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The Killer's Son by BoOkWoRm24
Chapter 15 : A New Wand
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 1

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Start Year Two



Tom’s summer was completely and utterly uneventful. Despite the normally negative connotation that usually came along with that statement, there was nothing negative about his summer. Thus it was fair to say that this had been the absolute best summer of his life. Crouch had permitted him to spend the majority of his summer at Scott’s house. They had gone to the boxing ring and spent hours there. It clearly wasn’t Scott’s cup of tea as his expression was always strained when his father declared that was where they were spending the day, but Tom was finding the muggle sport a fascinating way to spend his time. Summer was coming to an end though and Tom was looking towards the coming year.



School was beginning in two weeks and today he, Scott, and Scott’s parents’ were visiting Diagon alley. Scott was completely aware that it was Tom’s first visit to the wizard shopping center and had taken it upon himself to act as a tour guide.



"Hey Tom watch this it's really cool," Scott said pulling out his wand and tapping the brick wall. It groaned as it opened to reveal a bustling street littered with every sort of wizard.



Tom smiled and nodded pretending like it was just as awesome as his best friend thought it was. In reality he had seen better. Scott ran held his hands out to show "pizazz", making his best friend snort.



Tom studied each shop," Where are we headed?" he asked Scott.



Scott shrugged," You said you wanted a new wand right? Why don't we start there?"



Tom nodded and the four headed over to Olivander's. The longing to have a change in wand started at his most recent ‘check up’ trial. Crouch’s point of argument had been that Tom still was attatched to his father. The evidence- his wand, a tool that had been hand crafted by the death eater himself. Tom wanted desperately to prove that man wrong, regardless of whether his words were true or not.



The four walked into the wand shop. It was probably actually a spacious room when empty, but numerous shelves of wands gave the room a stuffy cramped feeling. Behind the front counter stood an old man with white wispy hair.



"You two are a bit old to be buying your first wand aren't you? I know I sold you one last year Dogwood, twelve and three quarters in length with a unicorn hair core correct?" Olivander said studying the boys.



Scott nodded and held up his wand showing Olivander that he was still using it.



"Actually sir I would like a new one," Tom said politely.



"You look like you're fifteen why do you need one?" Olivander asked although he was already rummaging through his drawers for a good fit.



"My old one was homemade and I thought one made by a professional would be more efficient," Tom lied smoothly. His old one worked magnificently, his father had crafted it just for him.



Olivander raised his white eyebrow and glanced up from a box he was studying, "A homemade wand? It worked? What was it made out of?"



"My father made it, I believe it is oak, twelve and a half inches, and the core was a thread from a dementor's cloak," Tom replied quietly.



That made Olivander pause, his eye's shot up as he digested the information, "That's a strange core. What is your name?"






Olivander stared at him with a hard expression for a second. Then there was a slight change in his face. It was microscopic, but Tom couldn't help but suspect the old wand maker knew.



"Of course," he said putting the box back down and moving to another one a few steps down, "What house are you in?"



Olivander was just asking the question to fill the silence in his shop, but Tom knew that the man was relieved when he replied, "Gryffindor, we both are.” Olivander pulled out a box and handed it to Tom.



"It is made out of oak like you're last one, ten and three quarters, and a dragon heartstring core," Olivander said. Tom pulled out the black wand and held it in his hand. He let his senses explore the wooden object. The oak felt familiar in his hand but all together it didn't feel right.



"Not this one," Tom replied handing it back to Olivander. The old man looked a little surprised; Tom wasn't his typical inept customer. He knew what it felt like to hold a wand and to belong to it. He would expect no less. They went through several more wands before Olivander gave him the correct one.



"I like the feel of the dragon heart string core," Tom said. "The woods that you are giving me aren't right though."



Olivander nodded and grabbed a box. He stared at it for a second before handing it to Tom, "It is dragon heart string core with yew wood."



Tom nodded and took the wand in his hand. It was the same brown color as his old wand and had a slender handle with a design carved masterfully into the bottom. He felt a familiar rush of energy move through his body that craved to be released through the wooden object he held in his hand. He ignored it though and put the wand back in the box.



"That's the wand," Tom said. Olivander smiled and nodded. Seven galleons later Tom followed Scott out the door very happy with his purchase.



"Come on we're going to the book store now," Scott said pulling Tom towards Florish and Blott's. There was a long line coming out the front door.



"What's going on," Scott's dad asked. The man had his eyebrows drawn together and it was obvious he was trying very hard not to judge all the strange cultural aspects of the wizard world.



Scott shrugged and continued to walk them towards the store. Once they were closer they saw what the commotion was about.



"Gilderoy Lockhart is signing his biography," Scott muttered confused, being muggle born Scott wasn't familiar with the name.



"My dad knew him," Tom said quietly," or at least he had opinions about him. Apparently he's full of it; although, if you want the politically correct version, than he is one of the most successful wizards alive."



"He sounds like a celebrity," Scott's mom muttered as she examined the crowd. They made their way around the massive line that was flowing outside the door. Tom scanned the list of supplies that he needed.



"They are all written by this Lockhart guy," Scott said reading Tom's thoughts. The boys glanced up from the bookshelf they were standing by and towards the table at the front. A blonde haired man that Tom knew to be Lockhart was standing up in the front getting his picture taken with the one and only Harry Potter. For a moment Harry glanced over at Tom and exchanging sympathetic looks. Harry and he weren't exactly best friends; however, the events from last year had given them a sort of mutual respect. Tom busied himself with finding the books he needed trying his best to ignore the commotion that was going on behind him.



"Who's that?" Scott asked fifteen minutes later. Tom followed his best friend's gaze towards the line. Two men were conversing in what looked like quite an unfriendly conversation. The first had long blonde hair and an expensive looking black cloak. The other wore worn robes that were a bit faded. His head was full of bright orange hair.



"The blonde one is Lucius Malfoy. The other one must be Ron's dad," he replied nonchalantly.



Scott nodded, "Right you said something about that guy last year right."



Tom shifted uncomfortably, he remembered the Malfoy incident clearly. If Scott was thinking about that day, than no doubt he was currently judging the man at the moment.



The two men looked like they were getting violent now as they were standing close to each other very threateningly. "We should go Scott. The Malfoy family won't like you're parents."



Scott understood immediately what Tom was hinting at and the two quickly made their way towards the exit, after paying for their books of course.



On the way out the two boys passed the Weasleys. Tom brushed up against the youngest girl on his way out. In that moment, for a split second Tom felt a chill wire itself through his body. He was suddenly acutely aware of the oversized dark mark that spread across his chest and spiraled down both arms. The last time his tattoos acted up like this he had been standing face to face with the dark lord. At the time the dark lord had only been a face of course, plastered on the back of someone else's head.



Then as fast as the chill had come it passed. The moment had been so brief Tom almost dismissed it as nothing. Almost. Over the past year he had learned not to dismiss anything as nothing, for most of the time it was in fact something.

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