you? Jerry, are you all right –
I'M JUST SO HAPPY! I KNEW I raised you right!
Oh, for the love of –
