Chapter 4 - First Year (Interlude/Flashback) (POV Tom Riddle)

Nine Years Ago

December 1938, Winter

It was the end of the semester, and Riddle still couldn't shake off that look Dumbledore had given him.

He was in Transfiguration class, the one where they had to turn a mouse into a metal box—one of the simplest tasks first-years at Hogwarts learned.

Tom had finished a few minutes ago. The result? A beautiful golden box, flawless in every way. The spell hadn't seemed all that difficult to him. It was just about understanding the precise wand movements, clearly visualizing the desired result, casting the spell properly, and feeling a slight exhaustion, like lifting a chair. That was all. Not much of a challenge. Yet, around him, his classmates were showing very disappointing results.

He looked across the desks in the room. He saw misshapen boxes, square mice, and even boxes with whiskers. No one had achieved results like his—and it had only taken him three tries. As with other times throughout the semester, Tom felt he was surrounded by a group of apes. Worse yet, with every failed attempt, he saw how the repetition wore out their faces.

"I could understand this from the muggles at the orphanage," he thought, "They're doomed to be without magic. But these kids are supposed to be different. Many come from wizarding families. They should be better than this."

Finally, after another half hour, class ended. It was the last one of the day, and Tom had at least an hour before heading down to dinner. He planned to visit the library and read some second- or third-year books. These classes were already becoming a waste of time, so...

—Mr. Riddle— said Dumbledore.

—Yes, Professor Dumbledore—" Tom replied, looking up.

He was standing in front of him, having approached while Tom was lost in thought.

—I see you completed the spell with no issues— he said, holding up the little box—It's a perfect transformation. Not a trace of nose or hair. Congratulations."

—Thank you, sir. I did my best— Tom responded, feigning a pleased tone. He didn't think a spell that simple was worth being congratulated for.

—You're welcome, young Riddle— Dumbledore replied— However, there's one step left before you leave. Do you know what it is?"

Tom pondered for a second. He didn't know what the professor meant by that question. He mentally reviewed his wand movements, how long it took, and the box's details. The mouse had been fully transformed. He couldn't find a flaw in the method. He didn't know what Dumbledore was referring to, so instead of pretending to be proud, he thought it best to feign curiosity.

—Uhh, no sir, I can't see what step I missed. The spell was perfect. Could you explain it to me so I can learn.

—The answer tends to be the simplest one, Riddle —said Albus kindly— Bring the mouse back to life so it can return to its burrow."

Tom had skipped that last instruction, not thinking it was important.

Sometimes, those innate behaviors expected of people slipped past him. During his years at Wool's Orphanage, he hadn't had that problem since most of his interactions were limited to the other orphans and Mrs. Cole. There, he had spent years learning the limits of his actions and knew perfectly how to fake good behavior to avoid punishment or being caught. But at Hogwarts, it was completely different.

At the school of magic, he was just one more student, and he'd had to adapt to this new society. It was a different culture—here, the kids weren't afraid of him, and worse, the professors paid very close attention to what he said or did. Being honest with himself, he had improved a lot, showing empathy or mercy when needed, but still, faking each feeling took practice. Dumbledore especially seemed to find opportunities to test him.

—Of course, sir. I was just so focused on not making a mistake.

With a reverse motion of the spell and mentally visualizing the animal, the little box turned back into a white mouse.

—Sorry, little mouse —Tom said— Sorry for leaving you like that unnecessarily.

—That's better, Tom —Dumbledore said— Your transfiguration spell is better than even some third-years, but you mustn't forget to be kind to these animals.

—Of course, professor— said Tom, putting on a face of appreciation. "Thank you for the lesson. I'll be going now. I look forward to seeing you after Christmas break.

—See you, Tom— he replied. "Have a good Christmas.

Tom left the classroom with the other students, still feeling Dumbledore's eyes on him. Of all the teachers, he was the only one who watched him so closely and didn't trust him.

Riddle had worked hard to come off as more charismatic and enthusiastic around the wizard, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. His charm didn't produce the desired results; in fact, it seemed to make Dumbledore even more alert. That made being around the Transfiguration teacher even more annoying than being around his classmates.

Well, it was part of life in his new home—at Hogwarts. He would accept that not everything went as he wished.

Besides, his brief conversation with Dumbledore had reminded him of another problem: the Christmas holidays.

Generally, every child looked forward to going home for the winter holidays, but for Tom, it was quite the opposite.

Leaving Hogwarts—the magical place where he truly belonged—meant returning to the hated Wool Orphanage. Back to his prison, to greet Mrs. Cole and all those stupid muggle children for another Christmas and suffer through their ridiculous traditions.

Even though he didn't care much for Dumbledore, he was grateful that at the beginning of the year, the professor had come to the orphanage to deliver his Hogwarts invitation.

There had been a time in his life when he thought someone like him was a rare anomaly among humans and that he'd have to live surrounded by incompetents forever. Thankfully, Professor Albus had shown him that he wasn't alone and that there was an entire community of witches and wizards in the world.

Tom was poor, but thanks to the money Hogwarts had provided, he'd been able to buy second-hand books, magical items, two sets of robes, and integrate into the school.

That gesture was more than anyone had ever done for him, and because of that, he had a special affection for the school. A genuine affection that didn't need to be faked.

The holidays forced him to leave that reality. And while he used to find pleasure in making Dennis, Amy, or some other orphan suffer, now it felt like a waste of time.

No, he didn't want to go back there, and he had come up with a simple plan to stay at the school.

Since he had no legal guardian, many decisions didn't depend on him but rather on the school itself. As such, his direct superior was Headmaster Armando Dippet.

Tom had written him a letter that morning, in a pitiful tone, appealing to be allowed to stay at Hogwarts over the winter holidays to further his studies. It wasn't the brightest plan, and he hated depending on others, but it was the best option he had.

He would have to wait until the end of the day to know if he would have to return to the muggle world or not.

Lost in thought, he reached the first floor of the castle and stood before the library entrance. But it was closed. The old librarian, Mrs. David, was nowhere to be seen.

"Probably on a break," thought Riddle. "Damn it."

Realizing he'd already wasted time coming here, he decided to wait near the library entrance until dinner. Feeling hungry, he took an apple from his pocket and bit into it.

Tom was poor—so poor he couldn't afford any luxuries beyond the meals in the Hogwarts Great Hall. That particular apple had been given to him by another student, probably wealthy, out of pity. Riddle honestly didn't care. He'd been poor his whole life. He neither hated nor liked receiving charity.

As he enjoyed the apple, he thought about the possibility of a purely magical world. One without the limitations of the muggle world, without dirty, sweaty people who had to work under the sun just to get results that could be achieved with a simple wave of a wand.

He despised the idea that such a useless world existed—the one he came from. Deep down, the other children, and even adults, knew a fully magical world would be far better than the current one.

Tom finished his apple. He was about to throw it into a nearby trash bin when he noticed a tarantula on top of it.

He raised his wand to get rid of it, but instead, he decided to try an idea that had been on his mind.

—Efe iska— hissed Tom.

The spider didn't respond.

"No, it didn't work," he thought.

As he had already theorized, it was a power that only allowed him to speak with snakes. Dumbledore had ignored him when he mentioned it, so he had to experiment on his own to understand the extent of this magical ability.

It was rare magic, and although he hadn't yet found a clear use for it, he was proud to have it.

He drew his wand and incinerated the spider with a fire spell. It burned, crawling a few more steps before dying and turning to ash.

"A fleeting life claimed by death," thought Tom.

In his mind, Tom saw death as a symbol of weakness. Those who were taken by it were simply not strong enough to keep living.

He theorized that his mother must have died because she was a mere muggle, giving birth to him at the orphanage with her final breaths.

His father, who surely was a wizard, must still be out there in the magical world. He would go see him once he had gained more power and magical knowledge to confront him.

For now, Tom knew he had a long path ahead to reach the magical levels he wanted for himself—but the challenge pleased him.

He was aware that the secret to defeating death had to exist somewhere in the magical world.

Tom would find it.

He stood up, gathered the tarantula's ashes, and tossed them out the window to leave no trace. It was time to head to the Great Hall.

Later, he'd return to the library for books. He hoped he could stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, reading them, instead of going back to Wool's Orphanage.

"We'll see what Headmaster Dippet says," he said to himself.

He picked up his bag, grabbed his wand, and headed toward the Great Hall.