Voldemort: The Mastermind of the Dark Mark: The Hogwarts Years

Chapter 2: The Wand

His conversation with Voldemort concluded, Tom leapt to his feet and tore open Dumbledore's envelope with great excitement. Then, reaching inside the envelope, Tom drew out the first sheet of paper that he touched and hastily unfolded it.

Inscribed at the top of the page was a medieval looking coat of arms bearing a Badger, a Lion, an Eagle and a Snake, embossed next to the name "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Tom felt his heart soar as he read the name of this - his - new school. Then, slowly, he began to read the letter, taking care not to miss a sentence of its contents.

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ARMANDO DIPPET

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards, Chief Interrogator for the Wizengamot, Inventor of the Self-stirring Cauldron)

Dear Mr. Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,

Deputy Headmaster"

Tom did not hesitate a moment before pulling out the list of supplies he would need, which he scanned just as intently.

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

Guide to the Academic Study of Magic (Elementary) by Cassandra Billings

History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magic: Theoretical Considerations by Angus McKinnon

Transfiguration and its Essentials by Minerva Gilligan

Dictionary of Magical Herbs and Fungi (2^nd Ed.) by Lucretia Macintyre

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Encyclopedia of Magical Beasts by Gilligan Oakeshott

Critical Studies of the Dark Arts (Volume 1) by Galatea Merrythought

OTHER EQUIPMENT
Wand
Cauldron (Pewter, standard size 2) set

Glass or crystal phials

Telescope set
Brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS."

Tom checked the back of the letter to make sure there was no more to read, briefly wondered how merchandise of this nature could be so effectively concealed from the non-magical world (not a problem he considered worthy of too much thought at the moment) and decided to leave at once. The directions that Dumbledore had left him were still fresh in his mind and he wanted to find this "Diagon Alley" quick as could be. Replacing both the list and the welcome letter back into the envelope, Tom stood up and swiftly exited his room, taking the orphanage stairs two at a time. Then, once at the bottom, he shoved his way past nurses and other children until he reached Mrs. Cole's office door. Knowing that the irritating woman would, as always, want to be notified of his departure, Tom knocked on the door cheerlessly and began pacing, waiting for her to answer.

Mrs. Cole heard the knocking from inside her office and groaned. She knew that pattern of knocks only too well, and it meant that Tom Riddle wanted something. Standing up wearily, she crossed to the door and opened it, bracing herself for the ultimatum.

Sure enough, there he was. Riddle was staring up at Mrs. Cole as she opened her door. For a few seconds, the two looked at each other, but then Riddle broke the silence.

"I have to go out."

Mrs. Cole had expected this. Riddle often made this request, and she knew that refusing him would only be a temporary setback. However, knowing it would be irresponsible to let him go just like that, Mrs. Cole decided to at least make sure of his safety first.

"And why, exactly, do you have to go out, Tom?"

Riddle's face assumed an impatient glare.

"I need to buy books for my new school. Professor Dumbledore said so."

"And you have to go buy those books now because...?"

"Professor Dumbledore gave me directions, and I don't want to forget them."

Mrs. Cole sighed with relief. No one would think it negligent of her to allow one of her charges to buy schoolbooks, and the thought of Riddle leaving was always a cheerful one.

"Well, alright, Tom, you can go out, but hurry back. Dinner is at 6:30."

"Yes, Mrs. Cole."

"Be back, or you won't get any. You understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cole."

"Be safe."

"Yes, Mrs. Cole."

"Don't talk to strangers."

"Yes, Mrs. Cole."

This brief exchange concluded, Mrs. Cole closed the door on her troublesome charge and locked it, privately very happy at the prospect of a Riddle-free afternoon.

Having disposed of the formalities, Tom quickly turned on his heel and dashed out of the orphanage, not at all hindered by the chill air. He sprinted down the stairs and past the orphanage gates, which clanged with protest as he pushed his way through them. Then, not even hesitating to catch his breath, Tom began walking as quickly as he could toward Charing Cross Road, which despite his assurances to Mrs. Cole, was quite far away. The smell of London filled his nostrils as he made his way past street lamp after street lamp. A few policemen stopped and smiled at him, but most other people on the street chose to ignore Tom, not wanting to stand in the way of anyone who bore such an implacable expression of purpose, even if that person was a small child.

Finally, after about an hour's walk (though it felt much longer), Tom reached Charing Cross Road. Breathlessly, he made his way to the address that Dumbledore had told him belonged to the Leaky Cauldron and looked around, expecting to see some sort of majestic, ethereal looking building to enter.

He was disappointed. Far from the imposing edifice that Tom had expected, the Leaky Cauldron appeared to be nothing more than a rundown pub which looked to Tom as though it had long since fallen into ill repute. Though Tom was gratified to see that none of the passers-by seemed to notice the building, at this point he wasn't sure whether this was due to magic or simply because most people did not want their vision spoiled by such a shabby building. However, Dumbledore had said to come here and, much as Tom distrusted Dumbledore, he very much doubted that the man would lie about something like this. So, with a sigh of resignation, Tom walked up to the Leaky Cauldron and pushed open the door.

And caught his breath. The inside of the building, despite being just as shabby as the outside, was filled with - there was no other word for it - magic things. On the walls of the tavern, Tom could see pictures that smiled and waved at him, as though their occupants had a mind of their own. A large assortment of cloaked figures was milling about the tavern, and Tom could have sworn he saw a tail protruding from the back of one. However, still focused on his mission, Tom crossed to the bar, where a wizened old hunchback was busy serving people drinks. Upon noticing Tom, this rather bizarre individual made his way over to where Tom was sitting and inquired in a low and strangely jolly voice what he would like to drink.

"Nothing," said Tom. "I'm looking for Tom the barman."

"Are you now?" asked the hunchback, reaching over and setting a glass of something that looked very much like sewage in front of one of Tom's neighbors. "Well, then you've found him, m'boy. But I don't talk to anyone what doesn't tell me their name too."

Tom knew the barman was teasing him, and did not appreciate the feeling. However, he responded shortly, "Tom Riddle." The barman smiled.

"Well, little Tom, what can I do for ya?"

Despite feeling a little nervous at having to talk to someone who appeared to be so unsavory, Tom replied, "Professor Dumbledore sent me. He said you could let me in to Diagon Alley?"

"Oh, that I can, lad, that I can," replied the hunchback with a wry grin, "but if you'll pardon me, what makes you think of going into Diagon Alley alone? Shouldn't your mum and dad be coming along too?"

"I'm an orphan," said Tom coldly, not wanting to discuss this with the barman, "so I'll have to go alone." Wanting to cut the conversation as short as possible, he added, "Now, are you done asking me questions or can we get on with it?"

To Tom's disgust, a look of intense pity came over the barman's face and before Tom could say anything, the hunchback had pulled out a large mug and filled it with something foamy and warm which he passed to Tom.

"Here, lad," he said, compassion oozing in his voice, "have a butterbeer. It's on the house."

Tom was so infuriated by this show of pity that he thought he might refuse, but one sniff of the concoction he'd just received put the thought of refusal out of his mind, especially after his walk through the chill air. Accepting the drink gratefully, Tom tilted the massive cup back and gulped down the warm, hot, sweet drink. Then, feeling far more refreshed, he placed the cup on the counter, thanked the barman in terse tones and requested once more to be taken to Diagon Alley. To his gratification, the barman wordlessly acquiesced and guided Tom out of the back of the tavern to a large brick wall. Then, pulling out a small stick similar to the one that Dumbledore had used to light Tom's wardrobe on fire, the barman tapped a seemingly random brick on the wall three times.

To Tom's amazement, the brick vanished and a hole began to grow in the wall until it had completely vanished, revealing a massive, bustling street filled with cloaked people.

"Well, master Riddle, welcome to Diagon Alley," he said.

It was stunning - everything Tom had expected a magical place to be like. All over the place, Tom could see wizards, both adult and children, moving and bustling back and forth between their various destinations. There was a lovely smell in the air - a conglomeration of all sorts of strange scents drifting from the various storefronts, and the various bright, festive colors protruding from said storefronts all proclaimed products whose purpose Tom did not understand, but which all seemed to be of vital importance. It was a moment which Tom felt sure he would remember forever, a moment which he wished could never end.

But it did. After a few minutes of awestruck gazing, Tom abruptly remembered the list that Dumbledore had given him. Pulling out the list of items he would be required to buy and skimming it, Tom made what felt like a heroic effort to stop looking around at the magical environ that was Diagon Alley. After much agonizing, Tom decided he would get the boring products first so as to be able to spend more time with the interesting ones. Making his way to a nearby stand whose sign announced proudly that it was the "Premiere source of Student Cauldrons", Tom pulled out the sack of coins that Dumbledore gave him and began examining the coins. He had not the foggiest which ones to use (though the choice of alloy gave him some clue that the gold ones were the most valuable), and looked around for someone to help him.

He didn't have to look long. A family which looked especially wealthy was busily handing off a handful of the silver coins to the man who ran the stand. Deciding he didn't have anything to lose in talking to more wizards, especially wizards who looked so respectable, Tom approached them.

"Excuse me," he said in as polite a voice as he could manage, "I--er--don't exactly know which coins to use and I was wondering--"

"Go away, mudblood!" snapped the youngest child, who looked to be a few years younger than Tom. Tom, who had no idea what a "mudblood" was, but got the idea that it was dirty, thought momentarily of using his power on the child, but then remembered that he would have to show manners in this new world. Thankfully, he was saved from responding by the voice of his antagonist's mother.

"Cygnus! You must not say something like that in public. You are a Black, and Blacks show manners, even to...er...their inferiors."

Inferiors? Never! Tell them you are nothing of the sort!

Tom looked up at the woman who had spoken, intending to follow Voldemort's advice. However, one look told him that making any sort of insolent outburst would be a very, very foolish idea. This was not some idiot crone in the mold of Mrs. Cole. Everything about this woman, from her long, flowing black robes to the lines of derision currently twisting her otherwise attractive face, absolutely radiated power of a sort Tom was certainly not foolish enough to cross, but which he did want very much to emulate. However, not to be cowed quite that easily, he decided to address her anyway.

"If you please, ma'am," he began again, "I was wondering if you could tell me which coins are the most valuable?"

The woman's expression did not soften. However, to Tom's great pleasure, she pointed imperiously at the coins he was holding and told him shortly that the bronze ones were called knuts, 29 of which would make one of the silver ones (sickles), and that seventeen of those would make one galleon, which were the gold ones, and if he could please try and address someone a bit closer to his station next time, that would be wonderful.

"Thank you," Tom said as respectfully as possible. The woman did not smile, but turned on her heel, with the clear intention of walking away. Tom considered letting her go briefly. However, much as he did not want to irritate his benefactor, he couldn't resist adding, "I'm not a mudblood."

The woman's cold gaze found him again. "What did you say, boy?"

"I'm not a mubdlood," Tom said, not knowing what a "mudblood" meant, but desperate not to be mistaken for one, whatever it was. "I'm an orphan."

"An orphan?" The woman's gaze softened slightly, though she still regarded Tom with an imperious contempt. "What is your name, boy?"

"Tom," said Tom.

"Tom what?"

"Tom R--" But Tom stopped. It had just occurred to him that his middle name might be evidence of his wizarding heritage. Deciding he'd better include it, just in case, he revised his answer.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Marvolo?" said the woman with an appraising expression. "Certainly that is no muggle name. Riddle, however - quite nasty and common. Is that a name they gave you at the orphanage, boy?"

"Yes," Tom lied, not wanting to be mistaken for someone common. To his intense agitation, the woman's gaze hardened into a wrathful glare as she glared into his eyes.

"If you are going to lie to me, child," she said venomously, "then this conversation is at an end. Good day."

She turned around and began to walk away. As she did so, however, one of the children walking beside her turned around and smirked at Tom, removing a stick very similar to the one Tom had seen Dumbledore wield.

"Let this teach you to speak to your betters, mudblood," the girl spat. "Serpensortia."

"Walburga!"

But the mother's irate shriek came too late. A long, black snake had emerged from the girl's stick and was slithering towards Tom, scattering the shrieking customers. Tom, however, did not so much blink an eye. Rather, as the snake neared him, he simply put out his hand to it and began to speak.

"Stop," he said calmly, and the snake stopped. He was conscious of gasping noises around him, but paid them little attention. Instead, he simply stood and stared deep into the snake's eyes. The creature, upon hearing Tom's voice, had curled up into a docile position and was hissing contentedly, completely oblivious to the horrorstruck crowd around it. Then, suddenly, it was gone in a puff of smoke.

Tom looked up. A small crowd had gathered around him and each of them was giving him exceedingly wary looks. Only the woman with whom he had first spoken seemed to not be the least afraid. Rather, her face had split into a smile that was at once greedy and malevolently proud - a true shark's grin. She approached Tom.

"Riddle..." she murmured as she gazed at him. "Yes indeed, boy, a riddle is what you are. Where did you learn that...rare tongue?"

"Dunno," Tom said honestly, but with a bit of the insolent pride that had been aching to get out of him for so long. "Just born with it, I suppose. I've always been able to talk to snakes."

"Indeed?" said the woman. "And you say you are an orphan?"

"Yes," said Tom, finding it odd that the woman was taking such an interest in him, but continuing anyway, "but I've got a father somewhere - and a grandfather! I'm named for them. Tom for my father and Marvolo for my grand--" he hesitated slightly, seeing the breathless look on the woman's face, "-father."

The woman did not immediately respond, but rather continued to stare at him, almost as though seeing him for the first time. Then, her face twisted into a sweet, but very unpleasant, smile.

"Ah," she said, "but where are my manners? I am Lady Irma Black, young master Riddle."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Black," said Tom, who had decided that he was too pleased by the fact that a noblewoman was treating him so nicely to care why she was. Lady Black inclined her head graciously.

"And a pleasure to meet you, master Riddle," she said. Then, turning her head back towards her children, she called, "Children, come here and say hello."

Tom heard the authority implicit in her deceptively soft tone, and could see that the other children did too, for though they looked mutinous, they had clustered up around her and were giving him looks of curiosity. The girl who had cursed him, however, was scowling deeply.

"Tom," said Lady Black calmly, "these are my children. Cygnus," the small boy who had first called Tom a "mudblood" gave an awkward wave, "Alphard," the middle boy nodded neutrally, "and Walburga."

Walburga did not so much as acknowledge Tom's presence. Rather, her eyes remained focused stubbornly on her feet. Lady Black looked displeased.

"Walburga?" she asked in a menacing tone.

Slowly, Walburga gave Tom a small curtsy, with a smile so forced that it seemed more like a scream of malicious contempt. Tom gave an equally ironic bow, and then turned back to Lady Black, who had thrown a threatening look at her daughter. However, seeing that Tom was watching, her expression abruptly resumed its original sweetness.

"Tom, my dear child," she said with a tone of false sweetness, "I'm very much interested in hearing more about your other...talents. And anything else you may have learned about your parents. Would you care to join us in shopping for your school supplies?"

Tom did not know what to say. A few moments ago, he had thought that Lady Black was going to throw some sort of curse at him, and this abrupt change of mood seemed a tad suspicious to him. He briefly considered, but then--

Join her, Tom! Join her! Nobility must associate with other nobility, after all, and what better company than Lady Black for Lords such as you and I?

Voldemort's eager outburst wiped Tom's fears away. Giving Lady Black his most innocent smile, he bowed deeply and said, in as courtly a manner as he could manage, "Lady Black, I would very much like to join you."

Lady Black smiled so greedily that Tom thought for a moment that she was considering eating him. Then, she motioned to the proprietor of the stand. "Then go pay for your cauldron, Master Riddle, and let us be off."

Tom moved toward the counter, but the man behind it waved him off hastily. "Take your cauldron and go, boy!" He half-shouted in a panicked voice. "I don't want a filthy Parselmouth in my stand! Take your cauldron and don't come back!"

Tom was enraged at being insulted in this way, even if the insults made no sense, but as he thought that taking revenge would be unwise at the moment, he picked up a pewter cauldron and set off after Lady Black. Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned around and snapped his fingers, causing a cauldron to slide off its counter and onto the proprietor's foot. The screams of the proprietor made Tom - and Voldemort - chuckle.

Insolent fool.

Voldemort's whisper, however, was drowned out, as Lady Black's next question was almost immediate.

"Tell me, Tom, are you quite certain that your father's last name was Riddle?"

"Yes," said Tom immediately and politely, though he did not like discussing his parents, "the woman at my orphanage - Mrs. Cole - she told me." He briefly registered the other Black children falling back, as though understanding that this was a conversation that their mother wanted to have in private.

"Indeed?" asked Lady Black indulgently. "And is this...woman, Mrs. Cole...very intelligent?"

"Not at all," said Tom with a laugh. "She can't even catch me when I use my magic."

"You have already learned to control your magic?"

"Yes."

"Promising," said Lady Black, more to herself than to Tom. Then, she added, "So, Tom, if this Cole muggle is so foolish, tell me, why do you trust her to know the secret of your parentage?"

Tom shrugged. "She was there when my mother gave birth to me," he said neutrally. "That has to count for something."

"How interesting," said Lady Black, though her tone betrayed her impatience. "But you know nothing about either of your parents, Tom?"

Tom shook his head. "Nothing."

"How sad," said Lady Black absently. Tom waited for her to say more, but she seemed to be too busy thinking. Tom decided that interrupting her reverie at once would be foolish, but after a few moments, his curiosity got the better of him.

"Lady Black," he said, "why do you care so much about my parents?"

Lady Black met Tom's eyes and for a moment, he wished he hadn't asked. The greed in her eyes was almost more menacing than disdain.

"You have a very rare gift, Tom," said Lady Black hungrily.

"I do?" asked Tom in an innocent voice, even though he was sure he knew what she meant. Lady Black gave a short, haughty laugh.

"Feigned innocence does not become you, boy," she whispered. "You know - you must - that not all wizards can talk to snakes. I can see it in your eyes."

Tom hastily diverted his eyes at these last words. The idea that the woman might be able to read his mind was rattling around uncomfortably in his head. Deciding the conversation was taking an agreeable turn, however, he decided to answer her.

"I know it is unusual."

"Unusual?" cackled Lady Black. "It is extraordinary, boy! My family has lived for centuries - millennia - and I can count the number of natural parselmouths whose existence we have witnessed on the fingers of one hand!"

It was the second time Tom had heard the word "parselmouth." This time, however, the meaning was exceedingly apparent.

"And how do people become par-parselmou--" he began, but Lady Black cut him off before he could stammer out the words.

"A child must be exposed to the language at the earliest possible day - the day that a child is born. And it must be a parent who speaks the first words of parseltongue that that child hears," Lady Black continued, "or the words are meaningless."

For some reason, this last revelation made the word "hate" enter Tom's mind. However, he pushed it aside in his eagerness to ask more questions.

"So does that mean one of my parents was a--a parselmouth?"

"Yes, boy, it does," said Lady Black impatiently, "which is why I have tolerated your presence. I would never allow someone of your dubious heritage near me ordinarily, but your gift for speaking with snakes intrigues me. It may be a tiding - a tiding of things to come..."

"What sorts of things?" Tom asked greedily. Lady Black stopped walking abruptly and gave Tom a searching look that seemed to pierce deep into the depths of his mind. Tom gave an involuntary shiver.

"Tell me, Tom," said Lady Black, "what do you know of Hogwarts?"

"It's a school," Tom said proudly, though the change of subject had made him suspicious, "a school for wizards."

"And is that all you know?"

"Yes," said Tom, feeling deeply ashamed of his simplicity.

"Well, Tom, allow me to enlighten you about Hogwarts," Lady Black hissed, "before the idiots within its walls turn you into a bleating, common," she spat this last word as though it tasted like poison, " sheep. Hogwarts is not a school for wizards - at least, not if the word 'wizard' retains any respect. Hogwarts is a school where any idiot who can hold a wand may come and be told that they are special, and gifted, and that anyone who would presume to judge them as inferior, or to teach them respect for their natural betters, is evil. It was not always so," she added, seeing Tom's look of horror, "but a few lamentable instances of what is erroneously called progress have made it so. It has become a nest of muggle children pretending to be wizards, of half-muggles whose souls and minds are forever frozen between mediocrity and purity, and of the patronizing fools who, by pretending to teach, do nothing but instill a sense of lost, vacuous existence in their--"

Lady Black stopped her monologue abruptly and gave a bitter laugh. "But, of course, what does this have to do with you, master Riddle?" she said. She seemed to want to say something else, but instead her voice shifted as though to change the subject.

"As you may have guessed, Tom, you are not a boy I would consider optimal to associate with," she said haughtily, "but you possess a singular gift, which suggests that you will someday be a person to cultivate, so I will give you some advice about Hogwarts. When the year begins, you will be given the opportunity to choose one of four paths. When that time comes, I urge you to select the path that speaks to you most clearly."

Tom had no idea what she meant, but given the tone in which she said it, he was sure that it would be important later. Giving her a courteous smile, he said quite simply, "Thank you, Lady Black."

She did not smile back, but instead gave Tom an imperious, piercing look that once again made him feel as though she was reading his mind. After a few moments of this, she turned away from him, giving Tom the distinct impression that this was her way of terminating the conversation. Not wanting to offend her, Tom merely fell back from his imperious companion and decided to see if he couldn't strike up a conversation with one or more of her children, possibly to pass the time.

He did not have far to look. Almost as soon as he had stepped away from Lady Black, Tom became aware of another presence beside him, which a quick glance revealed to be the elder boy, Alphard. This individual, upon feeling Tom's gaze, flashed a weak, sheepish grin which, only receiving a suspicious raising of the eyebrows for acknowledgement, promptly vanished. However, to Tom's gratification, Alphard did not wait for him to initiate conversation.

"Tom, isn't it?" His voice did not carry the authority and haughtiness of Lady Black, which made Tom privately wonder how the two could be related and which, compounded with the annoyance of hearing his given name, made Tom immediately less inclined to like his companion.

"Yes," Tom said shortly. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Right," said Alphard. Then, after an awkward pause, he said, "So, Tom, which House do you reckon you'll be in at Hogwarts?"

Tom had no idea what Alphard was talking about, so he simply said, "Er...what?"

"You know, which House?" asked Alphard expectantly, as though Tom were being quite dim. Not seeing any understanding in Tom's face, however, Alphard continued. "Er...Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff? Slytherin? Gryffindor?"

"If you're going to speak gibberish," said Tom with a slight sneer, "what's the point of mixing it with English?" His momentary pride at his witticism was snuffed out instantly, however, by a snort of disdainful laughter from behind him.

"He doesn't know what you're talking about, Alphie." The girl named Walburga had joined their company now, and she was giving Tom an expression that wished him nothing but the deepest ill. "And why should he? He's a filthy little mudblood, isn't he, and Merlin knows they don't know anything about--"

"I am not a mudblood," Tom said, trying to put as much command into his voice as possible, "and if I'm so stupid, why does your mum want to take me shopping?" Then, wanting to get in his own jab, he added, "And if you're so smart, how come you can't talk to snakes, like I can?"

Walburga flushed red, which Tom privately thought made her look very much like a horse with a bad rash. However, her hand was already moving towards her stick, and while Tom knew he couldn't afford for her to use that, his pride wouldn't let him back down. Deciding to try and intimidate her out of attacking him, Tom simply adopted a casual sneer.

"What are you going to do? Throw another snake at me?" he drawled, surprised at his own bravado. "Mummy wouldn't be too pleased, would she? Oh, and since I can talk to snakes," he laid emphasis on the last words, "why shouldn't I just have it strangle you?"

Walburga flushed deeper, but her hand moved away from the stick. It made Tom feel very satisfied to be able to frighten her like many of the other orphanage children. Deciding to press his advantage, Tom continued baiting her.

"Wise move," he said sarcastically, "I suppose you're not as thick as you look."

"I'm smarter than a filthy mudblood like you could ever be!" Walburga snapped back. Tom was going to respond angrily, but Voldemort stopped him.

You idiot, don't antagonize her anymore than you have to! Here's your chance to ask questions! Make her prove how much smarter she is!

"Prove it," Tom said commandingly, allowing a mocking smile to cross his face. "Show me how superior you are. Tell me some of the things you know, like, for instance," he added smoothly, "what these 'houses' are."

At first Walburga looked as though she was going to refuse, but Tom could see his challenge taking effect. Her face finally assumed a look of haughty superiority that reminded Tom heartily of Lady Black.

"Fine, mudblood," she said snidely. "I'll tell you about the houses. Not everyone at Hogwarts lives together - someone has to keep the riff raff," she gave Tom a scathing look, "away from their betters. So when you go to Hogwarts you get sorted into one of four houses - Gryffindor for the idiots, Hufflepuff for the weaklings, Ravenclaw for the bookworms and Slytherin," she swelled with pride, "for the ambitious, interesting people."

"And which of those do you belong to?" Tom asked, wanting to goad her even more. "Gryffindor or Hufflepuff?"

Walburga's face flushed again. "I'm in Slytherin, mudblood," she snarled, "which is more than you'll ever get."

"You don't know that, Walburga," cut in Alphard, who clearly wanted to stop Tom from goading his sister any further. However, upon seeing the latter's expression at being contradicted, he muttered something that sounded very much like "migfiggle" and closed his mouth. For his part, Tom did not stop glaring at Walburga, and she returned the expression with vehemence.

"If Slytherin would take someone like you," Tom said coldly, deciding that there was no point in being diplomatic anymore, "then it can't be all that interesting or ambitious there. Ambitious, interesting people don't tend to lower their expectations that much."

Whatever he said, though, Tom had felt mysteriously stung by Walburga's taunt, as though some part of him felt attached to the idea of being a Slytherin. And even though he doubted if everything at Hogwarts were really as black and white as Walburga made it out to be, a house for the ambitious certainly did sound like his cup of tea. However, deciding it would not do to show these feelings, he merely smirked at Walburga, who looked positively scandalized. Then, without warning, she suddenly moved to pull the stick from her belt, but before she could do anything--

"Children, keep up! We've arrived."

Lady Black's voice seemed to make Walburga deflate. She hastily replaced the stick and gave Tom a look of deepest loathing, as though he had purposefully made her mother interrupt them. Tom, for his part, had quickly turned to look at the storefront that Lady Black had entered and read, with rapidly increasing interest, the words "Ollivander's, Maker of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."

It only took Tom a few moments to work out the significance of this shop. The sticks he had seen Dumbledore and Walburga using were obviously wands, and if that were so, then...he caught his breath. This must mean he was going to get a wand of his own. The excitement of the moment made him momentarily lose grip on his cauldron, causing him to stumble so as to avoid dropping it on Alphard's left foot. Once he'd steadied himselft, however, his mind returned to the wand and a sinking feeling hit him - what if he wouldn't be able to afford the wand? Dumbledore had said he'd have to buy some things secondhand. He hoped that this wouldn't be one of them, but given how vital wands were, he doubted they came cheap. However, there was little point to standing outside the shop wondering about it...

Go in, you fool! Or do you want to give that Walburga brat more reason to think you stupid?

Voldemort's taunt made Tom jump out of his reverie, and without another thought, he walked straight into the shop, determined that he would get a wand of some kind, no matter what it took...

The shop was badly lit and very dusty, but somehow Tom did not find it to be very distasteful. He was too busy staring at the rectangular boxes around the walls, with greed flowing through every pore of his body. However, his reverie was interrupted by the sounds of conversation.

"Welcome to Ollivander's...ah, Lady Black, what a pleasant surprise! Redwood and dragon heartstring, 15 inches, good for charms work?"

Tom looked up to see a young man with excessively long, auburn hair and wide, pale eyes looking at the group of them with an odd mixture of happiness and mystery on his face. Lady Black, despite her usual imperious manner, appeared to have cracked a small smile at his appearance.

"Correct, as always, Ollivander," she said calmly. "I am glad to see your memory does not escape you - I only hope your wandmaking skills remain as good. I have two students in need of a wand today, and I expect the best."

"Of course, of course, Lady Black," said Ollivander with another mysterious smile. "But, forgive me," he looked slightly confused. "Two students? Are not Masters Alphard and Cygnus two years apart? Surely you cannot be wanting wands for both--"

"I do not require a wand for Cygnus," said Lady Black impatiently. "Only Alphard will be needing one today. The other is not for any member of my family, but rather for a...charity case I have taken on. Tom?"

Despite being infuriated at being referred to as a "charity case", Tom stepped out from behind her and faced Ollivander, whose expression was slightly puzzled, but still had the air of mystery.

"Tom," continued Lady Black, "is an orphan...but an orphan of singular talents - among them, the natural ability to speak Parseltongue."

This last sentence made Ollivander's face, which had been momentarily assuming an expression of compassion, instead become deeply wary as he stared at Tom.

"Indeed?" he asked quietly, looking at Tom intently. For a few moments, Ollivander and Tom stared up at each other, but then Ollivander clapped his hands together and his interest appeared to have dissipated.

"Well, Lady Black," he said, "which of the boys would you me to start with?"

"Alphard, I think," said Lady Black coolly. "I think he will be the easier of the two."

Ollivander did not reply, but instead pulled out a ruler which began making measurements all over Alphard's body, seemingly of its own accord. Ollivander, meanwhile, after asking which hand was Alphard's wand hand, had begun rummaging in boxes at the back of the store. After a few moments, he returned with a stack of long sticks similar to the ones Tom had already seen, which he thrust at Alphard, who seemed to hardly pick them up before they were snatched back and pronounced incorrect. After a few wands, however, Alphard seemed to have found his match. A few green sparks had shot out of the end of one, and Ollivander had crowed in delight. Then, sending Alphard back toward his mother, Ollivander turned his attention on Tom, whom he beckoned forward.

To Tom's immense displeasure, Ollivander kept his eyes on him through the entire process of measuring. It made Tom feel very uncomfortable to be so scrutinized, and it was with great relief that, when Ollivander asked after Tom's wand hand, Tom told him that he was left-handed. His relief promptly evaporated, however, when he realized that this had only made Ollivander's scrutiny intensify. After an all-too-brief session of rummaging around within the wands, Ollivander had insisted on staring at Tom steadily as he tried wand after wand, pausing only to go to the back of the store and retrieve more. For Tom's part, he was feeling rather nervous. None of the wands seemed to work for him - did this mean that he was simply not meant to find one, or was Ollivander so incompetent that he could not produce one for Tom to use...?

However, Ollivander had returned, and in his hand he held an abnormally long box, from which he drew, hesitantly, a long white wand that looked as though it might have been carved from ivory. Then, just as hesitantly, he handed it to Tom, breathing the description in Tom's ear.

"13 and a half inches, Yew. Contains the tail of a phoenix. Very powerful - handle with care."

He held out the wand to Tom. The instant Tom's hand closed around it, he gave a small gasp. A sharp, icy rippling sensation had flown up his arm and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to put the wand down and run away from it. However, as he made to hand it back to Ollivander, he suddenly heard Voldemort's voice in his head, and in it was a tone of command he had never heard before.

NO.

And suddenly, as though Tom's hand was not his own, he raised the long, sinister looking wand and brought it down decisively.

The effect was instantaneous and terrifying. Like Alphard, Tom's wand had emitted sparks, but unlike Alphard's, the sparks did not seem to want to stop. Rather, they were pouring out of the wand in a steady stream and forming something long and sinuous that jerked and twisted as it made its way out of Tom's wand. After a few seconds of this, Tom saw that the sparks had formed a snake - a snake which reared up and moved to strike at him. There was a small gasp from Lady Black and Tom heard Ollivander suddenly shout:

"Stop!"

The sparks evaporated, but Tom was unnerved. His hand was shaking, as if it had been plunged into ice cold water. He wanted nothing more than to drop the wand, but his fingers seemed unwilling to obey him. He wondered, somewhat fearfully, why Voldemort had stopped him from dropping the wand in the first place, but no sooner had he thought it than Voldemort spoke to him.

Stop shaking, Tom. It's not good manners to greet a new friend with fear.

No sooner had Voldemort spoken than Tom felt his hand stop shaking. The cold was suddenly gone from his fingertips. Instead, a slow, blissful warmth was making its way up his arm, and its source was the wand. Suddenly, rather than feeling afraid of the wand, Tom felt glad to be holding it - it was like meeting an old friend. It was like hot chocolate after a cold day in the snow. It was like...like...

Like watching a stupid, cowardly bully of a boy sob over the remains of his dead rabbit as it hung suspended from the ceiling, a reminder from Tom to all who would oppose him. The best feeling, the most terrible in the world...

Tom faced Ollivander, who was giving him, if that was possible, an even more wary look than he had before Tom had tried the wand. Then, slowly, Ollivander began to speak.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Tom."

Ollivander shook his head impatiently. "Your full name."

Tom hesitated before he said, slowly, "Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Marvolo," said Ollivander slowly, giving Tom the most piercing look he had given him yet, as though there was something he recognized in Tom's face, but was unwilling to expose. "Curious, very curious. I think, young master Riddle, that you have found your wand. It is quite the omen for your future that a wand that powerful has chosen you...whether it is a good omen, however," Ollivander turned away from Tom suddenly, "we shall see."

Tom did not know what to say to this, so he simply asked, "How much?"

Ollivander laughed darkly. "Oh, my boy, my boy," he said softly, "what I would charge for that wand under normal circumstances no orphan could afford."

"How much?" came Lady Black's voice behind them. She was giving Ollivander a contemptuous look, as though the mention of pay had made him infinitely uglier than he really was. Ollivander gave another hollow laugh.

"Thirty galleons, Lady Black," he said, "but consider it forgotten. I would not dare part that wand from its master, or I might not live to see gold cross my palm again."

Lady Black, however, would have none of it. Tom saw her pull a small bag of gold from within her robes and hand it to Ollivander with the same contemptuous air. Ollivander did not bother opening the bag and instead chose to silently stow it under his desk. Then, without so much as a word, he bowed them out of his shop, giving Tom one last piercing look before shutting the door behind them. Tom, for his part, stared down at the wand he had just purchased and wondered what on earth in him had attracted its attention. The wand, however, sat in his hand quietly, its curved end looking for all the world like the question mark which punctuated all of Tom's thoughts. After a few moments of staring at it, Tom felt his hand close around the wand once more and he felt the warm, savage sensation float through his fingers again. Then, seeing that Lady Black was already a few feet ahead of him, Tom hurried to catch up.