Teddie paused outside of Dumbledore's office. She had just left Professor Snape's office in the dungeons and was a few minutes late to her lesson with the Headmaster and Harry. She raised her hand, poised to knock the door when she heard Harry's voice from inside.
"Why him?" he had asked. "Why not Madam Pomfrey?"
"Impertinent," said a soft voice. It was one that Teddie didn't not recognise. "I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day."
"Yes, thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore. "Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St Mungo's staff are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Miss Parkinson will make a full recovery in time."
"Where were you this weekend, sir?" Harry asked.
"I would rather not say just now," said Dumbledore. "However, I shall tell you in due course."
"You will?"
"Yes, I expect so," said Dumbledore
"Sir," said Harry. He sounded tentative, like he was pushing enough boundaries as it was. "I met Mundungus in Hogsmeade."
Teddie furrowed her brow. Who was Mundungus and why did Harry feel the need to mention him to Dumbledore.
"Ah, yes, I am already aware that Mundungus has been treating your inheritance with light-fingered contempt," said Dumbledore. "He has gone to ground since you accosted him outside the Three Broomsticks; he dreads facing me. However, rest assured that he will not be making away with any more of Sirius's old possessions."
"That mangy old half-blood has been stealing Black heirlooms?" snarled the voice from before. Teddie couldn't help but wonder if there was another person in the room, of course, she knew there were portraits, but could it really have been one of them that was speaking so angrily?
The office feel silent for a few minutes, and then Harry spoke again. "Sir, did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her after Parkinson got hurt? About Draco Malfoy?"
Teddie couldn't help but roll her eyes. While she trusted Harry entirely, she didn't understand his fascination with Malfoy. As if anything Draco did was beneficial to anyone but himself.
"She told me of your suspicions, yes," said Dumbledore.
"And do you -?"
"I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Miss Parkinson's accident," said Dumbledore.
Something inside Teddie snapped and, without knocking, her barged into the room, her body heating up as her temper flared.
"Accident?" Teddie echoed, her eyes narrowed at the Headmaster. "Accident? What happened to Pansy was not an accident!"
Harry stared, wide-eyed and slack jawed at Teddie, while Dumbledore merely looked complacent and calm as she stomped up to his desk.
"Someone tried to get her to smuggle a highly dangerous dark object into the school, and in the process almost murdered her!"
Teddie could've sworn she saw a faint smile tug at Dumbledore's lips as she finished. But, instead, he merely bowed his head, and apologised.
"What concerns me the most tonight," Dumbledore added. "Is our lesson. Shall we?" he produced a small vial with a silvery liquid inside from his desk drawer. "You will remember, I am sure, that we left the take of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."
"How do you know she was in London, sir?" Harry asked.
"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke," said Dumbledore.
Teddie raised an eye. "Burke?" she echoed. "As in Borgin and Burkes? The place you saw the necklace four years ago?" she turned to Harry.
Harry shrugged.
"The very same," said Dumbledore, patiently. "Caratacus Burke founded the shop with Mr. Borgin, and house a variety of different dark objects, including the necklace."
Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve and began swirling the stone basin once more between his long-fingered hands.
Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man revolving slowly in a circle, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.
"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and far along. . . going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favourite teapot,' but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"
Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.
"He only gave her ten Galleons?" said Harry indignantly.
"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," said Dumbledore. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms. "
"But she could do magic!" said Harry impatiently. "She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?"
"She probably gave up hope after Riddle left her," said Teddie. "She had used magic on her husband for years, forcing him into a relationship, and then stopping it. Like I said last time, she may have thought she wouldn't need the magic anymore, then the magic of love and her pregnancy would be enough to keep him, and when it wasn't, it broke her. Why believe in actual magic if the magic of love fails?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Solid logic, Miss Green," he approved. "It is possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as we are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."
"She wouldn't even stay alive for her own son?" Teddie asked. "That's cold. No wonder Voldemort turned out the way he did. Not only didn't his father want him, neither did his mother."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?" he asked.
Teddie opened her mouth, paused, and then closed it again. "I guess I am," she admitted. "I mean, we've always seen him as this evil being that only wants power. But maybe, just maybe, if he had been shown love from a tender age, or had parents that wanted him, he could've turned out differently."
"Like you?" Harry asked. "I, for one, don't feel sorry for him," he added. "His past doesn't excuse his actions."
"I didn't mean -" started Teddie.
"Merope had a choice to choose life and her child, and she chose to give up," Harry interrupted. "Unlike my mother -"
"Your mother had a choice," said Dumbledore gently. "Yes, Merope Riddle chose death despite a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering, and she never had your mother's courage. And now if you will stand…"
"Where are we going?" Harry asked.
"This time," said Dumbledore, "we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you,"
Harry met Teddie's gaze and then leaned over the Pensieve. His face broke the cool surface, and then he was jolted forward into the memory.
Teddie looked up at Dumbledore, rounded his desk, and bent at the waist. She cupped the Pensieve gently, her hands brushing against the cold stone as, taking a deep breath, she thrust her face into the silverly liquid.
Then… she was falling.
~X~
This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.
Following the younger Dumbledore through wrought iron gates, Teddie looked up at the sign that was mounted on the wall of the dreary grey building before her.
WOOL'S ORPHANAGE
Founded 1900.
The young Dumbledore mounted the steps that led to the front door and knocked twice. After a moment, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.
"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with Mrs Cole," who, I believe, is the matron here?"
"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. "Um. . . just a mo... MRS. COLE!" she bellowed over her shoulder.
A distance voice screeched back a response, and the girl turned back to Dumbledore.
"Come in, she's on 'er way."
Dumbledore smiled and stepped through into a black and white tiled hallway. The whole place was shabby, but surprisingly spotlessly clean. Before the front door even had a chance to click back into place, a harried looking woman with a sharp featured face appeared.
She looked more anxious than anything and talking over her shoulder to another matron as she hurried into the hall.
". . . and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets— chicken pox on top of everything else," she said.
The third woman, a plump young Muggle with stringy hair, nodded, and hurried off.
Mrs Cole turned, finally spotted Dumbledore standing beside the door.
"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, holding out his hand.
Mrs Cole simply gaped.
"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."
Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh yes. Well— well then— you'd better come into my office. Yes."
She led Dumbledore 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. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said Dumbledore.
"Are you family?" asked Mrs. Cole.
"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."
"What school's this, then?"
"It is called Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.
"And how come you're interested in Tom?"
"We believe he has qualities we are looking for. "
"You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one. "
"Well, his name has been down for our school since birth -"
"Who registered him? His parents?"
Teddie bit her lip. There was no doubt in her mind that Mrs Cole was a sharp woman, and apparently Dumbledore thought so too. Discreetly, he slipped his wand from his pocket, and at the same time, picked up a perfectly blank sheet of paper from Mrs Cole's desk.
"Here," said Dumbledore, waving his wand once 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.
"I was wondering if you could tell me more about Tom's history?" Dumbledore asked. "I think he was born here in the orphanage, was he not?"
"That's right," said Mrs Cole, nodding. "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 had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour."
"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"
"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs. Cole. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty— and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father— yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus— and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word. Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage, and he's been here ever since. He's a funny boy. "
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "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?" asked Dumbledore gently.
"Well, he -" But Mrs. Cole pulled up short. "He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"
"Definitely," said Dumbledore.
"And nothing I say can change that?"
"Nothing," said Dumbledore.
"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"
"Whatever," repeated Dumbledore gravely.
She squinted at him as though deciding whether to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."
"You mean he is a bully?" asked Dumbledore.
"I think he must be," said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's extremely hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents. . . nasty things . . . "
Dumbledore did not press her, though he was interested.
"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," said Dumbledore quietly.
"But have no idea how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then on the summer outing-we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside— well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things. . . "
She looked around at Dumbledore again, her gaze was steady.
"I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."
"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" said Dumbledore. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer. "
"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," said Mrs. Cole. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"
"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising too.
Teddie shared a look with Harry as they followed the two Dumbledore's out of the office. With Mrs Cole in the lead, she climbed the stone steps, barking orders and instructions to other matrons and children alike. So far this place had done nothing but prove to Teddie why Voldemort had turned out the way he had, there was no love here. She couldn't go as far as to say there was no care, because Mrs Cole and the other workers did seem to care about the children, but this care wasn't the same as the maternal one children should've had from their parents.
"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.
"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."
Harry, Teddie, and the two Dumbledores 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. A boy was sitting on top of the grey blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.
"Merope got her wish, didn't she," said Harry, his voice low as he leaned over to whisper in Teddie's ear.
Teddie nodded. There was absolutely no trace of her grandmother, great-grandfather, or even great-uncle in Tom Riddle's face. He was the spit image of the Muggle his mother had fallen in love with, though, for an eleven-year-old, Tom Riddle Jnr was tall, dark-haired, and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's appearance.
There was a moment's silence.
"How do you do, Tom?" asked Dumbledore, walking forward, and holding out his hand.
The boy hesitated, then took it. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.
"I am Professor Dumbledore."
"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? For what are you here? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.
"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.
"I don't believe you," said Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"
He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that shook the whole room. Harry looked around, watching as dust fell from the rafters, disturbing the thin layer that was already occupying the desk and wardrobe in the room. He glanced at Teddie from the corner of his eye, the last time he had felt something as powerful as this was when she had unleashed her shield on Professor Umbridge, and three years ago in the Shrieking Shack.
Riddle's eyes widened slightly, and he glared at Dumbledore. But the younger Professor made no response except to keep smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds, Riddle stopped glaring and slumped in his seat, but he didn't relax, and he looked even more warier that previous.
"Who are you?"
"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."
Suddenly, Riddle leapt from the bed and backed away, glaring furiously at Dumbledore. "You can't kid me!" he hissed. "The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course - well, I'm not going, see? The 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."
Teddie furrowed her brow. His defensive reaction was enough for her to believe that he had had done something to Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop, otherwise he wouldn't be reacting the way he was. He wouldn't be trying his desperate hardest to clear his name. She recognised the skittish behaviour, he was acting like a deer in headlights, desperate for an escape, or for someone to change the subject.
"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "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!"
"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 repeated in a whisper.
"That's right," said Dumbledore.
"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 his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "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."
He was trembling now. But it wasn't from fear, but rather excitement. A flush had started to rise in his neck, blotching his face and ears a faint shade of pink. He was also breathless, like he had been running. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands.
"I knew I was different," Riddle whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."
Teddie swallowed and looked down. Everything she was witnessing was exactly what she had gone through when she learned the truth. All her life, people - her parents, friends, neighbours, teachers - they all called her 'special,' sure, some of them teased her and said she was a special in the way she was weird, but it turned out that her special was because she was a witch.
"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 intricately carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.
"Are you a wizard too?"
"Yes, I am. "
"Prove it," said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, "Tell the truth."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts-"
"Of course I am!"
"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'"
Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant— please, Professor, could you show me-?"
Without warning, the wardrobe burst into flames.
Riddle jumped to his feet for a third time and let out a howl of rage. Teddie could hardly blame him, she would've done the same had some strangers come into her home and set something that had possibly held all her possessions into flames. But, as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, pure rage burning in his eyes, the flames disappeared, and the wardrobe looked unscathed.
"How did you -?" Riddle asked, breaking off. His gaze flickering between Dumbledore and the wardrobe.
"It is a skill that you will learn as you go through school," said Dumbledore. "Wandless and non-verbal magic is taught in seventh year of Hogwarts. However, I did notice something during that presentation - I think there is something trying to escape your wardrobe."
Teddie hadn't heard it originally, at least, not over the roar of the flames. But now that they had been diminished, she could hear the tinkering and chattering of objects coming from behind the wooden door.
Riddle stepped up to the wardrobe and opened the door. It was bare, save for a rail of threadbare clothes, and a small cardboard box on the topmost shelf. It was the box that was shaking, as if frantic and terrified mice were inside trying to break out.
Teddie watched as Riddle took down the box and set it in his bed. He flipped the lid open, and she was stunned to see that there wasn't anything alive in the box. Everything was just useless trinkets - a silver thimble, a yo-yo, a tarnished mouth organ among them.
"Are these yours, Tom?" Dumbledore asked.
"No, I suppose they're not, Professor," Tom answered, honestly.
"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly. "I shall know if you haven't. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."
Riddle did not look ashamed of his actions. He merely stared coldly at Dumbledore and then nodded. "Yes, sir," he said.
"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."
"Yes, sir," said Riddle again.
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. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spell books and so on second-hand, but -"
"Where do you buy spell books?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.
"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.
"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.
Dumbledore nodded and 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, who 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.
"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 despite himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."
"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?"
"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 got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips-they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"
It was obvious he had left this fact out until the right moment. The expression on his face was that of anticipation, like he was expecting Dumbledore to be impressed by him.
"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of." His tone was casual, but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face. They stood for a moment, man, and boy, staring at each other.
Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.
"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts. "
~X~
Teddie rolled her shoulders as she landed back in Dumbledore's office. The sky outside the window was an inky black, and the time on her watch read 11pm.
While she was thankful for these lessons, especially since they were proving to be interesting and yes, she would admit, beneficial to her, Teddie also could deny the irritation she felt when they run late. Her work load this year, as well as Harry's she guessed, was unimaginable, not to mention the added work they had to do with Dumbledore's lessons, and for her, Professor Snape's lessons, Caroline's sessions, and her extra work as Charms assistant.
It was, at times, that she was surprised that she managed to get any work done in the nights.
"Sit down," said Dumbledore.
Harry and Teddie slumped into two separate seats.
"He believed it much quicker than I did," said Harry. "I mean when you told him he was a wizard. I didn't believe Hagrid at first."
"Same," echoed Teddie. "When Professor Snape presented me with my letter, I thought it was some sort of joke."
"Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was — to use his word — special," said Dumbledore.
Again, Teddie winced.
"You okay?" Harry asked.
Teddie sighed. "That word is what I was called by the people who didn't understand," she said. "I was 'special.' When I blew up the coat rack in my first primary school, it wasn't my fault because I was 'special,' when I did something bad, but it was unexplainable, I shouldn't have worried about it because I was 'special.' Then I learned what they meant by the word special, and…" she shook her head.
Being special for doing uncontrollable magic, and inadvertently hurting people wasn't what she would call it.
"Did you know then, sir?" Harry asked.
"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" Dumbledore asked. He shook his head. "No, I had no idea that he would grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye on him, something I should have done in any case given that he was alone and friendless but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others' sake as much as his."
"Didn't he get friends when he joined Hogwarts?"
Teddie shook her head. "You could tell, even at that age, he wasn't interested in making any form of friendships," she said. "He thrived on being alone. It made people scared of him. They always say it's the quiet ones you need to watch out for. The ones that shy away when confronted or remain silent but observant when others are being loud and boisterous."
"Then there were his powers," added Dumbledore. "As you heard, they were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and — most interestingly and ominously of all — he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them and begun to use them consciously."
"Like when he used them to frighten, punish, and even control others for hurting or upsetting him," said Teddie. "When he mentioned Amy and Duncan, I could tell he had done something to them. You don't get that defensive unless you're trying to cover something up."
Dumbledore nodded.
"And he was a Parselmouth," interjected Harry.
"Yes, indeed, a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination."
"Why would it, though?" Teddie asked. "Especially since, as you said, it is known to be used by some witches and wizards that were good."
"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "Now, before we part ways, I would like to draw your attention to certain features of the scene we have just witnessed, for they have a great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings. First, I hope you noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name."
Harry and Teddie nodded.
"He was, and I am guessing, still is, a narcissist," said Teddie. "He didn't like it when the attention was off him and given someone else shared the same name was him made him more ordinary, even invisible. Narcissists don't like being invisible, they like it when every eye is on them."
Dumbledore nodded. "Even at the tender age of eleven, he wished to be different, separate, notorious. He shed his name, as you know, within a few short years of that conversation and created the mask of 'Lord Voldemort' behind which he has been hidden for so long," he explained. "He was also, I trust you noticed, already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless."
Again, Harry and Teddie nodded.
"He didn't want help or companionship on his trip to Diagon Alley," continued Dumbledore. "He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him."
"If you're trying to say they are deluded, Professor, I think we could've guessed that on our own," said Teddie.
Dumbledore chuckled.
"Although, I would have to disagree on one front," Teddie added.
Dumbledore looked amused, while Harry raised a stunned eyebrow.
"There is one, that I believe at least, has Voldemort's confidence," said Teddie, "and that is Avery. I mean, sure, neither of them are motherly or fatherly types, and they only had me because Voldemort wanted an Heir, and the Sutherland line gets stronger with each generation. But, everyone calls Avery the 'Dark Lady,' that must mean that Voldemort has some form of an attachment to her. He may not love her, but he definitely respects her enough."
A small smile tugged at Dumbledore's lips. "Quite observant of you, Teddie," he said. "But, and I am sure you will agree with me, respect and trust are two quite different things. It is safe to say that while Voldemort may respect Avery for her abilities and the power she brings him, he does not trust her or see her as a friend."
Teddie looked thoughtful. She then pursed her lips, nodded, and made small murmur of agreement.
"One last thing, before we retire for the evening," said Dumbledore. "The young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behaviour, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later."
Dumbledore's gaze fell on Teddie as she tried desperately to cover a yawn.
"Now, it really his time for bed."
Her whole body felt like jelly as Teddie pushed herself out of the chair. It protested, silently begging her to just sit back down and curl up in the chair. At this point, she didn't care about the essay that was waiting for her in the Slytherin common room, she just wanted a blanket and pillow, and to curl up in the first available space she could find.
Following Harry across the room, Teddie yelped as he stopped dead.
"What?" Teddie asked.
"The ring's gone," said Harry.
Brow furrowed, Teddie looked towards the table beside the door. Last week, the great ugly ring of Marvolo Gaunt sat on a silver platter, now it was nowhere to be seen.
As one, Harry and Teddie pivoted and stared across the room at Dumbledore.
"Yes?" said Dumbledore, amusedly.
"I thought you had the mouth organ?" Harry asked.
"Very astute," said Dumbledore. "But, alas, the mouth organ was only a mouth organ. Now, don't dawdle, it is rather quite late."
With a tired sigh, Teddie took Harry's hand and dragged him from the office.