Tom was up Monday morning bright and early. He hadn't slept well at all through the weekend and had even less sleep the night before. He'd awoken and eaten his breakfast without complaint and completed all of the chores Mrs. Cole gave him. He was actually grateful for the work because he was genuinely nervous. Professor Dumbledore had spoken to Mrs. Cole about retrieving him to shop for supplies and retrieve school uniforms, but that hadn't banished the doubt in him that the wizard might not return. What if something more important happened? What if some other child with wealthier parents demanded they needed to go Monday, and the man left him waiting?
He paced the living area as the time slipped closer and closer to nine o'clock. Mrs. Cole had instructed him to wear his best Sunday clothes, telling him to make a good impression on the school that might pluck him out of the orphanage, and Tom was happy to comply. A few of the other older kids who had heard through the rumor mill were giving him annoyed looks, but he ignored them.
Before nine even hit he was waiting by the front gate, looking around the street, waiting for any sign of the professor. Did wizards drive cars? Or did they have something magical they used to transport them, he wondered. He tried to remember how people got around in the fairytales, but the only thing that came to mind immediately was a horse-drawn carriage or even a sleigh.
"Good morning, Tom."
Tom jerked around and blinked at the man who had appeared from out of nowhere at his side. "How did you-?"
"It's not quite nine yet," Professor Dumbledore said, looking at a pocketwatch before sliding it back into his pocket, "But then again, I shouldn't haven't expected any less, are you ready?"
"Yes sir," Tom said obediently, and looking past where the man stood, wondering if somehow a car had pulled up without his knowledge, but there was no car, not a carriage, nothing that the man seemed to have arrived in. "Can we leave now?"
"Of course," The older man said, stepping away from the gate. "Do you need to inform Mrs. Cole of your departure?"
"No sir," He said quickly, shaking his head, "I did all my chores and she told me I was free to go." Actually he'd seen the looks she was giving him while he had been pacing and had thought it best to clear out of her way before he annoyed her or got underfoot. "How will we get to the shops?" He questioned instead.
"They're not far, and the heat isn't quite so bad after all that rain," the professor said, looking towards the clear sky, "We shall walk, as long as that's alright with you?"
Tom nodded his head obediently. He'd wanted to see how the man had traveled since he knew he hadn't just walked up- he would have seen him, but he also didn't want to pester the man with questions. He knew once he reached these shops with supplies for a magical school there'd be a lot more.
When they set off, Tom hadn't known what to expect. He suspected either the shops were in some shadier part of London Mrs. Cole had never let him near in outings, or were hidden in plain sight in what appeared to be normal shops. The path they walked lead further into the heart of London and Tom shoved his hands in his trousers and tried to conceal his excitement and anxiety about the entire thing. Professor Dumbledore made small talk, and Tom answered any and all questions he asked of him. Did he enjoy muggle school? Did he get on well at the orphanage? Did he have any good friends he was close with? He kept his answers short, but polite, not wanting to bore the man, but also very aware of his own sad childhood, being an orphan.
When they hit Charing Cross Road and Professor Dumbledore told him they were nearly there, Tom frowned, ever so slightly. He'd been to Charing Cross plenty of times for short outings or to help Mrs. Cole or the cook pick up supplies or groceries. Were some of the shops hidden here? They paused next to an old book shop, which Tom supposed looked rather magic-like, but Professor Dumbledore didn't reach for the handle of the door. Instead, he went to the door beside it. He wanted to ask but kept his mouth closed, watching instead, his head tilted, his eyes on the man. Professor Dumbledore opened the old wooden door and held it open for Tom, who hesitantly stepped forward into the dark room.
It took Tom several moments a running a hand over his eyes until he was able to adjust to the dim candlelit room. He'd never been inside a pub before, but he'd seen through the windows and it very much looked like a pub. However there were several things that stood out to Tom immediately that told him that this was no normal pub.
There were large paintings and pictures hung on the wall, but they moved. One portrait was empty while two men in the portrait beside it were laughing and playing cards, and a small picture of dogs that hung by the door barked happily at him. The bartender was writing down an order while a pitcher floated beside him, pouring drinks for the people seated at the bar. A woman sitting and eating at one of the tables wore a large, droopy witch hat with only a large spotted cat- either a leopard or jaguar- to keep her company, occasionally taking meat she offered it from her plate. Professor Dumbledore placed his hand on Tom's shoulder and steered him past the bar and towards another door.
"Hello Albus," The barkeep said happily, "Another student to Diagon Alley?"
"Of course, George," Professor Dumbledore said, smiling, "We'll catch up later."
The bartender waved and accidentally hit the floating pitcher beside him, knocking it sideways and the liquid sloshed all over himself and the bartop, a series of curses streaming from him until the door closed behind them.
Tom was smirking and raised a hand automatically as they emerged back outside, blinking as his eyes adjusted once more. The pub had been so peculiar and intriguing, he hadn't stopped to wonder about the wizard shops they were supposed to be visiting and he expected something. But not a closed-off alleyway.
Again he wanted to question the older man, but this time knew better than to do so. Even so he was just a tad skeptical as the man pulled his stick, the one he'd used before, and began tapping bricks. Professor Dumbledore paused and stared expectantly at the brick wall before signing.
"I always mix up the fourth brick," He explained, looking back at Tom as he tapped the bricks again. "There we are."
Tom stared and watched in amazement as the bricks began rearranging themselves, moving and folding over until they'd formed into an archway, leading to a large and crowded street. While some of the people in the pub had been dressed… eccentrically, here in the street everyone was wearing robes or fashion styles that appeared outdated by several decades.
"This is Diagon Alley, Tom," Professor Dumbledore said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Tom stared in wonder. The lights in the windows and all the items on display didn't remind him of grungy London in the least, though if anything it made him reminiscent of Christmastime.
"Do you have your list?" Professor Dumbledore asked suddenly, as though he forgot about it himself until just that moment and Tom nodded his head eagerly, pulling the thick envelope out from the inside of his coat pocket. He pulled the supply list out and scanned the odd assortment of supplies again.
"And the school is paying for my supplies?" He asked again, looking to his list and then back to the Professor. A part of him worried that they'd get into the shops and Professor Dumbledore would leave him. It would be his sort of luck that something like that would happen.
"Yes, though we will be visiting the second-hand shops," Professor Dumbledore reminded him, "You will, however, be purchasing a new wand. Hogwarts takes a strong stance in finding a wand that bonds to you, or else your performance is substandard." He said, and Tom nodded, not really certain what to even say or do. He'd heard about wands before, in stories mostly, and it made sense that the stick he carried was a wand. Even though he wanted to ask many questions and get answers to everything, he was just a bit wary about sounding like an absolute idiot in front of the older man.
"We'll be heading to Ollivander's for your wand, but that's at the end of the shops, so we'll head through on the way and get what you'll need." Professor Dumbledore looked down at Tom. "What's the first item we should attend to?"
He'd just about memorized the list by heart at this point, having read it so many times over the weekend. He needed robes and uniforms and dragonhide gloves. And a pointed hat. There was also a book list, which he was actually the most excited to get his hands on, outside of his wand, because he'd be able to learn everything he needed to know about this world he'd been thrown into. But looking up at the closest shops to him, he spotted Potage's Cauldron Shop.
"A cauldron," he said decisively, folding the list in half and looking to the older man, "I need one that's pewter, size two."
"Excellent," Professor Dumbledore said with a smile and a clap of his hands, leading Tom to the first store on the left, opening the door for the young boy. Another family was already examining cauldrons on the far wall and Tom hung behind the Professor as he asked the man behind the counter for a secondhand pewter cauldron. He lingered as the man behind the counter went to fetch it and stared in awe at the solid gold cauldron, as well as the other ones that had gems embedded on the rim and handles. Professor Dumbledore got his attention and he hurried to stand next to the older man, who paid and passed the cauldron to Tom.
"Is all your currency in coins?" Tom asked.
"Yes, here." Professor Dumbledore pulled a few coins from the pouch within his robes and handed them to Tom. There were three different types, the largest being gold coins, the other two looking like silver and possibly bronze. "There's three different coins we use, the biggest one is called a galleon and is worth the most." The professor went over the other two and then gave a rough estimation of a galleon to pound. Tom ran his fingers over the ridges that came from the serial number on the galleon before handing them back.
"We'll be able to put the rest of your supplies in the cauldron so you can carry them all," Professor Dumbledore assured him, pocketing the coins back into his pouch and then frowned, "Oh yes, we'll also need to pick up a trunk to keep your items stored in, as well as some basic supplies like quills and parchment."
"Yes, sir," Tom said dutifully, holding the cauldron in both hands. It wasn't quite as heavy as it looked, but it wasn't light either.
"Now we'll head over to the Apothecary across the way and get your scales and phials. Your potions professor will supply any ingredients you might need for the class." The elder man led the way across the street and as Tom stepped into the small shop, he blinked into the darkness again. It went very much like this for the next few shops.
Professor Dumbledore seemed to know the list, as he didn't ask Tom what was on it again, and instead helped him pick out some glass phials and a set of scales, and then some rolls of parchment, quills and ink, and notebooks from the stationery shop, and a telescope from a shop that sold all sorts of devices for Astronomy and even some self-stirring cauldrons and other objects Tom couldn't place.
Most of the people seemed to know the professor and greeted him fondly. The man behind the counter at the magical instrument store even went out of his way to tell Tom how much he missed Hogwarts. Tom just nodded politely and wondered if this was going to be a normal experience. The bookstore was next and the man behind the counter found all of his textbooks. Secondhand, but despite this they were still in a far better condition than most of the books that they had at the orphanage. Professor Dumbledore also slipped a book labeled Hogwarts, A History, into the pile. Tom wanted to linger the most in this shop, it smelled of old books and parchment and he instantly felt at home there, running his fingers gently over the worn copies of books.
Upon seeing his longing stare, Professor Dumbledore said, "Hogwarts' library is very extensive, there will be no shortage of books for you to read there."
Tom brightened and allowed the professor to move him back out through the door and into the shop that was directly next store. They stepped into a secondhand robe shop and Tom was forced to exchange pleasantries with another girl being fitted. Not that she was completely unpleasant, but he wasn't used to people trying to befriend him and he really didn't want to talk about that fact that he was an orphan and no, his father wasn't the man standing in the corner, obviously. Despite this she smiled and waved, hopping off the stool once the woman was done measuring her and followed out a woman, probably her mother. Tom focused on the new-used robes he was getting and not on the twinge of loneliness he felt at wishing his own mother were there.
As they emerged onto the street, they continued on, past a large white and marble building with the words "Gringotts Wizarding Bank" embossed on the front, as well as a darker side street labeled with a faded sign "Knockturn Alley."
"When you come of age, you'll be able to get your own vault," Professor Dumbledore explained and Tom looked to the bank and then back to the side street. The elder man caught his gaze and put a hand on his shoulder, "Knockturn Alley doesn't offer any shops to cater to new students," He said gently.
Tom's eyes narrowed and he looked up at the man. "Then who do they cater to?"
Professor Dumbledore didn't answer and instead began going over the list of supplies they'd acquired. "Books, robes cauldron, scales, phials, telescope, stationary," the professor ticked off, "Besides the wand is there anything else we've missed?"
"You mentioned something about a trunk, sir," Tom reminded him.
"Ah, yes, I did. There's a store across from Ollivander's' that might have some, so we'll get your wand and then see about the trunk." Professor Dumbledore said, nodding to one of the last buildings on the row.
Ollivander's' was a thin building in comparison to the others they'd been in, and only had one window on the first floor. A bell chimed as they walked in and the pair hung back as a blond-haired boy finished purchasing his own wand. He was a pudgy boy and his cheeks were bright pink and he was bouncing on his heels excitedly as his mother paid for it. A young blond man behind the counter was discussing the care of wands and Tom turned his attention to the rest of the shop. There was one small billboard that advertisements had been pinned to, but the rest of the shop, behind the counter and well into the back was filled with narrow shelves and boxes upon boxes stacked everywhere.
"Professor Dumbledore!" The young man said, leaning on the counter in front of him. "Not here to drop off any more samples, are you?" The man asked excitedly.
"Oh, no, no, Garrick, I've been rather busy as of late." The professor replied, stepping up to the counter. Tom hung back for a moment, but felt the eyes of "Garrick" on him. He didn't like feeling like he was being studied, so he raised his eyes and stared back at the man.
"And what is your name, young man?" The shopkeeper asked, still leaning on the counter.
"This is Tom Riddle. Tom, this is Garrick Ollivander, he'll be helping you find a proper wand." Professor Dumbledore gestured for Tom to step up to the desk, and he did, standing slightly on his toes to try and make himself feel taller and closer to being able to see clearly over the counter.
"Now, let's see," Ollivander said, walking around the counter, drawing his wand and levitating a rolled up tape measure with silver markings alongside him. "Which is your wand arm?"
Wand arm? Tom assumed that it was likely the same as a writing hand. "I can write with both hands," He supplied and Ollivander gave him a smile.
"Ambidextrous, impressive, well that gives you more choices, now stand still while I take your measurements." The tape ran all over Tom and he held still as it measured his arms and then his body. "Now, of course, there are exceptions, but generally the length of one's forearm and torso is indicative of the length and width of their wand, or at least so I've found," Ollivander jotted down some numbers and walked away as he said this, disappearing amongst the shelves, but still talking to them past the boxes.
"Now," He called loudly from the back, "We'll start you out with testing different cores, which," He said, emerging with a large stack of boxes, "are made up of powerful magical substances. If you seem to get attached to one, then we'll work out the wood type," he set the boxes on the counter and opened one and held the wand aloft. "Beech-wood and kelpie hair, a favorite of my father's. Ten and a quarter inches, springy. Give it a wave."
He wasn't quite sure how a wand might be springy, but he took the wand and waved it. When nothing happened he looked at the other man, and then to Professor Dumbledore.
"No, no," Ollivander snatched the wand from his hand and Tom stared at him skeptically as he rummaged through some more boxes. "Kelpie won't do, oh here, this." He pulled out a dark wand, "Chestnut, dragonheart string, eleven inches, flexible."
Tom didn't even have a chance to wave this wand because Ollivander was snatching it back before he'd even released it into Tom's hand. Tom gave the man a glare, which went unnoticed by the shopkeeper.
"Ashwood, twelve and a half, veela hair, whippy." This wand actually burned slightly as the touch and Tom gratefully let it back into Ollivander's hand. It continued like this for awhile, and the boxes piled up on the ground and the counter around them. The man ruled out over a dozen magical cores, from kneazle whiskers to unicorn and dittany, whatever those were, and eventually began circling back to test different woods he had yet to try. Tom was feeling a bit discouraged, but mostly annoyed given the man would barely let him touch half the wands before he was yanking them back, and not only this, it seemed to delight him.
"This is getting more and more interesting!" The young man exclaimed, stacking some of the used wands back into a pile and behind the counter, "Er, oh, here it is!" He pulled another box out. "Oak, fourteen and three-quarters inch, inflexible, dragon heartstring."
Tom took this wand hesitantly, as he had been with the last batch, waiting for Ollivander to snap it back, only he didn't. He gave the wand a slight wave and several of the boxes slid from the desk and the window behind him burst, shattering the trio in glass. Tom flinched, worried immediately he'd done something wrong but neither man seemed put off.
"Now we're getting somewhere!" Ollivander said as Professor Dumbledore waved his own wand, repairing the glass and restacking the boxes. "Hold on, I actually think I have it-" He disappeared among the shelves again. Tom carefully set down the wand on the counter back in the box and the Professor gave him an encouraging nod.
"Here! Here it is!" The man exclaimed, coming out. "Yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches, very rigid, but features a phoenix feather." He shoved the long wand into Tom's hand and a sort of coolness seeped into his palm, the kind of relief you felt when you turned over a pillow in the middle of summer. When he waved the wand down through the air in front of him, the wand seemed to sing in his ears and an immense sense of happiness and belonging filled his chest. Silver sparks streamed from the tip and Tom couldn't hold back a triumphant grin.
The older men applauded him and he turned slightly to see Professor Dumbledore giving him a warm smile, a bright twinkle in his eye. Even as Ollivander began clearing the other wands from the counter and getting Tom's rang up, Tom didn't want to let go of it, but reluctantly let Ollivander wrap the wand back in its box. He held the box close as the professor paid the shopkeeper. The letter didn't feel quite as important now, not with his wand in his hands. He wasn't just some orphan. He was a wizard.
The warm feeling in his chest didn't disappear as they left the shop and Professor Dumbledore began leading him towards the one across the road that sold trunks. They began to backtrack, passing by the several shops that sat between Ollivanders' and the trunk shop, but several kids crowded around one of the stores slowed them.
He paused, still grasping the box that held his wand tightly in his arms, but couldn't see over the heads of the kids gathered around the shop window, talking excitedly about whatever was in the window.
"What's that about?" He asked, looking to Professor Dumbledore, who was inching them around the group.
"A new broomstick has come out," he said, steering Tom forward. "We use brooms in a sport called Quidditch, it's a bit like…" He trailed off, clearly trying to think of a muggle sport to compare it to, but couldn't seem to think of one.
"Football?" Tom suggested, only because it was the only major sport that came to mind, though he tried to imagine footballers on brooms and it seemed a bit odd.
"A bit," Professor Dumbledore said, running a hand through his red and grey hair, trying to flatten it some. "Except there's three hoops and they fly on brooms and throw the balls into the hoops."
Tom frowned, but honestly, he knew very little about the actual rules of football to begin making comparisons and the next shop distracted him once more. Instead of children and teenagers, there were a dozen or so stands perched in front of it, crowding the sidewalk with perched owls. His mind went back to one of the rules at the bottom of the letter, the statement about bringing either a cat, a toad, or an owl.
"Why an owl or a toad?" He questioned, pausing in front of the shop, referring to the list that was folded up in his coat. A cat at least vaguely made sense.
"Ah," Professor Dumbledore said, stopping beside him and leaning forward to inspect one of the owls that was sitting on a stand, hooting softly, as though annoyed at them and everyone else in the alley for disturbing his nap. "Brilliant creatures, owls. Wizards and witches use them to carry mail, though we do have post offices that use owls too, for those that don't own their own."
Tom stared longingly at the owl, toads forgotten, and reached out and very gently ran his fingertips over the soft feathers.
"Do you have a pet at the orphanage?" Professor Dumbledore asked. "Sometimes heads of houses will make exceptions for other types of pets, as long as they're on the small side and easy to take care of or contain if need be."
Tom shook his head. "One of the boys, Billy, he has a rabbit he found, but Mrs. Cole only let him keep it cause he's working with the grocer to pay for its food." He didn't count any of his snakes as pets. They were wild and while they were friends, they didn't belong to him.
"Would it be alright if we looked inside?" He asked hesitantly, looking at the door that was propped open. He could hear more animals inside and he wanted to know what other animals wizards and witches were accustomed to keeping. "I know I don't have money, but Mrs. Cole's never let us see inside a pet store before."
Professor Dumbledore pulled out his pocket watch and took a quick glance at it. "We need to get lunch still, but I suppose it'll be fine." He said, giving Tom an indulgent nod.
Tom stepped through the open door and shuffled the wand box under his arm so he had a free hand. There was a wall of cages and they were mostly filled with cats, some curled sleeping, others were eating or stretching, turning around in their cages. He reached out his hand, sticking his fingers through the bars and one of the cats rubbed along his fingertips, meowing happily.
"Are they normal cats?" he asked, turning his head slightly to look at Professor Dumbledore.
"Most of them are, but some are part kneazle," The older man said, and then explained at Tom's confused look, "A kneazle is a type of magical cat that is very smart, very clever and are usually bred with normal cats. They bond with their owners and are very loyal to them."
Tom nodded his head and pulled his fingers back out of the cage. He roamed the shop, pausing to look at several frogs that were piled on top of each other and sitting under a lamp, and then again at a clumsy-looking litter of puppies trapped inside a gated area. There were a few other types of creatures that the professor had to explain to him, but most of them were within the realm of believability.
Finally, a tank in one of the back corners caught his attention and he paused by it, looking at it. It appeared mostly empty, filled with several branches and leaves until he saw movement.
"Go away," The snake inside hissed, curling into a ball in the corner, "Or I shall bite ."
"You're in a cage," Tom hissed quietly at the small snake, "Unless I stick my hand in, you can't bite me."
The snake paused its coiling to stare at him, tilting his head. "You will not stick your hand in to grab me? " It asked cautiously.
Tom shook his head. "Not if you don't want me to."
The snake seemed to almost sag in relief. "Little humans reach their hands in all day and pull me out, I do not like it."
"I don't imagine you would," Tom commiserated. "I'm sorry they grab you. It's because they're impressed with you, your scales are quite shiny," he tried to console. He knew from experience that the snakes were fairly prideful and if he praised them they were usually satisfied.
Sure enough, the snake seemed to puff slightly and slithered in a circle that Tom took to mean he was pleased. "Thank you, human."
Tom smiled and straightened, turning to see Professor Dumbledore watching him closely, the look unreadable on the older man's face and Tom felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
"How long have you been able to talk to snakes?" Professor Dumbledore asked, his voice still void of emotion. It made Tom uncomfortable and he knew that he'd clearly done something wrong. How he'd messed up being a wizard this quickly, he wasn't sure.
"Ever since I can remember," he answered truthfully. "They find me a lot, want me to keep them safe from the other kids, and the older kids thought I was just messing around, playing a game." Tom hadn't put much thought into the ability since Professor Dumbledore had told him he was a wizard. "Are other wizards able to talk to animals?" He asked cautiously. He'd thought that it was just that, something normal wizards and magic users would be able to do- it made sense.
But Professor Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "No, it's very rare." He looked like he was going to say more, but decided against it.
Tom shifted his feet uncomfortably and looked back at the snake in the tank behind him. It was more calm, blinking sleepily at him and he was glad he'd talked to it. He hoped the owner of the shop would keep a better eye to make sure kids didn't grab him, but hopefully, the snake wouldn't be as apprehensive about the kids gawking at him.
"Is it… you know, the good kind of weird?" He asked, turning around and stepping closer to Professor Dumbledore, "Weird like wizards are weird to muggles, or a bad sort of weird?" Somehow going from being a weird kid who talked to snakes without magic to a weird kid who talked to snakes with magic only seemed like a partial upgrade.
Professor Dumbledore looked after the top of his glasses at him, his eyes distracted like he was thinking. "I think it could be either," He said quietly, "Depending on how you use it."
Tom made a face, staring at the older man in confusion and then shrugged. Professor Dumbledore continued to act distracted as they left the shop and headed to pick out a secondhand trunk, something big enough for Tom to pack his clothes, books and supplies in. While he earned a few more small smiles from the professor, he seemed more distant than before. Tom was sad to leave Diagon Alley, but a bit glad to get away from Professor Dumbledore when he finally took him back to Wool's Orphanage.
