Dumbledore looked toward Voldemort.
For an instant, Voldemort felt as though his soul had been seen through.
"Back then, I was sent to Wool's Orphanage to fetch him."
Dumbledore slowly recalled the past.
"I saw the little things he had stolen. I saw his thirst for power. I even saw his cruelty toward Muggles."
"But what did I do?"
"I merely used magic to set fire to his wardrobe, intimidating him with superior force and warning him that he had to obey the school's rules."
The old man's fingers trembled slightly.
"Because the Wizarding World had only just lived through Gellert's shadow, I harbored an instinctive wariness and prejudice toward any child with a talent for Dark Magic and ambition."
"During Tom's seven years at Hogwarts, I was his Transfiguration teacher. I watched him build the Death Eaters step by step. But I never visited the places within his heart."
"I was constantly on guard against him, watching him as though I were interrogating a criminal."
"And it wasn't just me. The Ministry of Magic pursued a policy of isolation at the time. Throughout the Second World War, the Muggle World became hell on earth, while the Wizarding World hid behind its various defensive formations, singing and dancing in peace."
"Hogwarts left an orphan to cross those Muggle streets littered with corpses and bomb craters alone every summer."
"No one ever went to the air-raid shelter to check on him."
"Not a single Ministry of Magic official told him: Don't be afraid. The Wizarding World will protect underage wizards from the war."
Dumbledore's eyes reddened slightly.
"Through our indifference, we taught him that the only truth in that world was that extreme violence alone could ensure survival."
"If Tom Riddle was the executioner of this catastrophe..."
Dumbledore stared sternly into