"Garrick, didn't sleep well last night? You can barely stay on your feet," Dumbledore said smoothly.
His reaction was quick. He stepped forward and helped Ollivander up, conveniently offering him a perfectly reasonable excuse.
"Albus, you're as sharp as an eagle," Ollivander replied at once, seizing the lifeline. "I was up all night thinking about new wand materials—nearly racked my brains dry."
Realizing that his reaction had been far too extreme, Ollivander followed Dumbledore's lead and then smiled at Tom.
"Don't worry, child. Even if I couldn't walk another step, I'd still be able to choose the most suitable wand for you."
...
It seemed that Ollivander had accepted the coincidence of identical names—but in truth, his heart was still crawling with unease.
After measuring Tom, the very first wand he selected was made of yew, which made Dumbledore's eyelid twitch.
Yew represented death and rebirth. It was often favored by powerful dark wizards and was especially well-suited to Dark Magic and defensive spells.
And the previous Tom had used a yew wand as well…
When a burst of flame shot from the tip, Ollivander shook his head in dissatisfaction, snatched the wand back from Tom, and opened another box.
"That one was too gentle for you. Try this."
Tom took it. The tip immediately exploded into a flock of birds.
"Still not right. Thestral hair doesn't resonate with you as well as I imagined. Then—this one."
The moment Tom accepted the third wand, an unprecedented sense of smoothness flowed through him. He flicked his wrist and pointed toward a broken flowerpot in the corner.
The flowerpot instantly shattered into fine dust.
[Host has successfully oriented future development.
System directional anchoring in progress…
Anchoring complete.
The Strongest Learning System is now at your service.]
Tom lowered his gaze, as if he hadn't heard anything at all. His expression remained perfectly calm.
Ollivander, however, clapped his hands in delight.
"A perfect match. Fourteen and a half inches, yew wood, dragon heartstring core. I can already imagine the power of the spells you'll cast in the future."
"I'll take good care of it, Mr. Ollivander," Tom said.
"Remember this—your wand is not a tool, but a partner, child."
"And that will be eight Galleons, please."
After paying, Tom turned the wand over in his hand.
There was no mystical sense of bloodline connection, but the feeling when casting spells was exceptionally smooth.
Ollivander truly lived up to his reputation. The saying that the wand chooses the wizard was no empty claim.
Before reaching a certain level, wand compatibility had a tremendous impact on how much of a wizard's strength could be brought to bear.
Taking the simple maintenance kit the wandmaker included, Tom left Ollivander's shop with his wand in hand.
The moment the door closed behind them, the forced smile vanished from the wandmaker's face. Beads of cold sweat seeped from his forehead.
Any wand longer than thirteen and a half inches was considered extra-long. Such length symbolized absolute self-confidence and an extraordinary desire for control.
Overly short wands, on the other hand, represented a narrow, sharp, and mean-spirited personality.
Ollivander remembered the shortest wand he had ever sold—it had gone to a witch named Umbridge.
And the longest…
Was the one Tom had just taken.
Combine that with a dragon heartstring core, which only wizards with exceptionally powerful magic could wield—
"Dumbledore… you know what all of this represents when put together, don't you?"
Ollivander muttered under his breath as he silently returned the scattered wand boxes to their proper places.
"Ah, Mr. Riddle, I've just remembered what I forgot."
Dumbledore pointed to the pet shop across the street. "First-year students are allowed to bring one pet. Would you like to take a look?"
"Let's skip it, Professor."
Tom shook his head. "Owls are messengers—I don't really have much use for one. As for toads and rats… sorry, they just don't align with my aesthetic."
Dumbledore nodded and dropped the matter. "Then we'll call it a day. Let's go find Tom for a drink, and I'll take you home afterward."
Tom didn't refuse.
They returned to the Leaky Cauldron. By then it was mealtime, and only two seats were left—one of which the innkeeper Tom had deliberately saved for them.
Dumbledore's appearance noticeably lowered the volume of the chatter around them. Fortunately, he and Tom only had a single drink each and didn't linger long before leaving.
Suddenly, Tom understood why, when reading Harry Potter in his previous life, Dumbledore had always seemed faintly lonely.
Old Dumbledore's status was simply too high. The entire country was filled with his students and students of students—he already had the air of an emperor without kin.
At least emperors had empresses.
As for Old Dumbledore…
Well. He'd personally sent his own "empress" to Azkaban.
Thinking of this, Tom cast a faintly sympathetic glance at the old man, who still wore a gentle smile.
An hour and a half later, Dumbledore delivered Tom back to the children's home.
"I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Riddle."
"As do I, Professor."
Only after watching Dumbledore leave did Tom turn and enter the house.
Ms. Arman had already prepared dinner and gone off work. Seth and the other three boys were eating, having left Tom an especially large portion.
"Boss… are you really going to that white-bearded old man's school?" Seth asked curiously as Tom sat down.
The other three boys quickly finished eating, washed the dishes of their own accord, and ran back to their rooms. Only Seth remained.
At present, only Tom and Seth were long-term residents of the children's home. The other three "problem kids" had arrived not long ago—and after being taught a lesson by Tom, they behaved like mice before a cat.
"That's none of your concern."
Tom took a big bite of steak and spoke around it. "If I find out your grades have slipped in secondary school, don't blame me if I come back during the holidays to straighten you out."
Seth shrank back, not daring to argue.
Inside, he felt indignant on Tom's behalf. His boss was being forced to attend some school he'd never even heard of.
In Seth's eyes, his boss was unbeatable—top of the school both academically and in fights.
Even Harrow or Eton would've been easy. But those damned schools charged absurd tuition, forcing his boss to leave.
Tom had no idea his little follower was silently raging on his behalf.
He didn't say much. Dumbledore had warned him not to tell Muggles about the magical world, nor allow magical items to circulate among them. As a mere first-year, he had no ability to resist the rules of the wizarding world.
After finishing dinner and cleaning up, Tom returned to his bedroom.
"Open the system interface."