A/N: I own nothing, and much of this is excerpted from Chapter 13 of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Enjoy!
(Update: Revised slightly.)
22 May, 1934.
On an old-fashioned London street, a man walked toward a decrepit building of the utmost importance. His carefully trimmed beard lent him a refined, knowledgeable aspect, not unlike that of the wise old wizard omnipresent in Muggle literature nowadays, and his eyes shone with the same passionate fervor as his father's had on the day of his arrest, almost as if a Killing Curse would leap out from them and strike at anyone who got in his way.
Having crossed the street, he strode off along the pavement, his suit of startling bright red marked by a hint of gold and his matching pointed hat drawing the curious gazes of his fellow pedestrians. He ignored their gazes, remembering having once been told, "What's the point in transfiguring clothing if you don't have a bit of fun with it?" He passed through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a skinny, harassed-looking woman. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared annoyed at the interruption and began to speak before noticing the visitor's unusual garb.
"Good afternoon. May I speak with the matron of this establishment?"
Mrs. Cole, the matron, gaped, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.
"I sent a letter requesting an appointment and was very kindly invited here today," said the wizard, and a slight wave of the wand made it so. Few people still studied Legilimency, but the wizard found it positively delightful.
Mrs. Cole blinked. Deciding that he was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh yes. I am she. Well — well then — you'd better come into my room. Yes."
A few minutes later, the wizard (for he was, of course, a wizard) walked the hallway with the still-recovering Mrs. Cole, his shoes marking a peculiar staccato rhythm as he strode along the tiled floor, which unknown to Mrs. Cole belonged to a Weird Sisters song played at a concert in the Great Hall of Hogwarts a few days before the wizard had departed for the building in which he now stood. The wizard looked with distaste upon the sterile walls which brought to mind unhappy memories of his time at St. Mungo's. He wondered if Grindelwald had grown up in a place such as this.
They proceeded into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. The wizard was struck by a sudden urge to conjure up a fluffy armchair, and if not for a profound dislike for the Wizengamot by whom he would be questioned for so brazenly breaking the Statue of Security, he would have done so then and there. As it was, he discreetly satiated the urge by casting a wandless Cushioning Charm on the rickety chair towards which Mrs. Cole gestured, and, while he was at it, turning the faded wallpaper a subtle shade of turquoise. As he aged, his appreciation for the fine art of armchair-conjuring and detailed chair transfiguration his mentor once taught him had only grown. Mrs. Cole seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
"I am here to discuss a young boy you hold within your care named Tom Riddle, and his arrangements for his future," said the wizard.
"Are you family?" asked Mrs. Cole.
"No, I am a teacher," he said. "You could say that I have come, in part, to offer Tom a place at my school."
"What school's this, then?"
"It is called Hogwarts," he said with pride, his love for the place unmistakable in his voice.
"And how come you're interested in Tom?"
"He has some special qualities that Hogwarts looks for in its pupils."
"You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one. And he's so young! I'm sure you've made a mistake; it is impossible that Tom, clever as he is, could have qualified for a scholarship at his age without our knowledge."
"There has been no mistake, I assure you. Tom's name has been down for our school since birth —"
"Who registered him? His parents?"
There was only a little doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman.
Getting a bit anxious to meet with the boy he sought, and tiring of the conversation, the wizard borrowed another trick from his mentor and picked up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop. "Here," he said, waving his wand again as he passed her the piece of paper. "I think this will make everything clear."
Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.
"That seems perfectly in order," she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a teapot and two cups that had certainly not been present a few seconds before. The wizard nearly animated the teacup to pour itself, but thought the better of it.
"Er — may I offer you a spot of tea?" Mrs. Cole asked in an extra-refined voice.
"Thank you very much," said the wizard, beaming.
It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to caffeine. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own cup in one gulp. Unbeknownst to her, the wizard had slipped a dose of Unctuous Unction into the tea, giving it a strange, slimy texture that Mrs. Cole hardly noticed. A large grin spread across her face, which unnerved her guest greatly, and he briefly contemplated simply using Legilimency to view her memories of Tom directly, but decided that that would be decidedly impolite, and potentially slightly damaging to Mrs. Cole's mental stability while she was under the effects of the Unction. Instead, he mustered his Gryffindor bravery and pushed on.
"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"
"That's right, my dear, dear, man," said Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more tea. "I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in, and she — "
Uninterested in further pursuing the topic of the boy's parentage, as he already knew the sad story of Tom's birth in great detail, the wizard motioned for her to stop. "The boy's mother is no concern of mine. How has he been, living in the orphanage all his life? Has he friends? Is he..." The wizard seemed about to say something like happy, but, thinking the better of it, he asked, "Is he well-adjusted, at the very least?"
Mrs. Cole flushed at the implied insult to her child-raising skills, and began to form a retort before remembering that she was speaking to a wonderful, handsome friend of hers. "He's a funny boy," she said.
"Yes," he said with a wry curling of his lips, as though possessed of some unhappy knowledge to which the matron was not privy. "I thought he might be."
"He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was... odd."
"Odd in what way?" he prodded.
"Well, he —"
Mrs. Cole seemed to struggle against the Unction, her unconditional trust of the wizard warring with her desire to be rid of Tom.
"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"
"As soon as he is of age to attend, definitely," said the wizard.
Nodding her head and scolding herself for thinking even for a moment that her beloved, handsome friend would renege on his word, she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."
"He is a bully?" asked the wizard, unsurprised but saddened nonetheless.
"I think he must be," said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents — nasty things."
"I had hoped..." the wizard trailed off, ending the phrase as abruptly as he begun. Mrs. Cole took yet another gulp of tea.
"Billy Stubbs's rabbit... well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"
"I shouldn't think so, no," he said quietly.
"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. I worry, that someday something truly awful might happen. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things... I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."
"Was he provoked?" the wizard asked, pleadingly. "Did he have any excuse for what he did?" Mrs. Cole hesitated.
"There is always some taunting and fighting that goes on in the orphanage," she admitted, "but we always step in if it gets too bad. And while Tom might have been subject to some slight harassment, I assure you that even so his response was not at all proportionate to the actions of his peers."
"And the staff?" he retorted, his eyes once more twinkling with an angry green glimmer. "Do they treat him as caringly as his peers? You seem nice enough, madam, and I'm quite sure you do your best here, but you don't strike me as particularly motherly in the slightest."
"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," said Mrs. Cole, offended, before she realized that her friend was just teasing her a bit, since he could never be mean to her, even in a roundabout way. It was inconceivable.
She sighed. "No, he wasn't loved here, but he was fed and had a bed to sleep in, which is more than I can say for others in his position here in London. I really don't see what all the fuss about Tom is in the first place. He's an odd boy, but nothing remarkable, not in a good way at least. Let's talk about something more pleasant."
"Such as?" the wizard asked, bemused. Mrs. Cole stood up and walked toward her friend, her love, her future husband, full of purpose, positioning her face mere inches from him with a hungry grin plastered across her face.
"Us, my love," she said, and the wizard froze — did he give her the Amortentia he had brewed instead of Unctuous Unction, or was Unction simply more potent on Muggles? As she leaned in to kiss him, he panicked, and cast a hasty body bind upon her to impede any further motion of her lips. She, frozen by magic rather than shock, stared at him, eyes widened, and it was impossible for the wizard to have divined the direction of her thought without Legilimency or a Seer (though despite the stories he had heard growing up, and the claims of his Divination professor, he remained dubious of the latter's efficacy).
Rather than risk anything untoward occurring if he were to unbind her and either question her or enter her mind (politeness was no longer much of a concern, but he had never been able to use Legilimency properly with the victim in a Body-Bind), the wizard cast a Point-Me spell to find Tom and with a quick Obliviate! Finite! he hurried out of the office.
He hurried up the stone stairs, abandoning his Weird Sisters rendition as he searched for Tom's room. The orphans, he saw as he passed, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. There was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.
"Mr. Riddle?" he inquired as opened the door.
The wizard entered the room, closing the door behind him. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the wizard's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.
"How do you do, Tom?" the wizard said, walking forward and holding out his hand.
The boy hesitated minutely, then took it, and they shook hands. The wizard drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, again casting some Cushioning Charms and, since upholding the Statue was less important now as magic would be revealed to the young wizard momentarily, that Cushioning Charm was followed by an Engorging Charm (as the chair was, after all, meant for the children of the orphanage, not adults), a slight transfiguration of the chair's edges for a more rounded, elegant appearance, and a Cheering Charm was cast upon Albus himself, to renew his normal sunny disposition after the unpleasantness with Mrs. Cole. He was careful not to make the alterations obvious, as revealing magic to a young wizard was something that would be remembered forever by them, and therefore should be handled with care (and dramatic pauses), but Tom's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he noticed something off but couldn't quite place what it was. Albus quickly cast a Notice-Me-Not so as not to jeopardize any theatrics he might wish to employ in the subsequent minutes.
"I am Albus, my dear boy, and it is a pleasure to meet you." He gave a large, warm smile, and, though it was not quite as unnerving as Mrs. Cole's, the Cheering Charm was probably slightly overpowered.
Riddle looked confused for a moment, before deciding that the visitor was just lying about enjoying their meeting, despite the apparent genuineness of the smile. Or else... he shuddered to think why an old man would be so ecstatic upon meeting — no, he wouldn't go there.
"Who are you?"
"I have told you. My name is Albus and I work at a school called Hogwarts. Technically, I am currently... retired, but I intend on regaining my old position forthright. I have come, in part, to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like to come."
Riddle remained confused. "A school? And called Hogwarts, at that? Are you mocking me?"
"I assure you that Hogwarts is perfectly real," said Albus with patience. "Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you. Hogwarts is a school for people with special abilities—" The boy's eyes widened, hoping despite himself that he has found someone like him.
"Hogwarts..." Albus paused dramatically before continuing, "is a school of magic."
There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Albus's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.
"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.
"That's right," said Albus.
"It's... it's magic, what I can do?"
"What is it that you can do?"
"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make toys move without touching them. I can make animals do tricks, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can talk to snakes, and hide so that no one can find me, and — " His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands as if they held something invisible and wonderful within them, which, in a way, they did.
"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."
"Well, you were quite right," said Albus, still smiling, recalling an old story he had heard. "You're a wizard, Tom! And a great one, once you've trained up a little."
Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, bestial and perhaps one day frightening, but as yet still soft, unmolded, unhardened by age. Like a kneazle instead of a lion. Though perhaps a snake simile might be more apt.
"Are you a wizard too?"
"Yes, I am."
"Prove it. Tell the truth!" He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. However, it was impossible to become a Master Legilimens without picking up a bit of Occlumency, and Tom's feeble, though well-practiced, attempt at discerning the truth of Albus's words brushed off the wizard's shields without leaving so much as a mark behind. His eyes widened and he was glaring at Albus, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked warier.
"What would you like me to show you?" Albus asked.
"Anything."
Albus was a master of transfiguration, and he wasn't about to waste such a perfect opportunity to test his talents. He abandoned all pretense of retaining the chairs' normalcy, and soon he and Riddle sat on walking thrones as the bed sprouted wings and flew around the room whose walls became forests, whose floor grass and ceiling sky, as glowing lights made from interacting gases (gaseous transfiguration, after all, was the trickiest kind) danced through the air. Tom's mouth instinctually (and somewhat comically) opened, his eyes ablaze with a joy beyond the reach of words, a joy as magical as Albus's wand flitting through the clouds he sent upwards and as the rainbow sparks flying gleefully through the scene.
But one object remained untouched amidst the splendor: a solitary wardrobe, ominously out of place upon the grassy forest enclave Albus had created. Eventually, Riddle's gaze alighted upon the stain, the blemish, the reminder of his past and its miseries, and the instant it did, the forests shrank back to walls and the sky faded to a dull gray and the grass receded into a rotting wood.
For the first time, Riddle looked frightened. "Open the door," said Albus.
Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box stood still, its silent glare more mortifying to Tom than any rattling would have been.
"Take it out," said Albus.
Riddle took down the box. He looked unnerved.
"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Albus.
Riddle threw Albus a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.
"Open it," said Albus.
Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Inside was a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Albus looked into Riddle's eyes, and the boy flinched away, mourning the forest and the loss of his one moment of true happiness.
"There are many things that can be done with magic," he said, as if lecturing a class. "The same magic that trims a lawn can slit someone's throat. The same magic that lights a birthday candle can burn a house down. With a few exceptions, spells are not themselves good or evil, Light or Dark. Magic is not a weapon, Tom, as I hope you have seen today. It is a tool, the most wonderful and horrible tool of all."
He levitated the yo-yo. Its varnish was depleted, giving it a worn look, and the string was hopelessly tangled and knotted together so as to render it unusable. Albus waved his wand and it was pristine.
Next was the thimble. He conjured up a sewing kit, and the two items began to collaborate on a sweater.
And the mouth organ played a song, sad and joyous all at once, that one older than Tom might have recognized as a Phoenix lamenting what has passed and rejoicing in what might be, a beautiful, perfect dirge Albus himself had only heard once before.
Another Tom, older and hardened by joyless aging, might have reacted to the speech and the song with a cold indifference. Or he might have reacted with rage, or a stubborn pride in his malice, or a thousand other emotions.
But instead, he cried.
"There, there, Tom," Albus said, his own eyes wet, holding the sobbing child who was not yet eight years of age, but had lived as no child ought, without love and alone. "I haven't even told you the best part..."
And that evening, a man and child left the orphanage a new family. Though the father had himself grown up loved, he knew the pain he saw lingering in Tom's eyes, albeit dulled by the day's revelations, and recognized it as his father's, and, remembering the man, he let a new tear run down his aged cheek.
And the two wizards were not dissimilar: underneath the grayness of the older man's beard was a lingering black (not auburn) which had once matched his father's and now matched his son's, and both loved magic, and both would with time grow to love each other.
And with the crack of Disapparition, Albus Severus Potter and Tom Riddle vanished from London.
And all would truly be well.