Authors Note: Agh! Almost forgot my author's note, so close to posting story up. Well here it is anyway. I enjoyed writing this chapter excessively which possibly means it is less well written but it was a lot of fun. And finally a chapter called Diagon Alley. Excellent. Thank you everyone who reviewed, keep doing so. No individual responses because ff.nets gone mental and rearranged all my reviews and now I don't know who I've replied to already, I'll thank you all personally next time I promise. And sign your reviews people! I don't want to put any body off reviewing but I love reading other people's stuff and its nice to read the people's work who have bothered to read yours. Love you all and enjoy!

Chapter 4: Diagon Alley

With a loud thump and a scream he was hurled into the smoky bar, tripping over the raised edge of the fireplace and into the arms of an old and very startled witch. Mumbling apologies he walked quickly away from her and started furiously brushing the ash from his clothes. A few seconds later Albus Dumbledore appeared, stepped neatly across the grate and into the pub. "Fascinating wasn't it?" he enthused. Tom tried to glare at him but the wizard's good humour was infectious and he soon found himself grinning back despite the bruises that were forming on his shins.

"The usual Albus?" the bartender called from behind the gleaming counter, placing a small paper bag on its top.

"Thank you George. It's been too long." He pulled a number of small bronze coins across towards the other man and accepted the grubby bag before offering it to Tom. "Pear drop?"

"Um… thanks."

Dumbledore popped a pear drop into his mouth. "I'm particularly partial to muggle sweets, aren't you?"

"Er…" Tom replied intelligently. "Muggles?"

"The non-magical community. They seem to go out of their way to ignore what's right in front of them, bless them, but they do make delicious confectionery. Our sweets are much flashier but sometimes its simplicity that counts."

Tom wasn't sure whether he was supposed to reply to this but fortunately Dumbledore moved on through the crowds towards one of the multiple doors, he was stopped several times by wizards who were dutifully introduced to Tom and whose names floated straight through his memory. Finally they arrived in a small courtyard empty save for a metal dustbin.

"This is more than it appears."

"It is." Dumbledore brought out what Tom could only assume was a wand and tapped one of the bricks, a large gateway appearing where the dustbin had been moments before, a bustling street behind it.

* * *

After ten minutes Tom felt that Diagon Alley was the most extraordinary place he'd even visited, after thirty he knew it was. Up to this point the only real magic he'd seen was Dumbledore's disappearance after their first meeting and now their arrival by Floo Powder, Diagon Alley seemed to be bursting with magic that threatened to over flow at any moment and come spilling from the seams. It turned out his mother, while not being wealthy, had left him a substantial amount of wizard money guarded within Gringotts, the wizard bank. Tom, who had never owned anything, that was not already property of the orphanage, old and previously owned by five other boys, gazed at the small pile of gold in the grimy vault in wonder, his mouth open. The goblin next to him coughed rudely and glared at the awe struck boy.

"Why don't you put some of the money into a bag?" Dumbledore suggested kindly. "Goblins are very efficient, I believe wasted time offends them. Here take this." He handed Tom a velvet bag, embroidered in silver thread from one of the innumerable pockets in his robe and quickly the boy bent and scooped as many of the coins as possible into it.

Back outside in the street Tom watched in wonder as several people twice as tall as he was moved past him discussing the best wand movement to use with transfiguration. One of them got over excited and pulled out his wand to demonstrate his method and accidentally turned one of his companions into a duck billed platypus. Dumbledore moved on too quickly for Tom to see the effect this had on the others but half way down the street he heard the screams of rage as the platypus was turned back into a giant.

"Try my magic travelling powder today!" a tiny man squeaked while Tom tried to explain he'd arrived using it. "But it's a new invention made from frog skin, unicorn horn and dust" the man protested. "I've only just discovered it!"

"I think it's already been thought of," Tom apologised.

"Of course it has" a loud voice boomed as the man who had rediscovered Floo Powder yelled insults. "But why use Powder, boy, when you could be travelling by flying carpet?" the booming man asked clapping his arm round Tom's shoulder. "If you'll just step into my shop…"

An old woman pushed a large tray in front of him. "Would the young sir like to sample a chocolate frog?"

"How about a new camera son? If you take pictures with this baby they'll move once you've developed them."

"All cameras do that you idiot! Young man what you want is to come into my shop, we've got some special bargains today, one time only deals! Newt eyes are usually only 3 Sickles an ounce but for you, my new best friend…two."

Tom politely explained he already had his potion ingredients, that he didn't need a flying carpet or a new camera [although he did take a frog] and tried to push back through the crowds towards Dumbledore. The newt eye man followed him for a while ["You're a tough one, how about just one Sickle an ounce? Twenty Knuts?] but fell back under Albus Dumbledore's reproving stare and Tom was able to enter the next shop unaccompanied by his new friends. His new school robes were altered by magic until they fitted perfectly [unlike any of his other clothes] and Dumbledore lead him into the book shop where the picked up the books on the list Hogwarts had provided. The golden title of one of the books caught his eye as they left pushing their way back down the alley, Tom's arms aching with his new purchases.

"Mr Dumbledore…"

"Oh of course, how foolish of me." He twitched his wand "aegert." The bags in Tom's hands suddenly weighed no more than if they were empty rather than full to bursting with heavy books on magic, he smiled slightly "and its Professor, Tom."

"That wasn't what I was going to ask, er… Professor. One of the books back there was a book of Shakespeare's sonnets."

"Yes, Shakespeare was a wizard."

"I see." Tom thought for a moment then pronounced proudly "his sonnets are actually magic spells in disguise."

"Not quite," Dumbledore grinned. "It's just beautiful poetry." He stopped outside another shop. "Ollivanders is just down the road but before we get your wand perhaps you'd like to get yourself something from in here." A small bell jangled the national anthem as they entered the Magical Menagerie and Tom peered into the gloomy darkness. "Can I help you sirs?" the greasy voice of a shopkeeper asked as the man appeared from no where.

"No we're just looking, Magnus."

"As you wish Professor."

A wall of owls in cages hooted softly at him and Tom walked along the rows admiring the soft feathers and intelligent faces.

Welcome boy

He whirled. Magnus, the oily shopkeeper was standing at the entrance of the shop talking to Dumbledore about self-cleaning cages, neither of them had spoken.

"Who are you," he whispered, he didn't want either of the others to know he was hearing voices and talking back to them.

We have waited for you for a long time. Your ancestor promised there would be another.

"My ancestor? What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"Tom?" Dumbledore was standing next to him, a strange look over his face and Tom, blushing, realised he'd been shouting. "Sorry Professor."

"That's alright," but the worried frown did not completely leave his face. "Have you chosen a pet?"

"Yes." He pointed a tawny owl.

"An excellent choice, sir," Magnus answered from his other side and Tom paid for the owl and left the Magical Menagerie without hearing the voice again.

Ollivanders was a rather old and incredibly shabby store that stuck out like a sore thumb among the newer and flashier shops, its once golden letters now a dark bronze, the paint flaking off them. Tom studied it sceptically, Dumbledore had assured him it was a famous place, and in fact the only place one could or should buy a magic wand but it definitely didn't look it.

"Fifteen Knuts!"

The newt eye man was back and Tom moved quickly into the shop more out of a desire to escape him than out of any real belief towards the worth of Ollivanders. Albus Dumbledore was already inside eating another of his pear drops and examining the wand in the window.

"Welcome Mr Riddle. I have been expecting you."

The old man glided from the shadows and inspected him with pale lamp like eyes, the back of his neck prickled. "You must take after your father, I can't see anything of your mother in you. I remember her first wand vividly; it took me two hours to find exactly the right one, eleven inches long, mahogany. Let us hope you are not such a difficult customer." He started measuring the ends of Tom's fingers with a large set of silver compasses. "Interesting. Very interesting," and he walked off towards the shelves of long thin boxes without sharing what exactly was so interesting about Tom's fingertips. "How about this one? Eleven inches, like your mothers, beech wood and unicorn tail hair." He handed it to the boy, watching him intently but ass soon as his skin touched the wood Tom knew: this wasn't his wand. He handed it back to Mr Ollivander and moved wordlessly towards the shelves himself.

"What's he doing?"

"Choosing his own wand it seems."

He could hear the conversation of the two spectators distantly but somehow their words didn't seem important at the moment. He could feel it somewhere close by; he walked to the end of the shelves and turned right.

"Has anybody ever done that before?"

"I do not believe so; even you had your wand handed to you. How curious."

By now he had reached the final shelf and kneeling he ran his hands along the line of card boxes until about halfway down he stopped and pulled one from the pile.

Over the other side of the shop Mr Ollivander beamed as one of his wands was moved. "He's found it." Tom walked back slowly, the box containing his wand still unopened. "Extraordinary," the wand-maker muttered as the boy handed it to him.

"This is it."

Mr Ollivander nodded. "Yes. Thirteen and a half inches long, yew and phoenix feather," he remarked without moving the lid or inspecting the contents. "You're right." Gently he lifted the lid and presented it to the boy who took it gingerly and waved it experimentally before him; a shadowy figure gushed from the tip of the wand bowed to Mr Ollivander in thanks and disappeared. Quickly he took the wand back, placed it in its box and wrapped it in what seemed to be an excessive amount of brown paper, his hands quivering with excitement as each layer was added. Finally he placed it in a bag and handed it back to Tom. "I think we can expect great things from you Mr Riddle," he said still smiling broadly.

As Tom and Dumbledore left the shop he was still mumbling: "Choose his own wand…High level illusions…Extraordinary."