Wand
Although he had not gained any information that he could use at the moment Bakura was satisfied with the results of the girl's earlier visit. He had learned that the students were viewed with tolerance and treated with kindness, and that there was no penalty for wandering through the halls in ordinary situations. Even though there had been a chance that she would find him Madame Brandon hadn't disciplined her or told her off for being there.
Bakura looked down at the fading bruises on his arms, seeing their pale yellow color as yet another piece of evidence showing how powerful these mages were. Madame Brandon had performed yet another 'minor' healing spell on him today that had completely healed the gash in his side and soothed the bruises that had covered him to the point where he would have thought it had been almost a week since they were inflicted rather than a few days. What had really gotten to him was the fact that she then saw fit to apologize for not being able to heal him more quickly, explaining that his body had already been taxed by being pulled into different time periods and the healing that she had already performed, and that she didn't want to risk causing any damage.
Or course, he had immediately assured her that he was grateful enough for the care that he had received not to care about the fact that it would take him a week to heal rather than several months, but she still looked guilty every time she looked at him. Was she truly so powerful, he wondered, that the fact that she was unable to simply make him well bothered her so much? He himself was more worried by the fact that he was being kept a secret, even though he knew that someone had seen him.
The question of what it was that these strangers wanted from him wouldn't dislodge itself from his mind, and Bakura sighed, leaning back against the headboard and staring blankly at the white curtains that had been all he was able to see for the past day and a half. If he was going to be made a student here why was there any need to hide his presence, and if not why bother telling him the lie? He was sure that his inability to prevent them from doing as they wished with him had become apparent some time ago.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a man with a kind face and – again – glasses perched on his nose. The only one that he had seen so far that did not wear glasses was Madame Brandon, and although she had explained to him what the eye pieces were for it still seemed to be a very strange thing to wear, and he couldn't understand how they made the glass so clear. Magic, perhaps?
The new arrival appeared to be old but not so much so as Professor Dippet and Madame Brandon. He smiled at Bakura, eyes twinkling behind the eyeglasses that looked so strange on his wrinkled face. "I'm Professor Dumbledore, the Transfiguration teacher at this school, and Professor Dippet has asked me to take you out to get your things. To start with, however, you'll need some clothing. I've brought one of my old robes for you to wear until you can get new ones made so if you'll put it on while I turn my back we can be on our way."
He handed Bakura a pile of black fabric which, as Bakura unfolded it did indeed turn out to be a robe. It fit him well enough, actually, although the sleeves were a little long. Bakura hadn't quite finished growing, although he had noticed that he was still a more than average height, at least compared to the four people that he'd seen so far. When he stood, Dumbledore looked as though he were a few inches taller than Bakura was, while the others were also shorter than he, especially the girl, who made him feel quite tall and strong by comparison. Then again, most people he had seen here so far made him feel as though he were quite strong physically. They seemed to have concentrated on their magical powers to the complete exclusion of any physical exercise whatsoever.
Dressed, Bakura sat on the edge of the bed and watched Dumbledore curiously, waiting for him to take charge as he had said that he would. The man took his cue, pulling a small container of green powder from his pocket and took a handful before giving the pot of it to Bakura. "Do as I do," he instructed, walking over to fire. He threw his handful into the fire and walked into the now green flames, saying 'Diagon Alley,' in a loud voice. Blinking as the afterimages disappeared from his eyes, Bakura followed the man's example, pronouncing the strange words as clearly as possible since he knew that he had still not gotten the hang of pronouncing this new language.
Fortunately for him, when he walked out of the flames Dumbledore was waiting for him. "First of all we have to get you fitted for new robes," the mage began briskly. "For that we go to Madame Malkin's. It's a good shop, been in her family for generations. Everyone goes there, but since you're so late in the year she'll probably be able to take care of you now." His chatter filled the silence between them, which Bakura found to be annoying, but he didn't comment. If Dumbledore wanted to talk at him he could do so. It wasn't doing him any harm, after all.
The lady at Madame Malkin's measured him briskly, putting a new robe on him and pinning it up before taking it off again and sending him and Dumbledore on their way. She didn't speak, and he didn't feel any need to start a conversation, unlike Dumbledore who started talking about her store again as soon as they had left it. Bakura didn't pay any attention to what he was saying, simply following in his footsteps as he turned into the next shop.
This shop was a smaller, dark shop with stacks of long thin boxes along the walls. It gave Bakura the creeps to be honest, and the man who appeared out of the shadowy depths did nothing to reassure him. "Come for your wand, have you young sir?" he asked as Bakura resigned himself to being thought of as a child. It amazed him how very old people were here.
A long strip of cloth floated over to him and began measuring him in very odd places, such as the bridge of his nose. Bakura went cross-eyed trying to look at it as the man puttered around selecting boxes. Finally he came over to pull another of the thin sticks – wands – that the mages here carried and offered it to Bakura.
"Six inches, dragon heartstring, willow, quite whippy," he commented as Bakura took the wand and waved it abstractedly in the air. Nothing happened and the little man snatched it out of his hand, replacing it with another. This time there was a bang and something blew up, but the man didn't seem fazed, instead offering Bakura yet another wand. It seemed to take forever, but eventually Bakura accepted a wand that he knew instantly was the right one.
When he waved this wand hesitantly he could feel his powers being pulled into play. Without any intention of doing so, he found that he had summoned Diabound, whose massive form filled the shop, straining its ceiling and walls, and bright-colored sparks were falling around them both. A moment later his ka beast had vanished again, along with the colored bits of light and he was left staring around a suddenly empty shop.
"Ah, I thought that might suit you," the shopkeeper said with satisfaction. "Cedar wood, nine inches, with a phoenix feather core. Good for power, although not so easy a wand with which to achieve the delicate touch of the master wizard. Yes, yes," He was still muttering to himself as Bakura left the store under Dumbledore's wing and was gently steered back to Madame Malkin's, still clutching his newly acquired wand in one hand. The transaction had brought up yet another worry for him, and he decided to ask about it, not wanting the subject to come up later after he had no control over it.
"Who is paying for my things?" His inquiry seemed to startle Dumbledore, who turned around to look at him and smile again.
"And here I thought you'd lost your tongue. The school's paying for it of course. Not to worry, you won't be the first student who's not been able to pay for their own things, and you don't have to tell anyone that you've accepted the headmaster's charity." Bakura relaxed a little, although his fingers didn't loosen their grip on his wand. He'd been afraid that they'd make him pay for the things that they bought him later, and while he would rather work to earn money for this wand than give up the artifact that had so awakened his power, he did not feel the same way about the clothing that he was being bought. Clothing he could do without if he had to. Magic, on the other hand, was the only familiar thing he had left.