The Young Riddle
At 4:30 the next morning Harry woke with a start. With the Earth's elliptical orbit around the sun, in concert with its tilted axis the days had been growing longer since the middle of December and this close to the Summer Solstice the sun's first rays peeked over the horizon at 2:30 in the morning.
Harry tried to chastise himself for sleeping in as he made his way into his trunk's bathroom to take a quick shower before starting his day but failed miserably because he had been tired last night. He didn't know how he was able to teleport through Hogwarts' anti-apparation wards but he did know that it took a lot out of him, and doing it with two wizards holding onto his arms was not easy in the slightest.
When he exited the bathroom ten minutes later, clothed only in his boxers, he glanced over at Ginny who was snoring softly while hugging a pillow to her chest and shook his head. He was more than thankful for Ginny's love and devotion but today was the first day of some of the most intense training many at Hogwarts would ever be asked to endure and he wondered how Ginny and the others would feel after six weeks of what could only really be described as a kind of magical boot camp.
He threw his towel at her head, hitting her squarely in the face as he left their room and received a startled scream of indignation for his efforts. "What was that for, Potter?" Ginny growled as Harry stepped through the curtain, entering the sitting room on his way to the kitchen.
"Time to get up, Gin," he said. "It starts today. You have twenty minutes to shower, get something to drink and be in the Entrance Hall."
Ginny grumbled something unintelligible about slave drivers and wet towels but got out of bed and made her way into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, as the last of the students who were spending their summer at Hogwarts stumbled into the Entrance Hall Kingsley pushed himself away from the wall next to the partially opened doors. "Good morning," he said. "It rained last night and there is a light drizzle this morning so watch your footing." With that he led the way out the castle's front doors and onto the grounds.
Harry was running with Neville towards the back of the pack when, on their second lap around the castle grounds, he caught a glimpse of a particularly small student as he fell out of line and leaned heavily against a nearby tree. Breaking away from the pack Harry jogged over to the tree and, to his amazement, found Mark Evans leaning into the tree as he struggled to catch his breath. "Mark," he asked, "what are you doing out here?"
Mark looked up at Harry, his face flushed. "If I'm going to live in this world," he said between gasps, "I'm going to fight for it."
Harry smiled briefly then shook his head in amazement. Squatting down next to Mark her looked up into the young boy's eyes. The determination he saw in his second cousin's eyes told him that Mark was serious and that he would be devistated if someone were to tell him that he was too young. Nodding his head in understanding Harry waited until Mark had caught his breath then looked him in the eye and said. "Alright. You can fight. All I ask is that you take your time with these early morning runs. Most of the students have been running and working out since January and their bodies are used to it. You are at least two years younger than most of them and I don't want you to hurt yourself. One of the things I learned last summer is that there is such a thing as being too young to work out. I'll talk to Remus, Kingsley, Alastor and Tonks and see if we can come up with a program that will make it possible for you to train with the rest of us without damaging your body."
Mark smiled down at Harry. "Thanks," he said.
"No problem. I think two laps is enough for you this morning so why don't you make your way back up to the castle and I'll meet you in the Great Hall for breakfast."
Mark nodded his head and Harry could sense a mental sigh of relief, that Harry was not mad at him and that he was not being told that he was too young to fight, as he turned away and started walking up towards the castle.
At breakfast Harry visited with the other Defense Professors about Mark and even though Alastor was hesitant to let him fight the others understood his motivations and it was decided that they would all take it in turns to train him to the best of their abilities.
After breakfast Harry explained the situation to Mark and told him that they would do their best to train him to fight.
After a brief intermission the students reported to their assigned classrooms – Mark was with Harry's group – and began their flexibility and coordination training. Harry began his class by explaining that the best way to avoid being hit by a spell was to be somewhere … anywhere else and that what they would be learning during their morning sessions were a number of flexibility, coordination and tumbling skills that would hopefully help them avoid being hit be any harmful spells in the heat of battle when all else failed. He then dove into a review of the various stretches he had learned the previous summer and while he went out of his way to make sure everyone was doing them correctly he did find himself spending more time working with Mark than anyone else. Mark's body was still pre-pubescent and Harry did not want him to hurt himself.
That afternoon, after four hours of drilling students on dueling techniques with Alastor, Remus, Tonks and Kingsley and after dinner in the Great Hall, Harry took a quick shower and made his way up to the Headmaster's Office.
As he approached the entrance the stone gargoyle leapt aside revealing the spiral stair leading up to Albus' sanctuary. He had taken a few lumps during dueling practice that afternoon and was ready for a nap but knew that he could not really rest until Tom was utterly and completely defeated so, with a heavy heart, he nodded to the gargoyle in acknowledgement and mounted the steps to begin the summer's lessons.
When he reached the top step he knocked politely on the heavy wooden door. "Come In, Harry," Albus called from within.
Harry raised his hand to push the door open but was pleasantly surprised when the door swung open of its own accord. Looking up he saw that Albus appeared to be just as surprised as he was. "Apparently Hogwarts senses your fatigue, Harry, and has chosen to open the door for you."
Harry smiled weakly and mentally reached out to thank the castle. He was briefly shocked when he felt the castle respond but was too tired to do anything about it so let it pass.
Entering the Headmaster's Office Harry collapsed into his customary chair and, after taking several replenishing breaths, looked up at Albus and raised his eyebrows, silently asking his friend what they were going to be discussing.
Albus smiled knowingly as he steepled his fingers while resting his elbows on his desk. "With Horace's confession, and the very real possibility that Tom has indeed created six horcruxes, our task has become slightly more complicated."
Harry quirked an eyebrow at this understatement of their situation but held his tongue as Albus continued his monologue. "From the memories I shared with you after dinner yesterday you know that Tom Riddle is a half-blood. His mother, an unremarkable witch named Merope Gaunt, used a love potion on an unsuspecting muggle named Tom Riddle, whom she had loved from afar for years, in hopes of convincing him that she was worthy of his love. You also know that he left her as soon as she stopped using the potions even though she was pregnant with his child. You know that Merope Gaunt sold all of her worldly possession, including at least a few priceless family heirlooms, one of which was Salizar Slytherine's locket. An finally, you know that she lived long enough to give birth to her son and to name him after his father and her father. One of the memories I have held back is my memory of delivering Tom's letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. "
Standing up, Albus walked over to one of his cabinets and retrieved his penseive. After returning to his desk and placing the stone basin in its center he placed his wand to his temple and withdrew a memory from his mind, placing it in the penseive and swirling it around to give it life. "Now, Harry," Albus said as he completed his preparations and stepped back from his desk, "as we review this memory I would like you to pay close attention to the revelations concerning Tom's early history as well as his reactions to learning that magic is real and that he is a wizard."
Harry looked up at his mentor with a curious expression on his face. "At the end of your second year," Albus explained, "you voiced your concern that you could not help but notice certain similarities between yourself and the young Tom Riddle you met in the chamber of secrets. I would like you to observe this, even younger, Tom Riddle and his reactions so that when all is said and done you will know that there are several major differences between yourself and the man who became Lord Voldemort."
After thinking about Albus' words for several seconds Harry slowly nodded his head and stood up. "All right," he said.
Stepping away from his desk Albus made a sweeping gesture towards his penseive and said, "After you."
Harry stepped forward and, upon reaching the leading edge of the headmaster's desk, leaned into the silvery surface of the stone basin. As his nose broke the surface he felt himself falling through timeless darkness that represented the interface between memory and reality. Moments later, as he felt his feet making contact with firm ground, he opened his eyes and beheld a bustling old-fashioned London street.
[- - -
"Ah," Dumbledore said brightly, making his presence known at Harry's side, "there I am."
Looking up Harry spotted a tall, lean figure crossing the street towards them in front of a horse-drawn milk cart. This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn in color. 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 he was wearing.
"Nice suit, sir," Harry chuckled before he could stop himself.
"Yes, quite," Dumbledore chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance before turning through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard fronting a rather grip, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted a few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.
"Good afternoon," the younger Albus said politely, "I have an appointment with Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"
"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl as she took in Dumbledore's eccentric demeanor. "Um … just a mo' … MRS. COLE!"" she bellowed over her shoulder.
Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to the younger Dumbledore. "I guess you can come in. She's on her way."
As a group they stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white. The whole place looked and felt shabby by comparison but was spotlessly clean. Before the door closed behind them a tall, severe, bony, harassed-looking came scurrying towards them. She had a lean face that appeared more anxious than unkind. She was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked towards them.
"… and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, please. Billy Stubbs has been picking at his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets." Then, with a sigh, she shook her head. "Chicken pox on top of everything else," she half muttered to herself before looking up and smiling at Dumbledore. Her mouth fell slightly open as she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as she would had a giraffe just cross her threshold.
"Good afternoon," Dumbledore said, holding out his hand.
Mrs. Cole simply gaped.
"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you kindly invited me here today."
Mrs. Cole blinked. She blinked again. "Oh, yes," she said feebly, apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination. Well – well then – you had better come into my office. Yes."
She led the younger Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room part office. Harry and Albus followed them into the comfortably informal office. It was as shabby as the rest of hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched.
Mrs. Cole invited Dumbledore to sit in a rickety chair as she seated herself behind her cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," Dumbledore said.
"Are you family?" Mrs. Cole asked.
"No," Dumbledore said succinctly, "I am a teacher. I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."
"What school's this, then?" she asked, her voice neutral but her eyes communicating a hopeful desire.
"Its called Hogwarts," Dumbledore said confidently.
"And how come you're interested in Tom?"
"We have been observing him for some time now and believe he is in possession of certain qualities that we are interested in."
"You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have? He's never been entered for one?"
"Well, you see," Dumbledore said pleasantly, "his name has been down for our school since birth …"
"Who registered him? His parents?"
There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too as Harry saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his velvet suit while, at the same time, picking up a perfectly blank piece of paper from Mrs. Cole's desk.
"Here you are," Dumbledore said as he handed her the piece of paper while surreptitiously waving his wand in a complex pattern Harry did not recognize. "I believe this will make everything clear."
Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank sheet of paper in her hands.
"Hmm," she vocalized to herself then looked back up at Dumbledore. "Everything seems to be in order," she said, handing it back to Dumbledore. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that most certainly had not been present moments before.
"Er… May offer you a glass of gin?" she asked in a falsely refined voice.
"Thank you very much," Dumbledore said, beaming.
It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore who did not hesitate in pressing his advantage.
"I was wondering," Dumbledore began diplomatically, "whether you could tell me something of Tom Riddle's history? Believe he was born here, in the orphanage?"
"That's right," Mrs. Cole said, helping herself to more gin. " 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."
Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.
"Did she say anything before she died?" Dumbledore asked. "Anything about the boy's father for instance?"
"Now, as it happens,, she did," Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gn in her hand and an eager audience for her story, said. "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.
Mrs. Cole almost absentmindedly helped herself to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. The she said, "He's a funny boy."
"Yes," Dumbledore said knowingly, "I thought he might be."
"He was a funny baby too. He never cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was … odd."
"Odd," Dumbledore asked, "in what way?"
"Well, he …"
But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her glass.
"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"
"Definitely," Dumbledore confirmed.
"And nothing I say can change that?"
"Nothing."
"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"
"Whatever," Dumbledore repeated gravely.
Mrs. Cole squinted at him as though deciding as to whether r not she could trust him. Apparently she decided that she could because, in a sudden rush, she said, "He scares the other children."
"You mean he is a bully," Dumbledore asked.
"I think he must be," Mrs. Cole said, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents … Nasty things, really …"
Even though Harry could sense that the younger version of his mentor was intrigued, Dumbledore did not press her. She took another long drink from her glass of gin and the rosyness in her cheeks grew more pronounced.
"Billy Stubbs rabbit … well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters.
"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is that he and Billy had an argument the day before. And then …" Mrs. Cole took another gulp from her glass, slopping a little over her chin this time … "on the summer outing – we take them out, you know once a year, to the countryside or 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 at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady. " I don't think many here will be sorry to see him leave."
Dumbledore bowed his head slightly in his understanding of her words then calmly look into her eyes as if measuring her resolve. "You understand, of course, that we will not be keeping him permanently. He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."
Mrs. Cole grimaced slightly but nodded her understanding. "Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker I suppose," she said, the corners of her mouth twisting into an uncomfortable smile. Even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone, most of which had been consumed by Mrs. Cole as Dumbledore's glass was still mostly full, Harry was impressed that she seemed quite steady on her feet when she stood. "I suppose you'd like to see him, then?" she asked.
Yes, very much," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet as well.
Mrs. Cole led Dumbledore out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she went, Albus and Harry following silently in their wake. Harry noticed that all of the orphans were wearing the same kind of grayish tunic and that they all looked reasonably well cared for.
As they made their way up the stairs it occurred to him that Tom Riddle had actually had a relatively comfortable childhood. While Mrs. Cole did slightly resemble his deceased aunt in physical appearance She did not appear to be overly harsh or cruel and seemed to go out of her way treat all of the children with equal care and concern. He also made note of the fact that, at least according to Mrs. Cole, Tom's reputation at the orphanage seemed to be of his own making. It was almost like night and day. His life at the Dursley's had been a living hell, being treated, as he had been, as a house elf. Tom's life at the orphanage, however, had been relatively easy. All of the chores had been shared and he had had ample opportunity to make friends, something Harry had been denied due to his family's desire to "beat the magic out of him."
"Here we are," Mrs. Cole said as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked once and entered.
"Tom?" she said, "you've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton … sorry, Dumbledore. He's come to tell you … well, I'll let him do it."
Dumbledore, followed closely by Harry and Albus, entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them as she left. It was a small 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.
There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had gotten 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 of silence.
"How do you do, Tom," Dumbledore said, walking forward and extending his hand in a friendly gesture.
The boy hesitated briefly then stood up and took Dumbledore's hand in his own, and they shook hands. Dumbledore motioned for Tom to be seated as he drew a hard wooden chair up beside the bed so that looked something like a hospital patient with a visitor.
"I am Professor Dumbledore."
"'Professor'?" Riddle repeated skeptically. He looked wary. "Is that like a doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" he asked, gesturing towards the door through which Mrs. Cole had left with his thumb.
"No, no," Dumbledore said as an understanding smile began to spread across his face. "Nothing like that."
"I don't believe you," Riddle said. "She wants me looked at doesn't she? Tell the truth!"
He spoke the last three words with a ringing voice that was almost shocking. It was a command and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened slightly and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. A few moments later Riddle stopped glaring, though he did look, if anything, warier still.
"Who are you?"
"I have told you," Dumbledore said patiently. "My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place ay my school … your new school, if you would like to come."
Given his earlier statements, Tom's reaction to this news was not surprising in the least. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious. "You can't kid me!" he very nearly screamed. "Your from the asylum. That's it, 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! You can ask them, they'll tell you!"
Shaking his head slightly Dumbledore patiently said, "I am not from the asylum, Tom. I am, as I said, a teacher and, if you will sit down, I will tell you about Hogwarts. And, of course, if you would rather not come to the school, no one will force you…"
"I'd like to see them try," Tom sneered.
"Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, ignoring Tom's comment, "is a school for people with special abilities…"
"I'm not mad!" Tom spat.
"I know you are not mad," Dumbledore said, once again displaying levels of patience Harry could not help but admire. " Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."
The room was suddenly occupied by a ringing silence. Tom Riddle stood frozen in place, his eyes flickering between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.
"Magic?" Tom whispered, his voice betraying his convictions. "It's real, then, what I've been doing."
"Yes," Dumbledore said, his curiosity piqued. "Tell me, Tom, what is it you are able to do?"
"All sorts of things," Tom breathed. A flush of excitement was rising in his cheeks: he looked almost fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can even make them hurt if I want to."
His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands, a look of disbelief, hunger and greed in his eyes. "I knew I was different he whispered with conviction. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something …"
"Yes, Tom," Dumbledore said, gently inserting himself into Tom Riddle's moment of revelation. "You are quite right. You, Tom Riddle, are a wizard."
Tom lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild, almost maniacal happiness occupying his features that caused the hairs on the back of Harry's neck to stand on end. It was frightening, really, because rather than making him look more handsome his finely carved features seemed to take on a rougher, almost bestial, expression.
"Are you a wizard too?"
"Yes, I am," Dumbledore said, a hint of humility in his voice."
"Prove it!" Tom demanded in the same commanding voice he had used when he had said, "Tell the truth."
Dumbledore sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrows slightly at Tom's tone. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts …"
"Of course I am!"
"… then you will address me as either 'Professor' or 'sir.'"
For a fleeting moment Tom's expression hardened before it softened and he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant … please, Professor, could you show me …?"
Something about his posture told Harry that Tom was not as sincere in his request as he seemed. It was almost as if Tom had grown up manipulating people by playing a perpetual game of cat and mouse. He would attack until he got a reaction and then back off and attack again, from a slightly different angle, until he got what he wanted. In that fleeting moment it occurred to Harry that the only things Tom Riddle was interested in were those things that would serve his purposes. To Tom Riddle he was the only one that mattered and that truly frightened Harry. He knew that those kinds of people existed but he had always thought that it was a matter of training. But Tom Riddle had had every opportunity in the world to turn out differently. Instead he had chosen a life of power, greed and manipulation.
Harry was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell Tom that there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, that they were currently in a building full of muggles and must, therefore, be cautions. To his surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket, pointed ip at the shabby wardrobe in the corner and gave it a casual flick.
The wardrobe burst into flames.
Tom jumped to his feet; Harry really couldn't blame him for howling in shock and outrage; all of his worldly possessions must be in that wardrobe. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.
Tom stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore. Then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"
Dumbledore studied him for a moment then said, "All in good time, Tom. I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."
And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard coming from inside the wardrobe. For the first time in Harry's experience Tom Riddle looked frightened.
"Open the door," Dumbledore said in a calm but commanding tone.
Riddle hesitated a moment then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small wooden box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside.
"Take it out," Dumbledore said, his voice slightly cooler than before, betraying the fact that he was beginning to lose patience with Tom's antics.
Tom took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.
"Is there anything in that box that does not rightfully belong to you?" Dumbledore asked.
Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look before responding. Finally, after what seemed an indeterminable amount of time, Tom said, "Yes, I suppose there might be, sir." His voice was cool and expressionless.
"Open it," Dumbledore commanded, his voice clearly indicating the fact that he was beginning to suspect Tom's motives.
Tom took the lid off and tipped the contents out onto his bed without looking at them. Harry, who had expected to see something much more exciting, was amazed when all he saw 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 the objects they stopped quivering and lay still upon the thin blankets.
"You will return these items to their rightful owners with your apologies," Dumbledore said calmly, replacing his wand inside his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned, Tom: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."
Riddle did not look even remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. Several seconds later he said, in a colorless, toneless voice, "Yes, sir."
"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, "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 in our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to let you magic run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students and that the Ministry of Magic – yes, there is a Ministry of Magic – will punish lawbreakers much more severely. All new wizards must accept that, by entering into our world, they will be expected to abide by our laws."
"Yes, sir," Riddle said again.
It was impossible for Harry to tell what the young Tom Riddle was thinking; his face was an unreadable mask as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the box. When he had finished he turned to Dumbledore and baldly said, "I haven't got any money."
"That is easily remedied," Dumbledore said as he withdrew a leather pouch from one of his pockets. ""There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance buying books and robes. You may have to buy some of your spellbooks and supplies second hand, but …"
"Where do you buy spellbooks?" Riddle interrupted. He had taken the heavy moneybag without even thanking Dumbledore and was now examining a fat, gold galleon.
"In Diagon Alley," Dumbledore said. I have your list of books and required supplies with me. I can help you find everything …"
"You're coming with me?" Riddle asked, looking up.
"Certainly, if you …"
"I don't need you," Riddle said coolly. "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 asked, catching the glimmer of disappointment in Dumbledore's eye.
Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle, but was once again surprised. Dumbledore handed Tom the envelope containing his list of supplies and, after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, said, "You will be able to see it. The muggles around you, however, that is to say the non-magical people around you, will not. Ask for Tom, the barman. That should be easy enough to remember as he shares his first name …"
Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as if trying to dispel an irksome fly.
"You dislike the name 'Tom'?" Dumbledore asked curiously.
"There are a lot of Toms," Tom muttered. Then, almost as though he could not suppress it, as if it burst forth from him despite his best efforts to suppress it, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too. They've told me."
"I'm afraid I don't know," Dumbledore said gently.
"My mother can't have been magic or she wouldn't have died," Tom said, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must have been him. So, … when I've got all my stuff … when do I come to this Hogwarts?"
"All of the details are on the second piece of parchment," Dumbledore said. "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. Is that normal for a wizard?"
Harry could tell that the young Tom Riddle had withheld this information until the end, apparently determined to impress Dumbledore.
"It is unusual," Dumbledore said 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 and Dumbledore was at the door.
"Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."
"I think that will do," Albus said from Harry's side and moments later they were soaring weightlessly through the darkness once more. After passing through the penseive's interface they landed squarely in the present, in the Headmaster's Office.
[Credit Note: This penseive scene, with a few relatively minor changes to adapt it to my particular writing style and to show Harry's reactions to what he was seeing, was taken almost directly from pages 263-275 of the United States version of "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince", text copyright © 2005 by J.K. Rowling.
[- - -
When they had returned to their seats Harry looked across at his mentor and, after several seconds of contemplative silence, said, "Wow … just wow."
"Yes," Albus agreed. "It has been quite some time since I reviewed that particular memory and I must say that, in retrospect, I probably should have taken much more drastic measures than simply keeping an eye on him and monitoring his activities. But then again, one of the principles I religiously observe is that I cannot interfere with the processes of free will."
Harry nodded his understanding. "Yes. Merlin spent a lot of time making sure that I understood that principle."
Albus smiled briefly. "Ah, yes. Merlin does tend to spend a lot of time on those lessons he feels are most important. And I cannot say that I disagree with him. We must allow the processes of free will to be fulfilled, for that is how the people of this and every other world learn, internalize and personalize the lessons of life."
Harry quirked an eyebrow at Albus' casual mention of 'other worlds' but let it pass. "Erm, Albus," Harry asked hesitantly as he broached the subject Joseph and Eileen had brought up the night before, "Do you know someone named Ethrindell?"
Harry suddenly had Albus' full attention. "Yes, I do," he said. "It was Ethrindell who taught me to sense magical energies. It was also Ethrindell who helped me refine my abilities after my mentor passed and before my final confrontation with Grindelwald. Why do you ask?"
We were talking last night, after I left your office and returned to my trunk, and Joseph and Eileen think I should meet him."
"Do you know why they suggested it?" Albus asked calmly.
Harry shook his head. "Not really," Harry confessed. "They just think I ought to go see him."
Albus steepled his fingers and sat quietly behind his desk, occasionally humming a nonsensical tune, for several minutes. When he cam out of this meditative state he looked back over at Harry, a grim expression on his face. "Yes," he said. "If Joseph and Eileen think you should travel to the elven realm to meet with Ethrindell then by all means do so. I have my suspicions and feel relatively certain in the conclusions I have drawn but Ethrindell is far wiser and much more experienced than I could ever hope to be. When will you be leaving?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "They only just mentioned it last night. What I would like to know is if you think it is a good idea and as to whether or not you would like to join us when we go."
Albus smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, Harry, I think it is a very good idea and I would be honored to join you in this journey. Who all will be accompanying you?"
"I really don't know that yet either," Harry said. "Joseph and Eileen will be going, of course, as it is their world and I do not wish to intrude without a guide. I would like to take Ginny along because she would never forgive me if I didn't include her …"
Albus chuckled. "Ah, a wise decision, Harry. A very wise decision."
Harry blushed and then smiled. "Yes, I though so too.
"I was also thinking of including Mark in this excursion because it is a once in a lifetime opportunity that I would have loved to have had when I was his age."
"Anyone else?"
Harry shook his head. "No," he said, "I need the others to stay here to train. If there is time after the war and if the elves are willing I will ask that Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna be given the chance to visit as well, but I don't want to overwhelm them with too many humans at once."
Albus nodded. "Yes. A wise decision."
Almost an hour later, after working with the dragon for a time – Harry had progressed to the point of making its movements and actions seem fluid and was taking the first steps towards flight – and visiting about the training program, they called an end to their meeting and Harry made his way back to his trunk in the Gryffindor sixth-year boy's dormitory.