In Diagon Alley

"Look who's that?"

"Dumbledore!"

"Is that his child next to him?"

"Who is his mother? Professor McGonagall?"

"I think it's Professor Sprout!"

"No, I think it should be Madam Hooch!"

"I think it's Madam Pomfrey from the Hospital Wing!"

"How is that possible? This child is so handsome, I think only the charming Madam Rosmerta could have given birth to him."

"That's true. Dumbledore goes to the Three Broomsticks to buy wine whenever he has free time. Oak-matured mead is his favorite!"

Diagon Alley was unusually lively at this time. Although school had started quite early, the group of idlers from the Leaky Cauldron couldn't help but come to the Diagon Alley and talk to an old man and a young man not far away, which they thought was a discreet conversation.

Of all these idlers, Dedalus Diggle Diggle's answer was the most authoritative and convincing. After all, he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and that handsome, dark-haired boy was undoubtedly Dumbledore and Madam Rosmerta's child!

As for why the boy was Dumbledore's child and not someone else, it was because of the atmosphere between them. Could he be Dumbledore's little lover?

They all knew about Rita Skeeter's slander of Dumbledore's sexual orientation, and what Rita Skeeter said was definitely wrong.

Those who considered themselves the most insightful patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, believing they had the best understanding of the true Wizarding World, thought this way.

But this is also related to Dean Diggle; he is the son of Hadwin Jones, who also frequented the Leaky Cauldron in the day.

This makes it easy for them to subconsciously think about the child, perhaps Dumbledore has a child hiding in the Muggle World like Hadwin's wife, or simply hiding away.

"Dumbledore, that man in purple is your servant, isn't he? Hmm, perhaps you'd be more pleased with 'follower'?" Riddle whispered to Dumbledore on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, as those around them instinctively moved away from them.

After all, Dumbledore was the headmaster of Hogwarts, and he was over a hundred years old. It could be said that almost everyone in Diagon Alley at this time had once been his student.

Outside of class, few people dare to greet their teachers, especially someone as Wizarding World as Dumbledore.

"What, Tom? You can't stand being stared at? I don't remember you being that kind of person," Dumbledore said.

There was another purpose to bringing Riddle along this time: to attract potential Death Eaters. It would be even better if Voldemort found out.

"No, I just think we should get straight to the point—go to Ollivander. If we wander around a few more times, the Daily Prophet will probably be running an article titled ' Dumbledore's New 'Lover'? — Harry Potter Falls Out of Favor,'" Riddle said sarcastically.

His peripheral vision swept across a corner, and a glimpse of platinum blonde hair flashed in the sunlight.

"Oh, Tom, you've seen those reports too. I don't think you believe them to be true," Dumbledore said cheerfully, having not spoken to Riddle like this in a long time, no, ever before.

"I was just very curious about what kind of person Harry Potter was, and luckily, my ex-boyfriend, Quirrell, had a very comprehensive collection of information about Potter."

"Also, I'm already waiting to see how the Daily Prophet will portray you."

"Rita Skeeter is quite an interesting wizard." Riddle's chiseled face revealed a charming dimple as he smiled.

This sparked renewed discussion among the people nearby: why was he laughing? Was it because he had finally reunited with his father?

"No, I think you might not know this too well. The Daily Prophet has been acquired, and that person is Sirius, or as you would say, my follower," Dumbledore replied briskly, causing Riddle to frown.

The two walked together toward Ollivander's Wand Shop, Diagon Alley.

Soon, a small, shabby shop appeared before Dumbledore and Riddle, with the words "Ollivander: Crafting fine wands since 382 BC" written on the door in faded gold lettering.

The jingling of bells, accompanying the two as they approached, seemed to be a reminder to the shop owner of the customers' arrival.

"Ah, Albus Dumbledore!"

"The greatest wizard!"

"Did you come here for the wand?"

"My father never told me about your wand combination until he died. Do you need me to check and repair it?" Ollivander had been sitting idly in the chair, suddenly stood up and flew to Dumbledore's side.

His pale, lifeless eyes shone with a brilliant light, like a bright moon.

"No, Garrick, I think you've got the wrong person." Dumbledore turned to the side, revealing Riddle, who was stroking the wand that sat alone on the faded purple cushion through the glass.

"Alright, alright, Dumbledore. But what I just said still stands, you can come to me anytime!" Ollivander muttered a few words unwillingly before looking at Riddle. However, because it was still a profile view and the room was a bit dark, he couldn't see the astonishing face clearly. "Sir, are you here to buy a wand? Hmm, you look familiar. You should have been here before."

"Does it need a new wand? Or is it for repair?" Ollivander looked at Riddle curiously. A wizard who could have Dumbledore by his side must be extraordinary. He might be able to obtain a wand with an extraordinary combination, just like Harry Potter's.

"Sir, I need a wand." Riddle turned his face and said politely but distantly, just as he had said the same thing fifty-five years ago, in the same place.

At that time, he also looked curiously at the lonely magic wand in the shop window, imagining how unusual it must be.

"It's—it's you!"

"Dumbledore, what's going on here?" Ollivander's measuring tape fell to the ground unconsciously. His hand trembled as he tried to pick it up, but couldn't.

Ollivander always felt a mixture of fear and a touch of pride towards the You-Know-Who.

The wand was chosen by the wizard because it was an excellent wand he crafted, which helped the You-Know-Who achieve great things.

Regardless, the You-Know-Who he couldn't name did something big, however terrible, but still a big thing.

But when actually facing the You-Know-Who, Ollivander's hands, which were so precise and steady that they could embed magical substances into wooden strips less than twenty inches in diameter, began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Hello, my name is Tom Riddle. Have you seen me before, sir?" Riddle extended her beautiful, well-proportioned right hand, seemingly wanting to help Ollivander was still struggling with the measuring tape on the ground, to his feet.

"No need, young master."

"Perhaps I'm mistaken." Ollivander took a deep breath and once again adopted the demeanor of the finest wandmaker.

He gave Dumbledore a deep look, then immediately looked away.

When he opened his eyes again, he seemed to have returned to the state he had just been in before he recognized Riddle.

He began taking measurements, starting from the shoulder to the fingertips, then from the wrist to the elbow, from the shoulder to the floor, from the knee to the armpit, and finally measuring the head circumference.

It was as if nothing had happened.