Far too many questions swirled through his mind, one chasing the other before the first even had the chance of fully forming. They each demanded his attention, and Thomas did not know which to ask first. He settled on plucking one from the cacophony of thoughts at random.

"Which subject do you teach, sir?"

"Transfiguration." The professor's expression grew softer and yet more animated, the way Thomas had seen before on people talking about their passion. "A precise and difficult discipline, but a rewarding one."

"Show me!" Thomas demanded, eager to see magic performed by someone other than himself, proof that he was not as alone in the world as he'd always thought.

"Certainly." The professor inclined his head. "Is there anything in this room you would not mind losing?"

"What?" Thomas asked, alarmed. "What do you mean, losing?"

"At heart, transfiguration is the art of transforming one object into another. I'm sure you would not appreciate me casting that sort of magic on your belongings without your permission, so I'm asking for an object I may use for my demonstration. It need not be anything valuable; why, even a piece of rubbish would do."

Calmed, Thomas nodded, casting his gaze around the bare walls. Trouble was, he had little to spare. Because he was rather meticulous in keeping his room neat and tidy, there was no rubbish to be found.

He hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. Standing on his toes to reach it, Thomas retrieved the small cardboard box on the topmost shelf. He pried off the lid and critically examined his various prizes for one he wouldn't miss.

Well, that yo-yo had not been half as fun as Jenny had made it look when she'd played with it. It hadn't even been worth taking.

Putting the box back where it belonged, he returned to the other side of the room and held the yo-yo out to Dumbledore. "Here, you can use this."

But the professor made no move to take it. Instead, he was staring at Thomas with an unreadable expression on his face. "No, I don't think I can," he said softly. "That isn't yours to give away, is it?"

Thomas sucked in a sharp breath, caught off-guard.

What?

His heart thumped against his chest in what he knew was the prelude to agitation, but Thomas forced himself to stay calm. Keeping his face blank and his voice even, he said, "I don't know what you mea—"

"Please do not insult my intelligence by lying to me, Mr. Riddle."

Thomas fell silent at the frigid tone, confused and upset. Stupid. He should have known better than to try outright denial. Professor Dumbledore was no Mrs. Cole; if Thomas could sense lies, it stood to reason that other wizards could too.

Had he just ruined everything?

"You should know that thieving won't be tolerated at Hogwarts." Disappointed eyes stared at him over the rim of half-moon glasses. "But you are not the first nor the last to allow your magic to run away with you. Can I expect better from you going forward?"

"Yes, sir." Thomas would certainly know better than to be this careless around other magical people who might match him in ability.

"Very good." There was a long pause as Dumbledore's gaze slid past Thomas to the wardrobe behind him. "Then I shall offer you a deal."

"A deal?"

"If you promise to return this and everything else you keep in that box to their original owners, then I will forget what I just saw and not hold it against you."

"Really." Thomas wasn't doing a particularly good job of keeping the disbelief out of his voice, but he knew all too well that adults held grudges. They didn't forgive and forget. Oh, they were often pleasant enough in the beginning, but one misstep…

"Really." A sad smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "As I said, you are not the first to use your budding magic in such a manner. But you are also not the first of my students to come to Hogwarts in search of a fresh start, and I have no wish to stand in your way."

How did this man see through him so well? How did he know Thomas wanted—

Tom's mouth parted in stunned silence as realization struck.

What if—what if Dumbledore had known all along his name wasn't really Thomas? What if that hadn't been a mistake but an offer born of understanding?

Dropping his gaze to the floor, he whispered, "Alright. I promise."

"Splendid," Dumbledore said, and his voice took on a far more cheerful note. "Now, I do believe I still owe you a demonstration in transfiguration? Simply choose something else I may work with."

Thomas nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and walked back to the wardrobe. There was not much else, only his threadbare clothes and–

Oh.

There was a stack of notebooks on one of the shelves, one for each subject he studied at school. He'd poured hours into those notes, condensing everything important he'd learned into neat overviews.

So there's rubbish in my room after all.

Thomas grabbed his history notebook—because really, how good could his history lessons have been when they'd left out that magic was real?— and offered them to Dumbledore, who nodded his approval and reached up his sleeve.

He pulled out a gnarled piece of wood. Noticing Thomas's sceptical look, Dumbledore held it out for closer inspection. "This is a wand, designed to focus and channel magical energy. With this, you'll be capable of much more powerful feats than before. Like so."

He flicked his wrist and the notebook in Thomas's hand started writhing as if alive. Startled, he dropped it, but it never hit the ground. It twisted and bulged and in the blink of an eye it became an eagle. It caught itself by flaring its wings and then gracefully soared upwards to land on Dumbledore's shoulder.

Thomas stared, breathless, and clenched his fist. His fingernails dug into his palms so hard it hurt, just to make sure all of this was not some trick his brain was playing on him.

This… this was so much more amazing and powerful than the wobbly floating Thomas sometimes managed. Gaze glued to the wand, he asked, "Where can I get one?"

"All in good time," Dumbledore answered, and flicked his wand again.

The eagle hopped down from his shoulder onto the bed, where it began changing form once more. Brown feathers darkened into black fur as the bird hunched over and became four-legged. Thomas tried to follow the steps of the transformation, but it happened too fast—one moment there was an eagle, and the next there was a badger snuffling at his pillow.

Thomas let out an incredulously delighted laugh. Magic is real, he thought, again and again, even though he'd known that already. But it was different somehow, to witness something so utterly impossible…

Dumbledore winked at him as the badger waddled toward the edge of the bed, crouched low, and then bounded forward. Thomas stumbled back, almost losing his balance, because mid-leap, the badger grew and grew and grew.

Thomas hardly dared to breathe, unable to look away. The badger had turned into a beautiful creature with a majestic mane and powerful legs and its jaw was as big as his head and it was going to eat him and then he was going to die—

"There's nothing to fear," Dumbledore said serenely.

I'm not afraid, Thomas wanted to say but couldn't because his tongue was frozen in fear, as was the rest of him. This was on account of the huge bloody lion standing mere inches from his face.

The lion rather dramatically tossed its mane before lowering its head in submission. Thomas blinked, his rapid heartbeat slowing as reason returned. Right. This wasn't a real lion. Just his notebook in the shape of a lion.

Did transformed notebooks get hungry?

Pushing the unhelpful question away, his gaze darted to Dumbledore who looked infuriatingly calm. The professor probably wouldn't put a child at risk of getting eaten by a giant beast. Right? Right. Teachers weren't supposed to do that sort of thing.

With that thought in mind, Thomas tentatively raised his hand, inching forward until his fingertips brushed the lion's forehead. It responded by leaning toward him until his entire open palm was pressed against soft fur. Reminded of the way alley cats would sometimes demand pets, he choked out a laugh and, losing his caution, ran his hands through the lion's mane.

"When will I be able to do magic like this?" he asked, not looking away from the mighty beast as he scratched it beneath its muzzle. Amber eyes closed with a deep, throaty rumble of what Thomas hoped was pleasure.

"That depends on how studious you are. But under our standard curriculum, around your fifth year. Now, Thomas, you mentioned you're able to talk to snakes?"

"Yes...?" He wasn't quite sure what that had to do with anything but then the lion's form started twisting beneath his hands. It writhed as it shrank, thinning and lengthening. Thomas grinned when he realized what it was turning into, not shying away when the form flowed to wrap itself around his torso.

"Hello," he whispered in a soft hiss.

The snake did not answer him, perhaps because it was not real. Silver scales gleamed like they were truly made of precious metal, shimmering with every undulating movement, but they were warm to the touch like flesh and blood. The serpent slithered around him, huge and heavy, but as it started descending down his arm, it grew smaller. By the time it curled around his wrist, it was no thicker than a pen.

Thomas watched in fascination as it encircled one of his fingers, round and round, before coming to a halt and raising its now tiny head toward him. Where its eyes should have been, there were two green gems instead. It flickered its tongue as if to say goodbye, then settled down and grew still.

"Can I keep this?" Thomas asked at once, staring at the intricate ring.

"Well, it's yours to begin with," the professor said with a chuckle. "But yes, the transfiguration is permanent unless you wish for me to reverse it."

"I don't."

Dumbledore nodded, then started rummaging through the pockets of his coat. "Now you might be wondering why I chose those animals in particular… ah, here we are. This is yours."

He'd pulled out a letter and held it out toward Thomas. There was an address written in green ink.

Mr. T. Riddle

Room Number Four

Wool's Orphanage

London

Accepting the envelope, Thomas turned it over to spot a red wax seal stamped with some sort of emblem divided into four parts. When he squinted, he could see there were animals in each section. When he really squinted, he could make out something that might be a bird and a snake and–

He grinned, pleased to have figured it out, and broke the seal.

It turned out he needn't have bothered squinting so hard since a much larger version of the Hogwarts insignia was stamped on the very top of the letter inside. His fingers traced over each of the four animals in turn; they were indeed the very animals Dumbledore had just shown him.

The texture of the paper felt strange but pleasant. Apparently, wizards used proper old-fashioned parchment, the kind that looked like it belonged in a museum. It was nothing like the cheap paper Thomas was used to; sheets so thin and prone to tearing that even the mild pressure of a pen would do.

Having thoroughly examined everything, he began to read.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Armando Dippet

(Order of Merlin, First Class)

Dear Mr. Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Deputy Headmaster

His gaze lingered on 'we await your owl' (What on earth–?) before coming to rest on 'Deputy Headmaster'. Faint heat rose to his cheeks when Thomas realized how close he'd come to jeopardizing his future by alienating Dumbledore, who was an even more important man than he already suspected.

He set the letter aside on his bed, taking care not to wrinkle it, and tugged the enclosed list out of the envelope. Dread pooled in his stomach as he skimmed the second parchment.

He had no idea how much things cost in the magical world, but he had the feeling his meagre savings (four pounds and thirteen shilling squirreled away under a loose floorboard) wouldn't be enough. Perhaps if he supplemented his funds with sticky fingers? But pickpocketing was a risky endeavour, all it took to get caught was one wrong mark… and the professor had already made his opinion on theft known…

He remembered vividly when Roger, who'd always prided himself on his speed and deft hands, had gotten caught by coppers, and how the teachers at their school had tutted.

'Those Wool's boys,' they'd sighed with a shake of their heads, 'tragic, isn't it? But what can you do when they're determined to be street rats…' Then their eyes had swung to Tom as if expecting him to be next, and rage had boiled under his skin at their inability to see that he was different.

"Thomas?"

He looked up at Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to have picked up on his plummeting mood and was gazing at him with an unspoken question in those piercing blue eyes.

It wasn't like the professor didn't already know. For all that Thomas tried to take good care of his possessions, polishing his shoes to a shine and mending tears in his clothes as soon as they formed, there was only so much he could do. He did not like to dwell on how shabby he must look to others, but it was undeniable that he and his room spoke of poverty.

That did not make the admission any easier, mortification burning in his gut even as he kept his voice and face impassive. "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied," Professor Dumbledore said with a reassuring smile and drew a leather pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your books and so on secondhand, but if you budget well—which I shall assist you with—you'll have some spending money left over."

"You'll help me?" Thomas asked with a furrow in his brow as the professor reached into the bag and rummaged around, his hand disappearing all the way up to his elbow.

"Of course, I can hardly let you run around Diagon Alley all alone."

"I'm used to doing things for myself, I go 'round London on my own all the time." Thomas was not a baby who needed his hand held through the most basic of tasks.

"Ah, but Thomas, how sad would life be if we only did things we're used to?" Blue eyes twinkled merrily and, having found what he was looking for, Dumbledore withdrew a handful of unfamiliar coins from the pouch. One of them was shiny and golden and almost as big as his palm, and he held it out to Thomas as if it wasn't worth more than everything he'd ever owned put together.

Not one to turn down a gift, Thomas took it eagerly.

"You seem like a clever lad, so I don't doubt your ability to navigate London or even Diagon Alley. But being clever is no substitute for having knowledge, and there is much about our world you don't yet know. For example, how many Knuts are in a Galleon?"

How many what in a what?

Thomas pressed his lips into a thin line in dismay and said nothing.

"That is a Galleon," Dumbledore said, nodding toward the coin in Thomas's hands. Then he held up a smaller silver coin. "This is a Sickle. And this here"—silver was swapped for bronze—"a Knut. There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon and 29 Knuts in a Sickle. Which means there's—"

Having always had a good head for numbers, Tom said, "493 Knuts in a Galleon."

"Quite right." The professor beamed at him.

The smile was so warm it eased something in Thomas's chest. He was still worried that the discovery of his collection had soured the man's opinion, but maybe…

"Now, as delightful as I find the subject matter, I didn't come here to bore you with maths," Dumbledore said, still smiling as he shoved the coins back into his bag. He made no move to take away the Galleon he had given Thomas. "No, my duty is to give you a proper introduction to the magical world, and that's what I shall do. I'm afraid you'll have to indulge me in this."

"It doesn't sound like I have much of a choice," Thomas said. Then, remembering that he needed this man to like him, he belatedly added, "sir."

Fortunately, Professor Dumbledore seemed more amused than offended. "If it's any consolation, I'll endeavour not to be terrible company."

And he probably wouldn't be, Thomas realized. He was used to adults who were useless and annoying at best, but Professor Dumbledore was clearly cut from a different cloth. He wasn't quite sure whether he liked the other wizard, but the man certainly wasn't dull.

"I'll hold you to that, sir," Thomas said, offering a tentative smile.

Dumbledore chuckled and then rose to stand. "Then I shall let Hogwarts know you've accepted your place there. I'll be back tomorrow morning to take you to Diagon Alley where we can shop for everything you'll need."

Thomas could feel his smile faltering. "Tomorrow?"

"I promise."

"Why not today?"

"Because I have more duties to attend to," he said. "But tomorrow, we can have all day and explore as long as you want."

Thomas pressed his lips into a thin line. That sounded perfectly sensible, and yet–

What if the professor didn't come back? What if Tom would just be stuck in Wool's again, except now with the knowledge that there was a whole other world out there waiting for him—a world he'd have no way of reaching?

But he didn't give voice to those pathetic worries, responding instead with a flat, "Alright, sir."

Whatever happened would happen no matter how much he fretted, so there was no point to it. Adults upended his life whenever they felt like it, and Thomas just had to deal with the aftermath. He'd gotten rather adept at that. If necessary, he'd find his own way to this Diagon Alley, even if he had to search all of London for it.

"You know…" The professor held out his hand to shake as he spoke. "Something you'll find among witches and wizards is that many of us take our promises very seriously. Magic does not like oath-breakers, and it finds creative ways to punish us when we go back on our word."

Thomas did not react to what was no doubt intended as a rebuke and a reminder to return his stolen collection, except Dumbledore suddenly knelt down on one knee, putting the two of them at eye level.

"Tomorrow," Dumbledore said, warm and gentle, "I'll show you the wonder of Diagon Alley. I promise."

Thomas turned the tarnished mouth organ over in his hand, watching it gleam in the moonlight. It was the last of his collection he needed to get rid of. Returning the items was a tedious but largely effortless task.

Parting with all the little trophies he'd collected over the years did not sting as much as anticipated. For so long, he'd been vicious in guarding his hoard, but now—well, now he knew he was destined for greater things. Winning and keeping the deputy headmaster's favour was far more important than clinging to junk he'd outgrown. All of this was beneath him now.

At least that was what he told himself when he placed item after treasured item on the other children's nightstands or pillows. He had long since perfected the art of sneaking about the orphanage at night. After everything he'd learned today, he found himself wondering if there wasn't a touch of magic in how silent his footfalls were.

But it was much harder to force himself to return the mouth organ to Billy Stubbs. Just the thought of giving that bloody arse anything was enough for rage to start coursing through his veins.

In a way, wouldn't he be breaking another promise by returning the harmonica? He remembered how devastated Billy had been when Tom had stolen it, and it took no genius to deduce he'd be elated if he found it again. Tom had once vowed to himself that Billy would not find peace in this orphanage for as long as Tom was forced to live here. He'd meant it.

So wouldn't magic punish him if he went back on that now? And how magnanimous of Dumbledore to only mention that after he'd already coaxed a promise from Thomas.

There were still over two months to go until September 1st, and he was stuck here for the time being. Thomas really, really wouldn't be able to take months of Billy's caterwauling on this stupid thing. Honestly, he had been performing a public service to the other children and the very concept of music itself when he'd confiscated it.

But the promise…

Dumbledore would know if he didn't keep it, the same way he seemed to know everything else. And how was he doing that anyway?

Well, Thomas was going to find out and learn how to do it himself.

Again, he looked at the harmonica in his hand. It was old and worn, the metal scratched and discolored. Cheap. Nothing like the handsome silver snake curling around his ring finger now. The contrast between the two was almost comical.

So why not let Billy have this worthless old thing? It was symbolic, in a way. Let it be a consolation prize for the pathetic life Billy was sure to lead while Thomas went on to become a rich and powerful wizard.

Thus cheered, he laid the instrument next to the sleeping boy's pillow. And then, because he couldn't help but gloat, he leaned forward and whispered, "I win."

Billy stirred but did not wake.

Thomas snuck back to his room, silent as a shadow. Task done, he threw himself on his bed and grinned. With his own promise kept, surely Dumbledore would keep his, too.

But sleep would not come to Thomas that night. He tossed and turned and read and re-read his Hogwarts letter in the dim light of the moon. When he managed to doze off, he bolted upright only a few heartbeats later, clutching at the transfigured ring to confirm it was still there.

"I win," Tom said loudly as he stared at the cracked ceiling of his room.

He said it to this place that had tried and failed to break him. He said it to everybody who'd thought he was destined to live and die in the gutter. And most of all he said it to himself, so it would finally seem real.

"I win."

Author's Note:

The first meeting at Wool's ended way longer than I originally planned but I hope you enjoyed it anyway; I know not a lot happened this chapter but it does set the tone for their subsequent relationship, so it felt too important to cut short. Also, I'm having way too much fun writing from Tom's perspective.

Comments and concrit are much appreciated!