Translated Chapter
Wade stood in the courtyard, staring into the desolate space. Once an orphanage, it now lay empty—overgrown with weeds, its silence thick with decay. Cracked walls bore faded government notices announcing demolition.
"I suppose you can guess," Dumbledore murmured, waving his wand gently. "Merope used a Love Potion to ensnare Old Tom Riddle. When the potion wore off, he left her—abandoned her, and their unborn child—without hesitation."
The image shimmered. A tiny infant rapidly aged, transforming into a small boy. The other children kept their distance. The boy often spoke to a serpent coiled within a horn.
Then, the child darted into the house. Wade and Dumbledore followed.
The boy raised his hand. A rabbit floated into the air, suspended by unseen strings, then dropped lifelessly from the rafters.
Sometimes he’d burst into a room, rummaging through beds and closets, slipping stolen trinkets into his pocket.
"Whether he’d have grown into a better person in a normal family, I cannot say," Dumbledore said. "But this place—this orphanage—was no environment for healthy growth. Tom Riddle quickly learned bad habits: stealing, bullying, intimidating others."
"He had innate abilities—powers that let him harm children far older and stronger than himself."
One day, his behavior was exposed. A gaunt, hollow-eyed woman seized his arm and dragged him into a room, locking the door behind her. Her movements were harsh, yet there was a flicker of unease in her eyes.
The boy sat on the bed, reading. Moments later, the scene flickered. A tall, bearded man stepped through the mist. Though the image was hazy, Wade recognized him instantly—the wizard standing beside him now.
"Oh, that’s me," Dumbledore said. "This child was a wizard—his name was already on Hogwarts’ register at birth. When he turned eleven, I would come to fetch him."
Young Dumbledore spoke briefly with the boy. Then, suddenly, he raised his wand and set the illusionary closet ablaze. The boy leapt up in alarm.
The flames vanished. From the ashes emerged a small paper box. Inside lay the stolen items—what he had taken.
A few more words passed between them. Then the young Dumbledore handed the boy a pouch. Their meeting ended abruptly.
"Come," Dumbledore said, extending his arm. "Now, the story continues at Hogwarts."
With a smooth Apparition, they arrived at the school—still under the cover of his Disguise Charm. Wade’s own charm, like a Color-Change dragon, was sensitive to subtle shifts in hue. A sharp-eyed observer might detect the faintest anomaly. But Dumbledore’s Disguise was flawless—like wearing an Invisibility Cloak. No one sensed their presence.
Students rushed through the corridors, unaware of the two figures gliding silently behind the foggy apparitions.
The bell rang. Doors slammed shut. The hallways emptied.
Dumbledore led Wade forward. The ghostly figures moved with them.
A young boy in Hogwarts robes walked the corridor, books clutched tightly to his chest. He was never alone—others followed, their numbers growing as he aged.
Professors smiled at him. Everyone seemed to like him. Only Dumbledore watched with a quiet, penetrating gaze.
"Riddle was extraordinarily gifted—brilliant, driven, and an orphan. From the moment he arrived, he caught the attention of the staff, and their sympathy. Nearly everyone at Hogwarts liked him," Dumbledore said.
"Before long, he gathered a loyal circle—devoted followers, if you will. Or perhaps, subordinates."
Their composition was complex, their structure strict. Over the years, multiple serious incidents occurred at Hogwarts—yet no concrete evidence ever linked them to the crimes.
"The worst involved a girl’s death."
On the floor lay a pale body, glasses still on her face, eyes wide open, limbs rigid.
They had reached the second-floor restroom. From within, a faint, mournful weeping echoed.
"Moaning Myrtle," Dumbledore said. "She was once a Ravenclaw student. She died in this very room—after being taunted and bullied, she locked herself in to cry. No one knows exactly what killed her. But I suspect... Tom Riddle had a hand in it."
"After her death, Hogwarts nearly closed. But then Riddle seized the moment—he accused another boy of secretly keeping a murderous pet."
The scene shifted.
Tom Riddle wrestled with a large, burly boy. In the corridor, a massive, many-eyed spider scurried away.
Riddle shouted something—loud, furious. Soon, students flooded the hall.
"Is that Hagrid?" Wade asked.
"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "Afterward, Hagrid was expelled. The Ministry of Magic banned him from using magic—and snapped his wand."
"But I believed him innocent. I convinced Headmaster Dippet to keep him, and train him as Gamekeeper. At the time, Hagrid’s father had already died and left the school. He had nowhere else to go."
The image changed again. Tom Riddle stood tall and handsome now—elegant, confident. He became President of the Student Council, won awards, and graduated with honors.
The fog swirled. The next scene was years later.
The boy was gone. In his place stood a man—pale, twisted, his face unnaturally sharp. Behind him walked a group of figures in black robes, hoods drawn, masks hiding their faces—like demons risen from the underworld.
They broke into homes, murdering the masters. Others knelt before them, writhing in silent agony, their bodies screaming even without sound.
More bodies fell. The fog did not clear. The corridor became a sea of corpses—people sprawled in every direction, eyes staring blankly at the sky.
"Riddle applied to stay on after graduation—but was denied. He turned down an offer from the Ministry of Magic. He worked briefly at Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley, then vanished for years."
"When he returned, he took the name Voldemort. His followers became known as Death Eaters. But he never saw them as family or friends—only as servants. Their greatest honor? To kneel and kiss his robes, or his feet."
"They committed unspeakable acts—magic and Muggle alike fell to their cruelty. Chaos spread. Fear gripped the world. Until, at the peak of his power, he was defeated—by an infant."
In the vision, the dark wizard collapsed, falling backward into mist. The child—just a baby—clenched his tiny fist and screamed.
A cycle.
(End of Chapter)
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