Chapter Text
It was around the late noon on January 2nd when Tom entered Diagon Alley. His intended purpose was to gather supplies before he let his doubts stop him. He knows he's gone too soft. His friends have pointed it out many times, and he's even known himself. It's not like he cares too much, but with his work that he now feels obligated to do, he can't afford to be soft. Tom is walking through crowds, dodging people as he does, his body twisting as he tries not to hit into other people's bodies. He makes his way to his first stop of the day at Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary to pick up potion supplies he thinks he'll need as he's away. He then went to Scribbulus Writing Instruments for parchment and quills to get a hold of the friends he wanted to have contact with. Those friends who he was hoping would make him be who he was before his cold layers began to melt. He didn't see any other need for anything else. His personal owl was already where he was going, and it was already getting late. The streets were getting less crowded, and he needed people to know he randomly disappeared. He makes sure as he's leaving the last store that he bumps into someone purposely. As that person turned around to get an apology from him, he was suddenly gone. Then began the start of people wondering where Tom Riddle had gone.