A Stranger
31 December 1937
Tom was on holiday from school when the strange man showed up on their doorstep. Funnily enough, the man arrived right on Tom’s eleventh birthday. Tom had been circling the kitchens all morning, trying to sneak a peek at what type of cake the cook was making him when the doorbell rang, and he skidded out into the entryway to find his father ushering a man into the parlor.
The man was about the same height as his father, but clearly older, with greying auburn hair and a long beard. He also wore a fine suit which was a shade of plum; it seemed too nice to be a normal suit, and almost had a strange shimmer to it.
Naturally, Tom was curious and followed the two into the parlor.
When he entered, the strange man fixed his eyes on him and seemed to appraise him for a moment. There was something about his state that made Tom squirm a bit; the twinkle in his blue eyes was almost unnerving.
“You must be Tom,” he stated. “I’m Professor Dumbledore. And I have something for you.”
Tom glanced at his father out of the corner of his eye before focusing back on Professor Dumbledore. He watched as he pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and Tom took it from his outstretched hand when he offered it to him.
“What brings you all the way here to Wales, Professor?” Tom Sr. inquired. “And could I interest you in a drink? Brandy, perhaps?”
“It is never too early for a brandy,” Dumbledore hummed. “Thank you, Mr. Riddle. And to answer your question, I’m here because of something I’m sure you’re already aware of. I’m here because Tom is... special, because he’s different. He can do things that other children have only ever dreamed of doing. And there is a school for children like Tom.”
Tom frowned. He didn’t like the sound of what Dumbledore was saying. It sounded more like he was being taken to a hospital than an actual school.
“You don’t believe me?” Dumbledore asked him. Tom shook his head. “Open your letter, then.”
Without any further instruction, Tom opened the envelope and took out the parchment inside. Written in shining green ink, Tom found that the letter was indeed addressed to him.
“‘Dear Mr. Riddle,’” he began. “‘We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Albus Dumbledore, Deputy Headmaster.’”
“So... you’ll teach him how to control... whatever it is he has?” Tom Sr. asked.
“Yes, Mr. Riddle. At Hogwarts, Tom will not only learn how to control his magic, but how to harness it. I myself will be instructing him in Transfiguration,” Dumbledore replied.
While Tom Sr. continued to ask questions, Tom sat in relative silence and stared down at his letter. If there really was a school where he could learn how to properly use his magic — words could not describe how good it felt to finally have a word to call his capabilities — then Hermione must have received a letter as well? Tom would have to write to her, he decided. But then he looked up at Professor Dumbledore; the old man had to have visited the Grangers as well. Perhaps he could ask about them.
Dumbledore had finished instructing Tom Sr. as to how to go to the place where they would get Tom’s school supplies when he finally looked back at Tom.
“Do you have any questions, Tom?” he inquired.
“Actually, yes,” Tom said. “I was wondering, sir, if you’ve gone to visit Hermione Granger. She can do the same things I can, so she must be a... a witch?”
Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to twinkle even more.
“I visited Miss Granger back in September,” he confirmed. “You’ll be off to school with her next fall.”
At the sound of the stairs creaking, alerting all in the sitting room of someone’s eminent approach, Tom and Tom Sr. both turned. Neither were surprised to see a rather cross Thomas Riddle appraising both his grandson and the peculiarly dressed visitor that was drinking his brandy.
“What’s going on here?” Thomas questioned.
Tom Sr. swallowed hard and got to his feet to make introductions. “Father, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore,” he introduced. “He’s come to inform us that Tom has been accepted into a special school where he’ll be able to learn how to control his... abilities better.”
“Bah!” Thomas scoffed as he moved further into the room. “A good switch will teach him better than some... old fool in velvet suits.” He squinted critically at Dumbledore.
“I would well advise you against using corporeal punishment when he has incidents of accidental magic,” Dumbledore spoke up. “Such actions can cause a magical individual to... become more volatile as the magic goes inward. It would pose a greater danger to yourselves and to Tom.” He turned his attention to Tom Sr. “It is in all of your best interests that Tom attend Hogwarts starting next year.”
“I agree,” Tom Sr. nodded. “We wouldn’t want things to get... worse.”
“Where is Hogwarts, professor?” Tom inquired.
“The castle — for it is indeed a castle — is located in Scotland. It sits on vast grounds, which stretch from the Forbidden Forest all the way to the Black Lake. And when you’re an older student, you’ll even be able to visit the nearby village, Hogsmeade,” Dumbledore replied. “One’s years at Hogwarts are often the happiest for our kind... I am sure you will find your place there.”
Oh, Tom was certain he would. To be around people just like him would be vastly refreshing compared to school now, or home for that matter. While he tolerated most of his classmates at school and his grandmother and father, there were a few of his peers that made life miserable at times — not to mention how horrid his grandfather could be.
(Of course, he found it was easy to get back at his classmates when they couldn’t prove how he’d manage to hurt them in such creative and unusual ways...)
But to spend the better part of the year far from his grandfather seemed almost like a reward.
“Sounds like a fairy tale,” Thomas grunted. “I won’t pay good money for him to be taught parlor tricks. Besides, he’s going to attend Harrow.”
“A good school by Muggle standards, sir,” Dumbledore allowed. “But Hogwarts... if I may equivocate, is the Harrow of the wizarding world. Merlin himself was educated there.” This made Tom frown slightly; surely Merlin wasn’t real?
“He was real?” Tom asked incredulously.
“Indeed he was,” the patient professor confirmed. “What, did you think the stories were just made up? They had to come from somewhere.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How am I supposed to believe you?”
“Would you like to see me do magic?” Tom watched as Dumbledore pulled a wand from his pocket and pointed it at his empty brandy glass. With a flick of his wrist, it was transformed into a shimmering serpent. And just as Thomas began to protest, he turned it back. “Well, I’m afraid I must get going. I will see you in the autumn, Tom.”
And as mysteriously as he appeared, Professor Dumbledore left.