The Secret Riddle

Katie had been removed to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, the news of her being cursed having now spread all over the school, though the details were confused and other than Arthur, Mike, David, Chrys and Leanne, they all thought she was the intended target.

Arthur was hoping that Dumbleodre had returned from wherever he had been in time for Monday night's private lesson as he stood outside his office at eight o'clock.

He knocked and was told to enter. There he sat, though looking unusually tired; his hand looking as black and burned as ever, though smiling as he gestured for Arthur to sit down. The Pensieve sat on the desk again, casting silvery specks of light on the ceiling.

"You have had a busy time while I have been away." Dumbledore said. "I believe you witnessed Katie's accident."

"Yes, sir. How is she?"

"Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin, there was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a rapid spread of the curse -"

"Why him, sir?" Arthur said with a frown. "Why not Madam Pomfrey?"

"Impertinent." A soft voice from one of the portraits on the wall said, coming from Phineas Nigellus Black. Sirius' great great grandfather, raising his head from his arms where he seemed to have been sleeping, "I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day."

Arthur rolled his eyes, so glad he wasn't a student when he was Headmaster.

"Yes, thank you, Phineas." Dumbledore said quellingly. "Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey, Arthur. Anyway, the St Mungo's staff are sending me hourly reports and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery in time."

"Will you tell me about where you were this weekend, sir?" Arthur asked, which resulted in Phineas hissing softly.

"I would rather not say just now." Dumbledore replied. "However, I shall tell you in due course."

"You will?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, hoping Dumbledore would keep to his word.

"Yes, I expect so." Dumbledore said, withdrawing a fresh bottle of memories from his robes and uncorking it with a prod of his wand.

"I also met Mundungus in Hogsmeade." Arthur brought up before he could forget.

"Ah, yes, I am already aware that Mundungus has been treating your inheritance with light-fingered contempt." Dumbledore said with a frown. "He has gone to ground since you accosted him outside the Three Broomsticks; I rather think he dreads facing me. However, rest assured that he will not be making away with any more of Sirius' old possessions."

"That mangy old half-blood has been stealing Black heirlooms?" Phineas said, very incensed, stalking out of his frame, going to visit his portrait in number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Professor, did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her? Especially about Draco?" Arthur then asked after a short pause.

"She told me of your suspicions, yes."

"And…?"

"I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie's accident. But what concerns me now, Arthur, is our lesson."

Arthur nodded as he watched Dumbledore pour the memories into the Pensieve, swirling the stone basin once before his long fingered hands.

"You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch 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."

"But how did you know she was in London, sir?" Arthur frowned.

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke…" Dumbledore replied, making Arthur's eyes widen slightly. "...who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace we have just been discussing."

He swilled the Pensieve as Arthur saw him swill before, akin to a prospector sifting for gold. Then up out of the silvery mass rose a little old man, revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost, just more solid, with a thatch of hair that covered his eyes entirely.

"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 pretty 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 alright, 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 before Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory where he came from.

"He only gave ten Galleons for a locket that belonged to a founder of Hogwarts?" Arthur frowned indignantly.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity." Dumbledore replied. "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."

"So what happened to her magic if she was trying to get gold?" Arthur asked, knowing that she could've just used her magic to get food, drink and whatever else.

"Ah, it is my belief - I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right - that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers, that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."

"So she didn't even have the will to live to raise her son." Arthur said, feeling saddened for her, though only a little bit as she did ultimately use cunning to make Tom Riddle Senior fall in love with her, which is just wrong.

"Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"No! Not even close. But she had a choice and blew it." Arthur said quickly.

"Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Arthur. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage, for example. And now, if you will stand…."

"Whose memory are we looking into now?" Arthur asked as Dumbledore joined him at the front of the desk.

"This time, we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Arthur…."

Arthur bent over the Pensieve, his face breaking the cool surface of the memory, falling through darkness like before.

Seconds later, his feet hit firm and solid ground. He then opened his eyes and found both himself and Dumbledore standing in a bustling, old fashioned London street.

"There I am." Dumbledore said brightly, pointing ahead of them at a tall figure who was crossing the road in front of a horse drawn milk cart.

This younger version of Albus Dumbledore's hair and beard were auburn. After reaching their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many glances because of the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet he wore.

"I gotta say, you look handsome in that suit, sir." Arthur admitted with his cheeks blushing.

"Thank you, Arthur." Dumbledore chuckled before they started following after his younger self a short distance, passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that was in front of a grim looking square building that was surrounded by high railings. He walked up the few steps leading to the front door and knocked only once.

After a moment or two, the door opened up by a scruffy looking girl with an apron.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

"Oh." The bewildered little girl said, taking in his eccentric appearance. "Um… just a mo'... MRS COLE!" She bellowed over her shoulder.

Arthur heard a voice in the distance shouting back in response and the girl then turned back to Dumbledore.

"Come in, she's on 'er way."

Dumbledore entered into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place being shabby yet completely clean. Arthur and the older Dumbledore followed.

Before the front door closed behind them, a skinny, harassed looking woman came scurrying towards them. Her sharply featured face made her look more anxious than unkind and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked up to Dumbledore.

"...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 to no one in particular before her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and stopped dead in her tracks, looking pretty astonished as though an animal from Africa had crossed her threshold.

"Good afternoon." Dumbledore said, holding out a hand.

Mrs Cole just gaped in response.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

Mrs Cole blinked. As though she decided he was a hallucination, she replied feebly "Oh, yes. Well - well, then - you'd better come into my room. Yes."

She led Dumbledore to a small room that looked like it was part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She had invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and sat 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." Dumbledore told her.

"Are you family?" Mrs Cole asked.

"No, I am a teacher." Dumbledore replied. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."

"What school's this, then?"

"It is called Hogwarts."

"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?"

It was clear to Arthur that Mrs Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Even Dumbledore thought so as he slipped his wand out from the pocket of his velvet suit as he also picked up a piece of purely blank paper from Mrs Cole's desktop.

"Here." He said, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper. "I think this will make everything clear."

Her eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed very intently at the blank paper for a moment.

"That seems perfectly in order." She said placidly, handing it back to him. Her eyes then fell onto a bottle of gin and two glasses that weren't there a few seconds ago.

"Er - may I offer you a glass of gin?" She said in an extra refined voice.

"Thank you very much." Dumbledore beamed.

It was clear that she wasn't a novice with drinking gin. Pouring both of them a generous amount each, she drained her glass in one gulp. Smacking her lips, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, who didn't hesitate in pressing his advantage.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"

"That's right." Mrs Cole said, having some 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 before taking another 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." She said, now seemingly enjoying herself, the gin in her hand and having an audience for her story.

"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 he 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 helped herself, near absentmindedly, to another gulp of gin. Two pink spots formed high on her cheekbones before saying "He's a funny boy."

"Yes. I thought he might be." Dumbledore said.

"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?" He asked gently.

"Well, he -"

She pulled up short, having an inquisitorial glance that she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass.

"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"

"Definitely." Dumbledore nodded.

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing."

"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"

"Whatever." Dumbledore repeated gravely.

She squinted at him, like she was deciding whether or not to trust him, eventually deciding she could as she said with a sudden rush "He scares the other children."

"You mean he is a bully?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think he must be." Mrs Cole frowned slightly. "But it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents… nasty things…."

Dumbledore didn't press her, but was clearly interested. She took another gulp and her rosy cheeks grew rosier.

"Billy Stubb's rabbit… well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could've done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

"I shouldn't think so." Dumbledore said quietly as Arthur felt a chill travel up his spine.

"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then - " She took another swig of gin, slopping some over her chin this time. " - 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 at Dumbledore once more, her gaze steady, despite having flushed cheeks.

"I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."

"You understand, I'm sure, that will not be keeping him permanently?" Dumbledore pointed out. "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." She replied with a slight hiccough. Mrs Cole then got to her feet, leaving Arthur impressed that she was quite steady, despite having drunk two thirds of gin. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"

"Very much." Dumbledore said as he rose to his feet.

She led him out of her office and up some stone stairs, calling out some instructions and admonitions to various helpers and children as she passed.

Arthur noticed how the various orphans wore the same greyish tunic. They all looked pretty well cared for, though there was no denying the fact that this was a pretty grim place to grow up in.

"Here we are." Mrs Cole said as they walked off from the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked on the door 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."

Arthur and the two Dumbledores entered the room with Mrs Cole closing the door behind them.

It was a small and bare room with nothing except an old wardrobe, a wooden chair and an iron bedstead. A boy sat on top of the grey blankets, his legs stretched out in front him as he held a book.

There wasn't even a trace of the Gaunts in young Tom Riddle's face. Merope did indeed have her dying wish be accepted: he was in fact his father's son, tall for being an eleven year old, 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?" Dumbledore said as he walked forward and held out a hand.

The boy hesitated for a moment before taking it and shook hands. Dumbledore then drew the wooden chair beside Riddle, which made the pair look like a hospital patient having a visitor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" Riddle repeated with a wary look. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

He pointed at the door where Mrs Cole had just left.

"No, no." Dumbledore smiled.

"I don't believe you." Riddle said. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

He spoke those last three words with a ringing force that nearly shocked Arthur. It was clearly a command, sounding as though he gave it many times before.

His eyes widened as he glared at Dumbledore, who only continued smiling pleasantly. After a few more seconds, Riddle stopped glaring, though he grew more wary.

"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."

Riddle made a surprising reaction by leaping from his bed and backed off from Dumbledore, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, 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, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"

"I am not from the asylum." Dumbledore said with real patience. "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." Riddle sneered.

"Hogwarts…" Dumbledore went on, like he hadn't heard Riddle's last words, though he did. "...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 real silence. Riddle was frozen, his face expressionless, though his eyes flickered between Dumbledore's, looking for a sign that he was lying.

"Magic?" He repeated in a whisper.

"That's right."

"It's… it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts." Riddle breathed as a flush of real excitement rose up his neck and to his hollow cheeks, looking 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."

His legs started trembling before he stumbled forwards and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, head bowed like he was in prayer.

"I knew I was different." He then whispered to his quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always. I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right." Dumbledore said, no longer smiling, instead, watching Riddle intently. "You are a wizard."

Riddle lifted his head, his face now transfixed with a wild happiness upon it, something that didn't look right on his face. It made his finely carved features rougher his expression almost bestial.

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it." Riddle demanded, using that commanding tone he used when he said 'tell the truth'.

This made Dumbledore raise an eyebrow.

"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 changed tone to an unrecognisably polite voice.

"I'm sorry, sir. I mean - please, Professor, could you show me -?"

Arthur was so sure that Dumbledore would refuse, that he'd tell Riddle that there would be plenty of time to see practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, which he wouldn't blame him for, considering how commanding and rude Riddle was.

But, much to his surprise, Dumbledore pulled his wand out, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner and gave a casual flick of his wand, making the wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle jumped to his feet, rounding on Dumbledore, but then the flames vanished and the wardrobe was left completely undamaged.

Riddle stared at the wardrobe, then at Dumbledore, pointing at his wand with greed in his eyes.

"Where can I get one of those?"

"All in good time." Dumbledore said. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

That was when Arthur heard it: a faint rattling from inside the wardrobe and he noticed how, for the first time, Riddle looked frightened.

"Open the door." Dumbledore ordered him.

Riddle hesitated, but he eventually crossed the room and threw the wardrobe door open. Up on the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, was a small cardboard box that was shaking and rattling like several frantic mice were trapped inside it.

"Take it out." Dumbledore told him.

Riddle took the box down, looking unnerved.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?"

Riddle gave him a long and calculating look.

"Yes, I suppose so, sir." He said with an expressionless voice.

"Open it."

Riddle took the lid off and tipped the contents onto his bed without even looking at them.

Arthur saw that it was nothing but everyday objects; a yo-yo, a silver thimble and a tarnished mouth organ amongst them. Once free from the box, they stopped quivering and lay still on the thin blankets.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies." Dumbledore said calmly as he put his wand back in his pocket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Riddle didn't even come close to looking abashed; he simply stared at him cold and appraised him until he said in a colourless voice "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts, 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." Riddle said again.

With his blank face, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking as he put the cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. As he finished, he turned to Dumbledore, saying baldly "I haven't got money."

"That is easily remedied." Dumbledore replied as he drew 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 spellbooks and so on second hand, but -"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" Riddle interrupted him, taking the money bag without even thanking Dumbledore, now examining a fat gold Galleon.

"In Diagon Alley." Dumbledore said. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything -"

"You're coming with me?" Riddle said, looking up at him.

"Certainly, if you -"

"I don't need you. 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.

Arthur assumed that Dumbledore would insist that he'd accompany Riddle, but was surprised when he simply handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and, after telling him how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, Dumbledore said "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 -"

Riddle made an irritated twitch, like he was trying to make a fly get off his face.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms." Riddle muttered. And then, like he couldn't suppress the question any longer, 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 in a gentle voice.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died." Riddle said, 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." Dumbledore replied. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there, too."

Riddle nodded before Dumbledore got to his feet and held his hand out.

Riddle took it as he 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 clear to Arthur that Riddle withheld this information until now, like he was trying to impress.

"It is unusual." Dumbledore said after a moment's hesitation. "But not unheard of."

His tone may be casual, but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face. The two stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then their handshake was broken and Dumbledore was at the door.

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

"I think that will do." The older Dumledore said at Arthur's side.

Seconds later, the two were soaring weightlessly through the darkness again before they landed in the present day Headmaster's office.

"Sit down." Dumbledore said as he landed beside Arthur.

He did as he was told, his mind now full of what he had just seen.

"He believed quicker than I did, when told he was a wizard. I didn't believe Professor McGonagall at first." Arthur said.

"Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was - to use his word - 'special'." Dumbledore replied.

"Did you know at that moment, sir?" Arthur asked.

"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" Dumbledore replied, knowing what he was implying. "No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon 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. His powers, as you heard, 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. And as you saw, they were not the random experiments typical of young wizards: he was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured into a cave were most suggestive… I can make them hurt if I want to…."

"And add on top of that, he was a Parselmouth." Arthur interjected.

"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."

"Time is making fools of us again." Dumbledore then said, indicating the dark sky through the windows. "But before we part, I want 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. Firstly, I hope you noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, 'Tom'?"

"Like he hated being seen as normal." Arthur nodded.

"Exactly. There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, 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. I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive and apparently, friendless? He did not want help or companionship on his trip to Diagon Alley. 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. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has never wanted one."

"Even if they disagree with that." Arthur muttered, thinking about Bellatrix Lestrange, who he was sure loved Voldemort romantically, wondering how she'd feel if he never reciprocated her feelings.

"And lastly - I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, Arthur - 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."

Arthur thought about that, realising that this could be a case of Voldemort's ego being his downfall if trophies have some part to play in taking him down.

"And now, it really is time for bed." Dumbledore then said.

With that, Arthur got to his feet and as he walked across the room, his eyes fell to the table where Marvolo Gaunt's ring was last time, noticing it was gone.

"Yes, Arthur?" Dumbledore said when Arthur came to a halt.

"I see that the ring's gone." Arthur replied. "I'd have thought you'd have the mouth organ or something."

Dumbledore beamed at him, peering from his half-moon spectacles.

"Very astute, Arthur, but the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ."

With that note, he waved to Arthur, who knew right away that he was dismissed and left.

I cannot imagine what Riddle did to those two kids, and I don't want to know.

And I had to give Arthur a little moment to showcase his gay side by complimenting the younger Dumbledore.