August 23, 1938
On August 23rd, Harry and Tom received a visitor.
Harry and Tom were both reading in their respective bunks when two knocks on their door disturbed their tranquil silence, filled only with the occasional page turn. Mrs. Cole entered, along with an auburn-haired bearded man wearing a plum velvet suit.
Harry stared at the visitor, perplexed at why this strangely-dressed man entered their room. He put his book down and chanced a glance at Tom, who minutely shook his head. Damn it. Neither of them knew who this man was. More importantly, neither of them knew why he was here.
"Tom, Harry, you two have got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton—sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you both—well, I'll let him do it," she stuttered.
Harry climbed down to sit in the desk chair, bookmarking his page. He placed the book on the desk.
"How do you do, Tom, Harry?" said Dunderbore, walking forward and holding out his hand.
Harry and Tom looked at each other again, hesitating over what was the best course of action. Tom stood up from his bunk and shook hands with Dumbledore. Harry did the same. He already disliked Dunderbore. This strange man with his strange suits and hair and manner.
Dunderbore drew up the hard wooden chair from the second desk and sat near the two, eyes flicking between them.
"I am Professor Dumbledore."
Harry hesitated, choosing to let Tom lead the conversation. Whatever a "professor" was, he did not like it.
"'Professor'?" Harry repeated. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for?"
"I am here to—"
Tom butted in, "Did she get you in to have a look at us?"
Tom pointed at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.
"No, no," said 'Dumbledore', smiling.
Tom narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you," he said. "She wants us looked at, doesn't she? Tell us the truth."
Dumbledore didn't say anything, only continuing to smile pleasantly.
He should have said something already, thought Harry. Tom's special power had never failed on anyone before, even adults.
Tendrils of fear and indignance curdled his gut. Tom was similarly shocked, as his eyes had widened to the size of large saucers, glaring at Dumbledore.
"Who are you?" Harry interrupted, ending their staring contest.
"As I told you before, my name is Professor Dumbledore. I have come to offer you both a place at my school—Hogwarts," Dumbledore addressed.
As Harry asked, "What is the school for?", Tom's face screwed into a scowl, his hands clenching in agitation. Harry grabbed at his sleeves in an attempt to ground him, knowing with a single sideways glance that Tom was ready to attack. They were both shaken from Dumbledore's immunity to the Special Power.
Dumbledore, noticing Tom's intensely hostile look, studied them pensively before humming and continuing, "Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you—"
When Tom's eyes narrowed further, Harry gripped Tom's sleeves harder, bunching the material in his fist and glaring at him. He grabbed his forearm, his own special nonverbal warning to say shut up, or else. Tom's scowl deepened, but he remained still. Harry took a deep breath and looked back at the professor.
"Hogwarts," Dumbledore picked up again, "is a school for people with special abilities—"
Without taking his eyes off of Dumbledore, Harry felt Tom's muscles constrict as he tried to jump up. Harry only squeezed Tom's forearm tighter, digging his nails in as hard as he could. Tom glowered, opening his mouth-
"—It is a school of magic."
They froze. Harry gaped at Dumbledore, while Tom relaxed his not-so-subtle posturing to gaze at Dumbledore with wild eyes, joyous in their intensity. His face was expressionless, eyes flickering back and forth between Harry and Dumbledore, as if daring Harry to contradict what they had just heard.
A warmth bloomed across Harry's body. Tingles raced down his spine. "Magic?" they both repeated in whispered tones.
"You are correct," said Dumbledore.
"It's ... it's magic, what we do?" Tom asked.
"What is it that you can do?"
"We call it the Special Power," said Harry, who gestured to Tom to explain, sensing his fevered excitement.
Tom added excitedly, "With the Special Power, we can make things move without touching them. We can put animals to sleep without training them. We can appear in different places without moving."
Harry cut in, exhilarated, "We can make bad things happen to people who bully us. We can make them hurt if they hurt us."
Harry felt his legs tremble. He gripped the top of the chair and panted. Tom wasn't doing much better: he stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.
"I knew we were special," Tom whispered to his own quivering fingers, before raising his head to gaze at Harry, his wild eyes electrifying the distance between them. "There was no way we weren't, not when both of us had something no one else did."
"Well, you are quite right to say you and Harry share a gift. You are wizards," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching both of them intently.
Tom lifted his head and focused his gaze on Harry, then Dumbledore. Tom was the happiest Harry had ever seen him: his genuine, slightly lopsided childish smile was on full display, tiny dimples appearing if one knew where to look, lower cheeks rosy and pink. Harry smiled back, breaking out into a wide grin, unable to help himself when Tom's youthful joy was so infectious.
He got up and tugged on Tom's sleeve insistently. "We're wizards!" he crowed. Tom blinked a couple of times in succession, still smiling, as if unable to wipe his face. "Yeah, we really are. We're special."
Dumbledore gave them time to talk among themselves, before clearing his throat and saying, "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts, you will be joining the ranks of witches and wizards exactly like you."
"Of course we are!" Harry said, still ridiculously giddy over the fact that Tom and he were going to a magic school. "We wouldn't reject it for anything."
"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.' "
Harry shrunk back slightly, saying, "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be impolite."
"It's alright, Harry," said Dumbledore gently.
"So what can you do with magic?" asked Tom curiously.
Harry watched in great interest as Professor Dumbledore drew out a long, ebony colored, polished stick and said, "Watch. I will set your wardrobe on fire, but it will not burn." He pointed it at their wardrobe, and gave it a casual flick.
Instinctual horror and anger overtook Harry as the wardrobe burst into flames.
Both Harry and Tom jumped to their feet, scrambling over to the wardrobe. Harry prayed that Dumbledore was telling the truth, that he didn't lie to them like Mrs. Cole did. By the time they had reached the wardrobe, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.
Harry stared at Dumbledore in trepidation while Tom pointed at the stick and asked, "Where can I get one of those sticks?"
"It is a wand, not a stick," said Dumbledore. His blue eyes watched them closely. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."
And sure enough, Harry heard a faint rattling from inside it. His heart sank, fear writing itself plainly across his face as Tom tried to mask his own.
"Both of you, open the door," commanded Dumbledore.
Harry reluctantly made his way to stand by Tom, who had crossed the room and was waiting to open the wardrobe door. Tom opened the door. The source of noise was a box of small trinkets shook and rattled.
"Put the box down and empty it out," said Dumbledore.
Tom looked unnerved as he handed the box to Harry. With trembling hands, Harry opened it and watched the contents spill out onto the bed. Samantha's yo-yo, a silver thimble from the sewing station, Billy's tarnished harmonica, a lopsided clay snake figurine Harry had made for Tom, and the ticket stubs saved from the few films they had seen at the cinema over the years all tumbled out onto the bed.
"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore, stepping closer.
Harry flushed in shame. "Yes," he said quietly. Harry flinched as Dumbledore put his hand on his shoulder and turned around, unwilling to face the items that Tom had stolen, that he had helped Tom steal. Meanwhile, Tom was standing by expressionlessly, unmoving, although his shoulders were tensed in a familiar anger.
"You will return them to their owners with your apologies. Be thankful that you are a child, and these misdemeanors excusable. However, be warned that theft is not tolerated at Hogwarts." Dumbledore said this while staring directly at Tom. Harry was just thankful Dumbledore wasn't focusing his scrutinizing gaze on him, although he did wonder how Dumbledore knew it was Tom who did it.
His cheeks burned and he ducked his head, but Tom, unsurprisingly, wasn't abashed at all: he stared coldly at Dumbledore, before saying, "Yes, sir."
"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you to control magic. And you will find that many of the methods you use—inadvertently, I am certain—will not be tolerated there. If you continue with your methods, there will be consequences from Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. All new wizards that enter our world must abide by our laws or face the consequences."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, feeling shame and humiliating color his features. "I'm sorry sir, I won't let it happen again!" he pleaded, looking at him earnestly.
Dumbledore's expression softened minutely. "I believe you."
While Dumbledore was talking, Tom put away the little cache of gifts for Harry back into the cardboard box, one by one, face remaining quite blank, although Harry knew Tom was fuming inside.
"At Hogwarts, there is a list of school supplies you need, which you can purchase from Diagon Alley," Dumbledore continued, drawing out two letters and handing them to Tom and Harry.
"I can either accompany you to Diagon Alley, or you can follow the directions, which can be found in your letters."
Harry asked, "Is it in London? If so, we'll go on our own. We know London like the back of our hand."
Tom nodded in agreement.
Dumbledore said, "Yes," drawing out a leather money-pouch from his pocket.
Dumbledore handed them a stack of coins, which Harry took and handed a couple over to Tom. He examined a fat gold coin.
Dumbledore spoke again, "This is the currency used by wizards. There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some materials secondhand, but do not worry, they will work just as well as the pricier versions."
Dumbledore told them exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage and said, "You will be able to see it, although muggles around you—non-magical people, that is—will not. Ask for Tom the barman—easy enough to remember, as he shares your name—"
Tom drummed his fingers impatiently on his leg.
"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"
"There are a lot of Toms," he muttered. Harry rolled his eyes. "The only other Tom you know is the candy shop owner," whispered Harry.
Tom ignored Harry, asking Dumbledore, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."
"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.
Harry cut in, ending Tom's rambling. "So—when we've got all our stuff—when do we come to this Hogwarts?"
"Take the train tickets with you to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station on the first of September. Once you get there, you will see how to access it."
Both boys nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Harry shook hands with him first. Then Tom shook Dumbledore's hand and hesitated, as if to say something before thinking better of it.
Dumbledore's eyes moved curiously over Tom and Harry's faces. They stood for a moment, a man and two boys staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.
"Good-bye, Tom, Harry. I shall see both of you at Hogwarts."
As soon as Dumbledore shut the door, Harry seethed at Tom.
"What were you thinking, acting out like that? I almost had it. What is wrong with you!" he raged.
Tom looked affronted, his nostrils flaring from fury. "What do you mean 'acting out'? What's wrong with you?" he snapped back, crossing his arms over his chest.
Harry heaved a breath, over Tom's bullheadedness. "Clearly you couldn't tell when to tone it down. Dumbledore clearly does not like you."
Tom scowled in reply. "The feeling is mutual. I don't need him."
"It's not only about you. I need him, and you do too, although you refuse to admit it. We need as many good first impressions as we can get. You know, he seems to be pretty influential. He's a professor at the school, for God's sake!"
Tom waved his hand dismissively. "We can make better connections than a batty, eccentric, unkempt man."
Harry challenged, "What if we can't?"
Tom shrugged, exaggerating the slow roll of his shoulders. "So what? We'll just suck up to him. Or we make our own way."
Harry put his face in his hands. He mumbled, "Dumbledore isn't the type to take kindly to flattery or brush things off easily."
"He hasn't met me yet."
"He has," snapped Harry, annoyed at Tom's pompousness and thickheadedness. "And he doesn't like you. I don't think any of the most flattering sweet-talk you can come up with will convince him otherwise."
"You can help me get back into his good graces," said Tom.
"You already know I'm not the best at that sort of thing. We can't let an incident like this happen again," Harry stressed.
"It won't," Tom said, as if he was not the one that caused it in the first place.
Harry scowled, saying nothing.
----- ----- -----
August 24, 1938
The next day, both boys left the orphanage right after breakfast to visit Diagon Alley, navigating their way through the winding streets of London as they went.
Harry stood in the spot where the Leaky Cauldron was supposed to be, but he couldn't find it. He frowned. He scrutinized the scene closer, but only saw a big bookstore and clothing store near where it was supposed to be located.
"It's between the two stores. See the sign that says the 'Leaky Cauldron'?"
Harry squinted. "Huh. That's really hard to see."
"If you say so. Let's go."
Both boys entered, taking note of the dark and shabby interior. There were a couple customers spread out across the small, dingy pub, either seated at rickety bar stools or chairs at the marred tables. Two old women were sitting in the corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. A smoker's face was obscured by the newspaper he was reading. Harry's eyes drifted until he found the bartender, a middle-aged looking man that was quite bald.
What was peculiar though, was that all of the witches and wizards seemed to be wearing the same type of clothing, a long flowing fabric that looked like a cloak or robes, in shades of brown or black or grey.
Harry and Tom made their way to the bartender.
"Sir, excuse us, but we were wondering if you could let us into Diagon Alley?"
"Ah, none of that sir stuff. Just call me Tom. You two are new muggleborn students I suppose? Come right this way."
"Excuse me, Tom, but what does 'muggleborn' mean?" asked Tom.
The barman led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.
He explained as they walked, "Ah yes, I forgot you two wouldn't know what it meant. 'muggleborn' means you were born to muggle parents—non magical parents. Now watch, once you get your wand, repeat this pattern and you'll be able to enter the Alley by yourselves."
Tom the barman took out his wand and tapped the wall three times. "Three times up, and two times across, then stand back."
Harry and Tom struggled to contain their surprise as the brick he had touched quivered and wriggled and a small hole grew wider and wider, forming an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
The bartender turned to grin back at them. "Always wonderful seeing the expressions of new students. Welcome to Diagon Alley."
Tom scowled, but Harry graciously said, "Thank you so much, Tom."
Both boys stepped through the archway and watched it shrink over their shoulders back into the solid brick wall.
Diagon Alley was a lively place. Harry didn't know where to look first—the sights and sounds bombarded their senses as the crowd pushed around them. There were a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop, gleaming from the sunshine. He caught snatches of conversations or shouts from the eclectically dressed shoppers, "... dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..." "... the new Nimbus Two Thousand..." and Harry wished he had about eight more eyes.
Harry stared at the sights, pulled by Tom's arm to walk slowly beside him, looking at the shops selling hooting owls and pets, broomsticks, robes, telescopes, strange silver instruments, barrels of bat spleens and eel eyes through the tinted windows, spell books, quills, rolls of parchment, globes of the moon...
"There's Gringotts. That's where our fund will be." Tom stated, snapping Harry out of his daze.
So the two entered the snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing outside the burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a short figure with a clever face, staring at them with beady eyes, clasping his long fingers together.
Inside the bank, engraved the second pair of doors was a poem Harry began to read before Tom pulled him forwards to a figure at the counter.
Tom asked the figure, "We would like to request money from the Hogwarts Financial Assistance Funding."
The figure narrowed his eyes.
"Names?"
"Tom Marvolo Riddle and Harry Peters."
"Very well. These are your keys to open the vault. Do not lose them," He said, handing over two tiny golden keys. "I will have someone take you down to your vaults. Gornuk!"
The boys followed Gornuk towards one of the doors leading off the hall. They warily stepped through the door into a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. He noticed the path sloped steeply downward and that there were little railway tracks on the floor.
Gornuk whistled. A cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. Tom climbed in first, Harry following, and they were off.
Harry gripped the rickety cart tightly, feeling nauseous as the cart twisted and turned down the maze of passages. A glance at Tom told him Tom wasn't faring much better, but could at least hide the obvious signs of discomfort.
The cart stopped beside a small door in the passage wall, and both boys got out and stared at the stalactites overhanging the vault door.
"This is Harry's Vault. Vault four hundred and twenty six."
Both boys entered the vault to find it was filled with empty space, devoid of anything except a small sack of coins on the floor. Harry expected this sorry sight, but would have wished to see something more than a practically empty vault.
"This is your school vault. It contains all the money you have currently available. Because you are a beneficiary of the Hogwarts financial assistance fund, you will receive a set amount of money two months before the school semester begins. Do not spend it frivolously, because this is the only source of money you shall receive," Gornuk warned.
Pulling out a gold coin from the bag, Gornuk instructed, "The gold coins are Galleons. Do not forget that seventeen silver Sickles equal a Galleon and twenty nine bronze Knuts equal a Sickle. Take that bag along with you if you wish to shop today."
Harry grasped the sack and made his way back to the cart, bracing himself for the unpleasant journey ahead.
They repeated the process at vault four hundred and fifty nine for Tom, and returned to the surface, hands holding their pitiful sack of coins, stomachs queasy from the wild cart rides.
Outside the walls of Gringotts, Tom motioned to a store down the road. It was Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Harry and Tom pushed their way through the throng of people and stepped inside the store. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair. There were thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. The place seemed magical, even though it was small and dark. He hoped that not all wizarding establishments were small and dark.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. They spun around at the noise and faced an old man standing before them with wide, pale eyes the color of moonlight. His gaze seemed to pierce into their souls.
"Can we get our wands?" Tom asked.
"Hmm. New customers, I see. You first," he said, pointing to Harry. He pulled out a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket. "What is your name? Which is your wand arm?"
"Harry Peters. I'm right-handed, sir."
"Hmph. Hold out your right arm. That's it." The tape measure recorded the length from his shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. No two Ollivander wands are the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Ollivander placed a light tan wand in his hand. "Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Give it a wave."
Harry snatched the wand and waved it using his right hand, eager for the perfect match. Alas, it was not to be, as the only strange occurrence was that a couple boxes fell from their positions.
Harry stared questioningly at Ollivander.
Ollivander shook his head in reply. "You should feel a strong sensation when you find it. It may be an electrifying burning feeling, maybe a cold warmth that spreads, sometimes even a sharp sting to the palm."
And so on it went with the shop falling into greater disarray, stacks of other boxes falling, windows rattling, strong gusts whipping past the inhabitants of the shop while he flushed and winced as the shop grew more battered by the failed wand attempt.
With each wand he was given, Harry felt nothing except the sweat of his palm and the smooth glide of polished wood. Nothing special at all. It had been twenty minutes already, and no wand had claimed him. When Harry stared desperately at Tom, Tom gave a tiny half-shrug in response. Keep trying, he mouthed.
At last, Ollivander climbed his ladder and retrieved a dusty box from a chest.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere, yes. Why not, try this, yew and phoenix feather, thirteen and a half inches, hard and unyielding."
Harry grasped the slightly crooked white wand with a bone-like handle. A sudden warmth and icy cold moved down his fingers to palm, electrifying his arm. The wand felt strange. It didn't feel wrong, but it didn't feel right either. It was compatible to his touch, but it didn't feel like the one.
He flicked the wand first with his right hand and a few multicolored sparks shot from the end, momentarily blinding all three occupants.
"It doesn't feel exactly right."
Ollivander raised his eyebrow, and peered closer at the wand, plucking it from his hand.
"Perhaps not. Hmm, I wonder..."
Ollivander returned with another dusty box, opening it to reveal a richly brown-colored wand.
"Try this. An unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
As soon as his hand made contact with the wand, Harry felt alive. A burning sensation, almost hot enough to be uncomfortable, jolted his hand. He waved it around in a wide arc, and a stream of red, green, and silver sparks shot from the end like fireworks. The spots of light danced on the walls.
"Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good." Ollivander wrapped it in brown paper, and placed it near the register. "Very uncommon combination indeed. A rare wand wood paired with a fickle core, holly is suited to protectiveness, while the phoenix feather is renowned for its independence and detachment. However, when paired together, nothing and nobody should stand in your way."
Harry pondered these words as Ollivander turned to Tom. "Now, let's find a wand for your friend. You are?"
"Tom Riddle. I'm ambidextrous, sir."
Ollivander set the tape measure upon Tom, who watched its movements with intense curiosity.
Ollivander peered into Tom's eyes, then turned to Harry. The silence was mildly uncomfortable, Harry feeling quite awkward being stared at so intently by someone that wasn't Tom.
At last, he spoke. "Are you two close?"
"Yes," replied Tom.
Harry snickered as the tape measure measured the distance between Tom's nostrils. Tom flared his nostrils in annoyance and Ollivander said in a distracted tone, "No, no, none of that. Don't move." Tom fixed his annoyed expression on Harry, but he only snickered more.
Ollivander mused, "Yes, I think the yew wand will do. Try it."
Tom grasped the bone white wand and pointed it down in a graceful arc. A wisp of green light shot from his wand and waved itself around his body and then twined around Harry before returning to his wand.
"Oh, bravo! A powerful wand, very powerful."
"In what way, sir?" Tom asked.
"Yew wands grant great power over life and death. In the right hands, the yew wand will be a fierce protector of life. In the wrong hands, the yew wand can take life just as easily." Harry immediately thought, there is nothing to say that one cannot be both.
Tom couldn't contain his eagerness, gripping the wand tighter in his hand with brighter eyes.
"And it is very curious that you and Harry should have brother wands. The wand chooses the wizard, but these wands chose you two."
"Sir, what are brother wands?" Tom asked.
"Brother wands are wands that share twin cores. Indeed, both wands contain phoenix feathers from the same phoenix. That phoenix only ever gave me two feathers for my cores."
Ollivander fixed Harry and Tom with his misty, luminous eyes. "Quite curious indeed that you two have brother wands. You must be closer than brothers."
"Always," replied Tom. Harry smiled.
"I think I must expect great things from you, Mr. Riddle, Mr. Peters."
Both boys paid seven Galleons for their wands, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.
Once outside, Tom said, "We'll be great, there's no doubt about it."
"Of course not, but we should keep moving and get our robes. We can talk about it later."
Tom nodded. "In that case, we must splurge on our robes. We can buy our spell books and other school equipment second hand. We need to make a good first impression on our school mates."
They stopped at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions to order three sets of plain black work robes each to go, and in the couple of hours before they could return and pick up their robes, they visited Second-Hand Robes to purchase the rest of their uniform requirements.
Both boys also stopped at Taggarts Trusted Trunk Shoppe, purchasing two cheap but sturdy and large trunks. At Potage's Cauldron Shop and Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, they purchased the cheapest models they could, knowing they splurged largely on their robes. They picked up their robes before setting out to Flourish & Blotts.
At Flourish & Blotts, they split up. Harry picked up two copies of each required Year One book, while Tom explored the other aisles and charmed the staff.
Tom returned to Harry, carrying Hogwarts: A History and Wizarding Customs and Culture for Muggleborns.
"This is the best introductory book to wizarding culture the shopkeepers could recommend to us. It's pricey, but worth it," Tom said.
While they paid for their books, they grimaced as they watched their funds dwindle until they were left with only a handful of coins between them.
They dropped off their meager funds at Gringotts and returned to the orphanage, impatient to immerse themselves in the new world they found themselves in.
----- ----- -----
During the week before September 1st, Harry and Tom explored the rest of Diagon Alley. They read Wizarding Customs and Culture for Muggleborns and Hogwarts: A History over and over, synthesizing and memorizing all the important details, which was pretty much everything.
They had a lot to catch up on. They had learned they might face prejudice in the Wizarding World due to their unknown blood status, and though Harry did not mind being labeled a muggleborn, Tom flipped out at the idea. Tom refused to be a muggleborn, stating that he "hated muggles" and didn't believe that he "could ever be born to such mundane parents."
This presented a conundrum, as they had initially aimed to get sorted into Slytherin, the house of the sly and cunning. However, they learned that Slytherin was dominated mostly by blood purists. It was unfortunate.
When Harry argued that they should try for Ravenclaw instead, Tom scoffed at him.
"We'll prove ourselves in Slytherin. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are lacking. Those houses are the antithesis of our nature. Meanwhile, Ravenclaw is mediocre. I won't settle for mediocrity. What use is intelligence only for intelligence's sake? Slytherin is the only house worthy of us."
Harry sighed. "If we got sorted into Ravenclaw, that doesn't automatically make us mediocre. Precisely because Ravenclaw is mediocre, we will be able to stand out better. Also, it's a safer option, since we wouldn't be hated and we'd be able to establish connections much more easily. We're entering a new world, and we can't afford to take too many risks."
Tom shook his head. "These risks will pay themselves back tenfold. Without exceptional connections that we can only get from Slytherin, we won't be able to achieve high level positions in society."
"Have you ever considered that's only what you want? I don't mind not being the best at everything."
Tom scowled. "Stop playing the devil's advocate. It doesn't suit you."
Harry closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. The audacity of Tom to tell him off for being the devil's advocate. He said, "I'm serious. I don't need or want it."
"Pathetic. I refuse to believe that I chose to associate myself with someone so complacent."
"Everyone is complacent compared to you. If success comes with the cost of dissatisfaction and unhappiness, then I don't want it."
"Feelings are obstructions to greatness."
Harry harrumphed. "I suppose you think not getting sorted into Slytherin is a huge obstruction as well?"
"Yes. Not for me, but for you."
"I appreciate your concern, but I don't need it."
Tom said in a clipped voice, "We will get sorted into Slytherin. There is no question about it."
And that was that. Harry hated to accept it, but what Tom wanted, Tom got.