In the wake of the Isaac Booth incident, the reputation of the Riddle twins transformed from one of enigma to terror. No longer were they mere inscrutable and quiet gypsies, who kept only to themselves; they were now demons walking among the living. At least this was the case in the imagination of the orphans; in actuality, the twins largely remained unchanged. They still kept to themselves and glared warily at anyone who came into their vicinity. The only difference was that they were now fully aware of their own power, which would only grow with each passing year.

At the age of nine, the twins learned to unlock any door simply by twirling their fingers twice in a counterclockwise motion. They turned to thievery, looting toy stores, confectioners, and butchers for their smoked sausages. They occasionally even indulged in residential burglary; small pieces of expensive furniture and various trinkets decorated their own bedroom. Mrs. Cole wisely chose to look the other way, knowing it was better to have the twins satiate their criminal urges outside the walls of the institution.

By the age of ten, the twins discovered they could control small animals, like spiders and rats, by staring into their eyes. For a time, they terrorised the other orphans, but soon ceased their mischievous games out of fear of an increasingly vexed Mrs. Cole. Plus, it was boring to bully those who were utterly helpless.

The next year, at the age of eleven, the twins underwent their most profound transformation yet. Their powers grew to new heights, but it was their mode of life that changed the most; having already committed every misdemeanour precocious little delinquents could have committed, they began to try and appreciate the finer things in life. They began stealing expensive children's clothes and dressing up like their parents were Lords. They spent their days in parks and cemeteries, picking flowers, propelling paper boats over ponds, and making small bonfires with nothing but sticks and scraps of newsprint. On warm nights, they would spend hours in these peaceful places, wrapped in blankets and conversing endlessly about everything and nothing.

In the intervening years, their linguistic prowess evolved in tandem with their lives. Rarely interacting with anyone but each other, the twins developed an idiosyncratic vocabulary, drawing from the pages of books, wireless broadcasts of the news and Shakespeare, and fragments of overhead conversations in every suburb of London. The other orphans found them either creepy or pretentious, often both.

It was in Abney Park Cemetery, a grand and lush place full of trees from around the world, that the twins first began searching for their long-lost father. They spent many nights in the cemetery, discussing their father and speculating about his fate. They had heard his name was Tom Riddle, and were determined to find him.

"Perhaps he has already met his end," Mary murmured, perched atop a a rich man's tombstone, her slender legs stretched out languorously. "It would spare us the trouble of seeking him out."

Tom lay on a nearby grave, his gaze fixed upon the rustling canopy as the leaves played with the wind under the dreary sky. "He may still walk this earth, ignorant of our existence. He is not from London, after all."

"Eleven long years have passed," Mary sighed, though a faint smile played upon her features. "If he had any interest in us, surely he would have sought us out by now."

"He had no love for our mother," Tom said coolly. "It is likely that he cares even less for us."

"Mother was not blessed," Mary offered in a soft voice. They had speculated endlessly over the years about the nature of their 'blessing'. "Perhaps he views us as ordinary, no different than she."

"Then we shall prove him wrong," Tom declared. "We would have made fine children to him, with our blessings and our beauty, Mary. He will rue the day he abandoned us to fate."

For it was these very 'blessings' that allowed the twins to escape the confines of the orphanage and spend their days gallivanting around London, stealing with impunity, and making flowers fly like origami propellers. Though their bedroom at Wool's was a cozy, hospitable place filled with stolen treasures, it had become increasingly oppressive as their power grew, such that by 1938 they spent much more of their time beyond its confines than within it. Yet they cherished it still, for it held within its walls memories of all the experiences they had shared.

So when the twins returned to their room one summer night and found a stranger standing within, a tall man with auburn hair and beard dressed in a suit an outrageous shade of purple, they felt as though their sanctum had been violated. This man had seen it all—their stolen sweets and literature, the trinkets from India Museum, and even the flowers they had brazenly snatched from a widow's garden in Kensington. Most troubling of all, he had seen their bed, a single mattress with two pillows cramped together, a symbol of the closeness they shared each night. No one, not even prospective parents, were allowed to gaze upon this symbol of their bond.

Tom was quick to yell, "We have no desire for adoption!"

The stranger smiled, "I am not here to adopt you. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am a Professor of a school, a most special school, as you will soon learn."

Mary stepped forward, her tone diplomatic, "We appreciate your interest, sir, but we are not in need of schooling."

The Professor answered calmly, "No, perhaps not, but I believe that you would be most pleased to attend this special school."

Tom sneered, "A 'special school'? Do you take us for fools? Are you from the madhouse? We have no desire for leucotomy either."

Mary took her brother's hand, "Sir, with all due respect, we will not be whisked away. We will run away, and people will blame you."

The Professor chuckled, "No, no, my dear children. You are free to do as you please. I will not force you to go anywhere or do anything. But tell me this, have you not done things, extraordinary things, that others have found strange, frightening or beyond their understanding?"

The twins exchanged a look. On the rare occasions other adults witnessed them exercising their power (rare indeed were these occasions, for the twins were most discreet in their supernatural delinquency), the reaction was always fear, if not horror. Their power was not supposed to exist. Yet the way the Professor spoke betrayed not the slightest hint of malice.

Tom replied hesitantly, "Why should we tell you anything?"

The Professor replied, "Because what you have done and will continue to do is magic. You may think there is something wrong with you, but this is far from the truth. Magic is a blessing that only a few people in the world have, and those of us who have it are considered strange by others."

The twins exchanged another look; this time, with bewilderment in their eyes.

"Magic?" asked Mary.

"Magic indeed. So, what is it that you can do?" asked the Professor.

Mary answered, "All manner of things. We practise our powers together."

Tom continued, "We can make paper airplanes glide without falling—"

"—and we can make paper boats navigate any course we desire."

"We can light matches with our fingertips—"

"—and extinguish candles with a mere glance."

"We can revive withered flowers—"

"—and make creatures play dead without any training."

Tom gestured vaguely at all the stolen furniture in their room. "We can unlock any door without a key, but we have never caused anyone harm."

The Professor fell silent for a moment before asking, "Might we consider the possibility that some of your actions may have caused harm to others?"

Mary's voice was soft and even as she spoke, "We've only taken what we needed to make our room more liveable. We've never stolen from those who couldn't afford it."

The Professor nodded slowly, considering her words. "I understand that you may have felt the need to take what you did, but it is important to ponder the consequences of our actions on others."

Tom scowled, his tone defensive. "Who are you to judge us? You came into our room uninvited!"

The Professor explained, "Your matron allowed me access to your room."

Tom retorted, "But it is our room, not hers!"

"Do the objects in your room not belong to others, and not you?"

Mary quickly added, "The room itself is ours, though."

Tom challenged the professor, "If you're really a wizard like us, why should it matter what we've taken from non-wizards?"

The Professor replied, "As a wizard myself, Tom, I hold you accountable for the misdeeds committed with your magic."

Tom sneered, "Then prove that you're a wizard."

Professor Dumbledore cast a sharp gaze upon Tom as though to ask, "Are you sure you wish for me to do so?" He then turned away and for a moment, Tom thought the Professor was about to admit that he was not actually a professor of the wizarding school, but merely a mundane representative here to escort Mary and Tom to await instructions from someone more suitable, perhaps their father. Alas, Tom was greatly mistaken.

With a flick of his wrist, Professor Dumbledore conjured a brilliant ring of fire, the colour of ripe cherries in winter, precisely within the circle Mary drew with the blood of a pigeon five years ago, in order to sacrifice The Lamb.

The twins shrieked and clutched each other's hands in terror. Professor Dumbledore's authority was established in an instant, like the sun rising on the Summer solstice, achieving that which neither the orphanage staff nor its residents had ever managed to do—strike fear into the twins.

"At Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore said, "you will not only learn how to perform magic, but also how to control it. The rules imposed by our Ministry, yes, we do have a Ministry, concerning the use of magic are stringent, and strictly prohibit any actions taken with malicious intent. Such actions not only harm others, but also imperil your own well-being."

With graceful gestures of his fingers, Professor Dumbledore summoned forth from the ring of fire four clouds of coal-black smoke, which took shape into three men and a woman, all garbed in similar robes of smoke.

"My dear twins," murmured the Professor. "Yes, I am aware of the misdeeds you have committed, but I shall grant you a pardon this one time. However, you must heed my words, for the type of magic you used on poor Isaac is not tolerated at Hogwarts. Less severe infractions have resulted in expulsion."

"Magic is a force with a life of its own. It moulds you, just as you mould it. When you cast a spell, elements of your soul, such as love and hate, peace and anger, desire and renunciation, are infused into the magic, giving it new life."

The four figures of smoke, as if waking from a long slumber, curiously examined their own arms. They seemed surprised they could move them, but then the twins noticed that they were not examining their arms, but the long, thin sticks they held in their hands.

"Observe well, my dear twins. This is a tale of two sorcerers, of great power but even greater folly. Observe their struggle, how it is a battle between them two alone. The other two are mere onlookers, unable to match their strength."

"Once, these sorcerers were the closest of friends, having met in their youthful days and finding in each other a match for their wit and pride. They saw themselves as gods sent to earth, solving the mysteries of magic that had long eluded our world, spawning new forms of life like children tossing breadcrumbs to pigeons, and playing with forest fires and thunderstorms as if they were kitchen trinkets."

"But their ambition knew no bounds. To fulfil their duty as gods, they had to transcend good and evil. Thus they delved into the darker side of magic, and mobilised the darkest reaches of their souls in order to gain power over others, whether through coercion or seduction—to the end of one day reshaping the world in their image, which they deemed as the 'greater good'. They had envisioned a paradise, which would have in reality become a nightmare."

"In the end, it was family that divided them. The second sorcerer, who lacked siblings, grew to hate that his friend still held affection for his unimpressive brother and troubled sister. He saw nothing that ought to keep him 'tethered to earth', as he liked to put it, not even his own kin, and thus began the tragedy that you see before you."

The twins, seeing the two wizards control masses of matter with ease, understood that they must attend the Hogwarts of the professor, for the world was far more wondrous and treacherous than they had imagined. Even tragedy was beautiful with magic. In the midst of the grand spectacle of smoke, a dark red fluid appeared and suddenly splattered across the faces of the twins. Mary squealed, but when she touched her face she found it dry. Tom watched intently as he saw that one of the great wizards disappeared, leaving his counterpart huddled over a lifeless form—his sister.

Professor Dumbledore spoke softly, "Now you see the cost of pride. Come closer, my dear twins. Stand here." The twins obeyed, facing each other, nose to nose, so close that each was all the other could see.

"You love each other deeply," the professor said. "You have become a family in the absence of parents, and your love is something that few in this world, even the magical world, can understand. But your bond is young and fragile, and it must be protected and nurtured. In magic, what you do, happens to you. Thus, I implore you, Tom and Mary, to steer clear of the path of those prideful wizards and avoid the darkness. If not for yourselves, then for each other."