Everthing in italics is from books and the property of Jk Rowling merely used for Fanfiction bases.


The milestone.

"Here we are," Tom heard Mrs. Cole say. He heard Dumbledore walking forward towards the door of his own room. Tom, at once, took a comfortable position. He stretched out his legs on his bed and covered himself with a blanket then took a book out. You never show them fear or they will feed on it. He had learned this very early when Cole had started threatening Williams to shut up with his fear of never getting adopted. Cole never knew Tom's fears, thus she was never able to manipulate him and maybe that's why he hated Cole. She was a manipulator, he didn't liked manipulators. If the doctor tried to take Tom forcefully, he was going to have a hard time.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton-sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you-well, I'll let him do it."

Dumbledore entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead.

There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had got her dying wish: he was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence. Tom remained impassive.

"How do you do, Tom?" Dumbledore asked him, walking forward and holding out his hand.

Tom hesitated, should he take it? He looked at it uncertainly and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor. Tom kept a close eye on Dumbledore's movements.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" Instead of looking as if he were caught, Professor Dumbledore just smiled at Tom, warmly.

He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. The old cat! Tom had always known one day that woman would try this. To get rid of him.

"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling. Liar. What did he think Tom was? A child? He wasn't a child. Children couldn't do the things he could. Tom's blood boiled as Dumbledore looked down at him. He was lying and Tom knew it.

"I don't believe you," Tom told him rashly. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? 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. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. Tom waited for Dumbledore to answer him, to tell him that Dumbledore really was a doctor, to tell that Mrs. Cole wanted Tom institutionalized or sedated.. Suddenly Tom realized what he was doing. He was acting like a child. He was showing too many emotions. He was showing fear. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. Dumbledore continued to smile. It was getting irritating. So Tom decided to try a different approach.

"Who are you?" Tom asked very calmly as if he just hadn't thrown a tantrum and was instead a perfect gentleman.

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school-your new school, if you would like to come."

There, he said it. He was going to take him to the asylum. Tom was going to kill the old bat. How dare she! Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course-well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!" Tom didn't have control over his words anymore. What would they do to him? Give him electric shocks to make him normal? Murder him? Make him work? Lock him? Make him a beggar? He had heard the worst thing about asylums. About what type of kids were taken there. He wanted to go away from here but not to the asylum.

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. Tom's breath came out ragged. If he didn't want no one would take him anywhere. He would make this man choke on his beard if he tried anything. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you -"

"I'd like to see them try," sneered Riddle.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities -"

"I'm not mad!" Tom screamed at him.

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It 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 Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying. Magic, he says. Was it magic he could do? Was that the reason he was different? There was a school for it...Oh who was he kidding. Magic wasn't real. It's what circus people did by using a little bit of intellect and imagination. But there was so much he could do, things that no one could explain, which is why he got away with so much here at the orphanage. Tom wanted to believe Dumbledore so badly that he had to ask. Tom had to make him say it again.

"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper. Although Tom wasn't sure about this man. He was sure he himself wasn't normal. No other child he had met could do what he could.

"That's right," said Dumbledore.

"It's... it's magic, what I can do?" Tom asked curiously.

"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. He wanted to tell Dumbledore everything. If it was magic he could do and Dumbledore was from a school of magic. Dumbledore could take Tom away from this dingy orphanage."I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

Pride rushed through him. Surely Dumbledore must be impressed, too. Tom was so happy that he couldn't stand anymore. His legs gave out, making him sit on the bed again. Tom didn't mind, though. Tom just stared at his hands, his magical hands.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something." Tom couldn't believe his luck. He could do magic. He was special. Special than Lucas, who was adopted last month and who had jabbed at him a whole day about being so abnormal that no parent would even want to come near him. Tom wanted to show Lucas this now. He was more special than Benjy who had stolen Sheena's clothes once and then blamed Tom. Benjy was Mrs. Cole's favorite too. Mrs. Cole had believed him because Tom had been caught stealing before.

Tom, finally, looked at Professor Dumbledore, expecting a look of awe on his face, but it wasn't there. Instead, he appeared to be studying Tom, evaluating Tom.

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. "You are a wizard."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

"Are you a wizard too?" Tom asked.

Tom couldn't just believe anyone who thought he was special. He should have asked for a proof long ago. Yet the happiness bubbling inside Tom didn't stop him from thinking about magic.

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used, "Tell the truth."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts-"

"Of course I am!" Tom said excitedly. Dumbledore was really dense. How could Tom not accept Dumbledore's offer? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity!

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'" Why would he give someone respect? Respect is earned not demanded. Tom hated when grown ups spoke like that. Dumbledore was patronizing him. Tom could feel it, but he put aside his dislike and faked his most charming smile that he used while meeting potential parents and always charmed them. It would have worked in getting him adopted, but Mrs. Cole always butted in, told them about the things she thought Tom did. Tom really did do them, but it didn't give Cole the right to tell his future parents about them. Tom spoke to Dumbledore again, this time using his most flattering voice.

Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant-please, Professor, could you show me-?"

Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, was that a wand? Tom looked closely at it. Would he get one too? Will this be like those witches and wizards he had read about in his books? He tried to imagine Dumbledore with a cat, on a broomstick, cackling. For some reason, he found the image absurd. Dumbledore pointed at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle jumped to his feet; Dumbledore could hardly blame him. He hadn't seen this before. He hadn't even done it before. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. Very carefully he asked, "Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened. Oh no. Was this man not going to take him just because he had stolen those things?

"Open the door," said Dumbledore. It was more like he commanded.

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 was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out," said Dumbledore.

Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. Should he tell the truth? Well it won't matter. The man was an accomplished mage, what if he could see in Tom's mind? Was that even possible? But if the man hadn't run away after Mrs. Cole told him about Amy and Dennis then maybe he will ignore this too. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," Tom said finally, in an expressionless voice.

"Open it," said Dumbledore.

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. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

It didn't seem like much, but it was all Tom had, even though it wasn't really his own. He would play with each thing in his room, away from the other children. It wasn't much, but he enjoyed himself. In that moment, Tom didn't like Dumbledore much.

Tom supposed Dumbledore wanted him to feel something like remorse or shame or maybe even guilt, but all he felt was anger. He was making Tom give up things that he cherished, when he had nothing to his name. All the things in Tom's room weren't really his. The clothes in his closet belonged to the orphanage and would be taken away once he turned eighteen, because he knew he wouldn't get adopted. When he went to Hogwarts, he would have nothing. He would be humiliated again.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. Why did the man think he could order him around? At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have - inadvertently, I am sure-been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic-yes, there is a Ministry-will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

Dumbledore saw right though Tom's innocent expression. Riddle knew Dumbledore would watch him closely, very closely. This made him both scared and angry. Professor Dumbledore was a force to be reckoned with and Tom gathered that the professor shouldn't be underestimated, but Tom knew that he could out smart Dumbledore—keep under his radar. Tom was cunning and resourceful. It would be easy. Tom didn't voice his thoughts.

"Yes, sir," said Riddle again. There was a ministry too? Why hadn't they taken him out of here? Wasn't he special enough? And then another thought hit him. He didn't have any money. If there was a ministry of magic then they would have their own economy. Couldn't he magic his money out? Why did they need money anyway? They could just study without it. Magic could do anything right? So many questions swarmed through Riddle's mind.

Yet, It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket."those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but -"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon. Gold? he could buy so much from this single coin alone. But if it was wizarding money then he won't have any advantage of gold because everyone will have it.

"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything -"

"You're coming with me?" asked Riddle, looking up. Dumbledore taking him to buy things? He will probably stop him from buying anything except books and robes. There were so many new things he was sure he could buy and he was sure Dumbledore won't let him.

"Certainly, if you -"

"I don't need you," said Riddle. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley-sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye.

Tom thought Dumbledore would teach him a lesson by tagging along anyway. The man was used to people following him; Tom could see it. Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you-non-magical people, that is-will not. Ask for Tom the barman-easy enough to remember, as he shares your name -"

Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly. Great, now there was a barman named as him.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Riddle. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me." He really hoped he was. He wanted to know that if his father was a wizard then why was he in a muggle orphanage?

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him. So-when I've got all my stuff- when do I come to this Hogwarts?" He wanted to bolt right out but he controlled his curiosity until Dumbledore left.

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," said Dumbledore. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Riddle nodded. Dumbledore then held out his hand and as Tom shook it, he found himself distrusting Dumbledore. The professor seemed to be a pleasant enough man, but he obviously didn't trust Tom and he was suspicious of Tom's intentions. Tom was going to keep an eye on Dumbledore as Dumbledore was on Tom.

Even though he didn't trust Dumbledore, Tom found that his curiosity and need to impress the man took over. At last he finally spilled the his final secret that he could talk to snakes. Dumbledore gave him a strange look. Tom understood that it was unusual. But Dumbledore assured him that although it was rare, it was not unheard of. Soon, Dumbledore left leaving Tom with his thoughts.

He had just discovered he was a wizard. He had gotten a lot of money. He had found that there was another world out there.

Was this even real? Tom smiled as he heard the main door shut. He looked at the bag of gold and at once hid it then went to change his clothes.

He was not going to live here anymore. He was finally getting rid of Mrs. Cole and this orphanage.