Chapter 6
Tom Marvolo Riddle weaved his way through the crowd roaming Practic Alley, away from Second-Hand Robes where he had just purchased the majority of his school robes.
He had been going about a certain routine Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, since the first week when he made his initial trip to Diagon Alley and bought his wand, one set of new robes (which he currently wore), and school books. After breakfast, he'd tell the Matron of the wretched orphanage that he needed to do some more of his school shopping and received her all too happy permission to leave for the day. He made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, said a polite few words to the barman before changing in the bathroom, then made his way out back to the entrance of Diagon Alley.
There he would pick up a couple items he needed from his school list. Enough that it seemed like he had bought all he could carry, but not so much to actually give him any trouble. He wanted to stretch out his shopping excursions as long as possible, so he needed to continue coming back with bags to show the Matron as proof he wasn't just wandering the streets all day. She never checked the contents, just waved him along when she saw him arrive with bags in hand. She detested him, was nervous around him, and would be glad to see him leave in September, so she was glad to let him run whatever errands he needed to so he could be ready to go to the 'academy' the strange red-haired professor had told her about. Heaven forbid he was unprepared and they decided to send him back to the orphanage, for him to be her problem again. No, as long as he made it look good, she let him out to do his shopping.
So once he picked up his remaining robes as proof he had gone shopping, having thoroughly charmed the shopkeeper there and eliciting a great deal of useful bits of information out of him, he did a few hours of leisurely wandering, listening to all the witches and wizards around him. He was learning how they talked, what current events were in the wizarding world, gossip that was flying about this family or that business.
The world of wizards was still new to Tom, but he wanted to learn everything he could in the course of this summer so that by the time he reached Hogwarts, he'd know it almost as well as any student who came from a wizarding family. He did not want to be marked as an ignorant outsider. He knew the wizarding world was his heritage, even if it had been denied to him this long because his muggle mother had been stupid and weak and died before she could reveal more information about who his wizard father was. He wasn't going to lose this chance to reintegrate into the world that he was born for because he made the wrong impression.
So for nearly four weeks he had spent three days a week wandering Diagon Alley and its side streets. He listened to everything he could among those shopping, picked up what information he could from the shopkeepers.
That was how he heard about there being rules against underage magic, something Dumbledore had conveniently not mentioned to him. Maybe to get him in trouble and kicked out of school before he could even begin because he had accidently said a bit too much to the purple-clad wizard in his excitement to find out about magic and had clearly made the wizard wary of him. But one of the clerks at Scribbulus Writing Implements, a witch in her later 60s who thought the polite first year was 'just so precious', had fortunately informed him that while he could study from his books and take notes ahead of time, actually practicing spell casting outside of Hogwarts was not allowed. She would hate to see such a 'nice young man' get himself in trouble because he hadn't heard of that law.
When he had inquired on the matter, she informed him that until wizards and witches turned 17, the Ministry of Magic kept track of their magic usage. Well, at least, whether magic was used or not in their homes. In magical homes, they couldn't tell who cast the magic unless they checked individual wands, so they generally trusted parents to make certain their children obeyed the law, otherwise Aurors would be constantly sent out to the homes and never have a moment to go to their own. For those children not raised in magical homes, however, it would be obvious that the magic being cast could only come from one source, so they would follow up on it if their wards picked up on magic.
As a muggle-born, she always thought when she was in school that the laws were a little unfair - she knew some of her friends from pure-blood or half-blood families cast magic when their parents were home and could get away with it because their parents didn't care about them using Scourgify to clean their rooms, nor care if they were Accio-ing a jar of herbs from a high shelf - but that's just how it works.
That was just one of many useful things Tom had learned, and certainly one of the most important. He wanted to make certain he was just as good at everything as a pure-blood wizard who grew up with magical parents, which meant he needed practice, and getting caught practicing would have ruined everything. Which meant he needed to find someplace to practice that wouldn't get Aurors sent to stop him. Someplace with enough magic about it that little spells being practiced wouldn't get noticed.
Which is the second reason he came to Diagon Alley for these 'shopping trips'.
Tom had learned the layout of the wizarding community's streets and shops as well as he knew the back of his hand. He had found himself in Knockturn Alley by the middle of his first Wednesday trip, going along side streets where few people ever bothered to go. It was there he came across an alley between a shop selling spiders and another selling poisons. He wasn't allowed into the latter shop, much to his disappointment, due to his age and the fact that the owner only accepted pre-scheduled clients who were of legal age.
However, that little alley was home to a pair of eyelash vipers that had escaped the poison shop, whose owner had been keeping them illegally to breed and harvest them for their venom. They had evaded the shopkeeper's attempts to find them and he obviously couldn't contact the authorities to ask for aid in rounding up the dangerous snakes unless he wished to report his own illegal activities, so he had had to cut his losses when it appeared they had slithered off somewhere far from him. They had found a small crack in the building, in a corner where the wall of the building met the road, and had just enough space to slither in. They had made a nest for themselves in the walls, only coming out to hunt down the mice and rats that were attracted to the refuse in the neighborhood.
As he was leaving Ariadne's after briefly browsing it and speaking with the slightly more sociable owner there, Tom had heard the hissing language only he seemed to be able to understand and speak. It was the male snake hissing to itself in satisfaction after a successful hunt, on his way back to his nest and the eggs his mate was currently protecting. Tom bade the viper to follow him into the alley to talk, heard the story of its escape, and then convinced the snake to give him a tour of the neighborhood, to show him where magic was used and a little more might not be noticed.
Tom took note of the places the snake suggested, and searched out others on his own, but ultimately decided that he rather liked the alley between the poison and spider shops as a place to practice.
The owner of the poison shop, as Tom had found out from local gossip, was a drug addict and liked to indulge as often as he could. His shop was kept locked up unless he had a scheduled appointment, which he would Floo to from his home, then go straight back to continue his indulgences. He had all sorts of magical wards around his shop, and inside, to try keeping any other illegal animals from escaping, and to keep out unwanted visitors (unscheduled potential patrons and annoying ministry officials alike.) His store had a decent amount of magic constantly surrounding it, and the vipers could slither along the walls and then return to let Tom know if the owner was in or not that day.
The owner of Ariadne's, a witch in her early 20s who inherited the store from her grandmother, was fond of listening to depressing opera music played by a magically amplified, hand-crank record-player. To avoid noise complaints such as she had first had when she took over the shop, she had installed a number of sound-dampening charms in the store. You could barely hear her music if you were at the door, but as soon as that door opened, morose strains of soprano singing would fill the street. Thankfully for the spiders, she had sound-proofed their cages as well, so they weren't assaulted by the music from sunup to sundown. All of that meant a decent amount of ambient magic was coming from her shop on the other side of the alley, and she wasn't going to hear him when he practiced.
Few people seemed interested in the spiders, and the snakes told Tom that the poison shop almost always did business after dusk, so that meant he had the alley to himself to practice, with very little chance to get caught. He had one of the sleek vipers keep watch down by the entrance of the alley- in case someone happened to be heading towards the shops, he'd have forewarning and stop practicing. On the one occasion a wizened, grumbling witch had been passing by the shops, she hadn't even noticed Tom perched up on the fire escape on the second story of the building. And in return for all their assistance, Tom caught a pair of mice on his way to the alley every Monday, and after his practices on Fridays, and brought them back to the snakes so they wouldn't have to leave their eggs to hunt and risk getting caught by other wizards who wouldn't take kindly to their presence.
So Tom browsed around the wizarding community for a few hours each trip, listening in on their conversations, occasionally getting to pick up a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet for a more in depth look into the wizarding world, and then he'd retreat to his practice spot after lunch time, when the crowds started to recede as the heat of the summer day reached its peak. At nights and on his days off from Diagon Alley, he spent his time in his room at the Orphanage, studying the spell books he picked up his first trip. He memorized a few chapters at a time, and when he got to his practice spot, he went about trying to produce the most recent magic he had studied.
He still had a lot to learn, but he was a quick study. He had already learned several charms from A Standard Book of Spells, a few more charms from A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, and a number of useful jinxes and hexes from Dark Forces:A Guide to Self Protection. He was also studying his Potions and Herbology books, hoping to find a stray spell he might try, or to be aware of some ingredient that didn't come stock in his beginner's potion kit but might be useful to buy before the school year started, but he couldn't do much practical application for those subjects yet. He did, however, find a useful charm in his Herbology book, the Severing Charm, used to deal with some aggressive breeds of plants. He'd be reading through his Astronomy and History books once he finished up with the others; he could tell at a quick glance that they'd be dry reading and not have anything useful for these practice sessions.
After a few hours of practice, he'd leave for the orphanage to have his share of the rationed dinner. He'd read until the clock rang 10, needing wand light after dusk because the matron shut off the electricity at sundown to save money. Lighting up his wand required a tiny amount of magic, and he had learned it was one of the few charms that were so minor that it wouldn't register to the wards that would report him for underage magic. At 10, he'd go to sleep, and be woken up at 5 am for breakfast, and his routine repeated itself.
Today was his fourth Friday morning wandering Diagon Alley. It was getting close to lunch time, being nearly half past eleven. He stopped by the meat cart in Carkitt Alley, the vendor just finishing his set up to accommodate hungry shoppers. The meat cart was one of the cheapest places to get a bite to eat and, of the cheap places to eat it was the most palatable. Tom got very little meat at the orphanage thanks to the muggle conflicts that were increasing and causing rumors of a potential second Great War eventually breaking out, combined with economic depression, causing food shortages. Country wide rationing hadn't been instituted again, at least not yet. The orphanage had barely adequate meals at even the best of times due to the way it was funded, however, causing them to live on a meal plan much like war-time rationing, so he appreciated the place to supplement the meager diet.
He had already priced out his school supplies and, thanks to the money-saving advice of Ollivander, had come to the conclusion he could afford one of the mutton sandwiches for lunch each of his trips for about six weeks. He had about two more weeks left of that initial six, which would bring him to the first week of August. At that point, he'd have run out of school supplies to excuse his trips anyway, so he'd spend his last three weeks before the start of school studying everything he couldn't practice. If he was diligent, he estimated he could read through all his books before school even started and have a decent grasp of their main contents, even if he'd need further time studying during school to remember all the small details.
"Hello, Tom," the vender, Jacob, said, his gruff voice somewhat pleasant towards the much younger wizard. "Your usual?"
"Yes, please," Tom said, making sure to be ever so polite. "Thank you, Mr. Fowl."
Jacob pulled some fresh shaved mutton from a metal container that was kept warm by a bluebell flame inside, piling it onto half a roll. Slices of cheese and some roasted onions and peppers were piled on, the other half of the roll topped it and the sandwich was cut in half, and then the sandwich was wrapped in a piece of waxed paper.
Tom had noticed that after his first week of trips to the cart, the vender had started to add a bit more meat and veggies than he had before. He had to admit, albeit ruefully, that he was on the skinny side, a fact even his robes couldn't hide as it showed in his face; so he wasn't going to complain about the kindness of adding extra to the sandwich, but he hated that it was obvious he was a little underfed right now. The sandwiches, while made of a cheaper meat, were large enough that half was sufficient for his lunch, and the other half he saved for the following day to eat in addition to the slop that the orphanage would serve for lunch. Thanks to the vender's generous portions, the sandwiches were helping him fill out a little- he had put on almost five pounds in the last month. Three more weeks would help him gain a couple extra pounds, then he'd just have to hope he wouldn't lose it all between then and when school started.
"Here we are," Jacob said as he handed the sandwich to the boy and accepted the six knuts in return. "Enjoy your day, lad."
"Thank you, Mr. Fowl, you as well," Tom said, making sure to do so with a charming, grateful smile.
Jacob nodded to him and Tom left the vender to his next customer. Tom made his way to the benches surrounding the mermaid fountain in the center of the Carkitt Market, finding a spot to sit just off to the right of the fiercely scowling mermaid.
That was something that had momentarily surprised Tom when he had first seen it- the fountain's depiction of a mermaid. He hadn't even recognized what it was for the first ten seconds or so that he had stared at it. Muggle stories were mostly about how mermaids were beautiful creatures who sang songs and bewitched men into the sea, much like a siren. Real mermaids apparently couldn't care less about humans, muggles or wizards, were decidedly fishy and unappealing to look upon, and became downright hostile if you encroached on their territory without permission. All of which was good to know, and showed how little muggles actually knew about the world.
Tom learned new things every day in his wanderings around Diagon Alley, and he was glad for every bit of it. He was going to learn everything he could about the magical world, uncover every one of its secrets. He was going to master all the disciplines and then… then nothing could ever stand in his way of greatness. No more marginal living off charity, no more scraping by with nothing to call his own, no more tasteless meals of unidentifiable origins. No more rickety little rooms with rickety little furniture. It was clear that, despite some obvious social realities, the wizarding world embraced its own and rewarded at least a comfortable living to those with even average talent and some idea to put that passable talent towards. He knew he had far more than just average talent and when he came into his own, he was going to take this world by storm somehow, be lauded for his greatness, and never again have to think about the rat hole his mother left him to rot in.
Thoughts of his future success carried Tom through the first part of his lunch, only interrupted by snippets of conversation that caught his attention.
"Did you read this morning's Prophet?" A middle aged and portly housewitch was gossiping to a blonde friend as they ate their lunch at the table behind Tom. Two small children- a dark haired boy of two or three years resembling the first witch, and a blonde witch of maybe two years- were being wrangled into eating their lunches as their mothers talked.
"Of course. Why?" the younger, slender blonde asked, magicking a bit of mush from some strands of her daughter's hair.
"The Ministry announced they may be allowing an expansion here, if they have enough interest from potential merchants."
"Yes! I did read about that. They're tentatively calling it 'Idyllic Alley' and said it'd run from about the middle of Whimsic, down towards Botanic. I'm hoping some of the merchants who usually sell from their homes decide it's time to expand and put in applications. It would be so nice to have a new shopping district."
"It would, indeed," the brunette said, giving a small sniff. "Especially with all these new witches and wizards being brought in. Never mind the refugees from Europe. Things are getting so crowded here that there's barely any room to do one's shopping."
Tom could hear the disdain in that witch's voice and understood "new" or "new-blood" to be a polite way of referencing muggle-borns. She was obviously one of the pure-bloods, from an ancient wizarding house, that called muggle-borns 'mudbloods' when not in public, but such was not politically wise outside of her home. Despite that fact, the young wizard had picked up in the last four weeks that there was a thinly veiled hostility from those of old families towards those who had no apparent wizarding roots. Those of the former group felt those of the latter group were invading their sacred world, threatening its stability. It was part of the reason he was determined to learn everything he could, so no one would have reason to question his background too deeply, as he did not yet know who his wizard father was. Being a half-blood was acceptable to most pure-bloods; just barely, but it was tolerable to all but the extremists. It seemed the condemnation fell hardest on the pure-blood witch or wizard who made the choice to have children with a muggle or muggle-born, but the half-blood children were given a chance to show their wizarding worth and could be accepted in most circles if they renounced their muggle roots. Being suspected as a muggle-born, however, was a social death sentence with the pure-blood elitists.
"I know! I had to wait almost twenty minutes in line at Concordia's to purchase Warbeck's new record. Do you know how frustrating it is to have them looking at me like I'm some miscreant because little Araminta was restless and wanting to leave? Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."
Tom turned his mental attention from the two witches as they began discussing the new record bought. That a potential expansion to Diagon Alley was proposed, however, was an intriguing bit of news. It would likely take a year or two to make a final decision on the matter, and a few years to make the expansion and build the shop fronts. The additional merchants would cause shifts in the natures of the shopping districts if some of the old merchants moved their shops to newer buildings as an upgrade, and then other merchants shifted to the abandoned stores, though how exactly would remain to be seen if this expansion happened. And then, of course, there was the fact that new shops opening would create a competition for goods potentially, and perhaps make some things cheaper in the near future.
Tom was able to reason out that much from what basics of economy he had learned in muggle school. He considered that all these changes could be happening as he was getting in his later school years. When he graduated, he might have more opportunities for employment, or may even have enough magic in his repertoire to open his own shop, until such time as he gained power and influence to do something else with his life, maybe working in the Ministry or abroad. He wasn't sure yet what precisely he wanted to do, but he knew that eventually the pieces would slip into place in his mind and he'd do something great with himself.
"…A daughter? You're pulling my leg," an early middle-aged, black-haired wizard was saying to his companion as they sat at the other end of the table Tom sat at. The wizard was on Tom's side, the witch opposite. "How daft do you think I am?"
"I swear on Merlin's beard," the witch said with a Cheshire cat grin, flicking a lock of salt and pepper hair from her eyes with her long nails. "I met her myself just half an hour ago when I stopped him to talk about the store donating some out-modelled lab equipment not selling to their Potions class. She's a pretty little thing with long hair as black as a raven, skin like moonflowers, eyes like amethysts, and lips as red as her name flower. Apparently her mother is an Italian witch he met while abroad, and she's been raised with her mother's family 'til now. Sounds as though her mother must have died while she was a babe, so he was naturally rather reticent to speak about her much. Armando retrieved the girl at the beginning of summer to spend more time together and they're shopping about to get her ready for Hogwarts."
"How in the world did that old goat manage to have a daughter at his age?" the wizard asked in shock.
Tom could see the witch give an exaggerated shrug from the corner of his eye, though he kept a careful mask of paying attention to his sandwich that he was still taking small bites from. He knew from long experience that adults highly underestimated the interest children could have in their conversations, especially unknown children of unknown interests. As long as he seemed an oblivious child eating their lunch, they'd chatter on like he was nothing more significant than a pigeon pecking at crumbs.
"Who knows?" the witch said. "There's certainly enough potions and spells to help maintain virility. But whichever he used, he got himself a pure daughter out of it to carry on the family line. I'm sure that's going to give his however-many-great nieces and nephews no end of bemoaning, sure as they were that they'd finally inherit when the old man passed."
The wizard snickered and shook his head. "Even if there was the potential to inherit all the gold in Gringott's, I'm sure she's going to be wishing she stayed in Italy. Dippet was always a stickler for rules and I've heard that while he runs Hogwarts efficiently, he's not exactly the most nurturing gent and doesn't get personally involved with the students."
"I don't know about that," the witch said knowingly. "He seemed rather protective of his daughter and she seemed happy enough. Had a little puffskein he had just bought her, dressed in silk robes from Twilfitt's and slippers from Chic Feet, and he had in arm not just school supplies, but bags with new books and toys and other presents for the girl as a belated birthday celebration. Armando might not get himself attached to other people's children because they're full of trouble, but he seemed to be giving her the full princess treatment now that she's in his care. He's even let her bring her familiar with her from Italy, a silver-back merlin, and apparently it'll be going to Hogwarts with her in place of an owl."
The wizard gave a humph. "Hm… Well, I suppose that makes sense. He's spent what, 250, 300 years not having a few rugrats of his own? And daughters are always the apple of any father's eye. At least her mother was a witch, even if Italian, and he's not wasting his family's vault on mu-…" The witch gave a brief, sharp cough, clearly reminding him of their public location. "…multiple children. One is certainly enough for a man his age," the wizard finished carefully, then took a sip of his coffee.
"Quite. Hopefully he has some sense and won't spoil her overly much, though, and come off as being gauche. Otherwise, she's going to find herself being torn to shreds by the children from other old houses. We're not nearly as flamboyant as they are in Europe."
"Eh, Dippet knows those waters well enough," the wizard said dismissively. "When you're born to a noble house, you instinctively know how to display your wealth without going so far overboard that you harm yourself. That's why our houses have survived all these centuries while others crumble to ruin because they let new blood in that wasted it all away in sad shows trying to prove their worth. Letting the girl keep a familiar she was already attached to, especially as she wasn't born and raised here, is nothing. It's not as though he's bought her a unicorn to ride to classes on and a diamond-encrusted gold wand holder to flash around in class."
The witch laughed at that. "Could you imagine it though? Oh, that's a hideous thought. Perhaps someone should let the idea slip at a holiday party as something they were considering, and see how many of the new-bloods think it a wonderful suggestion…" They both laughed at that. "…And it'll be amusing to see how the Headmaster handles the avalanche of proposals she's sure to receive as she comes of age. He might be as old as dirt, but he was a fine Auror in his day and I feel sorry for any boy who might want to court her."
"You aren't kidding. I remember when Blishwick and I were first going through Auror training, Dippet was just getting ready to retire to Hogwarts. Blishwick had the bollocks to ask the old man if he thought he'd be able to handle such spritely opponents prancing about en masse. Before Blishwick could even blink, Dippet had him body bound and his lower lip had extended up over his eyes, looking like he was about to swallow his own head. What age may have lessened in him in regards to physical prowess, it's replaced with a surplus of knowledge and inventiveness."
The witch's laughter was nearly a cackle now. "I don't think you ever told me that story."
"Yes, well, Blishwick does hate hearing it and I don't fancy him conveniently mistranslating some set of runes and having a curse blow up in my face when I go to disenchant it."
"Fair enough…" the witch said. "Do you think there'll be an explosion in Hogwarts for you to sort out if he catches her in a broom closet?"
"Oh, undoubtedly," the wizard said, snickering yet again. "The Dippets have always been adamant on propriety being upheld. If she ages into even a moderately attractive adult, I'm sure there's going to be all sorts of interesting happenings as the old man finds himself dealing with 20th century suitors and rebellious modern daughters."
"She was quite pretty for a girl her age," the witch confirmed. "A bit shy, but that seemed more due to being in new surroundings. I'd give her a year or two and she'll be as comfortable as any who was raised here and twice as pretty as she is now. It shows in her features."
"And then lads will come sniffing about, regardless of who her daddy is, because hormones overran their self-preservation instincts," the wizard said assuredly. "And when that happens, I'll tell you this- I'll find some way to be unavailable to be sent out."
"Is that so?" the witch asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You bloody well better believe it," the wizard said matter-of-fact. "It's been a few decades since I saw Dippet teach Blishwick a lesson, but I doubt he's slowed down that much if he's still lively enough to go siring a daughter in the last decade. One of the other teams will have to sort that mess out 'cause I'm not going to be the one telling old Dippet that it's no longer legal to go cursing suitors getting too fresh with his girl and find myself on the receiving end of his wand. Especially as I'd feel a hypocrite for doing so. I would have been praying to Merlin for help if I had ever had a daughter. Or else I'd have been looking into chastity charms to put on her to ensure no boys went treading where they don't belong before marriage because I know how I was as a teenaged lad."
The gossiping duo were still laughing over that when three more wizards and a witch joined them. After telling their companions about this latest gossip, which basically reiterated what had just been said, their conversation turned to the latest models of potion distillers, which Tom listened to with a minor interest.
Tom did, however, spend a few minutes mulling over this latest gossip. Even if he hadn't been paying entire attention to the conversation, nor spent nearly a month listening in on conversations around Diagon Alley, he certainly knew that the name at the top of his Hogwarts acceptance letter was Headmaster Armando Dippet. He hadn't heard that Headmaster Dippet was a former Auror. In fact, he really hadn't heard too much about his headmaster. Dippet wasn't someone others were frequently gossiping about, though he had heard various things about some of his future professors. And that gossip was certainly going to be useful in making the right first impression; whether it was knowing to stay away from certain subjects the professor had negative opinions on, displaying certain qualities the professor was known to have and favor in their students, or scandalous bits of their history that would likewise be best to avoid touching on, unless someday down the road there was a situation in which he may be able to reference it in such a way that could play on their sympathies to his benefit.
Tom knew that becoming an Auror required extremely high marks on the later examinations in the seventh year, the N.E.W.T.S.; which one was only allowed to take if they had high marks on their O.W.L.S. in fifth year; and a great deal of grueling training after graduation. He didn't know what that training entailed, but it was obvious that those who went through it were held in regard because they had the skills to successfully complete it. Apparently the Headmaster of his new school was quite the skilled wizard and, deduced from the gossip, from a pureblood family. One that was apparently quite rigid in their behavioral conduct, and now they had a new member of the family coming from abroad. A witch who was going to be starting school at the same time he was.
Tom realized that he might be able to use that to his advantage. If there was one thing he had realized about the wizarding world, connections were almost as important as talent. There was a distinct line drawn between the purebloods of old families that held various positions of power and everyone else who wanted to be on their level. He could, and would, make a name for himself by his own talents. However, he was smart enough to know that because he didn't know who his wizard father had been, didn't have the benefit of generations of connections made and reinforced at his disposal, that he was at a disadvantage no matter how talented he was. He was going to have to work harder than any other pureblood raised among their pureblood families to gain anything close to the same recognition.
The way to prestige and fortune would be made far easier if he had connections with those with sway over the wizarding world who recognized his talent from the beginning.
Charming his professors was going to be one of the steps to hopefully gaining that recognition.
Making the right sorts of friends was another of those steps.
Friendships made at Hogwarts seemed to last a long time after graduation. And wizarding parents were extremely attached to their children's best interests and seemed to adopt one another's children as nearly their own when said children were close friends. Tom couldn't count the number of times in the last four weeks he had seen one wizard or witch doing a favor for another because they went to school together, or were the child or grandchild of an old friend. There was always gossip that this person might have pulled strings with this official to get this second person a new job/raise/approval for a special project; or that this half-blood or muggle-born felt like they may have been passed over or outright rejected for something because of their lack of familial connections, etc. If he wanted favors being pulled to expedite his own rise to greatness, if he wanted to not slip into the latter category of those being overlooked and therefore only obtaining moderate success, infiltrating this system through his fellow students was going to be key.
And now he had another student added to his list as a potentially useful person to befriend while at Hogwarts- the daughter of the Headmaster.
How precisely, Tom wasn't sure of yet. He'd need to find an appropriate opportunity to converse with her, or catch further gossip from others who had met her, and find out what sort of person she was to know how to manipulate his way into her good favor. And he would have to be careful that he didn't come across as a questionable friend that her father would discourage, otherwise he might not be able to later ingratiate himself to that father. But a foreign witch being dropped into British politics could always use a friend who didn't seem to care about her being from abroad, who could help her navigate the murky social waters, who could even seemingly sympathize with having lost a parent. If he made himself useful to her, befriended her, he could gain her father's approval and favor as well.
Even if he couldn't impress her reserved father, it was common knowledge that he was extremely old for even a wizard and could only live for just so much longer. Armando Dippet wasn't really gossiped about, but there was a couple times Tom had overheard bits of conversations from those wondering who would be someday appointed to succeed him at Hogwarts, or which of his distant relatives might inherit his fortune and would be best to curry the favor of. Eventually, the wizard would give way to old age. And as the only child to a pureblood wizard of some renown, she'd be inheriting a substantial amount from said father.
Combine that with the gossiping witch's opinion that the girl was pretty and likely to grow up more so- Dippet's daughter would indeed have other purebloods courting her for her favor, if not her hand in marriage. Purebloods seemed to obsess on their children's futures, and part of that were their prospects for marriage. They stopped short of arranging marriages at birth, that practice had apparently died out in the last several decades, but parental approval of courtships was obviously of high importance, and helping their children maneuver for a marriage with those of note was almost a game or competitive art among them.
Tom had no desire to marry anyone, no matter the benefits that may come of it. Some, if not most, would probably say that was just because he was eleven and a half years old and going through a 'girls are gross' phase. It wasn't. To him, the whole business of marriage was unnecessary complications and attachments he didn't want. His parents had been married, that much he did know, and look where that led- his father had apparently left his muggle wife while she was pregnant with him (perhaps regretting his marriage choice and the social ramifications) and she had left him in the orphanage with her death.
There were a significant percentage of successful figures in history who never married; they dedicated their full attention to their endeavors, they understood having priorities. Tom chose to look at those forerunners as the standards he should hold himself to.
Nor did Tom have any illusions that he'd be allowed to marry a pureblood witch with his murky, unknown wizarding roots; not unless he could someday track down his father and reclaim his heritage with undeniable proof he was from a pure-blood family. Otherwise, he'd get a pureblood spouse disowned by her family, which would defeat the purpose of him bothering to put himself through the torture and farce of getting married in the first place.
No, he was going to do the smart thing and garner friendships among those of influence. He'd be the modest friend with a great deal of talent who wasn't seeming to want any of those usual things from purebloods in demand, who had been their friend since childhood, and would subsequently have their favor and influence if he played his cards properly. While he occasionally made mistakes, he learned quickly. He kept the other children at the orphanage in line and from bullying him with his use of magic and snakes scaring them, but muggles were easier to scare and that wouldn't suffice in the wizarding world. He needed new tactics to get what he wanted. He was determined that he would become a master of these new rules and games and someday have everything he wanted.
Tom cast his attention back to the marketplace as he finished his last few bites of the first half of his mutton sandwich. There was a number of boring conversations taking place, but he still filed away in his memory the name of this singer, that botanist, this plant that could be used for this ailment. Every little bit could come in use eventually, even if only so that he knew what others may end up talking about and not be staring like a lack wit.
The clock bell in the center of the market rang, alerting all within hearing range that it was noon. Tom popped the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth. Time to get to his practice spot and try producing one of those handy little bluebell flames; he had found the instructions to conjuring them in his Charms book last night. If he managed to make one today, he was going to move on to the smokescreen spell in his Defense book. That one seemed a bit harder and was likely going to take a few days practice to pull off, so he wanted to try to accomplish the bluebell flame before the weekend arrived.
"… Francis DelCour, the enchanter, has also gone missing," a brunette witch said as she sat down a few tables in front of Tom. The young wizard slowed in wrapping up his remaining half of sandwich to hear the gossip, as this could be something important. "The French Ministry is reporting it as also being the work of Grindlewald's forces."
The older strawberry-blonde witch who sat across from her, back to Tom, shook her head. Her voice was concerned as she said, "It's really just too much. The Ministries may say that it isn't a war in the making over there, but it sure seems that way. Someone really needs to put a stop to Grindlewald and his madness before he tears the wizarding world apart with his rhetoric."
The brunette nodded. "I don't think I'm ever going to understand people like him, but I know that he's full of shite, pardon the language. And all these people he's attacking! DelCour was a pure blood who may have been vocal about accepting muggle-born spouses so houses didn't get too interbred, but it's not like he was actively fighting Grindlewald. Even still, now he's missing. Pureblood, half blood, muggle-born, even magical creatures and beasts! If he doesn't like what they have to say or thinks they're inferior, suddenly they're disappearing in some sort of blaze or mishap. It's wrong is what it is, and someone needs to stop him before there's nothing left but a handful of pure bloods who have to resort to incest to keep their so called purity."
The strawberry-blonde witch shuddered at that. "Diana! Please, I do have the desire to eat my lunch."
"My apologies. I just get so riled up whenever I read a new account of what's going on over there!"
"I understand, and agree, but please let us at least finish our lunch before you say anything so grotesque."
The brunette nodded and tucked in to her meal.
Seeing that there was no further news to be heard from there, Tom picked up his bags and made his way out of the market. He took a different way to the alley each time he visited, in hopes that would keep anyone from noticing his trips to the less savory district and following to find out what he was up to.
As Tom came closer to his destination, he made certain to keep an eye out for anyone else. There were very few people who came to Knockturn Alley, especially during the day, but he did end up having to duck back down the side street he was about to walk out from when he spotted four boys around his age or a year or two older walking down the street ahead of him. Tom recognized them, even from behind, as they were some ruffians who lurked around Knockturn Alley during the afternoons while their fathers drank themselves stupid at The White Wyvern. They must have just arrived with those fathers. Thankfully, they were walking away from him, so they didn't see him, but they were walking towards his alley, which meant he'd need to give them a head start to get to their own little spot they had claimed.
Tom had thus far been able to escape their notice, and planned to continue doing so until he at least had a wider range of spells to defend himself with. They were a type he knew all too well- lowlifes who liked to start fights and do stupid things to make themselves feel important. Just last week, one of the younger ones had been getting his ears boxed in the middle of the street by his old man because someone had caught him stealing an apple from one of the venders. From what Tom had overheard from his hiding spot down the block, (the father was rather loud in his inebriated state,) the older wizard wasn't upset with the theft itself, but that the boy had gotten himself caught and over such an insignificant thing.
Tom counted off two minutes in his mind, just to be certain they would be well away, then peeked around the corner of the building. They were nowhere in sight. He proceeded to his alley, keeping a look out for the other boys, but fortunately avoided any run ins.
While he set his bags up on the fire escape landing and reviewed his notes on the bluebell flame spell, he had the male viper go check to make certain the boys had gone off to their own area.
Tom was glad there was the fire escape to practice on, as it kept him out of direct line of sight with those on the street and, if those boys ever did stumble on him practicing, would make it harder to hit him with any spells because of the bars in the way. He had, at first, wondered that wizarding building had fire escapes, but then found out that outside of designated entrance points apparition wasn't possible in Diagon Alley. As most witches and wizards didn't keep a broom in arm's reach at every moment of the day, access to a fireplace could be cut off in a blaze, and young witches and wizards wouldn't know or be able to cast spells to combat fires, having an alternate means of escape was still considered prudent should a fire break out, and some of the buildings' owners had added that muggle idea over the last few decades.
Tom highly suspected the owner of the poison shop added a muggle invention to his building in case he ever needed an alternate way to exit his store should Aurors ever show up to take a closer look at his back rooms.
When the snake came back and reported that three of the boys were in their alley, Tom reasoned he was safe to start his practice session. Whichever boy who was not with his friends was likely off to conduct some trouble on his own and the others weren't in the mood to follow along. He had the snake keeping an eye out for him, so he'd have warning if the stray ruffian was coming this way while making his way back to his friends, and he wasn't practicing any potentially noisy spells today.
…Well, unless he really bolloxed this up and perhaps made the flame explode. It was only the second conjuring spell he had attempted so far, but he was reasonably certain he could pull this charm off. If he lost control of the flame during the conjuring, he did know a small water spell that would be able to put it out. He had taught himself that conjuring spell last week, and managed to learn it in five tries, which is part of why he felt ready to try out a fire spell. His first two attempts with water had produced no result, the next had produced a small trickle, and then a larger trickle, before the fifth attempt created a decent sized stream coming from his wand. Now that he had a bit more practice with it, he could shoot a decently powered jet of water out of his wand. If the fire conjuring followed the same pattern, he might fail a time or two, then get a bit of smoke or only a few flickers of flame, before getting the feel of the elemental magic enough to conjure the flame properly.
Tom nodded to himself. Yes, he was prepared to give this a try and he would conjure the flames by the end of today. He knew in some unnamable part of himself that he was born for greatness, and every little step he took towards mastering different facets of magic would bring him one step closer to his future power. He'd prove he could master magic better than any that came before, regardless if his blood wasn't entirely pure, and no one would dare find anything ill to say of, or do to, him again.
And when he someday reached those heights of fame and power, he was going to shove it so far down his father's throat that the bastard hopefully choked on it. He'd reclaim his rights and heritage eventually, but he'd never forgive his father for abandoning him, no matter who his mother was and whatever their problems had been. He shouldn't have been treated as though he was a bi-product piece of trash to be left on the wayside while his father moved on.
Some things were absolutely unforgiveable and he'd make certain his father came to regret his decision.