Harry Potter and the Great Old Ones

Chapter 620 The Young Dark Lord (Three Chapters Combined)

"I was wondering if you could tell me something about Tom Riddle? He was an orphan from birth, wasn't he?" After a few rounds of drinks, Dumbledore remained steadfast, looking at Mrs. Cole, whose cheeks were already flushed, with a smile in his eyes.

“Oh yes, you must want to know about his past, that’s very, very normal,” Mrs. Kohler mumbled, then poured herself some more wine and drank. “I, I remember it very clearly because I had just started working here. Well, it was New Year’s Eve, it was cold, it was snowing, you know, it was a terrible night. There was a girl, probably not much older than me at the time, who struggled to climb up our steps. She wasn’t the first one we’d encountered like this. We quickly opened the door and let her in. About an hour later she gave birth to the child, and an hour after that, she died.”

Mrs. Cole remarked with emotion, then took another large gulp of gin.

"Did she say anything before she died?" Dumbledore asked. "For example, who is the father of the child?"

“Oh, she said it, she said it. She told me, ‘I hope he looks like his father.’ Indeed, she was right to think that way. She wasn’t very pretty. To be frank, she was a bit ugly and a bit deformed. Her eyes… cough cough…” Seemingly realizing her lapse in manners, Mrs. Cole coughed lightly, took a sip of her drink, and then continued, “Then she said she would name him Tom, after his father, and Marvolo, after her father. Interesting, isn’t it? We suspect she’s from the circus. Then she said the child’s last name was Riddle, and then she died.”

“That’s how we named him. It seemed important to the poor girl, but no Tom, no Marvolo, or no Riddle came to pick him up, and he ended up living in the orphanage,” Mrs. Cole said.

Almost unconsciously, Mrs. Cole poured herself another glass of wine, the two pink blushes on her cheekbones deepening, and then she said, "He's an interesting boy."

“Yes, I think he is,” Dumbledore said meaningfully.

"No, you don't understand what I mean. What I mean is, he was also a very interesting baby. He almost never cried, and then, as he got older, he became very strange."

"How is it strange?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Mrs. Cole glanced at him, but that probing glance held no ambiguity.

"He'll definitely go to your school, didn't you just say?" Mrs. Cole didn't continue answering Dumbledore's question, but instead asked a question in return.

“Absolutely certain,” Dumbledore assured Mrs. Cole.

"Won't what I said have any effect?" Mrs. Cole asked again. "I mean, will what I said affect his ability to study with you? For example, if I said something bad about him, will you not want him?"

“No,” Dumbledore said firmly.

"You're going to take him with you no matter what?" Mrs. Cole was clearly still worried.

“Yes, in any case,” Dumbledore said seriously.

She squinted at him, seemingly contemplating whether to trust him. Finally, she decided to trust him, because her words suddenly slipped out—

"He frightened the other children."

"You mean he bullies others?" Dumbledore asked.

“I think he must be,” Mrs. Cole said, frowning slightly. “But catching him in the act is difficult. There are always little incidents—dirty and annoying things.”

Dumbledore did not urge her.

Mrs. Cole took another big gulp of gin, and her rose-red cheeks turned even redder.

“Stubbs’s rabbit—well, Tom says he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he did it either, but nonetheless, a rabbit doesn’t just walk up to the rafter and hang itself, does it?” Mrs. Cole said.

“I think it’s true, it really is,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“But I’d be very surprised if I knew how he did it. All I know is that he and Billy had a fight before that day, and then—” Mrs. Cole took another big gulp of wine, some spilling down her chin, “towards the end of summer—we took them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or the seaside—well, Amy Benson and Denise were always behind us, they got separated from us, and then they followed Tom Riddle into a cave. He said they were just going on an expedition, but something must have happened there, I’m sure of it. And, well, there were many other interesting things…”

She looked at Dumbledore again, and despite her flushed cheeks, she stared at him calmly.

“I don’t think many people would feel sorry for his past.”

“You know, I’m sure we won’t keep him at school forever,” Dumbledore said. “He’ll come back here, at least every summer.”

“Oh, of course, it’s better than getting hit in the nose with a rusty iron bar.” Mrs. Cole let out a soft hiccup, remaining composed despite having finished two-thirds of her gin. “I bet you’re eager to see him now?”

“Yes, very much so,” Dumbledore said, and stood up as well.

Then Mrs. Cole led Dumbledore out of her office and onto a stone staircase.

Tierra followed along with the other young wizards.

“We’ve arrived,” Mrs. Cole said as they turned the second platform and stopped at the first doorway of the long corridor.

She knocked twice and went inside.
“Tom? Good morning. Someone has come to see you. This is Mr. Dumbledore—excuse me, Dumbledore. He's here to tell you—never mind, I'll have him do it,” said Mrs. Cole.

Harry and the two Dumbledores entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door in front of them. It was a room with nothing but a large wardrobe and an iron bed frame.

A boy sat on a gray blanket, his legs stretched out in front of them, holding a book.

Tom Liddell showed no signs of fatigue.

Melop fulfilled his dying wish:
He was a miniature version of his handsome father, tall for an eleven-year-old, with black hair and some paleness.

He was somewhat nervous when he saw the strange Dumbledore appear. They were silent for a moment.

"I am Professor Dumbledore," Dumbledore introduced himself.

“Professor?” Riddle repeated, sounding wary. “Isn’t it similar to ‘Doctor’? What are you doing here? Did she send you to see me?”

He pointed to the spot by the door where Mrs. Cole had stood.

“Oh, no, that’s not it,” Dumbledore said, then laughed.

“I don’t believe you,” Riddle said. “She always likes to send people to see me, doesn’t she? Tell me the truth!”

The last sentence was spoken very loudly, almost like a threat.

This is a commanding tone, and it seems he speaks like this often.

He stared wide-eyed at Dumbledore, who simply smiled amicably. A few seconds later, Riddle stopped staring at him, but remained wary.

“Who are you?” Tom Riddle asked.

“As I have already introduced myself, I am Professor Dumbledore, and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I am here to invite you to our school—your new school—if you would like,” Dumbledore asked.

Riddle's reaction was astonishing.

He jumped out of bed, keeping a safe distance from Dumbledore, furious.

“Don’t try to fool me! You’re from the mental hospital, aren’t you? ‘Professor’! Fine—but I’m not going, so what? That old cat should be in the mental hospital. I never bully Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop. You can ask them, they’ll tell you!” Tom Riddle looked terrified.

"Haha, Voldemort was quite cute when he was a kid." Someone chuckled softly.

"Shh," Tierra warned gently.

The person who spoke up clearly realized their lapse in composure, covered their mouth, and continued watching quietly.

“I’m not from a mental hospital,” Dumbledore explained patiently. “I’m a teacher. If you can sit down quietly, I’ll tell you what Hogwarts is like. Of course, if you really don’t want to go, we won’t force you—”

“I’d like to see what they can do to me,” Riddle said with a sneer.

“Hogwarts,” Dumbledore continued, as if he hadn’t heard Riddle’s previous words, “accepts students with special abilities—”

“I’m not crazy!” Tom Riddle immediately denied.

“I know you’re not crazy. Hogwarts isn’t an asylum; it’s a magic school,” Dumbledore said.

Riddle suddenly fell silent, stunned. His face was expressionless, but his eyes gleamed as he looked Dumbledore up and down, as if testing him to see if he was lying.

“Magic?” he repeated softly.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “Yes, magic.”

"What I did was magic?" Tom Riddle asked.

"So, little Tom, tell me, what will you do?" Dumbledore asked expectantly.

“I can do everything,” Riddle said excitedly.

Excitement rose from his neck to his gaunt face; he was thrilled. “Those metal filings started moving without me touching them. Those animals obey me without training. If anyone provokes me, I can make them suffer, like injuring them or something.”

His legs were trembling; he jumped forward and then went back to bed.

He looked at his hands, his head bowed as if in prayer.

“I know I’m different,” he whispered to his trembling fingers. “I know I’m special. I always have been. I know there’s something different about me.”

“Oh, I think you’re right,” Dumbledore said, his smile gone, looking intently at Riddle. “You are a wizard.”

Riddle looked up. His face was filled with anticipation:

A sense of happiness lingered above him, but for some reason it didn't make him any more handsome; on the contrary, his refined appearance looked somewhat gruff. "Are you a wizard too?" Tom Riddle asked.

“Yes, that is me,” Dumbledore said.

“Prove it to me!” Tom Riddle said immediately, in his usual commanding tone. “Tell the truth.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "If I did, would you go to Hogwarts?"

“Of course!” Tom Riddle said.

“Then you will call me ‘Professor’ or ‘Sir’.” Dumbledore smiled like a mischievous old man.

Riddle's expression stiffened for a moment before he spoke, and he said in a polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir, I mean, Professor, could you please show me...?"

Dumbledore smiled with satisfaction, then pulled his wand from his coat pocket, pointed at the dilapidated wardrobe in the corner, and casually tapped it with the wand. The wardrobe suddenly exploded into a ball of flame.

Riddle jumped up and shouted excitedly, "All my things are in there!"

But just as Riddle was calling out to Dumbledore, the flames suddenly vanished, and the wardrobe remained intact.

Riddle stared at the wardrobe and Dumbledore, then pointed at the wand with a longing look on his face. "Where can I get one like that?"

“At the right time,” Dumbledore said, “I think something is just about to come out of your closet.”

To be precise, a clicking sound of someone fainting came from inside. For the first time, Riddle seemed a little frightened.

“Go open the door,” Dumbledore said calmly.

Riddle hesitated, then went over and opened the wardrobe door.

On the top floor, atop a pile of tattered clothes, a small cardboard box vibrated and made a clicking sound, as if several frantic rats were hiding inside.

“Open it,” Dumbledore said.

Riddle took down the vibrating box.

He looked very tired.

"Is there anything in the box that you should have?" Dumbledore asked.

Riddle cast a long, clear, calculating look at Dumbledore. "I think so, sir."

He finally spoke in a completely emotionless tone.

Riddle removed the lid, and without even looking, dumped the contents onto his bed.

It was a bunch of random everyday items:
A yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a harmonica that has lost its luster.

They stopped trembling once they were poured out of the box and lay quietly on the thin blanket.

“You must return them yourself and apologize,” Dumbledore said calmly, putting his wand back on his coat. “I will know whether you did it or not, and I must give you a warning: Hogwarts does not tolerate theft.”

Tom Riddle didn't seem particularly embarrassed; he remained calm and stared at Dumbledore with a calculating look.

Finally, he said in a detached voice, "Yes, sir."

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore continued unhurriedly, “we teach you not only how to use magic, but also how to control it. You have inadvertently, I’m sure, used your powers in ways that were never taught or permitted by the school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to let your magic run wild. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic—yes, there is such a department—punishes those who commit more serious violations of the law. All new wizards must accept this; once you enter our world, you must abide by our laws.”

“Yes, sir,” Riddle said again.

Riddle could not possibly say what he was thinking.

His face remained expressionless as Riddle put the small stolen items back into the box.

After doing all this, he said to Dumbledore, "I have no money at all."

“That’s easy,” Dumbledore said, pulling a leather money pouch from his pocket. “This is a fund set up by Hogwarts for students who need subsidies to buy books and robes. You’ll need to buy textbooks and some secondhand items, but…”

"Where do I buy the textbooks?" Riddle interrupted, taking the heavy money bag from Dumbledore without a word of thanks, and now examining a fat Galleon.

“In Diagon Alley,” Dumbledore said. “I have the list of books and equipment you want to buy. I can help you find everything.”

“You want to come with me?” Riddle asked, looking up.

“Of course, if you…” Dumbledore said.

“I don’t need you!” Riddle said immediately. “I’m used to doing things myself. I’ve always explored London alone. How are you going to get to Diagon Alley, sir?”

He added, staring into Dumbledore's eyes.

Dumbledore didn't insist further. Instead, he handed him the envelope containing a list of things he needed to buy. Then, he carefully explained how to get from the orphanage to the Broken Axe Tavern, adding, "You'll see, even though you're surrounded by Muggles—non-magical people—it doesn't matter. Ask the bartender for the name Tom—just remember, when he asks for your name—"

Riddle shifted impatiently, trying to shoo away an annoying fly.

"Don't you like the name 'Tom'?" Dumbledore asked.

“Many people are called Tom,” Riddle muttered impatiently.

Then, as if he couldn't help but ask the question, as if he suddenly felt a sense of disgust for himself, he asked, "Was my father also a wizard? He was also called Tom Riddle, they told me."

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Dumbledore said, his voice very gentle.

“My mother couldn’t have been a wizard, otherwise she wouldn’t have died,” Riddle said, seemingly more to himself, “It must have been him, so—when will I go to Hogwarts after I’ve learned all the magic?”

“Everything is explained on the second parchment in your envelope,” Dumbledore said. “You will depart from King’s Cross Station in early September, and there is a ticket inside.”

Riddle nodded. Dumbledore stood up and extended his hand again. Riddle took his hand and said, “I can talk to snakes. I found out on our way to the picnic—they found me, and they talked to me. Is that normal for a wizard?”

"Snake-like voice!"

Someone else, I don't know, shouted it out excitedly again.

"Hush," Tierra said.

“This is not common,” Dumbledore said after a moment’s hesitation, “but it’s not unheard of.”

His tone was somewhat nonchalant, but his gaze was fixed curiously on Riddle's face.

The man and the boy stood staring at each other for a while.

Then they released each other's hands, and Dumbledore walked to the door.

Goodbye, Tom. I'll see you at Hogwarts.

A few seconds later, the surrounding scene turned into a cloud of indistinct black smoke.

The next moment, everyone appeared in the dark magic classroom.

“Alright, students.” Tierra clapped her hands on the podium, drawing everyone’s attention. “That concludes our lesson.”

“But… but less than half an hour has passed!” Hermione asked.

Each Dark Magic class usually lasts about two hours.

“The quality of a course is not determined by its length, but by what we learn from it,” Tierra said gently. “And I think that instead of having you spend your time meaninglessly in the Inquiry Class, I would rather you go to the library, find the Muggle psychology books on the fifth shelf from the fourth to the seventh, and start working on your Christmas papers.”

"Alright, get out of class is over, get out of class is over." Tiera waved her hand gently, and the door to the dark magic classroom opened by itself, letting in a cold gust of wind.

"Alright, let's go, let's go," Tiera said with a gentle smile. "It started snowing outside while we were still in the Pensieve. If you don't want to start working on your papers yet, you can go play in the snow and have a snowball fight. Come on, students, class is over."

The young wizards looked at each other, and then one by one, they walked out of the dark magic classroom.

When everyone had left the classroom, and only Tiera remained inside,

Tiera waved and closed the door to the dark magic classroom. Then she slowly walked to the Pensieve, stretched out her skeletal right hand, stirred the Pensieve, and picked up a bright silver thread from it.

Tiera picked up the silk thread, tilted her head back, and opened her mouth.

"Gulu——"

Tierra swallowed that memory.

(End of this chapter)