The Tale of Tom

Chapter Eleven: Diagon Alley. Again.

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"Honestly, Tom. Does everybody your age sleep this much?"

Tom didn't have to open his eyes to recognize the voice. "Hello to you too, Chester."

"Miss O'Flannery says to get your lazy bones out of bed," Chester replied, crossing his arms.

Tom still didn't open his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Late enough for your breakfast to be colder than ice."

"Good. It'll contrast nicely with the weather."

"Honestly," Chester said, walking out of the room.

Tom smiled at Chester's defeat and sat up. Ten-thirty, or so the clock said. That isn't too late, he thought to himself. Although he would've preferred if his breakfast wasn't going to be "colder than ice," as Chester put it.

Dragging himself out of bed, he went through his normal morning routine, ending with his arrival at the breakfast table. Miss O'Flannery clucked her tongue reprovingly as Tom took his seat, pretending not to notice. Great, what's the one thing better than sludge for breakfast? Cold sludge! Tom thought sarcastically.

As Tom was choking down his breakfast, Miss O'Flannery said, rather suddenly, "You can go today."

"Go where?" he said, confused.

"You know where," she said briefly.

"No I--oh!" Tom said cutting himself off. How could he forget? He was going to get his wand today! He grinned to himself and quickly ate the rest of his breakfast. After he had finished his breakfast, he quickly ran to his room and grabbed his life savings of sixteen pounds.

As he rushed to grab the bicycle, Miss O'Flannery called out. "Be safe!"

Tom ignored her words as he took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. How could he have not noticed it before? Sweet like honeydew melons, sweet like a newly blossoming flower. Quickly grabbing the bike, Tom walked around to the front of the orphanage, careful to avoid interactions with the other children. He didn't feel like saying good-bye or making an excuse up for why he was leaving.

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Tom's energy drained slightly as he pushed the pedals over and over and over again. How much longer? he thought, consulting the raggedy map once again. Just a bit further.

When Tom finally arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, just five minutes later, some of his weakening energy and excitement returned. Feeling in his pocket, he found all sixteen pounds there and proceeded to tie up his bicycle. I'm almost there, thought Tom excitedly. He quickly and purposefully strode through the pub, only running into two tables, one chair, and a cat.

Squinting in the bright light of the courtyard, Tom tried to remember how he got into Diagon Alley last time. Let's see, I think Frank used his....wand. That's right. I'm supposed to get his friend to let me in, Tom thought to himself as he went back into the Leaky Cauldron. Jeez, lately I've had a memory like a...like a...like a leaky cauldron, he continued to think to himself, rolling his eyes. If I can just remember who I'm supposed to ask. . . .nope. Can't remember. Oh, who cares? I'll just ask one of them and hope it's the right person.

"Umm, excuse me? I need to get to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies, and I was wondering..." Tom trailed off, embarrassed to state his situation. The man he had asked was giving him an apprising look.

"You're that orphan kid right?"

Tom felt his cheeks go hot. Would that be all he was ever known as? "That orphan kid?" He gave a small nod in acknowledgement.

"Sure, I can let you in," he said, setting down the glass he had been cleaning. "Name's Herbert Crane. You're Riddle, right?"

Tom nodded. "Tom Riddle," he said quietly. Why did his nerves always seem to desert him in new situations? All you had to do was mention he was an orphan and Tom became a mute, cowering figure. Why can't I be stronger? Why do I have to be an orphan? he futilely thought to himself. At least he had found the correct person.

"Uh, you listening, kid? I mean Riddle."

"Huh?"

"You're Frank's friend, right?"

"Er--I guess so. I've never really thought about it."

Herbert gave a slight smile, accompanied with a calculating look. Tom silently wished that people would stop trying to figure out how his mind worked, simply by taking in his appearance. Stop thinking, brain, he silently scolded himself.

"Here you go," Herbert said as the wall became a doorway.

"Thank you," Tom said, the tone of his thoughts dripping into his voice.

"You're welcome," the stranger replied pleasantly as he walked away.

Okay, deep breathes. I'm here. I'm finally here. Now, if I remember correctly, I have to get my money changed first. And that'd be at Gringotts. So to Gringotts first.

Tom walked to the tall, distinct building very quickly considering he had only been to Diagon Alley once before. He strode to the counter to and approached a goblin that wasn't busy.

"I'd like to make a currency conversion," he said, surprised to hear the words come out so smoothly.

"Which type of currency and how much?" the goblin asked.

"Non-magic currency," Tom said, blinking. What else could he want to convert?

"What type of non-magical currency?" the goblin said, barely masking his annoyance.

"Oh! Pounds. Sixteen pounds."

"Very good," the goblin said, returning to his normal, brisk manner as Tom placed the bills on top of the high counter.

Tom heard some clicking sounds and assumed the goblin was calculating what the conversion rate was. "Your amount comes to approximately 7 galleons, 9 sickles, commission included." Tom nodded as he took the now-coins off the counter. He'd forgotten that there was a fee for changing currency. At least the commission wasn't that large.

Passing through the double doors, Tom took a deep breath and felt the last of his emotions melt away into the warm breeze. I'm going to get a wand, he thought, stretching his arms out to the rays of sunlight. Just wish I knew where the store was, Tom continued to think, with a slight smile to himself. But nothing could ruin his sereneness now. I'll just explore for a bit.

All of the shops exteriors were fascinating to Tom; he had never really explored Diagon Alley. He wandered aimlessly through several stores, looking and absorbing, but moving quickly, lest somebody corner him and ask what he was doing there. Many of the books in Flourish and Blotts seemed to be particularly interesting, but alas, Tom could only skim through them and hope they would be in the school library. After Tom had finished drinking in the appearances of all of the shops, he headed towards the one shop he had made sure to remember: Ollivanders.

When Tom had first walked past it, he had barely noticed a shop there. After all, why would he? Most of the shops had colorful displays, bright signs, and excited students (which he happened to be avoiding). Not only was Ollivanders smaller than the other shops, it seemed to be a rather humble store. It didn't demand attention, yet, it was fairly obvious it got many customers.

Tom stood in front of the small, shabby storefront, and looked at the dusty window display, drinking in the quiet magic of the place. He glanced up at the sign and thought for a moment. 382 B.C. is when this store was supposedly founded, but how did they know? And was it passed down from generation to generation? What if the Ollivander in line for the shop never got married or had kids? Or what if--what if--what if it's the same Ollivander! Could wizards live forever? But then again, why couldn't they? There were undoubtedly spells which could preserve a person's age or health. To think, you could do almost anything with just a few words.

Gathering his nerves, Tom entered the small door which seemed to be a barrier to and from so much. A faint bell rang in the miles away from the entrance. He slowly walked in, afraid to disturb the ancient layers of dust that rest comfortably over the small room.

The voices Tom heard made him jump slightly. Of course he shouldn't have been surprised, it was a shop. Perhaps it was its quiet aura, or the fact he hadn't seen the young girl standing somewhat in front of him, waving a wand with sparks shooting from its end.

"That'll be 6 galleons, 16 sickles."

Tom quickly did some math. So that was one sickle less than the average. That was good. It meant that wands might be cheaper than Frank had alluded to in his letter.

What appeared to be the girl's mother paid the shop owner and beckoned to her child. The brown-haired girl seemed to have an older brother who started jovially chatting with her as they exited the shop, passing by Tom. The girl who had just bought her wand seemed to ignore Tom, which was fine with him, while the older boy gave him a slight smile.

After the happy family left, as did Tom's slight feelings of jealousy, he realized how stiffly quiet the shop was. He realized a young man was looking at him, and quickly made to be viewing the shop. There seemed to be an innumerable amount of small boxes surrounding the entire room. On the back wall was a door, which Tom assumed led to more wands, as in a faded scribble was the word "Warehouse."

Tom slowly walked forward, feeling in his pocket for the small amount of money he held.

"Good day," said the shopkeeper in a quiet voice, similar to a whisper. "Starting at Hogwarts?" he added with a slight smile that did not seem to affect his dreamy, pale eyes.

Tom nodded and said, "Yes, at the start of September."

"I thought so. Let us begin. Please hold out your wand, or dominant, arm."

Tom held out his right arm as the man--presumably Mr. Ollivander--took out a raggedy, brown tape measure. Mr. Ollivander started measuring the length of Tom's right arm, but left the tape measure to its own accord after that.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful, magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. Every wand is different from all others but itself, depending on the length, type of wood, and lastly but most importantly, the type of core. And of course, Ollivander's provides only the finest wands to our customers." By the time Mr. Ollivander had finished his speech, many boxes were taken from their shelved spots.

"That will do," the shop owner said, causing the active tape measure to fall to the floor. "Alright, try this wand out. Unicorn hair, nine and a half inches, made of mahogany. Just wave it a bit," Mr. Ollivander said, handing Tom a dark brown wand.

Seizing the wand and giving it a couple of waves, Tom wondered how he would find the right wand. He would've felt awkward waving a stick of wood around for no apparent reason, if he hadn't suspected it was the standard way of testing wands.

"Here, try this one," the shop owner said, taking the wand from Tom and giving him another one. "Twelve inches, maple. Dragon heartstring core."

Tom once again grabbed the wand and waved it in several directions. He looked at the man who shook his head and took the wand once again.

"Fifteen inches, beechwood. Another dragon heartstring one. Try again," Mr. Ollivander said, somewhat eagerly.

For the third time, Tom tried out a wand new to him. It seemed no different than the other two wands he had tried. He wondered vaguely how many wands he would have to try out before he found his wand.

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Twenty-second one, just tried, and failed, Tom thought to himself as Mr. Ollivander took yet another wand out of his hand. Was it a sign that he would be weak in the wizarding world? Was it the faster you found a suitable wand, the more powerful you were to become? Not only that, Mr. Ollivander was being annoyingly cheerful. Did the girl before him take this long? It didn't seem like it, but he'd only seen the end.

"Ten and three quarter inches. Made of ebony with a unicorn hair core. Try it," the shopkeeper said, much too happily for Tom's liking.

With a slight scowl on his face, Tom took the black wand and swished it around a bit. Nothing happened.

"Well, let's see," Mr. Ollivander said, taking the wand and returning it to its narrow box. The shopkeeper returned to the endless shelves with a contemplating look on his face. He glanced at Tom and said quietly to himself, "Why not," while taking yet another long and narrow box from the shelf.

"Yew. Thirteen and a half inches with a phoenix tail feather core. Quite powerful," the shopkeeper spoke while walking over to Tom, ignoring the fact that he was being intently watched by this eleven-year old boy. Slowly and carefully, Mr. Ollivander removed the wand from the box while Tom thought, Twenty-three tried, twenty-fourth coming up.

He handed the wand to Tom who in turn grasped it, but gently so, somehow telling that this wand would be different than the others. A sudden warmth spread beneath his fingers throughout the wand. This one's it, his mind thought, quite on its own. He waved it purposefully and colorful sparks shot from the end.

"Very good," the young man named Ollivander said, smiling. He gently took the wand back to put it in its box. While he was doing this, he gave Tom a curious look. "Have you ever heard," he started, "That the wand chooses the wizard?"

Tom shook his head.

"This is a very powerful wand," the man said slowly and carefully. "I think we can expect great things from you."

Tom swallowed nervously.

"What did you say your name was, again?"

"It's Tom, Tom Marvolo Riddle," said the young boy, not quite sure what had inclined him to state his middle name.

Mr. Ollivander cocked his head. "Are you, perchance, Muggle born?"

Tom saw the man's eyes flitting about the room, noticing the lack of parents. The wand had long ago been returned to its box.

"I'm not sure," Tom replied, not knowing what a Muggle was, but refusing to show his ignorance.

The shopkeeper slowly nodded. "It comes to 7 galleons, 10 sickles." Mr. Ollivander handed him the box without breaking eye contact. Tom silently wished the man with pale, silver eyes would look away. He quickly ducked his head while he ruffled through his pockets, yanking coins out and setting them on the counter. The number Mr. Ollivander had stated seemed a bit high, but Tom wasn't going to panic yet.

Finally the last of Tom's coins were deposited on the counter. Tom quickly bunched them together and counted. He was uncomfortably aware of Mr. Ollivander watching him.

2 galleons, 4 galleons, 6 galleons, 7 galleons, 2 sickles, 4 sickles, 6, 8, 9 sickles.

"Damn it," Tom muttered under his breath as he dug into his pockets again.

"Is there a problem?" Mr. Ollivander asked in his near-whisper voice.

No, nothing's the problem, Tom thought sarcastically. Oh, except for the fact that both of my parents are dead, I live in an orphanage, I'm flat broke, and I can't even pay for a wand. But besides that, absolutely nothing's wrong.

"I'm just, er, having trouble finding my last sickle," Tom quickly lied, making sure to look through his other pockets for the artifact that he knew wasn't there.

"Where are your parents?" Mr. Ollivander said in an even quieter voice.

"There--ah--around," Tom said. What an idiot he had been! He should have made sure he had had at least 10 galleons before coming to Diagon Alley for his wand. Frank had been right.

Tom ruffled through his pockets a bit longer for the money both of them knew did not exist.

"Please," Mr. Ollivander finally said, holding up his hands. "Let me take care of the last sickle."

Looking down at the ground did not hide the crimson shade Tom went. "You don't have to," he incoherently mumbled to the floor. "I have it...just...not with me."

"Do not worry about it. Please feel no debt. Just--just remember this day," Mr. Ollivander finished, giving Tom a strange, seemingly piercing look.

"Thank you," Tom said quietly, still looking at the floor. "I'll always make sure to remember."

The shopkeeper simply gave a nod and added a silver sickle to the pile of seven gold galleons. The money was put in a type of locking drawer, along with a piece of paper which had several scribbles on it.

"Thank you for coming to Ollivanders, makers of fine wands since 382 B.C." Mr. Ollivander said, returning to a more formal state.

"Thank you," Tom replied, in a voice that was, for once, more than a whisper.

I wonder if all people in the wizarding world are that nice, he vaguely thought, clutching his new wand to him. Soon, after a long bike ride, Tom would be back at the orphanage. And then, it would be only one week until Tom boarded the train to Hogwart's at Platform Nine, and was whisked away to be fully immersed in the wizarding world.

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I think we can expect great things from you....

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Disclaimer: Nope, last I checked I didn't own Harry Potter or Tom Riddle. Also, part of Mr. Ollivanders spew was copied directly from the first book because I figured he would have changed his speech slightly, but only slightly, over the years.

A/N: This author's note is basically info about when updates will come and why they will be kinda far apart in the future.

Okay, so. I got Chapter Eleven up. (As you can see.) I'm not sure when the next chapter will come. I'd like to try to get it up before I start freaking about how soon school is starting. (September 8th) Also, be warned that once school comes I'm going to be way busier. I happen to be entering High School, and I don't really know what they expect so I'll probably be trying to make sure I don't horribly fail. So once school starts, expect updates best once a week, on the weekends. Probably more like every other week, maybe every three weeks. One of the problems is that I tend to write these chapters late at night and once school starts I can't stay up late without collapsing half way through the day. (Something tells me my math teacher wouldn't be too happy about that.) So I shall try, because I also happen to like writing this story. I'm not going to abandon it, so don't worry if it takes a while. As always, check my profile for update info. I'm afraid that at the beginning of school I'm going to feel English-ed out since I know I'm going to have to write a couple of essays on my three summer reading books so updates will probably come a bit faster once I get settled in. And IRL I don't swear, but somehow I doubt you guys will care if Tom uses the word "damn." I'll probably raise the rating to PG, just to be safe. Okay, sorry for such a long author's note. And yes, I know it's Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Also, in case you can't tell, Document Manager still hates me.