Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Nietzsche waved curiously, zooming in on the group of people.

"No!" Riddle reacted strongly, pushing him away forcefully.

“I know those people are your ages, but… who is that person?” Nietzsche spun around in the dry air like a pixie cutlet. “The most loyal Death Eater?”

“She’s not even as good as a Death Eater…” Riddle glanced at her coldly.

"Oh~ I thought you were created with magic."

Seeing this, he could only move the air and poke one of the little figures, and everything changed. The desert and sun that originally represented the 'Nietzschean spirit' disappeared, and in their place was a street.

A child, young Riddle, ran out of an old red-brick house in a panic.

Around the age of seven or eight, judging from the fallen leaves on the street, it was autumn, yet he was still wearing a thin shirt.

The tall fence is marked with the words "Wu Family Orphanage".

Among a group of children, Nietzsche saw them circling around a rabbit.

Little Riddle was a truly clueless child at this point, and he curiously moved closer to the group of people.

“Wait a minute,” the Muggle boy named Stubbs stopped him and said disdainfully, “This is a rabbit we caught with great difficulty. Stay away from it.”

This behavior is common, Nietzsche thought, and in this orphanage, this child must be the eldest.

The eldest orphan.

“I…I just glanced at it…” Little Riddle said defiantly.

"Stay away from it, Riddle," the bigger boy shoved him aside and said angrily, "You killed your mother, what if you kill my rabbit too?"

"I didn't kill her!" he said angrily, his face slightly flushed.

"Mrs. Cole said...your mother died after giving birth to you."

Nietzsche noticed that many of the children were somewhat hostile and fearful, and he was curious about the cause of Riddle's mother's death.

If the orphanage is affiliated with a church, then in such an environment, difficult childbirth would indeed be seen as an ominous sign, such as the birth of a demon that would take some people's lives.

"Is that woman your mother?" he turned to Tom Riddle behind him and asked.

“A coward…” Riddle cursed gloomily, but did not deny it.

But the two children were arguing, and it was certainly not going to end there. Nietzsche noticed that Riddle clenched his fists, furious at Stubbs's slander.

“Well, at least I’m a little better off than you… your mother doesn’t want you anymore,” Little Riddle retorted sharply.

"You devil!" Billy Stubbs' face flushed red and then turned pale. It was indeed true, but it sounded terrible to have it said aloud. "Get lost... nobody here wants to play with you."

Immediately afterwards, a middle-aged woman emerged from the red brick building, carrying a ruler in her hand.

"Riddle, you haven't finished your prayers for today." She rushed over angrily, grabbing his clothes and dragging him back.

“I don’t want to do those things… You pray every day, but God hasn’t given you any power!” Because little Riddle was in a fit of anger and bit everyone he saw, he was met with a ruler.

Seeing this, Riddle's expression darkened further.

“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” he said. “But the truly pathetic ones are them, who keep talking about God all the time, but God gave me the power instead. Nietzsche, they’re just like Dumbledore.”

Nietzsche remained silent; it seemed the birth of Voldemort was worse than he had imagined.

This also explains why both Tom Riddle and Voldemort harbored such deep hatred for Muggles that they were willing to keep pure-blood supremacy in mind and use it as a motivation for their later actions.

"Let me guess... Dumbledore is probably on guard against you too, but he's being a little gentler with you than I am."

Time seemed to speed up, and before long it was night. Nietzsche saw the orphanage window suddenly open, and a dark figure crouched by the window. After hesitating for a long time, the figure wobbled and jumped down from the window.

Under the moonlight, little Riddle sneaked up to the cage where the rabbits were kept.

The iron gate was opened, and he saw the rabbit being held in the air. After struggling a few times, it became still. Then several ropes jumped down from Little Riddle's hands and hung the rabbit's body from the lintel.

Like Nietzsche, Riddle was able to control the magic within him from a very young age.

“They think I’m a jinx, so I do what they want.” Riddle shrugged. “How could someone like you understand these things… Muggles and wizards wouldn’t understand what you’re doing.”

He gently placed his hand on Nietzsche's shoulder, like an old friend.

“Don’t act like you know what I’m thinking,” Nietzsche said calmly, shrugging his shoulders and shaking off his hand.

“Yes, I don’t understand, but I know… you’ve never let go of your doubts.” Riddle waved his hand, and the two of them suddenly appeared in a bedroom. “It’s as if Dumbledore has always hated me.”

Little Riddle had turned into an eleven-year-old boy and was sitting gently on the edge of the bed.

This time, it was Professor Dumbledore who opened the door.

"His hypocrisy will only be truly revealed at this moment."

Chapter 226 The Other Side of Dumbledore

This time, it was Professor Albus Dumbledore who pushed open the bedroom door of the orphanage. The headmaster that year did not have such a long beard; he only had a beard around his chin and nose.

He wore a bowler hat and a dark suit, and his expression was not as calm as Dumbledore's as it was now; he looked more like a sword hidden in its sheath.

Little Riddle, on the other hand, was very poor, wearing a gray belted robe, just like the other orphans.

"Hello, Tom," the young headmaster said, placing his briefcase on the table. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

“Heh…I know~” Little Riddle flipped through the book in his hand and said casually, “Mrs. Kohl came to ask you to examine me, right?”

Nietzsche bent down slightly, and you could see that his eyes hadn't moved at all.

Like... well... like an animal protecting its territory, remaining highly vigilant against all foreign life.

I don't know what Riddle has gone through in the past few years, but he wasn't this restrained when he killed that rabbit and took revenge on the other children.

“No, of course not,” Dumbledore said with a smile.

“I told you, I’m not sick!” Little Riddle’s tone was almost commanding. He suddenly raised his head and stared fiercely at the other person.

Riddle reached out and calmly stroked the things in the room—memories that Voldemort loathed, parts he desperately wanted to tear apart because they represented weakness and ignorance.

“I gave chickenpox to several people. At the time, I thought they wanted to use this opportunity to get rid of me, but it was actually a good idea,” he explained softly.

That's why he was so irritable at the time.

Immediately afterwards, Nietzsche saw the astonishment in Dumbledore's eyes.

“You’ve misunderstood,” Dumbledore said. “I am a professor at Hogwarts, and the reason I’ve come is… to invite you to study at the new school, just like a normal child.”

"Aha! You want to throw me in an asylum!" Little Riddle stood up from the bed, leaning back against the windowsill, ready to jump at any moment. "The one who should be in the asylum is that old hag who's pretending to be a madwoman!"

“No! Riddle, you’re not crazy, you’re a wizard, and Hogwarts isn’t an asylum… it’s a school of magic.”

"wizard?!"

Little Riddle froze, staring in shock at Dumbledore, his gaze quickly sweeping over Dumbledore's clear blue eyes.

magic...

His legs went weak, and he stumbled and slumped onto the pillow, staring down at his trembling hands. The look of madness and disbelief on his face made Nietzsche frown.

To be honest, Riddle was sickly as a child.

“I knew it… I knew I was different from others.” But then he added arrogantly, “Then why should I believe you’re a wizard?”

"So you agreed to go to school?"

"Of course, why not?"

Even Nietzsche could tell what little Riddle was thinking at that moment—he couldn't wait to leave the orphanage and make some real 'colleagues'.

If it were the current Dumbledore, things would probably be over by now, and all that would be left is for school to start.

However, the man before him was Dumbledore from over fifty years ago. In 1937, he was still the professor of Transfiguration, and the First Magical War had not yet ended.

“Then you should call me ‘Professor’ instead of ‘you’,” Dumbledore said, emphasizing his words.

Hard to imagine, right?

Nietzsche found it hard to associate him with Headmaster Dumbledore: there was little kindness to be seen, and the 'bee-like mutterings' that echoed through the empty corridors were nowhere to be heard.

In fact, even Snape wasn't this aggressive when he first visited the Holmes' house.

Keep in mind that the professor had a gun pointed at his head at the time.

Little Riddle took a deep breath, and after a long pause, suddenly became polite: "Excuse me, Professor, could... I mean... please let me take a look..."

At that moment, Nietzsche noticed that Riddle beside him suddenly clenched his fist.

Demonstrating magic is a very common thing. He originally thought that Professor Dumbledore would at most use Transfiguration to demonstrate it casually, which would be enough to prove that he was a wizard.

But then, Dumbledore took out his wand, pointed to the wardrobe in the corner, and casually waved it, causing flames to engulf the wardrobe.

“That’s mine…” Little Riddle roared in terror and anger.

But the next second, the flames were extinguished, and the wardrobe was intact, as if everything that had just happened was an illusion.

"What's hidden in your closet?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

“It’s nothing.” Little Riddle stared in alarm at the wardrobe that was shaking as if it contained several goblins.

"Open the door!"

Little Riddle hesitated for a moment, but did as he was told due to fear.

His fear stemmed from the unknown, from not knowing how powerful the real, professionally trained wizard before him truly was, and also from awe of the power that came with strength.

Inside the wardrobe hung a few worn but clean clothes, and the shaking was coming from a cardboard box on top.

“Take it out, Riddle,” Dumbledore said calmly, sitting up straight. “Is there something in this box that doesn’t belong to you…?”

That kind of calm did not come from inner peace, but rather was infinitely close to indifference.

If Nietzsche had to give an example, he could only sheepishly bring up his own Dean Snape... It's really unfair to you, Dean Snape, as your signature is always on the cover of negative examples.

Those cardboard boxes didn't contain any valuable treasures, nor was it money that little Riddle stole with magic.

It was just a bunch of random things, like silver needles, a rusty harmonica, and balls of thread.

No one knows what magic Dumbledore used, but they stopped shaking as soon as they were taken out.

“Return these things to their owners and apologize to them.” Dumbledore put away his wand and continued, “Don’t try to be clever. I’ll know whether you’ve done as I say. Hogwarts will not tolerate thieves.”

"I understand, Professor."