The Choice

Tom wore an expression that said, "I'm laying my cards on the table."

"Actually, magic has always been hovering around me."

From a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales on the bookshelf, an envelope with gold-gilded edges drifted out slowly, landing steadily in his palm. It was the very same acceptance letter from yesterday.

Tom pinched the corner of the envelope and gave it a little shake. "After I turned six, I realized I was a bit... well, special. But I always felt that I couldn't possibly be the only freak in this world; there had to be others like me."

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Albus Dumbledore applauded, his blue eyes brightening as if he had discovered a new kind of candy. "Splendid! Absolutely splendid! Such control—it's hardly like that of a child."

"Mr. Riddle, you were slightly mistaken just now," the old headmaster said, stroking his beard. "A child like you, capable of casting magic through sheer will before even entering school, is rare even in the wizarding world. Believe me, your future on the path of magic is limitless."

Magical outbursts in young wizards were not uncommon, but the resulting magic was usually difficult to harness and would go dormant, requiring a wand and systematic study to guide it again. The way Tom had summoned the letter so effortlessly suggested he had practiced quite a bit in private.

Albus Dumbledore was pleased that Hogwarts was about to welcome such an excellent student, yet somewhere deep in his heart, he felt as if he had been lightly pricked by something.

He looked... he really looked more and more like him.

"You're too kind, sir. I just got lucky," Tom lowered his head, revealing just the right amount of shyness, while inwardly he let out a long sigh of relief—he had finally bluffed his way through this hurdle.

Tom was a transmigrator. When his magic erupted at age six, it had jolted the memories of his past life awake. At first, he didn't know where he was, until he ran into an opponent named Hermione Granger during a third-grade math competition. Upon asking around, he learned her father was a dentist.

He had been stunned at the time.

The world of Harry Potter? Then his name... Tom Riddle—wasn't this guy Voldemort?

He had considered changing his name later, but changing one's name as a minor was a massive headache; he would have to wait until he was an adult. More importantly, if he changed his name, would the Hogwarts acceptance letter still be able to find him? He didn't dare gamble on that. The magical world was too tempting; he didn't want to miss out. And so, he lived to this day bearing this name, which felt like a hot potato. The day before yesterday, the acceptance letter finally arrived.

He just hadn't expected that the one coming to pick him up wouldn't be Hagrid or McGonagall, but Albus Dumbledore himself.

Thinking about it, it made sense. The name Tom Riddle was far too special to Albus Dumbledore. With his background being so similar to that of the Dark Lord, it was only natural for the old headmaster to come and see for himself if he was the reincarnation of Voldemort.

The fact that Albus Dumbledore had asked why he wasn't surprised was the first hurdle. Tom didn't think his acting skills could fool an old man who had lived for over a century and seen every kind of storm. It was better to openly display some talent as a justification.

Of course, this was also a gamble. He was betting on Albus Dumbledore's character—that he wouldn't use Legilimency on him just because of a name. If he guessed wrong... then he would just confess everything; perhaps he could even witness the legendary scene of the old man speed-running the Horcruxes. As for whether he would be sliced up for research afterward, that was hard to say.

Fortunately, he had won the bet.

"Mr. Riddle, I didn't expect today to go so smoothly either," Albus Dumbledore stood up, his robes hanging down like a purple waterfall. "Since it's still early, why don't we get everything you need in one go? I happen to have some things to pick up in Diagon Alley myself."

"Of course, sir. Please, just a moment," Tom nodded, walked to his desk, and pulled a stack of banknotes from the drawer. Most were ten-pound and five-pound notes.

In England, fifty pounds was the largest denomination, and that remained true even decades later with inflation. These notes were usually used for large transactions; if you tried to use one at a convenience store for change, it was hard to say if you'd get beaten up, but you would certainly receive plenty of "friendly greetings" starting with the letter "F."

"Mr. Riddle," Albus Dumbledore suddenly remembered something he had overlooked. "For students with financial difficulties, Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic have special loans, and they don't even need to be repaid."

"But I'm not in difficulty, am I?" Tom counted them—a total of twelve hundred pounds. He waved the stack of money at Albus Dumbledore and grinned.

Tom had no cheat system. Perhaps because he had lived two lives, his memory, while not quite photographic, was far stronger than the average person's, and his learning ability was outstanding. Don't think only Eastern students grind for competitions; British schools were the same. Relying on prize money from various contests, school grants, government subsidies, and even television appearance fees, Tom had saved up quite a bit of money. What was in the drawer was just pocket change; he had another forty thousand pounds in his bank account earning interest.

Upon learning that this kid was so capable, Albus Dumbledore could only give a thumbs-up, expressing his admiration.

After saying goodbye to Arman, Tom followed Albus Dumbledore out of the orphanage. Arman would never have been this at ease with any other child, but the maturity and capability Tom had shown since he was young had made her much less guarded—though, of course, it was also possible that Albus Dumbledore had used a bit of magic behind the scenes.

The two walked along the tree-lined path. Albus Dumbledore didn't use wizarding methods to travel; instead, he enthusiastically led Tom toward the train station, acting like an elder concerned for a younger relative, asking about the trivialities of life.

Tom didn't hide anything, speaking frankly about his situation: he was an abandoned orphan, and his parents had left him nothing but a name and a surname before dumping him at the orphanage gate. The next time he heard news of them was in a report about a plane crash; they hadn't left any inheritance, but instead had left behind a mountain of debt, though fortunately, he didn't have to pay it back.

After listening, Albus Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly; such things seemed all too common in the Muggle world. Accidental pregnancies, giving birth because of strict abortion laws, and then dumping the child on the government to clean up the mess because they couldn't afford to raise them, all while they went off to enjoy themselves. Little did they know how sparse the population had become in the wizarding world. Which pure-blood family wouldn't turn green with envy at the sight of the Weasleys, with their six boys and one girl? Who knew how many people regretted not marrying Molly Weasley back then; otherwise, it would be their family that was flourishing. One could only say that people in the same country had different fates.

"I noticed the other children at the orphanage seem quite... in awe of you?" While feeling a sense of lament in his heart, Albus Dumbledore didn't forget to dig a little deeper. Even as they left, that boy named Seth was still dutifully hitting the sandbag. This scene stirred up some rather unpleasant memories for him.

"Sir," Tom stopped and looked up at Albus Dumbledore. The old man's beard was too thick, and the boy couldn't see his full expression, only meeting those deep, piercing eyes.

"Do you know what an orphan fears most?"

Albus Dumbledore assumed a listening posture.

"It's the fear that others will discover your weakness," Tom said to himself, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather.