Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise. I do own my right to fantasize. See what I did there?
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"What does he look like, Sir? Back when he was still a boy?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
"He looked like he was void of emotions, as if nothing would make him happy." Dumbledore answered.
I scoff, crossing my arms and looking away. "Sounds like a psychopath to me." I replied.
The headmaster watches me, attempting to read my show of anger.
"I saw him when he was twelve years old. That was when his magical abilities started to emerge. By then he had went through traumatic events." He told me while brushing his long white beard with his hand, as if trying to keep himself from being perturbed by his own statement.
"What sort of traumatic events?" I said, slightly curious.
"He was abandoned at an orphanage." He answered, but his eyes seem like they are searching for something at the back of his mind, like something else is left unsaid.
"He was abandoned..as a child? Well, I must say that is quite traumatic. But I don't see how such an event would make him who he is today. Many children get abandoned and yet they have turned out alright. I have yet to hear of a dictator who was abandoned by his parents." I stubbornly reasoned.
"Being abandoned is not as easy as it seems, Miss Granger. But you are right in all respects. Being abandoned would not make Tom Riddle who he is now. He went through more than that, he went through something you or I could never understand or comprehend." He gravely said.
I tried to keep my arrogance in control, but my brow arches and my lip tightened. I could not help it.
"Remember Miss Granger, although a mishap could be small, a mishap could be considered as a catastrophe for children." He said, knowing that I am not listening to what he told me.
The year is now 1928.
At exactly 4:00 PM of a sunny afternoon, Tom Riddle will step inside of the orphanage.
Just as I have anticipated, he will arrive on November 15, 1928 at St. Agatha, Morphosis.
I was tense the whole day, looking down windows every moment of every second that I can. As much as I wanted to stay by the door until he arrived, I didn't want to appear odd or peculiar.
"Mrs. Merida! There's a new kid outside!" The older obnoxious child named Robert bellows, having seen Riddle from his side of the classroom.
As soon as Robert pointed the fact, all of the kids started running to our direction. I didn't have to move to get a better look since I was by the window in the first place. Technically, I was the first one who spotted Riddle from the window. But I choose not to alert the class and instead pretend I didn't' care.
I was normally disinterested with newcomers. Something I now slightly regret. If I was more enthusiastic like the rest of the kids, my anticipation of Riddle's arrival would be better covered by common excitement. But it was all for the best, I should and must not show too much interest for the boy.
"Alright, hush hush. We do not know that yet. Go back to your seats." Merida tells us as she tries to comb the unruly hair of Anne who is still too young to understand the use of a hairbrush.
Mrs. Merida is married now, to a proper gentleman who visits from time to time. Judging from her husband's clothes, Merida married a newly appointed soldier. He was at no means battle material, but he is a messenger. Rudolph, Merida's husband, tends to talk quite a lot about his work.
Someone knocks our door and opens it. It is Dorothy, looking a bit out of sorts.
"What is it?" Merida asks, letting go of Anne who now wears her hair in braids.
"Merida, your husband's here with someone. He um..he appears to be accompanying a sickly fellow and a boy. I would deal with the matter myself..but since I know you'd like a talk with Rudolph I figure you might want to do it." Dorothy informs, smiling sheepishly.
"It seems to me that you'd rather I deal with it instead because you wouldn't want to be around the ill person that Rudolph is escorting." The stout lady answers.
"There is nothing I could hide from you." Dorothy sheepishly replies as enters the room to take Mrs. Merida's place.
Mrs. Merida rolls her eyes and told us to behave as she exits the room and left us to be cared by the skinny nurse who is more interested in watching from the windows like the rest of us. When Mrs. Merida reached the entrance of the orphanage, she opened the door and welcomed the guests inside.
"Hello love, is Father Morris around this afternoon?" Mr. Rudolph asks.
"I'm afraid not. He's out to handle a funeral." Mrs. Merida answers.
"Ah, old Jim's funeral. Of course." The short balding man comments as he assists his fellow visitors to enter the orphanage.
Apart from the radio, listening to conversations was how I was able to predict when Tom Riddle would arrive at the orphanage. For example, there are several times when Merida's husband would talk about current events that are happening in his field of work. I consider his information to be valuable.
Knowing that World War Two would occur in a decade, Merida's husband would be a useful asset to getting direct information about what the military forces are going to do at that time.
"Their talk is going to take a while. I'm sure Rudolph's going to share new stories, it's been weeks since the last time he was here." Dorothy mutters to herself.
One day, back when I was four years old, Rudolph informed Merida about the growing suspicion that the local hospital recently admitted a group who are dying from tuberculosis. Mild infectious diseases tend to create paranoia in this small town, therefore the group was escorted by military staff.
Of course no one took Rudolph seriously, and for the military to escort individuals with infectious diseases is actually quite common at this time, but Morphosis would never take in hospital patients that might make the community ill. Having learned from the Spanish Flu, Morphosis disdained infection.
However, due to the proclamation given by King George V in 1928, all hospitals under England are required to admit individuals who have an infectious disease in order to control the spread of such diseases. No hospital can decide whether or not they will admit patients with infection.
"Alright everyone, you'll know if you have a new classmate later. Best get back to your reading." Dorothy tells the class and makes her way to the teacher's table.
Now that I am five years old, I am required to stay at the nursery, disappearing from the nursery would be too drastic. I have to keep my image. I have to stay normal in order to sustain myself in this life. Thus, with much self-control and patience did I wait and wait until he finally arrived at our doorstep.
But when I finally saw his head from the window, when I am finally realizing my deduction as to meeting Tom Riddle, I couldn't help myself. I must know. I must see with my own eyes that Riddle is really standing a few feet away from me. For once, I will break my façade and listen to my reckless whim.
As soon as Dorothy started tending for Julie who peed on the floor once again, I bolted out of the nursery and ran towards the common room where visitors would usually be entertained. It only took me a minute or two, since the nursery and the common room is designated in one floor.
Reaching the common room, I made sure that they couldn't see me. I crawled on my knees until I was able to hide behind the nearby coach. Having made myself invisible, I am able to listen to the conversation. If I am careful not to show my head, I can also see them freely from where I am hiding.
Mrs. Merida and Mr. Rudolph are talking about the latest issue on the Mayor of Morphosis. Something about the Mayor wanting to invest the town's money on creating a horse racing track. Listening to their conversation, I can tell that they would be too distracted to notice my head poking to get a look.
Along with Mrs. Merida and Mr. Rudolph is a tall flimsy man who is well layered with three coats and a fedora hat. The man with the fedora looks like he could collapse any minute, his legs appear to barely sustain him as he stands. His mouth is also covered with a scarf wrapped around his neck.
My hands started to tremble and I break into a cold sweat when Mr. Rudolph refers the man with a fedora hat as Mr. Tom Riddle Sr. When Mr. Riddle is being introduced to Mrs. Merida, Mr. Riddle removes his hat and loosens the scarf that covers his mouth in order to pay respect.
He has dirty blond hair, disheveled from prolonged hat wear. His face is as thin as his body, lacking in fat and color. He has wrinkles that are too early for his assumed age. His eyes are dull green, as if they will soon dissipate like a flickering candle. Dark rings under his eyes suggests that he doesn't get much sleep.
His face is cleanly shaved, but his lips show his illness. His lips are cracked and bluish.
With his lips, Mr. Riddle regards Mrs. Merida with a weak smile.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Merida. Your husband shared a lot about you." Mr. Riddle tells the nurse.
"Good afternoon as well. I hope he shared pleasant things." Mrs. Merida replies, raising a brow at her husband who cheekily smiles.
As they shared formalities, I slowly brought my eyes on the boy who is holding Mr. Riddle's hand tightly.
Unlike his father, who appears rather ordinary despite his ill looking features, the child has an unusual aura around him. The boy effortlessly expresses this aura of which I cannot comprehend easily. His presence feels like a bottomless river, a deep silent appearance that is shimmering yet dangerous.
I have to admit that he is a beautiful child. With his onyx black hair and his pale marble skin, he would stand out from a crowd. Like his father, he needs more weight, but he doesn't have any signs of illness. He has a pointy chin, a small forehead, adequately plump cheeks, and long dark eyelashes.
His eyes, his startling eyes are deep maroon.
Maroon like the color of an aurora on a starry night.
Or maroon like a pool of dried blood.
"And who is this little fellow?" Mrs. Merida asks the sickly man, bending to face the boy in his height.
"This is my son, Tom Riddle Jr. Say hello Tom." The man replies before coughing uncontrollably.
"Hello." The child shyly greets Merida, showing a small smile.
"Forgive me, but may I request a glass of water?" The boy's father asks the nurse.
"Of course, no problem. I'll be right back." The stout lady replies, leaving the room.
As soon as Mrs. Merida left, Tom Riddle Sr. coughs harder and deeper, doing his best to stifle his coughing with his scarf. He hacks what I thought would be phlegm, but instead it was bright red blood. Quickly, before anyone notices the blood he coughed out, he pockets his scarf in one of his coat pockets.
Since the outbreak of the Spanish Flu in 1919, the one and only Morphosis hospital did not take any patients who are diagnosed with infectious diseases. But the hospital started to admit infected patients in 1928 because refraining to do so would be an action of disobedience to King George V.
A tug from the boy takes his father's attention.
The boy appears concerned but does not say a word.
"I'm alright son. Now, would you like to play with that little lady over there?" He says, pointing directly at me.
Surprised that he knew that I was hiding behind the couch, I abruptly stand from where I was crouching. Usually when someone found out that I was sneaking about, and such accounts are rare, I would simply greet them with a mischievous smile. But this time, I react differently. Instead of acting like a typical curious child, I am acting like a statue that is about to break.
I feel like a statue that is about to break in a million pieces, because I was spotted like I was not even trying to hide and now I am about to meet someone I have been waiting for years to confront.
He was reluctant to obey his father, but he miserably looks at me to consider the idea.
Without a word he started to walk towards me.
As he goes to my location, I can hear and feel my heart pounding faster than usual.
Seeing as mere inches away, I now do not feel like a statue.
I feel like I am about to be bitten by a rabid dog and I can't do anything about it.
Unconsciously, my hands started to fold into fists. It is taking everything not to punch the boy until he bleeds. And even if I do loosen my fists, I know that I would do so only to wring the boy's neck. My breathing becomes faster, trying to match the pace of my heart. I try to keep a calm façade, but I can tell that my lips are trembling and I am blinking too much.
He is right in front of me, keeping his disappointed eyes to the ground. Trying to hide his sulking demeanor for being asked to play with me without his own consent. After tapping his shoes a couple times, and noticing that I do not utter a word, he looks up and regards me reluctantly. He looks up, and it was like seconds were hours in order for him to look at me at the eye.
Against the light, his eyes shine like imperial topaz.
Now, I feel like I am about to be burned alive.
"Hi. My name is Tom." He says, trying to be polite despite wanting to rather be with his father.
"Do you like toys?" I manage to blurt out. My question is hardly a decent introduction of myself. But at least I'm acting like a kid.
He nods slowly.
"Follow me." I say, backing up without making my back vulnerable to him.
Usually if I guide children to a location, I hold their hand.
But I..I just can't do it. The idea of holding Riddle's hand is unbearable.
The toy box is only at the opposite side of the common room. I simply have to take a few steps back in order to reach the box. When I did, I grab a heap of toys and drop them on the wooden floor.
"Here, you can play with this." I robotically hand out a toy car from the pile.
"Okay." He says, looking at me like I was a bit strange. But he ignores my odd behavior and decides to sit on the floor and play with the toy I gave him.
Having made himself comfortable in a sitting position, not facing or looking towards me, I could not help myself in imagining my foot stomping on his skull over and over again. To keep me from kicking the boy's lowered and distracted head, I look at the father who is now being entertained by the adults who finally returned from their rendezvous at the kitchen.
"Here you go, Sir." Merida states, arriving with a glass of water.
"Thank you." Tom Riddle Sr. replies, drinking like he was rubbing his throat with sand paper.
Based on obscure publications of Voldermort's father, Tom Sr. will die in a month or two.
Sadly, tuberculosis is not a painless disease.
"How do you know?" I asked somewhat rudely, frustrated that he persists on the idea of saving Tom Riddle.
"What do you mean, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore questioned in return.
I sighed deeply, determined to regain my manners.
"Sir, how do you know that saving Riddle would prevent the war?"
"Because I have done it before." He simply replied.
"Done what before?" I asked.
He does not answer. Choosing to let me answer my own question.
He waited until my face started to express astonishment.
He has done it before.
The headmaster travelled back in time..back in decades.
"This is my second life, Miss Granger." Dumbledore confirmed.
And then, everything started to make more sense.