Rating: T

Warnings: None

Relationships: None

Chapter 2: Eos

Part II

The wand shop was tucked away from the hubbub of the main street. The sign declared it "Ollivanders Wand Shop: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."

"That's amazing," Myrtle breathed. "It's like a real wizard's home - all mysterious and - and enigmatic." When both of her companions ignored her, she quieted down, but then ran ahead into the shop, unable to contain her enthusiasm.

"Is this the only wand shop in London, sir?" Tom asked, taking advantage of Myrtle's absence. They stopped in front of the door.

"Wandmakers have always been a rare breed, but now more than ever. Ollivanders is recommended by Hogwarts, but there are others. There's one pretty close to here, actually. If you want to go there instead, I'd be happy to take you."

"No, no," Tom said hastily. "It's all right. I'm just curious."

"Of course." Cross gave him an odd little smile and then entered the shop.

There was an old man with a shock of white hair standing among the dusty shelves. Myrtle stood bewildered in front of them as measuring tapes flew around her, measuring everything from the length of her arm (which made sense, Tom supposed) to the length of her nose (which didn't.)

"This one with you, then?" the man asked. Myrtle jumped, and one of the measuring tapes slapped her on the arm as if in rebuke.

"Both Muggle-born, yes." Then, seeing the confused expressions on Tom and Myrtle's faces at the new word, she explained, "'Muggle' is the term used for non-magical people. Although there are a number of terms out there, I suggest you stick with this one; as silly as the word sounds, it's the most politically correct."

There was a prejudice against Muggle-born children, then, prominent enough that Cross had decided to mention it. He would have to be careful with that, since as far as he knew, he was Muggle-born.

Abruptly, the measuring tapes sped away from Myrtle to attack him instead. He stiffened, surprised.

"Ah, yes," the man was saying as he pulled out a box. "Try this one."

Now that Tom could see his face, he realized that the old man actually looked quite young. If not for the hair, he could easily have been in his thirties. Was this a wizard thing?

There was a loud bang, and the man - Ollivanders, probably, going by the sign outside - quickly took the wand from Myrtle's hand, exchanging it for another. "Here, this one."

That one didn't work either.

It wasn't until the fourth try that she found her "match," as Ollivanders called it. "Alder, kneazle whisker, eight inches. Ah... an unusual combination. Seven galleons."

Myrtle paid.

Behind him, Cross coughed and shifted slightly.

"Right," Ollivanders said. "Your turn, then. Come on, don't be shy. Wand arm?"

"I'm right hand dominant." The measuring tapes dropped to the floor, suddenly lifeless, and Tom stepped over them to the counter. Ollivanders scrutinized him, then turned back to his shelves.

"You might be a bit trickier. Here - birch, dragon heartstring - "

Tom waved it. Before he could complete the movement, Ollivanders leapt at him and pulled it out of his hand. "Now, this one - "

Soon, there were boxes and boxes piled up in the corner. He had gone through at least twelve; Myrtle looked awed, Cross merely a bit bored.

"Hawthorn, unicorn hair, ten inches. Reasonably pliant." He felt a warm tingle, and nothing blew up, but Ollivanders snatched it away from him. "Not quite, not quite."

"Perhaps we'd better go to the other shop after all," he said.

"Just try one more, now - yew, phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches. Excellent for defensive..."

There was a red-tinged silver surrounding his wand arm.

"Yes, excellent for defensive magic." Suddenly, Ollivanders seemed very intent on shooing them all out, to the point where he forgot to ask them to pay.

"Your seven galleons, Mr. Ollivander?" Cross said just as Tom had one foot out of the shop.

Well, damn, he thought. And here he was thinking he could get a free wand. Also... Ollivander? What was the "s" in the name for, then? Just to confuse customers? Perhaps the apostrophe had fallen off. Or, more likely, there were multiple Ollivanders, each running their own branch of the store, and this man was just one of many. Still, he felt "Ollivanders'" might have been a tad more logical.

Tom was very glad that he hadn't had to say the man's name at all, even if he was only off by a single letter.

"Where to next, then?" Cross asked. "Actually, why don't you decide, Myrtle - Tom did pick first, after all."

"Um," the girl said. "Uh, let me think about that."

Cross looked like she might regret asking her to choose.

"Er, I think I want to get our clothes next."

"Right then," Cross said, relieved. "Madam Malkin's it is."

When they got there, there was already another student there, an older one with elegantly styled platinum blond hair falling to his shoulders. His new robes, a standard black with intricate silver embroidery, hung in loose folds around him. Scrambling around him, altering the robes, was a squat woman dressed entirely in mauve. Tom hoped her taste in clothing was not reflective of her skill in tailoring.

"I can help one of you right now," a young shop girl said as she came out of a back room. "But the other will have to wait."

"I can go to the bookshop first," Tom offered. He understood the need to dress nicely, but he was much more interested in books right now.

"That's fine," Cross said. "Myrtle, stay here and get your robes. Remember - three sets of plain work robes, a pointed hat, protective gloves, a winter cloak, and two sets of formalwear in any color or style conforming with the dress code. Malkin should be able to help you with that. Stay here if we're not back by the time you're done. Tom, come with me."

Tom had no idea where the bookshop was, so it was probably a good thing that Cross would be accompanying him. However, that also meant that he'd have a chaperone who'd notice if he bought any books of questionable repute. He found had found over the years that usually, there were a few shadier titles lying around, even in a store as large and busy as the one they stopped in front of.

"Flourish and Blotts. This is where most students buy their books, so they always have them already organized by year. There are a few books I want to pick up, so I trust you can find your own way around. Meet me by that plant over there when you're done." With that, she disappeared into the crowd.

The teachers are okay with leaving eleven-year-olds around by themselves?, Tom thought incredulously. He'd think in a world with magic, there were unlimited ways to kidnap someone. Teleporting - apparating - off with them, coercing them into walking into a dark alley alone, summoning them... the possibilities were endless. But then, he supposed, there must be some kinds of magical precautions around as well. Perhaps it was impossible to apparate here, or coercion wouldn't work, or there was an anti-summoning charm.

No point in speculating, though. There was a young teenage girl who couldn't have been older than sixteen waiting patiently by a bookshelf labelled "First Years." This must be a summer job, available only during the boom in business before each school year.

He walked up to her.

"First year, then?" she asked when she approached him. She began to pull books off the shelves quickly and efficiently. Considering the number of people in the shop, she must have done this a dozen times this day alone. They were all placed in a basket which must have some kind of spell to make it lighter, because there was no way those books weighed any less than a large rock. "Where's your parents?"

He knew the stigma some people associated with orphans, so he answered, "Buying some books they've wanted to read for a while over there." He indicated a random part of the bookshop.

The shop girl raised her eyebrows. "Arcane Magics and Practices? That's actually... a really boring topic. Most people won't go for that. Ravenclaw, then?"

Ravenclaw. It must be a magical term. In lieu of betraying his ignorance, he shrugged noncommittally and said, "Actually, I'm looking for some other books, too - supplemental reading, you know." Going out on a limb, and a reasonably educated hypothesis, he continued, "My parents didn't tell me much about magic when I was growing up, since my father was Muggle-born."

There was a prejudice against Muggles. However, Gringotts allowed for Muggle-wizarding currency exchange and the line for it had been fairly long, so there must be a considerable number of Muggle-borns in the wizarding world. His father wouldn't stand out as an anomaly.

What he didn't know was how common Muggle-born/wizard relations were. If they were taboo, it could explain why his mother had birthed him alone and left him in an orphanage.

But even if he ousted himself as the result of a taboo relationship, he doubted it would matter too much, since it was unlikely that anyone working a summer job in a bookshop was particularly influential in the wizarding world. Besides, he was actually Muggle-born.

Besides, this gave him the opportunity to find out more on the politics of Muggle-wizarding relations.

"Oh, we've got plenty of books for that. You'd be surprised how many parents - of half-bloods, specifically - want their kids to have a Muggle upbringing. Makes for a more open mind, apparently. Here, take these."

Tom withheld a sigh of relief. Half-bloods were fairly common, then. He accepted the basket, which, true to his theory, weighed as much as a single thin book.

"Just head over there - Michael usually does this - no, wait." She turned towards another pimply teenager who was by the children's section and yelled, "Oi! Nicky! Come watch the First Year section for me."

"Nicky" came over, leaving the toddler in the children's section to chew on the brand new books. "Thank you, Soph, I'd rather deal with bratty First Years than those kids any day. Where are you going?"

"Just going to show him around." She took his shoulder and guided him off before Nicky could reply. In a low voice, she said, "His real name's Copernicus, the poor thing. Surprisingly, not an uncommon name, and not really the worst one out there, either. Really makes you wonder what's going through wizards' heads at times." There was an air of both pity and inappropriate amusement in her tone.

Were odd names a hallmark of wizards, then? It lent credibility to the possibility that Tom really was a half-blood, since Marvolo was hardly a common Muggle name.

"Which reminds me," she continued in a normal voice. "What's your name again?"

"Marvolo," he said. Tom was just so mundane - maybe he could go by Marvolo in the wizarding world.

"Huh. I haven't heard that one for a while. It fell out of use a few hundred years ago, I think. I'm Sophia, by the way, Sophia Carter - I'm Muggle-born, which, thankfully, means that I get a perfectly normal name. But I study magical genealogy in my free time, which is why I know so much about wizarding names - I'm trying to figure out if mixing with Muggles has any effect on magical power, intelligence, and so on."

Tom filed that away for potential analysis later, in conjunction with what he already knew and what he hoped to learn.

They arrived at a section labelled "Introduction to Magic."

"These are the books we generally give to Muggle-borns, just to introduce them. I'd suggest this one - " She pulled out a thick book with a green and yellow cover, titled Magic and You: A Comprehensive Guide to the Wizarding World for the Muggle-born - "It's really quite good; it's the one I first read, but that was like five editions ago. Now, as for Hogwarts, there's this - " This one was Hogwarts, A History - "It reads as a textbook-type history book, but it's fascinating once you actually get into it. It tells you about the Sorting and everything, so you won't get misled by all the silly rumors flying around."

"Do you have anything on the government, politics, culture?" Tom asked as he slipped the books into his basket, thankful for the spell.

She raised a single eyebrow and said something that sounded like, "Maybe slithering." Tom resolved to read these books as soon as possible. It wouldn't do for him to run around not understanding half the words these people used.

She brought him to another section not too far off labeled "Government and Politics."

"I was never very interested in politics, so I can't really recommend any books for you. One that some customers like is this one over here, Wizarding Britain in the Twentieth Century. But the number of people who'll read something this dry are few and far in between, so you'll have to look through this yourself, or ask a senior staff member. Books on culture are just over there." She pointed to a shelf not too far down from them. "I'm actually stationed with the First Year section, so I've got to go now."

"Thank you," Tom murmured, already perusing the titles on the shelf.

"Right. I'll see you around then - I'm a sixth year at Hogwarts, Ravenclaw - say hi if you see me, yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

Apparently deeming communication a lost cause, Sophia left him there to return to her section. In the meantime, Tom continued looking through the books, reading their summaries and leafing through the chapters. He wasn't sure yet which books were best, but he was able to rule out a few that were too biased, or whose authors couldn't seem to write for the life of them.

"You know, if you wanted extra books, you could've told me," someone said from behind him.

Tom forced himself not to jump in surprise and turned slowly around to face Cross, who had her arms folded but looked more amused than anything.

"Put that crap down. Lockhart may be an entertaining writer but he couldn't tell the Minister from a flobberworm. Not that I blame him, though, it's not a hard mistake to make."

He slid the book, written by a Gideon Lockhart, back onto the shelf. And he had thought that it looked so very promising, too.

"What you want are these - Javier Valencia, excellent writer, and he's Spanish, so he's got none of the biases most English wizards have." Several heavy tomes were dumped into his arms. "And," she added, "He's a close friend of mine, too."

It turned out that this Valencia wrote nonfiction across all topics, so he snagged a few of his books on pureblood culture and history, as well as one titled The Nonmagical Controversy: Wizarding-Muggle Relations after Salazar and Godric, also written by Valencia.

His total was something like five hundred galleons all told, but Cross paid for it all and then they were back to Madam Malkin's again.

Myrtle was sitting in a chair in the corner, reading what looked to be a trashy wizarding magazine and munching on her cookies. When the bell on the door rang to announce their arrival, she looked up and asked, "Don't you need to eat lunch?"

The expression on Cross' face suggested that she had forgotten. Truth be told, Tom had too. "Well, we're running a bit late right now - it's already been an hour and a half. How about this - Tom, you stay here and get your robes. Myrtle, I'll take you to the bookstore, and then I'll go out to buy the rest of your equipment while you're there. We can have lunch afterwards."

Tom's stomach was protesting, as he hadn't eaten since breakfast just before five this morning, but he nodded his assent.

"Right. Here's twenty galleons, should be enough. Come on, Myrtle."

Tom was left alone in the shop, with no sign of Malkin anywhere.

"Hello?" he called. There was a thump and a string of curses, and then Malkin appeared from behind some curtains.

"Oh, right," she said. "There were two of you. Over there, then, up you get!" She indicated a little stool in front of some mirrors. As soon as Tom stepped onto it, he was draped in soft black cloth, which was far more comfortable than the clothing he usually owned.

And he wouldn't have to pay a cent for this, too, since the school was paying for him.

He stood there, staring at his own reflection, wondering if there was something he could do. He felt useless standing there and doing nothing, but he couldn't move without feeling the cold metal of the pins against him, so he just stood there and thought about various trivialities instead.

She was poking her needles at him as he was modeling his formalwear when he heard the bell jangle again, and in the mirror, he saw a black-haired boy about the same age as him enter the shop.

"Just a moment, please," Malkin muttered through her mouth full of pins.

The boy approached the two of them, then looked at Tom in the mirror. "First year, too?" he asked.

"Yes," Tom said shortly, unsure of what else he could say.

"Alphard Black. Probably going to be a Slytherin, given my background, but I think I could be the first Ravenclaw since Columba."

There were those words again. Ravenclaw he recognized, and he guessed that Sophia must have said Slytherin, not slithering like he'd originally thought. But since he'd had no chance to go through his books, he still had no idea what they meant. They appeared to be a form of categorization which they would be sorted into a third party. Perhaps related to the sorting Sophia had mentioned.

"I'm not sure myself," he said. What was it Sophia had said? Maybe Slytherin. "But I think I might go for Slytherin."

"Sorry, what was your name?"

Tom wondered what he should say. Some of the other children in the orphanage went by their middle name if they didn't like their first, but he'd always went with Tom. Marvolo might not be as common as Tom, but it didn't sound much better, either. Well, whatever. At least he wasn't named Copernicus. New world, new identity.

"Marvolo," he said. "Marvolo Riddle."

"Oh. You're a half-blood then." His nose was slightly wrinkled, but it didn't seem intentional. "That's fine, I guess. The supremacist Slytherins won't give you too much trouble for it, as long as you're not Muggle-born. Your mother must have been Slytherin, too - no one but the Slytherins have used that name before. That should help."

Tom - or Marvolo, now, he supposed - felt as though he may have committed some sort of a faux pas, but to his consternation, couldn't figure out what it was.

"I mean, I'm not one of those supremacists, not really, so you're safe with me - in fact, I'm trying to get an apprenticeship into the Society, so I really can't be so prejudiced..." He had a slightly lost look on his face.

"Of course," Tom - Marvolo - said, and resisted the urge to add an awkward "Erm..." It simply wouldn't be proper. Then he forced himself to add, "Thank you for warning me. I don't know much about the wizarding world, you see."

"Oh! One of those half-bloods, then. Don't worry about it, I can - "

"You're done, dear," Malkin said, interrupting Black. "Here's your robes - " She waved her wand, and the robes vanished off him and reappeared neatly folded on a nearby counter, along with a hat, some very nice gloves, his work robes, and his cloak. "That's seventeen galleons, now - thank you. Come here, Alphard, and stop talking nonsense."

Alphard looked mortally offended. "There's more than enough evidence that the Society is real! I don't know why nobody else sees it - "

"It's just a legend, dear. Even if there was one, it was long ago, and it doesn't exist anymore..."

Tom left the two to argue, wondering what this "Society" was. It was clearly a wizarding thing, one left mostly in legend. But was it legend? This was the second time he'd heard of it, and Franz from the market had seemed so sure of its existence. It made Tom think that it might be more real than Malkin believed it to be.

Then, he remembered that he was now Marvolo, Marvolo, dammit, and he needed to start calling himself that, or he'd forget to answer to the name once school started.

He grabbed his clothing and slipped out of the store. Coincidentally, Cross and Myrtle were just returning.

"You're done, then?" she asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, "Here's the rest of your supplies. I bought you both trunks, too - you can put all your shopping in here - yeah, just put it in - and you can shrink it and just slip it in your pocket."

"Are we getting lunch now?" Myrtle piped up. "I'm getting a bit peckish myself."

"There's a very nice restaurant just down the street, but don't tell anyone I brought you there. It's got a bit of a reputation."

The very nice restaurant was called La brújula dorada and was located at the mouth of a particularly shady offshoot from Diagon Alley. A sign at corner of the street declared it Knockturn Alley, and its buildings were closely set together, creating a very claustrophobic feeling. There seemed to be a fog set over the entire street that Marvolo had seen no sign of in Diagon; it turned Knockturn's street vendors and customers into sinister shadows lurking among the rickety buildings. The front of the restaurant they arrived at was elegant and classy, in stark contrast with Knockturn behind it. Marvolo could see why it would have a "reputation."

Myrtle shuddered. "This place scares me."

Wimp, Marvolo thought maturely, but Knockturn did have a particular air around it.

Lunch was an incredibly quick affair, since the service was efficient and the food quickly prepared. There must be some kind of magic involved. Myrtle talked little, for which Marvolo was very thankful. For the most part, he ignored his companions and studied the other people, who were quiet and kept to themselves. None of them seemed like criminals who would frequent a place like Knockturn Alley, so he wondered why the restaurant was located in such a place. Surely, it would have more customers if it were located elsewhere?

"The clientele here are usually very wealthy and influential because they have the right connections. They come here to meet important contacts who may not be quiet as wealthy, or as reputable," Cross murmured over her fairy wine. "However, there's nothing to worry about, since none of these contacts are ever the crazed dark wizards the general public imagines them to be."

Marvolo hummed and took another sip of his soup.

Myrtle was completely oblivious to the interaction.

When they were done, they went back to Myrtle's house by apparition, which left Marvolo dizzy and wishing he hadn't had quite so much for lunch, since it felt as though it was going to come right back up again. This time, he was quite glad for the walk back, as it cleared his mind and settled his stomach.

The matron had given him a suspicious look, but Cross assured her that he had been a perfect angel. As soon as he could, he locked himself in his room to start in on his books.

That night, he fell asleep with one of Valencia's books in hand, feeling as content as he had ever been.

Notes:

2. I know nothing about HP wand lore.

3. According to the HP wiki, kneazle whisker is used as a wand core, but is very weak.

4. Apologies to anyone actually named Copernicus. I mean no offense. Honestly, I'd be elated if my name were Copernicus. Unfortunately, it's not.

5. Okay, so I feel like calling Tom Marvolo is the equivalent of renaming Harry something really weird and exotic like Antinous or something (that was a totally random name, no offense to anyone who really has renamed him Antinous.) But it kind of happened by accident, and now I'm wondering why Tom never renamed himself Marvolo. If there was a reason, I've forgotten what it was.

Also, I may slip up and call him Tom instead of Marvolo. I apologize in advance for that.

6. "La brújula dorada" translates to "the golden compass" in Spanish. It is a completely arbitrary name and is not meant as a reference or as a symbol of anything.

7. I know I've been leaving off on the "Voldemort is Fawkes" element a bit, which is Not Good since it's supposed to be a big part of this fic. But after this will be a train/Sorting scene, and from there, the plot will pick up a bit more with the Fawkes stuff, and there will be a subplot with the Society and Grindelwald to make things more interesting.

In about two or three chapters, Marvolo will start being awesome and OP.

8. No thanks to my real life friend who beta-ed the first half like she was supposed to and then forgot that she was supposed to be looking at it critically for the second half.

All errors in the second half are her fault. Blame her, not me.

(I'm kidding, mostly.)