More of a serious flashback chapter than a funny one, I hope you enjoy it :)
Flashback chapters will be titled as "School Days" first
Teaching History (is Old News)
7 - School Days: First Sight
"Come along then," the man who calls himself Albus Dumbledore holds out his hand and Tom wishes he could hex him. But no, Tom is an eleven-year old orphan who apparently isn't allowed to shop in Diagon Alley unsupervised, so as much as he detests it, he takes the old man's hand.
Together they walk out of the Knight Bus (horrid mode of transportation, Tom swore that Dumbledore was hiding a laugh when Tom's body almost rammed into a mattress) and onto a street marked as Private Drive. Tom stares at the rows of cloned, boring, white houses.
"This isn't Diagon Alley," Tom accuses. "Sir," he adds quickly, remembering the façade he needs to play now.
"Excellent observational skills, Tom," Dumbledore pats his head, making Tom grimace and squirm don't touch me, don't touch me.
Dumbledore only hums a little, adjusting the crooked and outrageously sparkly hat on his head before tugging Tom along.
"We're here to pick up one of your future schoolmates. While he does have guardians that could escort him, if they chose, they're rather…" Dumbledore grimaces for the first time that Tom has known him. "Well, it's best not said. In any case, I do hope you two will become good friends. It's more enjoyable to shop together."
Tom almost scoffs at Dumbledore's attempts to make him socialize, as if Tom needs fixing. He doesn't need 'friends'—a fake concept designed to use others, make them feel less insignificant in the world. No, he doesn't need them at all. But he would hardly turn down the chance to meet another magical child before Hogwarts begins.
Will this boy be like him? Will this boy be able to talk to snakes too? To make others do his bidding? How advanced are other magical children compared to Tom and how long will it take for Tom to prove that he's better than them too? How long will it take for Tom to stand out?
"Ah, here we are," Dumbledore stops before a house with the number 4 nailed against the door. The lawn and flowers are too healthy, too well-cut. Chances are high that this other magical boy will be spoiled, loud and demanding.
But the skinny little boy sitting with his knees against his chest, on the front steps, shatters that thought.
"…Harry?" Dumbledore says.
The boy, Harry (honestly, who names their child Harry, it's almost as plain as Tom), almost trips as he stands up. Though if Tom had clothes as baggy and worn as Harry's, he might trip too. Harry looks as if the slightest touch might break him. Everything seems to dwarf Harry, even Tom.
When Tom looks from Harry to the pristine Number 4 Privet Drive, he has a hard time believing that Harry comes from the same house. Are Harry's guardians as stingy as the orphanage? Tom wonders if Harry is the type to start crying over every grievance against him, like Amy.
"Where are your aunt and uncle?" Dumbledore asks, and for once something dangerous lurks in his twinkly eyes.
"Um. Inside, sir. They, uh, have to get ready for a work party…" Harry's eyes dart back and forth between the door and Dumbledore, likely hopeful that they will leave without confronting his guardians.
Dumbledore's mouth forms a thin line. "I will have to have a word with them…"
"No, please, Professor, they're, um, really busy. And I'd hate to keep you."
Dumbledore's face softens. "It's really no trouble, Harry, but if you insist, I will escort you and Tom to Diagon Alley right away. The conversation with your guardians can wait later."
"Oh. Great." Harry tenses, looking anxiously at the door again.
"This is Tom Riddle, by the way. He'll be accompanying us as well. He's also beginning Hogwarts this year… I hope you two will find something in common."
Harry's face becomes hopeful but shy. "Um. Hello! I'm Harry!"
He stretches out his hand.
Tom only frowns. "And your last name?"
"Well, uh…. You can just call me 'Harry', I don't mind—"
"I do. I'm not calling you Harry and you're certainly not going to call me Tom."
"Oh." Harry's face falls. "It's Potter."
Hm. Not much better than Harry.
"Don't mind Tom," Dumbledore cuts in, when Tom doesn't take Potter's hand. "He doesn't seem very fond of commonly known names. There are thousands of Toms in Great Britain alone, you know."
This meddling old fool! Tom hopes that Dumbledore trips and gets hit by a bus. Preferably the Knight Buss, just for retribution.
But Dumbledore only winks, prompting a startled giggle from Potter… which is probably better than fat ugly Amy-like tears so Tom tolerates it.
"May I take your hand, good sir Potter?" Dumbledore dips down in a ridiculous bow, as if to a great Lord, prompting more giggles. Urgh.
"Ah, um, yes, thank you, Professor," Potter hesitates at first but slowly takes Dumbledore's hand, paling a bit. Probably because of how cold that man's hands are.
"Alright. Hold on tight, you two. I don't see any muggles around, so I will be doing something called apparition! It's rather like teleportation—have you ever watched the quaint show about Stars and a man named Scotty?" Potter only looks bewildered while Tom scowls. "No? Well then, you're in for a surprise!"
Before Tom can question Dumbledore further, everything seems to crinkle up and flush away, all the colours and scenery and Tom feels like he's being squeezed, thrown violently through a tiny crack within space and time, all surfaces pressing against him, pushing him forward and forward until—
Crack!
Tom wobbles down and nearly crashes against brown floorboards. Wait. What happened to the irritatingly perfect lawn and porch?
He looks up at the hand holding him up. Dumbledore stands serenely, helping Potter up. Potter, unlike Tom, seems to have fallen out of Dumbledore's grip and bruised his elbows. Potter's ugly glasses stand crooked against his nose and Potter seems more like a lost woodland fairy trapped in rags than a boy.
"Here we are, the Leaky Cauldron. When you venture out into Diagon Alley in the future, at the appropriate age and with appropriate guardians, of course, you will have to enter through the Leaky Cauldron."
"Amazing!" Potter jumps up. It's as if a switch has flicked on, transforming him from a quiet, easily forgettable thing to the embodiment of delight. Tom isn't sure which is more annoying. "We, we really teleported! I mean, uh, apparated! Can every wizard do this, Professor? Will Tom, I mean Riddle, and I get to do that too?! Or is it just for special wizards?!"
Dumbledore chuckles. "The legal age to get an apparition license is seventeen in Magical Britain. But in other countries, such as Thailand or Singapore, magical children as young as thirteen learn to apparate as well. Most wizards and witches can apparate if they have a good instructor. But even if they never learn, there's no shame in that. There are other methods of travel after all like flying. Apparition is just more convenient."
"Flying?!" Potter looks like he's going to faint from excitement. Tom half hopes that he does, if only to shut him up. "Like on brooms? Or… or motorcycles?" Potter stops, as if he's said too much, and his shoulders slump back down. "Um, not that motorcycles can fly, sir."
"I don't see why not," Dumbledore says gently. "But you would have to get permission from the Ministry of Magic before casting any spells on muggle objects. Any other questions?"
"Oh. Um," Potter fiddles with his hands. "I… maybe later…"
"Of course! But if you are curious about anything during our trip, please feel free to ask! That includes you as well, Tom."
Tom only smiles tightly.
Dumbledore leads them through the dirty looking pub, greeting different oddly dressed people (Tom doesn't see the practical appeal of robes. Are they not difficult to maneuver in when you have to run away from enemies? Then again, if all wizards can apparate like Dumbledore, perhaps physical prowess is not important in this culture.) Potter keeps staring with wide eyes at every floating lantern, every tea cup that floats towards the sink. Simple parlor tricks, really, nothing to marvel over.
But then Dumbledore brings them to a brick wall. Just… a brick wall.
"Are you ready, boys?" Dumbledore grins, letting go of Tom's hand (finally).
Potter and Tom blink at him as Dumbledore taps the bricks with his wand in a pattern. Incredibly, the bricks shuffle apart, one by one, as if a hand is pulling them away in midair, and there, beyond the once-wall, is Diagon Alley.
There are no words. Tom sees colours everywhere. Wizards and witches walking around with different coloured robes, having packages floating behind them. Some stores advertise sweets that Tom has never seen before, seven feet high. Some shopkeepers shout bargains into the street, 'Gold cauldrons for 20 galleons, one-time deal!' and there are creatures peeking through windows, things Tom has never seen before.
He wants to know it all.
Beside him, Potter's jaw is wide open, and for once, Tom doesn't feel annoyed by the plebeian gesture.
:
Dumbledore takes them to the bank first, gathering gold from the goblins for Tom and Potter. The bank is an impressive site, with architecture that reminds Tom of the Roman Era. He wonders if wizards had any influence on that culture.
Potter whispers something to Dumbledore in the meantime and Dumbledore beams, before turning back to discussion to the goblins. Strange, how wizards and witches would leave their gold with goblins. What do goblins gain in return for such business? Tom hopes he'll have enough money left to buy a secondhand book on the subject.
Dumbledore leaves Tom and Potter in the lobby, under a goblin named Griphook's supervision, to get their gold. The orphanage trust fund must be a guarded secret for Hogwarts staff eyes only.
"Um," Potter speaks up, "are all wizarding banks run by goblins, Mr. Griphook?"
Tom stiffens. Of course! He should have tried asking the source first! He's so used to finding knowledge on his own, since he's surrounded by idiots all day. He listens in carefully to the conversation.
Griphook smirks. "Obviously. There are no better hands for gold."
"Wow! You guys must be really good at guarding people's stuff! I've never been to a bank before, but I really like this one," Potter rambles, before stopping himself and looking back down at his feet.
Griphook blinks at him, before bowing down. "I'm honoured that Gringrotts had made such a memorable impression on you, young wizard."
Potter smiles shyly and Tom finds himself annoyed again.
"How long have goblins been charged with guarding wizarding gold?" he asks semi-politely.
"Well," Griphook explains, "you runts should understand the atrocities committed during the goblin wars, but you didn't hear it from me… Wizards don't ever teach the real stuff, so I'll tell you what I know and you can come back to hear more if you're smart…"
They spend the rest of their wait-time, listening to Griphook's account of the goblin wars and this time, when Potter smiles shyly at Tom, he doesn't feel annoyance.
:
Dumbledore comes back with two heavy bags of gold. Tom takes his quickly and feels surprised by the large amount. Surely the Hogwarts orphanage fund doesn't have this much on hand for forgettable children with no families…
"We have a generous sponsor this year," Dumbledore grins at Tom's unspoken question, "he would not take 'no' for an answer."
Potter waves happily to Griphook before running towards them and together they walk to the wand shop. This time, Dumbledore doesn't take their hands, but Potter holds onto the edge of Dumbledore's cloak anyways like a frightened bird.
Once, Potter even trips, colliding into Tom and Tom almost snaps at him except Potter turns so pale, Tom wonders if his skin could fall off like browned and aged paper.
"S-s-sorry," Potter jumps away, leeching onto Dumbledore's hand. "I didn't mean… I mean… you just… s-snakes…"
…What.
"O-oh no, n-never mind, I just, um, you should watch out for birds! Yeah! I'lljustshutupnow…"
Tom narrows his eyes as Potter convinces Dumbledore to keep moving. Odd. How very odd.
:
Ollivander makes Tom reconsider his notions of 'odd.' If wizards act anything like Ollivander or Dumbledore, then Potter is boring in comparison.
The wandmaker keeps muttering about Tom being a tricky customer, about the ounces of sunshine and rain in him (Tom highly doubts that's a legitimate way of measuring magic and if it is, how is Ollivander capable of measuring it? Does he use a special vision of some kind?) Apparently Tom is more lightning bottled up with rain and minimal doses of sunshine, whatever that means. Also, Ollivander won't stop grabbing Tom's arm and yanking it forward to do measurements. It's insufferable.
The pile of boxes keeps growing larger and by the fortieth wand, Tom starts to grit his teeth. Why aren't any of the wands choosing him? Don't they know how adept he is at magic already? Is he better than these wands, is that it?
Dumbledore, ignorant old fool, is just reading a magazine about knitting and whistling 'London bridge is falling down,' damn him.
"Don't worry," Potter says so quietly that Tom wonders if he's hearing things, "you'll get a wand."
I don't need your pity, Tom almost snaps, but he remembers the role he's supposed to play in front of Dumbledore so he just gives a jerky nod instead.
Ollivander starts rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement. "Oh, I haven't had such a difficult customer in ages! Hmmm, I wonder," Ollivander looks from Dumbledore to Tom to Potter, "sometimes fate has a way of giving the answer right in front of us… let's see… where's that new phoenix feather wand…?"
Dumbledore looks up from his magazine just as Ollivander shoves the wand in Tom's hands and for the first time, Tom feels something missing click in place around him, all over the air. The connection he had earlier with magic feels stronger now, as if he's been living his life hearing muffled noises only for clear words to be discernible for the first time in his life.
"Excellent! Should have known any feather from Fawkes would go to a tricky customer. I expect you'll do great things with that Yew wand, I've never had a combination like that before, Mr. Riddle!"
Tom nods, mind racing from the magic in the air. He clutches his wand possessively.
"Now, for you, Mr…?"
"Um, just Harry, please."
Ollivander glances at Potter's face. "…Yes, I suppose it would be painful to be reminded of your father… Oh, don't be surprised, you look just like him, except the eyes. You have your mother's eyes. Let's find you a wand, shall we?"
Tom tunes out while Potter goes through the same process, though he notices that Potter's pile of boxes grows to be just as tall as Tom's was. Eventually, Ollivander smacks himself in the head and cries, "Wait! Fate has the answer right in front of me! You, Mr. Harry-thunder-and-sunshine, have the brother wand to Mr. Riddle's!"
Dumbledore and Tom go still just as Potter takes the holly-and-phoenix-feather wand.
"Oh, wonderful, just wonderful! Fate has plans for you three. Did you know that Dumbledore's familiar is a phoenix? The very same phoenix who donated the feathers that you two share! Very rare. He refused to give more than two. I can't wait to see what magic you two will do with your wands. Good day, good day!"
:
The rest of the day passes with Tom staring contemplatively at Potter. Brother wands. Tom has no idea what that means but he's going to find out as soon as he has access to a library. But for now, he'll have to play it safe and be (god forbid) nice to the other boy.
Easier said than done. Potter sticks close to Dumbledore's side and Tom can't help but think that Dumbledore's playing favourites with the way he keeps indulging Potter's questions. But around Tom, Potter is quiet, shy. Odd.
Tom is pleasantly surprised when he's able to afford all his materials without going second-hand, with plenty of money to spare. He'll save it for next year's shopping trip. There's no telling how much the fund will have next year but at least he'll be able to afford decent robes and blend in more easily at Hogwarts.
"I'll be waiting here," Dumbledore waves them off into Madam Malkin's direction. He pulls out a long yellow and purple scarf and starts crocheting.
"Well then, shall we go?" Tom smiles falsely at Potter.
Potter hesitates but follows after.
Madam Malkin is less irritating than Ollivander but talks to them as if they are babes. Tom wants to scowl, we're eleven not two, but he continues to use his 'sweet' smile and hopes that the measuring will end soon. Why Madam Malkin can't shut up and do her job quietly escapes Tom. She could take a leaf out of Potter's book and just stand there silently.
There's another boy standing next to them both, looking bored and snide with his polished blond hair. The boy stands as if the world should concede to him and Tom already wants to throw him off his pedestal.
"Hogwarts too?" the boy demands rather than asks when Madam Malkin goes off to get the robes.
"Of course. And you?"
"Obviously. Hogwarts is the best school in magical Britain. My father wanted me to go to Durmstrang but mother insisted that I go to Hogwarts. It's only appropriate. My family's been in Slytherin for generations. What house do you think you'll be in?"
"…Only the best," Tom says carefully.
Potter, of course, says nothing.
"As long as it's the right house. Do you even know what the right house is?" the boy narrows his eyes, looking at them both with growing disgust. "…I've never seen you two around before… What did you say your names were?"
"We didn't." Tom grits his teeth.
"Well, my name's Draco. Draco Malfoy," the boy preens, clearly expecting some sort of recognition. A test then. One that Tom has no interest in playing.
But before Tom can answer, Potter says, "Oh."
Malfoy scowls. "What's wrong?"
"Well, I was expecting someone… taller… as the Malfoy son."
Malfoy's ears turn pink. "I'll have you know that I'm the tallest eleven-year old that's ever been in the Malfoy family—"
"Fascinating," Potter says in the same deadpan voice, "your family must really care about their height. Maybe a height complex…?"
"You—"
"Your robes are ready!" Madam Malkin walks in. "Oh. Are you boys alright?"
Malfoy opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again before grabbing his robes and storming off.
"What a rude little boy," Madam Malkin clucks. "Took your robes too! Hang on, I'll fetch you some new ones… when I see Lucius Malfoy I'll bill him triple the price…!"
"…How do you know his family?" Tom demands. Are Potter's Aunt and Uncle considered proper witches and wizards too? Is Number 4 Private Drive clever camouflage for a wizarding dwelling?
"Oh. Uh. I have no idea who the Malfoys are. I just… improvised," Potter stares down at his shoes again.
"…Improvised."
"Well, I mean, he seemed very full of himself, like we were supposed to know who he was, and I figured with all the wizard gold and goblins and banks, there's probably a weird royalty thing going on with magical people, right? So Malfoy was just showing off and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."
"No… no, it was… clever."
Tom watches Potter smile and he thinks maybe they have something in common after all.
They're both excellent liars when they want to be.
:
When it's time to leave, Dumbledore offers a hand to both of them for apparition, Potter takes Dumbledore's hand first and then offers his own hand to Tom.
"Since you don't like Dumbledore," Potter whispers.
Tom doesn't like touching anyone, but if Potter was observant enough to notice, maybe Tom should start observing him in return.
After all, they have brother wands, don't they?
EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019