The Choice

Tom wore the expression of someone saying, "All right, you caught me."

"The truth is, magic has always been hanging around me."

A gold-edged envelope drifted leisurely out of the copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales on the bookshelf and landed neatly in his hand. It was the letter of acceptance he'd received yesterday.

Tom pinched the corner of the envelope and gave it a little wave. "After I turned six, I started to realize I was a bit... well, special. But I always figured I couldn't be the only freak in the world. There had to be others like me."

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Dumbledore applauded, his blue eyes shining as if he'd just discovered a new sweet. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful! Your control is remarkable—hard to believe you're only a child."

"Mr. Riddle, there's one thing you've got wrong." The old headmaster stroked his beard. "Children like you, who can cast spells through sheer will before even starting school, are rare even in the Wizarding World. Believe me, your future in magic is limitless."

It wasn't unusual for a young wizard's magic to flare up, but afterward, it was usually difficult to control and fell dormant. They had to wait until they got a wand and learned how to channel it through formal instruction. Tom's effortless spellcasting just now made it obvious he'd been practicing in private.

Dumbledore was glad that Hogwarts would soon welcome such a promising student. Yet somewhere deep inside, he felt a faint itch.

It was... the more he looked, the more Tom resembled him.

"You're too kind, sir. I was just lucky." Tom lowered his head, showing just the right touch of bashfulness, while inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. He'd made it through that hurdle.

Tom was a transmigrator. When he was six, his magic had erupted, jolting his memories of his past life awake along with it. At first, he hadn't known where he was, not until he entered third grade and competed in a math contest against a girl named Hermione Granger. When he asked around, he learned her father was a dentist.

He'd been stunned.

The world of Harry Potter? Then his name... Tom Riddle. Wasn't that the hellish name of Voldemort?

He had considered changing his name. But changing it as a minor was an enormous hassle; he'd have to wait until he was an adult. More importantly, if he changed it, would Hogwarts still be able to find him to deliver his acceptance letter? He didn't dare take that risk. The magical world was too enticing. He didn't want to miss out. So he'd kept living with that name, a hot potato in his hands, right up to the present. The day before yesterday, his acceptance letter had finally arrived.

He just hadn't expected Hagrid or McGonagall to come for him. Dumbledore had come in person.

Thinking about it, it made sense. The name Tom Riddle was far too special to Dumbledore. And Tom's past was so similar to that other person's. It was only natural for the old headmaster to come see for himself whether Voldemort had been reincarnated.

Dumbledore's question about why Tom hadn't been surprised had been the first hurdle. Tom didn't think his acting was good enough to fool an old man who'd lived for more than a century and seen it all. Better to show off a little talent openly and use that as his explanation.

Of course, it was a gamble. He was betting on Dumbledore's character, trusting that he wouldn't use Legilimency on Tom just because of his name. If the gamble went wrong... then Tom would tell him everything. He might even get to witness the legendary speedrun of Dumbledore destroying the Horcruxes firsthand. As for whether he'd get dissected and studied afterward, that was anyone's guess.

Fortunately, he'd bet right.

"Mr. Riddle, I didn't expect everything to go so smoothly today either." Dumbledore stood, his robes falling around him like a purple waterfall. "It's still early. Why don't we make the most of it and get everything you need? I have a few things to pick up in Diagon Alley as well."

"Of course, sir. Just a moment." Tom nodded and went over to the desk. He pulled a stack of banknotes from a drawer, mostly tens and fives.

In Britain, fifty pounds was the largest denomination, and it would still be decades later, even after inflation. These notes were generally used for large transactions. If you tried to break one at a convenience store, you might get beaten up—or you might just receive a few "friendly greetings" beginning with the letter F.

"Mr. Riddle." Only then did Dumbledore remember something he'd forgotten to mention. "For students in financial hardship, Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic offer special grants that don't need to be repaid."

"But I'm not in hardship, am I?" Tom counted the money. Twelve hundred pounds in all. He waved the stack at Dumbledore and grinned.

Tom didn't have any cheat ability. Perhaps because he'd lived two lives, his memory was far better than most people's, though not quite perfect, and he was also an exceptional learner. Don't think only students in the East competed in contests; British schools had them too. Thanks to prize money from all sorts of competitions, school grants, government subsidies, and even appearance fees from television stations, Tom had managed to save quite a bit. The cash in the drawer was just pocket money. He still had forty thousand pounds earning interest in his bank account.

When Dumbledore learned how capable the boy was, all he could do was give him a thumbs-up and say he was impressed.

After saying goodbye to Arman, Tom left Wool's Orphanage with Dumbledore. Arman would never have felt so at ease letting another child go. But Tom had always been sensible and capable, and that had made her relax her guard. Of course, it was also possible Dumbledore had quietly used a little magic.

The two of them walked along a tree-lined path. Dumbledore didn't use a wizard's means of travel. Instead, he cheerfully led Tom toward the train station, asking him about everyday things like an elder who cared about a younger relative.

Tom didn't hide anything. He told Dumbledore frankly about his situation: he was an abandoned orphan. His parents had left him only a first name and surname before dumping him at the orphanage entrance. He'd heard news of them again in a report about a plane crash. They'd left behind no inheritance—only a mountain of debt. Fortunately, Tom wasn't responsible for paying it back.

Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly as he listened. This sort of thing seemed fairly common in the Muggle world. An accidental pregnancy, a child born because abortion laws were strict, then abandoned to the government to clean up the mess when the parents realized they couldn't afford to raise it. Meanwhile, they went off to enjoy themselves. They had no idea how badly the Wizarding World was suffering from a dwindling population. Which pure-blood family wouldn't envy the Weasley family for having six boys and one girl? Plenty of people regretted not marrying Molly Weasley back then. If they had, their own families might have flourished instead. Some people were just luckier than others, even in the same country.

"I noticed that the children at Wool's Orphanage all seemed to... look up to you?" Dumbledore asked, still reflecting on what he'd heard and keen to learn a little more. Even after they'd left, the boy named Seth had stayed behind, dutifully punching the sandbag. The sight had brought back a few unpleasant memories.

"Sir." Tom stopped and looked up at Dumbledore. The old man's beard was so thick that the boy couldn't make out his whole face. He could only meet those deep-set eyes.

"Do you know what an orphan fears most?"

Dumbledore gave him his full attention.

"They're afraid of other people finding out they're weak." Tom spoke as if he were discussing the weather.