"Garrick, perhaps you didn't get enough sleep last night? You seem a bit unsteady."
Dumbledore reacted instantly, catching Ollivander by the arm before the wandmaker completely embarrassed himself on the shop floor. The excuse came easily, as if conjured out of habit.
Ollivander blinked, then chuckled thinly. "Albus, your eyes are sharp as a hawk's. Yes, yes—I was up late last night, racking my brain for new wand materials. That must be it."
He quickly smoothed the moment over, forcing a smile at Tom. "But don't worry, my boy. Even if I lose the strength in my legs, I will never lose the knack for finding the right wand. You will leave with one perfectly suited to you."
---
The Yew Problem
On the surface, Ollivander seemed to have accepted the coincidence of the boy's name. But his hands trembled slightly as he fetched the first wand.
"Yew wood," he announced softly, placing it in Tom's hand.
Dumbledore's eyelids twitched. Yew was a wood of death and rebirth, beloved by powerful wizards, especially those who walked the darker paths. The last boy named Tom Riddle—that Tom Riddle—had wielded a wand of yew.
The thought was enough to make the old wizard's stomach knot.
Tom flicked the wand experimentally. A ball of fire burst from the tip, crackling for a moment before fizzling into nothing.
Ollivander snatched it away at once. "No, no, far too gentle. Not your match. Try this one."
---
Birds in the Shop
The second wand was no better. The moment Tom grasped it, a flock of glowing birds exploded from the tip, circling the room wildly before dissipating.
"Still not right," Ollivander muttered, frowning. "Ye Qi and your inner belief are not aligned as I thought. Here—try this."
---
The Perfect Match
The third wand settled in Tom's hand like an extension of his own arm. Smooth, balanced, as if it had always been waiting for him.
He raised it toward a broken flowerpot in the corner. With the faintest flick—
CRACK!
The pot crumbled instantly into powder.
And then, in his mind:
[The host has successfully anchored its development path. System activation in progress… Anchoring complete. The Strongest Learning System is now bound to you.]
Tom lowered his gaze, his face expressionless. He did not flinch, did not react, as though the voice in his mind were no more than background noise.
Ollivander, on the other hand, clapped his hands with delight. "Marvelous! A perfect match. Fourteen and a half inches, yew wood, core of dragon heartstring. I can already picture the strength of your future spells."
"I'll put it to good use, Mr. Ollivander," Tom said politely.
The wandmaker leaned close, his eyes shining. "Remember this, child: the wand is not your tool—it is your companion. Treat it well."
Then, as if nothing momentous had occurred, he added briskly: "That will be eight Galleons."
---
Reflections on the Wand
Tom handed over the coins and rolled the wand between his fingers. Casting had felt smooth, effortless, like water flowing downhill. No strange blood-bonding sensation, no fireworks, no warmth in the chest—just precision.
The old saying was true: the wand chooses the wizard. Ollivander's reputation was well-earned.
Before one reached true mastery of magic, the compatibility of a wand could mean the difference between mediocrity and greatness. With this wand, Tom had taken his first real step forward.
He accepted the maintenance kit Ollivander provided and followed Dumbledore out of the shop.
---
Ollivander's Fear
The moment the door closed, Ollivander's forced smile collapsed. His forehead glistened with sweat. He leaned against the counter, heart thudding.
Fourteen and a half inches. Extra-long.
A wand longer than thirteen and a half inches meant something rare. It symbolized absolute confidence, ambition, and a need for control. Such wizards bent not only magic, but people, to their will.
By contrast, short wands suited the narrow-minded and petty. Ollivander recalled, with distaste, the shortest wand he had ever sold—to a witch named Umbridge.
But this boy's wand? The longest he had ever sold.
And at its core—a dragon heartstring. Only a wizard with immense magical power could hope to control it.
Ollivander whispered into the empty shop: "Dumbledore, you understand what this means, don't you?"
He shook his head, tidying boxes with trembling hands. Some coincidences were too heavy to ignore.
---
Pets and Pity
Meanwhile, outside, Dumbledore gestured to the pet shop across the street. "First-years are permitted one pet. Would you like to take a look?"
Tom shook his head firmly. "Owls are messengers—I don't need one. As for toads or mice… forgive me, sir, but they're beneath my dignity."
Dumbledore chuckled softly and let it go. "Very well. Then let's call it a day. We'll stop by the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, and I'll see you home."
---
A Lonely Emperor
The pub was livelier than before, yet even here, Dumbledore's presence hushed the noise. Tom and the headmaster took a corner table, each with a glass of butterbeer.
Tom studied the old man quietly.
In his previous life, watching the Harry Potter films, he had always thought Dumbledore looked lonely. Now, sitting across from him, he understood why.
Dumbledore was like an emperor—respected, revered, but alone.
Every wizard and witch in Britain bowed to him, but who stood beside him? Who shared his burdens?
At least a king had a queen. Dumbledore? He had sent his own "queen" away, long ago.
Tom felt an odd flicker of pity for the smiling, twinkling man across the table.
---
Back to the Children's Home
An hour and a half later, they arrived back in Lewisham.
"Looking forward to seeing you again, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said warmly.
"Me too, Professor."
Tom watched him disappear into the night before turning back toward the children's home.
Inside, Ms. Arman had prepared dinner. Seth and the other boys were already eating, but a large portion had been saved for Tom.
"Boss," Seth asked, looking up nervously, "are you really going to that school run by the white-bearded old man?"
The other three boys, intimidated by Tom, quickly cleared their plates and vanished to their rooms. Only Seth lingered, his loyalty outweighing his fear.
"Yes," Tom replied, cutting into his steak. His voice was muffled by food but carried authority all the same. "And if your grades drop in high school, don't blame me for coming back during the holidays to straighten you out."
Seth shrank back, nodding quickly. He wasn't worried for himself—he was worried for his boss. In Seth's eyes, Tom was brilliant, a boy destined for Eton or Harrow. That he would settle for some unknown school was an injustice.
But Tom said nothing more. Dumbledore's warning echoed in his mind: no word of the magical world to Muggles. For now, Seth could only remain in the dark.
---
Awakening
Dinner finished, Tom washed his plate, excused himself, and returned to his room.
He closed the door, sat at his desk, and took a deep breath. The wand gleamed faintly in the lamplight, resting across his lap.
Then, in a whisper only he could hear, Tom spoke:
"Open the system panel."
And with that, the world shifted.
-