Chapter 3.4- Doom Days

Finances in order, the next thing to do was obvious. Shopping. Tom Riddle had not been wealthy. Neither had Harry Potter for much of his life- at least he had not lived like a wealthy man. But Doom was a man of class and splendour. A man who had billions to his name, and even more under his command. If there was one thing he absolutely loathed, it was the feeling of low quality fabric on his skin and while he’d gotten by with Hogwarts robes and conjured underwear for the time being, all that it would have taken was a poorly aimed or ill timed finite to put it all in the open. So he was going to rectify that by buying some actual clothes of his own.

Walking down the alley told him that Tom’s memories of the place were shockingly useful for how long ago they were from. Very few things had changed in the time that passed between Riddle’s and Potter’s Hogwarts days. It reminded Doom once again that these were a stagnant people. One who saw progress and scorned it in favour of the comfortable delusion that was the status quo. They never realised, just like so many others Doom had met, that that which never grew slowly died. Grow or die, he had learned from a young age, and that was his mantra for much of his activities and goals.

It was why he had quickly adapted himself to this new life, even lacking as it was with the privileges of the old one, it came with a unique advantage his first could never have matched. Magic. Magic, was once more on his mind as he took a look across the alley. It practically shone with the stuff. Between the alley’s two clothing shops of note were a nondescript parchment store, a store that sold trunks, and another that seemed to specialise in adventure equipment if its name were any hint.

He walked right past Madam Malkins and into Twilfitt and Tattings. Malkins sold a variety of robes, even hiogher quality ones as he was sure he wanted but she was a more popular store so he could not be certain of his privacy within there and there was every chance his self transfiguration would fail against someone who had semi-regular contact with Potter when fitting him for clothes on a yearly basis. Twilfitt and Tattings, on the other hand, exclusively catered to the rich and important. They only sold robes made of materials of the highest quality. Back in Riddle’s time, it was customary for the purebloods in his house to buy most of their robes from Malkins, and then a pair of dress robes from Twilfitt and Tattings. The high class store sold robes for all occassions, but even pureblood did not have that kind of money to burn. Fresh off the sale of basilisk venom, however, Doom did. And Doom would not see himself clothed in anything but the best of what this world had to offer.

He strolled into the shop with back held straight and head held high. In an instant, there was a man at his side offering to take his cloak. He waved him away as he was not wearing one, and then requested red wine instead of white, and denied the offer of a cake- regardless of the flavour.

“Master Twilfitt will be with you in a second, Sir” The boy said, leaving the wine glass in Doom’s hand while he retreated to a corner with the bottle, clearly signalling that he would be returning to refill the glass as needed. Doom used the opportunity to look around, letting out an internal impressed sigh at the sound. The chair he sat on felt like a pillow made of clouds with how soft it was. The room he was in was spotless, and tastefully lit with curtains blocking out every view of the outside world and bringing out the greener hues of the room. Doom was always partial to the colour, for truth.

A/N; More to come