2 Chapter 2- Dumbledore's Visit.

Midday painted the sky in the delicate hue of forget-me-nots, adorned with only a scattering of clouds. The sun cast its radiant glow upon a hill where Tom and a group of other children gathered beneath the shade of a lone tree. While the others were engrossed in their games, Tom sat motionless beneath the tree, lost in his own thoughts.

"Tom."

The voice sliced through the haze of his half-nap, prompting Tom to open his eyes. He found himself staring up at an unfamiliar boy.

'Ben, that's his name,' Tom thought, effortlessly extracting the information from the forefront of the boy's mind.

"Yes?" Tom half-whispered.

The boy, visibly nervous, had sweat glistening on the top of his head. His eyes darted back and forth at the others surrounding Tom, daring not to meet Tom's gaze.

"I-it's Mrs. Cole, she's asking for you," he stammered out.

Tom's eyes narrowed, the interruption pulling him from the tranquil world of his thoughts. He remained silent for a moment, assessing the situation before finally rising from his spot beneath the tree.

Tom stared at Ben for a couple of seconds before getting up. "Show me where she is."

"Wait, Tom," Wilfred called, concern evident. "What happened? Are you in trouble again?"

Tom shrugged. "Who knows," he replied nonchalantly and followed after Ben.

Ben led him down from the hill, heading towards the orphanage door. He paused before opening it and turned around to meet Tom's black eyes. "I didn't tell her anything, I swear."

Expressionless as ever, Tom merely replied, "We'll see."

"I swear."

"Open the door, Ben."

At the sound of his name from Tom's lips, Ben flinched. He pushed the door open, and they entered a dimly lit office room where Mrs. Cole and a man sat, a bottle before them.

"Tom," Mrs. Cole called out, "Meet Professor Dumblybore."

"It's Professor Dumbledore, actually," Interrupted the man.

He stood up, walking towards Tom with his hands outstretched. "Riddle, is it?"

Tom remained stoic, shaking Dumbledore's hand with a firm grip. His mind raced with questions, but his face revealed nothing.

"Yes, but you may call me Tom."

They shook hands; Dumbledore's grip was firm and strong.

"Mrs. Cole here has been telling me much about you, Tom," Dumbledore continued. "Perhaps we can go to a more private room to discuss some things."

Tom glanced at Mrs. Cole, who was practically nodding off. "Who are you exactly?"

Dumbledore merely smiled. "As I said before, my name is Dumbledore, but you can call me Professor Dumbledore. I'm here on behalf of Hogwarts to offer you acceptance into our school. Can we talk in private?"

Tom stared; their eyes met, black meeting blue.

"Alright," Tom replied. He turned around, leading the wizard to his room.

Tom moved silently through the corridors, his steps barely audible as he navigated the familiar hallways of the institution. The door to his room swung open with subtle grace, and he moved to sit on his bed.

Gesturing towards the solitary chair in the room, he spoke, "You may have a seat, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Tom." He closed the door behind him, the hinges producing a soft creaking noise that echoed in the quiet room.

With dignified grace, Dumbledore seated himself within the chair before beginning to speak.

"As I've already said, I am Professor Dumbledore, and I'm here to offer you a place in my school."

"Why?" Tom asked, feigning ignorance. "I've done no tests that'll tell I'm fit for it."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "True, but it's not a matter of tests like other schools have; rather, it's a matter of... talents."

Silence went on for a minute, before Tom spoke.

"Talents?" Tom's black eyes bore into Dumbledore's blue. "What talents could I possibly possess that make me suited for your school?"

Dumbledore leaned back, an air of mystery surrounding him. "Oh, I'm sure you've noticed those 'talents'; certain things moving without a touch. Objects shattering in fits of rage, perhaps?"

Tom stared intently, whispering barely above hearing level. "You can do that too?"

Dumbledore nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes, Tom, and much more."

Tom looked away, staring out the window to the sunny outdoors. "I always knew I couldn't be the only one." He took a deep breath. "Millions of people in the world, it couldn't only be me." He looked back at Dumbledore. "But sometimes I wondered otherwise, whether in hope or despair, I couldn't tell."

"You have a way with words for someone your age," Dumbledore noted.

"So I'm told," Tom replied. "So how will this work? I assume I need to pay for certain things, but I don't have any money."

"Not to worry, Tom," said Dumbledore, pulling out a leather money pouch from his pocket and handing it over to him. "There's a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy your spellbooks and robes secondhanded, and there's also the matter of your wand."

"My wand?" asked Tom.

"Yes, a wand." Dumbledore repeated before pulling his out. It was black, slender and long, with little to no defining features apart from the hilt, which had a silver band around it.

With a flick of the stick, the papers on Tom's desk soared around the room like birds, before landing down in a neat heap.

"Every wizard and witch needs it," He continued, "It harnesses whatever nascent powers lie beneath and brings it to the forefront."

"So that's what I am. A wizard?" Tom nodded. "But do we need it? Can't you just do magic without it?"

Dumbledore leaned forward, his fingers stroking his beard.

"Yes, it's entirely possible, accidental magic; which you no doubt have experienced, but it tends not to be too reliable in most cases, whereas more controlled forms of magic without wands tend to be more occultish, requiring less than pleasant means to cast spells. You can understand with the growing wizarding population; it required a more stable and less resource-demanding way to do so; therefore, wands came into play."

"I see," Tom said. "Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome, Tom," said Dumbledore, standing up. "Shall we be on our way?"

Tom stood as well.

"Where to?" He asked.

"Diagon Alley," Answered Dumbledore. "I have a list," He said, pulling an envelope from his pockets, "Of all the things you need."

"It'll be a short trip, and then back."

"Oh, alright then, lead the way."

Out of the orphanage they left, with Dumbledore stopping once by Mrs. Cole's office to inform her of their departure.

They went down the street and into a corner into an alleyway, a quick look here and a quick look there before he raised his arm to Tom.

"Grab on, and make sure to hold on tight."

Knowing exactly what was going to happen, Tom wondered if there was a better way to get there.

He hesitated for appearances' sake before finally grabbing on.

Tom's world went black; he felt his body being pressed together at all sides. He could breathe, but it felt as though tight iron bands were around his chest. His eyeballs were forced into his head, his eardrums pushed deeper and deeper into his skull, and then—

As suddenly as the experience began, it ended. Tom gulped huge lungfuls of air and opened tear-filled eyes. It took a few seconds for him to notice the different surroundings. It was another alleyway, but different from the last. Instead of the cobblestone floor of the old alleyway, this place had a smooth concrete floor. The walls on both sides were closer, casting shadows over them, and the place appeared to be much dirtier.

"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked, his palm resting on Tom's shoulder's, "I know it takes getting used to."

"I'm fine." Tom managed, wiping his eyes, "Did we just....Teleport?"

Dumbledore smiled, "Yes, apparition it's called, a very niche form of travel, most prefer brooms."

"I think I'd prefer brooms as well." He replied.

Dumbledore laughed, "So do I Tom, but alas, time waits for no man, this way please."

He set off at a brisk pace, with Tom trailing behind him. They passed by multiple bookstores, a record store, and a restaurant. Everything looked completely normal and non-magical, but Tom knew better than to doubt.

"Here we are," Dumbledore suddenly stopped, almost causing Tom to bump into him. "The Leaky Cauldron."

Just as the books had stated, it was a tiny, grubby-looking pub, barely noticeable beside the grander stores. Nothing about it screamed inherently magical, except perhaps, as Tom noticed, the way the Muggles hurrying by it seemed unable to keep their eyes on it. Eyes glazed over as they looked at it, sliding over to the next store without a moment's thought.

The inside was no better, Tom noticed, dark and shabby. The air hung heavy with a mixture of mustiness and the faint scent of parchment. Though it seemed like the wizards didn't mind that all too much, multiple persons filled up space in the worn-out seats. Passing by, Tom could hear a few conversations.

A group huddled in the corner, discussing the latest street gossip, their voices animated with excitement. A lone wizard sat at a nearby table, poring over a dusty book with intense concentration. The clinking of teacups and the rustle of parchment created a symphony of activity.

"You hear about Kale and what happened?" One wizard said to another.

"Aye, I heard, poor lad," The other answered, shaking his head. "Bit of an idiot too, though, getting that close to a vampire without his wand drawn. Kill the lot of them, I say."

The conversation faded into the background.

"Hello, Tom," Dumbledore said, nodding to the man behind the counter.

"Ah, Dumbledore, how you doing?" Tom greeted.

"So far so good. You?" returned Dumbledore.

The man spread his arms at the room. "Business is good, what more could a man need?"

The two laughed, exchanged a few other pleasantries and said their goodbyes. Dumbledore led them through the bar and out into a small walled courtyard, with nothing but a lone trashcan and a couple of sprouting weeds.

"Mr. Dumbledore."

"Professor Dumbledore, Tom," corrected Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore," Tom said. "Back there, in the pub, I couldn't help but overhear a man talking about vampires."

In truth, Tom had entirely forgotten about the existence of the blood-suckers. Whatever times J.K. Rowling had mentioned them were brief and without any real backstory. Whatever fears he had now concerning the magical world seemed to double.

"Just a moment, Tom," said Dumbledore, counting the bricks on the wall above the trash can.

He tapped the walls three times with the tip of his wand.

The brick it touched wriggled like jello; in the middle, a small hole appeared. It grew bigger and wider; a second later, they were facing an archway big enough to fit a dump truck.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore.

They stepped through the archway. Tom couldn't help but look back at the wall, seeing it close up back into a solid wall.

It was perhaps a simple form of magic, but still, Tom couldn't help but feel a little awed by it. In his mind, he tried to make sense of it. 'Perhaps it's a controlled form of Quantum Tunneling. The wriggling and the sudden appearance of the hole could be a manifestation of quantum tunneling, allowing the brick to momentarily exist in two places at once before stabilizing in a new configuration.'

Two hundred plus years in his second life had left Tom with a wellspring of scientific knowledge to draw from.

Whatever it was, it didn't fail to impress. 'To think I'll be capable of building that in a few years.'

They walked towards a shop, hanging over them was a sign. It read; Cauldrons - All sizes- Copper, Brass, Pewter, silver- self-stirring- collapsible.

"You'll be needing one of those for potions," Dumbledore said.

They headed inwards; a woman by the name of Evelyn greeted them. "First year, eh?" she asked.

"Not to worry, I got the right cauldron for you." She led them towards the other side of the store.

"Here," She motioned, beaming. "Pewter, standard size two, pick whichever you like." And with that, she walked away.

"That one will be best." Said Dumbledore, pointing to the one on the left.

"Why?" Tom asked, staring at it to try seeing if there was anything different about it.

Dumbledore shrugged, "Just a feeling, you don't have to do it."

But there wasn't exactly any reason not to pick it, so in a few minutes, they walked out of the shop three galleons poorer.

They strolled around for a few more minutes, visiting shops. Flourish and Blotts, the bookshop, housed books with odd yet interesting titles like "Whispering Wands and Ticklish Tomes: A Jestful Journey into Jocular Magic" and the more sinister "Shadows and Shenanigans: A Mischievous Manual for Magical Mayhem."

Tom considered the second book but eventually settled for the prescribed schoolbooks: "The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)" by Miranda Goshawk, "A History of Magic" by Bathilda Bagshot, "Magical Theory" by Adalbert Waffling, "A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration" by Emeric Switch, and "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" by Phyllida Spore, and "Magical Drafts and Potions" by Arsenius Jigger.

Next, they headed to the second-hand robes shop, Twilfitt and Tattings. Tom found a couple that suited him well, each worth a galleon, one-tenth of the original price; altogether, he spent four galleons.

After that, they went to the Apothecary. The smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages, assaulted Tom's senses. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor, jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls, and bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. The young man inside greeted them with a listless, bored expression, but upon seeing Dumbledore, his tone changed.

"Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed.

"Ah, Benjamin Hold, how's life outside of Hogwarts?"

Benjamin shrugged. "It's alright, nothing as exciting as I hoped, but so far life's good."

"Ah, that's good to hear. Tom here," waving a hand towards Tom, "is looking for some school supplies. Make no mind of us."

Once again, they went through the list, and all that was required was bought and paid for.

Outside the Apothecary, Dumbledore spoke, "Now for your wand, and before you forget, what was it you were saying before?"

It took a moment to remember. "Oh yes, I asked about the vampires."

"So you did, what do you wish to know?" Dumbledore said, stroking his auburn beard.

'Alright, I'm eleven years old, and new to this, ask any question.'

He looked up at the older wizard with feigned ignorance. "Do they really drink blood?"

"Yes, they do, Tom. Although they are capable of consuming other things, but for the most part, they prefer blood."

Tom scrunched up his face; the disgust wasn't entirely feigned. "Is it true they're dead?"

"In a way, their bodies are technically dead, but the vampire curse animates them. Keeps them alive, so to say, but in order to stay alive, they'll need to consume blood to keep the curse working."

And last but definitely not least. "Do... are they immortal? Like the books say."

"Muggle books, you mean?" Dumbledore chuckled. "No, they're not. It might seem that way, but no."

Tom frowned. "Why would it seem that way?"

"Most vampires tend to 'live' far longer than any Muggle—non-magical," he added at Tom's look of confusion. "In addition, they don't age—"

"But if they don't age, how come they aren't—" Tom interrupted.

"As I said before, Tom, the curse animates them, keeps them as they were when they died, but over time it grows weaker. Eventually, they revert back to a true corpse again, unmoving and unthinking." Dumbledore interjected.

"Oh," Tom's eyes widened. "What's the usual 'life' span?"

Dumbledore's eyes flickered towards Tom and back. "The oldest recorded was four hundred and sixty-one."

The two continued walking down the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, with Dumbledore occasionally pointing out interesting shops and places. Tom's mind, however, was preoccupied with the information about vampires. It was a whole new world of magical creatures that he had failed to consider.

'Exactly how many of are there, and do I need to be worried?'

After a short walk, they arrived at Ollivander's, the famous wand shop. Tom and Dumbledore stepped into the narrow confines of Ollivander's, the renowned wand shop in Diagon Alley. The atmosphere was laden with the scent of aged wood and magic. As they entered, the creaking sign above the door announced their arrival.

Ollivander, a slender man with pale, moon-like eyes, was engrossed in assisting a young witch and her parents. The wand in the girl's hand seemed to have found its match, and Ollivander's keen observations filled the air.

"Hmm, Redwood," Ollivander murmured, his voice carrying a mystical weight, "attracted to those who already possess the admirable ability to snatch advantage from catastrophe. Coupled with the Unicorn tail hair—not particularly strong in core, but very stable and loyal. Very few finer wands in this world."

With the ten galleons paid, the family exited the shop, the man nodding towards Dumbledore on his way out.

"Dumbledore!" Ollivander exclaimed, "How are you, old friend?"

Dumbledore shook hands with the wandmaker. With a smile, he replied, "Not too bad, not too bad, just escorting young Tom here."

Ollivander's pale eyes focused on Tom's black eyes for a second. "Ah, Tom Marvolo Riddle, I believe?" Bringing out a tape measure, He said, "Here hold out your wand arm."

Throughout his second and third lives, Tom had trained himself to be comfortable using his left. It was harder now in his third life as he was discouraged by the caretakers, but he could still use it relatively well. He held out his right.

Suddenly, the tape measure flew into action, measuring Tom from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around his head.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Riddle. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

While saying this, Ollivander was busy rummaging around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"Alright." He snapped his fingers, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr Riddle. Try this one. Alderwood and dragon heartstring. Eight inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Tom grabbed onto it, feeling it. It took barely a moment's twitch before the wand was snatched out of his hand by Ollivander's nimble fingers.

"Sycamore wood and unicorn hair, nine and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Tom gave it another wave, but once again, Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand at once.

It went on like this for a while, the more the discarded boxes of wands piled up, the happier Ollivander seemed to be.

'Well, at least one of us is happy.' Tom scowled.

"How about this, thirteen and a half inches. Yew and Phoenix feather."

Tom blinked, his heart jumped at the sight of the wand, this was it, the wand of the greatest dark lord to ever exist, and brother to the wand of the boy-who-lived.

Tom waved. Once again, the wand was snatched from his hand.

"Ok, it's getting quite hard to pin it down, but I wonder, now – yes, why not – rare combination, Vine and Horned Serpent horn, twelve inches, powerful and unyielding."

Tom took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. With a swish of the wand, multiple boxes rose up in tandem. 'Wow, it's much easier.'

With a smile, Dumbledore gave a clap on his shoulder, "Well done Tom."

"Good, good," clapped Ollivander, "That'll be ten galleons, please."

.....

As the two made their way back down Diagon Alley, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a twilight glow over the magical marketplace. The air was filled with the aroma of various magical goods and the chatter of witches and wizards going about their evening business. Through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, and out into the alleyway, with a quick jump, the two found themselves back in the first alleyway with the cobblestones, the familiar surroundings welcoming them after their magical excursion. The world of magic and wonder had momentarily folded into the ordinary, leaving only echoes.

After waiting for Tom to catch his breath, Dumbledore handed him and envelope.

"Your ticket for Hogwarts," He said. "First of September – King's Cross – it's all in there."

"Thank you Professor." Tom said.

"No worries Tom, it was my pleasure, see at Hogwarts."

And with that, he turned on the spot and vanished.