Harry seemed to want to say something, but Dumbledore made a silencing gesture, telling him that whatever needed to be said could wait until later.
They followed Mrs. Cole out of her office and up the stone stairs, and she was calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed.
The orphans were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up. The orphanage was an old building, and its layout and decorations gave off a chilling atmosphere.
There was not enough light, and even though it was almost noon, it was still cold and dim here.
From each room, curious orphans peeked out at them, eyes dull and lifeless…
“Here we are,” said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked 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.”
Evan, Harry, and the two Dumbledores entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them.
It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe, a wooden chair, and an iron bedstead.
A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.Tom Riddle enjoyed the treatment of a single room, but it looked more like a prison cell.
Evan carefully observed Tom Riddle. There was no trace of the Gaunts in his face. Merope had got her dying wish: He was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale.
At first glance, he was a striking, likable child. His appearance left a strong first impression.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore’s eccentric appearance. There was a moment’s silence, and the room was filled with an odd, heavy atmosphere.
“What a terrible memory,” a deep voice sounded in Evan’s ears.
He turned his head and saw the hazy figure of fifteen-year-old Riddle hovering beside him, and then disappearing in an instant!
That guy, Evan hadn’t seen him since the incident at the Ministry of Magic last term.
But he knew he was still there, bound to that ring. And Dumbledore had been wearing that ring all along.
For that brief moment, Evan felt something different about him! Something had changed.
But he couldn’t tell what was different, he had almost flashed before Evan’s eyes.
Evan looked at Dumbledore again, but got no response. Just like when he had used the Confundus Charm and Legilimency before, the headmaster didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. He didn’t seem to notice that the soul of the fifteen-year-old Riddle had come out. Evan’s gaze finally fell on his hand with the ring. The spell on it was particularly dazzling.
Harry also turned around and looked at Evan in confusion, then turned back to pay attention to the conversation between Dumbledore and Riddle.
“How do you do, Tom?” said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand.
The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands.
Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.
“I am Professor Dumbledore.”
“ ‘Professor’?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like ‘doctor’? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?”
He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.
“No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling.
“I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!”
He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking.
It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before.
His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still.
“Who are you? Tell the truth and don’t try to lie to me. I can tell,” still in a commanding tone.
“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’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away 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 and Dennis Bishop. Even if they’re mad, it has nothing to do with me. You can ask them, they’ll tell you!”
“I am not from the asylum,” said Dumbledore patiently. “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,” sneered Riddle.
“Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle’s last words, “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 silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying.
Was this the reaction of a normal eleven-year-old boy? Absolutely not!
But was young Riddle a normal boy? Absolutely not!
If history could be changed, Evan wished that young Dumbledore would turn around and leave right now.
No matter how one looked at it, this boy was extremely abnormal, even by wizarding standards.
“Magic?” Riddle repeated in a whisper. “You mean … magic?”
“That’s right,” said Dumbledore.
“It’s … it’s magic, what I can do?”
“What is it that you can do?” Dumbledore asked.
“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “More than you can imagine. 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.”
Well, that was indeed very powerful, very Voldemort, the most famous and powerful Dark wizard of all time.
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