Author's Note: Dear readers, you will find that this chapter is extremely similar to that of the scene in the book "Half Blood Prince". I have copied it for the purposes of staying true to the story, however I have written it solely from Tom's perspective, with his thoughts included. I assure you that this is one of the rare occasions that this will occur. The next chapter, which I will publish as soon as I can, will be titled "Knockturn Alley" and will be solely from my imagination. Enjoy, and happy reading!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters and rights belong to J.K Rowling. I am simply having fun with my imagination. Thanks

"...Tom, you have a visitor," said Mrs. Cole, nervously. "He's come here to tell you…well, I'll let him do it..."

CHAPTER 2: THE PROFESSOR

"How do you do, Tom?" said the old man as he stepped forwards, holding out his hand.

Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. They were alone. Hesitating slightly, Tom took his hand and shook it. The man drew up the hard wooden chair beside him and sat down, so that the two of them looked almost like a doctor and a patient.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" Tom repeated, narrowing his eyes at the man. "Is that like 'doctor'?"

The man stared at him.

"What are you here for?" Tom demanded. "Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

He could feel his anger rising now. Oh, how he longed to perform the pain poor Billy had suffered on Mrs. Cole too. She just would not leave him alone.

"No, no," said the professor, smiling.

"I don't believe you," said Tom. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she?"

The professor waited.

"Tell the truth!" Tom demanded, growing impatient.

The professor continued to smile at him, ignoring his obviously rude tone. This made Tom frown. Exactly what was he smiling about? Why was he so…peculiar?

"Who are you?" he finally asked.

"I have told you," said the professor. "I am Professor Dumbledore, and I teach at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at this school, and—"

Tom jumped to his feet.

"I knew it!" he cried. "I knew it! I knew it! You are the doctor, aren't you? You're from the asylum! You can't trick me. Professor, yes of course. Well, I'm not going! That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them. They'll tell you!"

"I'm not from the asylum," said the professor, calmly. "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," Tom sneered, fury still hot in his chest.

"Hogwarts," the professor went on, ignoring him, "is a school for people with special abilities—"

"I'm not mad!" Tom interjected. "Honestly, I'm not!"

"Hogwarts is not a place for mad people. Hogwarts is a school…a school of magic."

There was silence. Tom had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of the professor's. He was sure that if he looked carefully, he would catch one of them lying.

"Magic?" he repeated in barely more than a whisper.

He'd never thought of it like that before.

"That's right," said the professor.

"It's…it's magic, what I can do?"

"And what is it that you can do?"

"All sorts of things," Tom breathed.

A flush of excitement was rising up his neck and into his hollow cheeks.

"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 are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said the professor who, when Tom looked up, he noticed was no longer smiling, but rather watching him intently.

"You are a wizard."

Tom stared at him. There was a wild happiness forming inside him now…one he had never felt before.

"Are you a wizard too?" he asked the professor, narrowing his eyes at him once more.

"Yes, I am."

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

The professor raised his eyebrows at him.

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your invitation to attend Hogwarts—"

"Of course I am!"

"—Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir',"

Tom glared at him for a moment, and then his expression softened. He would have to put on a little show if he wanted more information out of this one. Though, he was liking him lesser by the minute.

"I'm sorry, sir. I meant—please, professor, could you show me?"

At this, the professor drew out what looked to be a long stick from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the stick a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Tom jumped to his feet. WHAT WAS THIS MAN DOING?! ALL OF HIS THINGS WERE IN THERE! HIS CLOTHES, THE MANY OBJECTS HE'D CONFISCATED FROM THE OTHER CHILDREN…EVERYTHING!

He turned and rounded on the professor, but at that moment, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Tom stared at it, then back at the professor. He pointed at the stick.

"Where can I get one of them?"

It would be most useful. He'd managed to do loads of magic thus far without it. He could just imagine how much more he'd be able to do with it.

"All in good time," said the professor, frowning at the wardrobe. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe, Tom."

And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. Tom turned around, looking frightened. His heart started to pound hard against his chest, sweat coming down from his forehead. He wouldn't, would he?

"Open the door," said the professor, confirming Tom's fears.

Tom hesitated. Then, not seeing any way that he could get out of this, he crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, the small cardboard box in which he had hidden his most prized possessions was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out," the professor instructed.

Feeling unnerved, Tom took out the quaking box.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked the professor, calmly.

Tom eyed him carefully, trying to analyze him…trying to predict what would be his reaction to the truth.

"Yes," he finally said, slowly. "I suppose so, sir."

"Open it," said the professor.

Hesitating slightly, Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed, never turning his gaze from the professor. The yo-yo, silver thimble, and tarnished mouth organ had stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

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

Tom's expression did not change. He was still staring coldly and appraisingly at the professor. Who did he think he was, coming here and commanding him? Still, Tom thought it best not to argue at that moment.

"Yes, sir," he finally said, in a somewhat colorless voice.

"Good," said the professor. "Now, at Hogwarts, you will not only learn how to use magic, but how to control it. You have—inadvertently, I am sure—been using your powers thus far 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," Tom repeated, but he was only half listening.

A ministry of magic. That must mean a government. A leadership organization. He could already see himself sitting on the highest chair, with people everywhere bowing down to him. Not keen on the professor discovering these thoughts, he made a blank face and put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. Then, he turned to the professor once more and bit his lip.

"I…haven't got any money…to buy things like…like…that," he pointed at the professor's pocket, where he had placed the magical stick only moments ago.

"That is easily remedied," said the professor, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket and handing it to Tom. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes and wands. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but—"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" Tom interrupted, now examining a fat gold coin which he withdrew from the pouch. It looked most peculiar.

"In Diagon Alley," said the professor, causing Tom to look up at him. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything—"

"You're coming with me?" Tom interrupted, looking up at him.

The idea was revolting to him. He didn't want to go anywhere with this man. He was too set by the rules, and Tom disliked the way he watched him…he had too much accusation in those clear blue eyes.

"Certainly, if you—"

"I don't need you," Tom added. "I'm used to doing things for myself…I go round London on my own all the time." It was a lie, of course, but the professor had no way of finding out. "How do you get to this Diagon Alley—sir?" he added, catching the professor's eye.

The professor stared at him for a moment, surprised, then handed him an envelope which contained his list of equipment. He then orally gave him detailed instructions as to how to get to a place called The Leaky Cauldron.

"You will be able to see it, although muggles around you—non-magical people, that is—will not. Ask for Tom the barman—easy enough to remember, as he shares your name—"

Tom gave an irritable twitch, which unfortunately, the professor caught.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," he muttered.

At age 11, he had already played around with a few words in trying to come up with a new name for himself, but nothing yet had sparked his attention. Still, he did not give up. He could not wait to be rid of his father's name. A sudden thought dawned upon him and he glanced up at the professor, hesitating before asking,

"Was my father a wizard?"

Again, the professor stared at him. He could not read his expression…could not tell what he was thinking. But that didn't matter to him now.

"He was called Tom Riddle too," he added. "They've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," said the professor, quietly.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Tom, to no one in particular. "It must've been him. So anyway, 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 the professor. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Tom nodded in comprehension. Smiling, the professor got to his feet and held out his hand again. Tom shook it. The professor turned to leave, when Tom suddenly stopped him.

"Will she let me go? Did you tell her?"

"If you mean Mrs. Cole," said the professor, now a little agitated, "Then yes, I have informed her that you will be departing on the first of September. Now, just to clarify, you will have to return for the summer holidays every year, but other than that, I think I have told you everything."

"For how many years will I be at Hogwarts?"

"Seven," answered the Professor. He turned to leave.

"WAIT," called Tom. "I can speak to snakes too. They find me…whisper to me. Is that... n-normal for a wizard?"

The professor turned and stared at him for a long time. Tom tried to read his expression but again failed. It was maddening. Finally, the professor let out a small smile.

"It is unusual, yes, but not unheard of."

Tom nodded again.

"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

And with that, the professor walked out of the room, closing the door on the now beaming Tom.