Upon learning that the other person also lived in an orphanage, Morris suddenly remembered something.
Two years ago, when Professor McGonagall came to the orphanage to inform him of his acceptance into Hogwarts, she mentioned something about the orphanage student fund.
So much time has passed that his memory has become somewhat hazy.
Perhaps Professor McGonagall knows something about Tom Riddle.
So Morris immediately closed his notebook, got up, and went to Professor McGonagall's office.
"Knock knock."
"Please come in."
Morris pushed open the door, and Professor McGonagall was sitting behind her large desk, grading a stack of papers.
She looked up and adjusted her square glasses. " Morris? Is something the matter?"
His tone was as serious as ever, even a little displeased, probably because the assignment in his hand was really unsatisfactory.
"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall." Morris took a few steps closer. "I have a question I'd like to ask you."
Professor McGonagall put down her quill, clasped her hands together, and leaned back slightly. "What's the problem?"
She was used to it because Morris would occasionally come to ask her questions about Transfiguration.
Morris cut to the chase and asked, "Professor, besides me, what was the name of the last orphan student admitted to Hogwarts?"
This question clearly caught Professor McGonagall off guard. She looked at Morris with a scrutinizing gaze. "Why are you asking this?"
"Is his name Tom Riddle?"
Professor McGonagall sat bolt upright, her eyes sharp. "Where did you hear that name?"
Morris suddenly realized that this name was not simple.
Professor McGonagall wouldn't have reacted this way if it were an ordinary student.
etc!
He narrowed his eyes, then suddenly realized something and quickly asked, " Professor McGonagall, is Tom Riddle Voldemort's original name?"
If it were Voldemort, then it would make sense.
Perhaps only a wizard as powerful as Voldemort could create such a magical artifact to seal a memory in a notebook.
The timing is about right.
The air in the office seemed to freeze instantly.
After a long silence, Professor McGonagall slowly nodded and replied in a low voice, "Yes, Morris. I don't know how you know, but... Tom Riddle, that's the real name of the person you mentioned when he was at Hogwarts."
So the laptop belongs to Voldemort.
Morris nodded to himself.
Fear often stems from the unknown. Although it was equally dangerous, it made him feel much more at ease than a magical item of unknown origin.
At least, he knew what he was dealing with.
"I understand," Morris said calmly. "Thank you for your explanation, Professor McGonagall. I'll be going now."
"Wait a minute," Professor McGonagall's voice suddenly rose, "You still haven't explained where you got this name from."
Morris stopped turning around and replied calmly, "I recently read a history book that mentioned Voldemort, including the name Tom Riddle. I was a bit curious, so I came to confirm."
After giving Professor McGonagall a perfunctory reply, Morris immediately returned to his dormitory.
He walked to the table and picked up the tattered notebook.
The young Dark Lord...
That's an interesting case.
He didn't tell Professor McGonagall about the notebook. If she had, she would have immediately reported it to Dumbledore, and the notebook would have been confiscated.
That would be such a waste for him.
Although it only contains Voldemort's memories from his youth, he was still one of the most powerful wizards in the world.
This is definitely a treasure trove!
Besides that, he had another guess: could this notebook be the one that released the Basilisk to attack the students?
Or rather, someone influenced by the laptop?
If that's the case, then he'll have to settle the score for petrifying the Guantou earlier.
Morris smiled slightly, opened his notebook, and wrote, "Are you still there, Riddle?"
The laptop responded immediately, "Of course, Mark, just call me Tom. It's good that you're contacting me again. What were you doing just now?"
This answer carried just the right amount of warmth.
Morris: "I borrowed a few books from the library."
Tom: "The library is always a good place. What are you researching? If you have any questions, I can help; after all, I was always first in my grade throughout my school years."
Confidence permeates every word.
Morris could easily guess the other person's purpose: to demonstrate his own value and gain their trust.
Then he won't hold back.
Isn't this just a portable Q&A tool?
Of course, Voldemort's words cannot be completely trusted.
Morris tried asking a few questions about Potions, and Tom gave very precise answers to each one.
However, as Morris gradually increased the difficulty, the opponent's response speed visibly slowed down.
When he finished answering the last question, the other person clearly couldn't hold back anymore and asked, " Mark, what grade are you in?"
Second grade.
The laptop fell silent.
About ten seconds later, the words appeared. " Mark, if what you say is true, then I must say, you are a genius."
"My classmates often say the same thing."
Morris smiled; his words carried a hint of flattery.
Tom's intention to win his favor couldn't be clearer.
It's unclear when the other party will slip up and reveal their true intentions.
He was actually starting to look forward to it.
So, over the next few days, Morris maintained intermittent communication with Tom.
He was mostly the one asking questions, while Tom acted like a patient personal tutor, tirelessly answering all his questions.
doubt.
Potions, spells, Transfiguration...
Tom demonstrated profound expertise in every aspect.
All I can say is, he truly lives up to his name as Voldemort.
But if we were to say what Voldemort was best at, it would undoubtedly be Dark Magic.
One night, Morris told the other person that he was researching Dark Magic.
Tom: "You're dabbling in Dark Magic? Oh, don't be anxious or uneasy about it. It's just Dark Magic; it's no different from other magic. I dare say, even your headmaster has studied it extensively."
Morris: " Dark Magic has affected my soul."
Tom: "Ah, I didn't expect you to notice that. But I must say, it won't harm you in any way."
No harm?
Morris chuckled.
Even a dog wouldn't believe it.