The Mysterious Tom Riddle

In this vast underground world, a powerful, surging magical wave, as vast as the ocean, was born from nothingness. The magic was profound and deep, yet it was filled with youthful vitality.

The source of that magic was a tall, dark-haired boy who was frantically touching every part of his body—his hair, eyes, teeth, ears.

But for some reason, the boy's outline was blurry and very strange, as if he were being looked at through a foggy window, and his body was emitting a strange, foggy glow.

"Your name is Tom Riddle." A voice rang out; it was Dumbledore, who looked at the boy with a complicated expression.

As Dumbledore finished speaking, the boy's features suddenly became clear, revealing a peerless face that seemed to have been sculpted from stone and jade. He had deep, bright, and captivating eyes.

"Long time no see, Professor Dumbledore." A magnetic and gentle voice came from the boy's mouth, and one could tell from the voice alone that the man was elegant and charming.

If this were Ryan's previous life, and he were a voice broadcaster, he would be the kind of person that female fans would say could make them pregnant just by listening to him.

Without a doubt, even without Dumbledore naming him, besides Grindelwald, only a young Voldemort could possess such charisma—a being capable of conquering a thousand-year-old single female ghost both physically and mentally.

"Long time no see, I suppose—I don't need to say anything more, do I, Tom?" The vulnerability in Dumbledore's eyes faded as he spoke, his gaze now like an X-ray, able to see through any lie.

"Ah, I think so."

"Truly worthy of you, Professor. Not a single life has been lost. Typical Dumbledore magic—hypocritical, wasteful, and foolish."

"This ritual is quite interesting, squeezing out my life force to gain my manifest independence. But it's also like a chain tightly wrapped around my neck. Should I call you master, Professor?" Tom Riddle said in a playful tone, winking at Dumbledore.

"Just call me Professor, the same as before."

"I'm just making a choice. I'd rather have a Tom Riddle who's under my surveillance than Voldemort," Dumbledore said in a light tone, winking like Tom Riddle.

"It makes me want to vomit. I remember saying many times that I hate this name and don't want to be called Tom."

"Are you going to play teacher-student with me?" Tom Riddle's eyes no longer concealed his true feelings. His handsome and refined features suddenly became rough, and his expression was almost like that of a wild beast.

"No, I only hope that you can repent, repent for the innocent Myrtle."

"Cherish this new life of yours—a pure life unstained by the blood of others," Dumbledore said. His gaze was serious and powerful, fixed on Tom Riddle's indifferent and arrogant face.

"Pure? You must have investigated me, since you've never liked me like other teachers do."

"Then you should know that when I was at the Wool's Orphanage, during a spring outing, I killed two children, including Myrtle. Wasn't it the Basilisk I released that killed her? Even your loyal servant Hagrid was framed by me." Riddle let out a cold, piercing laugh, unlike what a sixteen-year-old child would say.

"Hagrid is my student, not my servant. You must understand that. We are all equal in terms of human dignity as other people."

"And why are you hiding it? You may not understand love, but you still have a conscience, which is the part that Voldemort hates the most. That's why he put you on his only Muggle possession—his tattered diary."

Dumbledore said in an unquestionable tone, while Riddle curled his lip in disdain.

"Mike Benson and Dennis Bishop, you remember your names, right? The kids you said you killed. But as far as I know, they're doing just fine. Benson's a lawyer, Bishop's a grocer." Riddle's slightly trembling ears revealed his keen interest.

These two were the people he was intimidating, even though Riddle believed he didn't need friends.

But they could also be considered his childhood playmates. If they hadn't been so useless and not wizards, perhaps they would have been allowed to join the Death Eaters as Mudblood.

"Tom," Dumbledore called again, and this time Riddle did not pretend not to hear. "You may indeed be cruel, derive pleasure from intimidating others, do not understand love, and like to control everything. But you are not a person who enjoys taking lives at will."

"Except for animals that lack intelligence, you regard other wizards and even Muggle as inferior to you, and as precious assets from which you derive pleasure."

"That's why you still remember the name of that orphanage, and even the two boys you threatened."

"It wasn't Myrtle's affair that you did on purpose. After all, your method of finding a scapegoat later was too crude, which is not in line with your style," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Oh, as expected of you."

"That's why that orphanage has continued to exist, instead of being wiped out by me like my Muggle father's family who abandoned me. Even after I became an adult, my activities have always been overseas. The reason I didn't come back to wreak havoc in Britain is not only because of you, but also because there are people I know here." Riddle's expression showed disgust. "That's also why, after I was abandoned, the remaining part of my soul no longer cared about the lives of other people. That's why my Muggle father and his family died."

"Tom, the worst decision you've ever made is abandoning your conscience, and that's where the greatest magic comes from," Dumbledore said.

"What do you want me to do?" Riddle interrupted impatiently.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts needs a teacher," Dumbledore said cheerfully, and Riddle's eyes widened.

"You're crazy. Before I make too many Horcrux, I can still share the memories of the part of the soul that occupies the physical body."

"I remember when I had just graduated and asked to stay at the university as a teacher, you interfered, which led to Professor Dippet rejecting me."

"When I returned from my trip and wanted to teach again, you, who were now the principal, refused me once."

"What made you change so much—to appoint one of the greatest Dark Wizard as the headmaster of the Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Riddle scoffed.

"This is a choice, a chance for you to start over."

"And if the other Tom knew of your existence, would he allow you to live with him? He is more powerful, more knowledgeable, and more ruthless than you."

"I think you understand what choice you need to make, Tom." Dumbledore stepped forward and extended his arm.

Tom Riddle's expression shifted between anger and uncertainty as he grasped Dumbledore's arm.

With a crackling sound, they disappeared from the spot.