Albus Dumbledore had lived through more twists, turns, and heartbreaks than most men could endure in ten lifetimes. War, betrayal, loss, and triumph—he had seen them all. Yet, if one had to summarize his life, it could be described in a single word: coincidence.
Coincidences had shaped him, molded him, and even saved him. And so, he was not the kind of man who would carelessly judge a child—especially not one sitting before him—simply because of a shared name or an unfortunate resemblance to another tragic story.
For only a few seconds, Dumbledore's mind had wandered, his thoughts clouded by the ominous weight of the name Tom Riddle. But just as quickly, he pulled himself back, stroking his beard to cover his distraction. With the kind smile of an old sage, he spoke gently:
"Mr. Riddle, I cannot say it is an honor, but it is certainly a most unusual fate that brings us together."
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A Potion Master Too Busy
Dumbledore folded his hands over his knees and leaned forward slightly.
"We have a very busy professor of Potions at Hogwarts. He should have been the one to guide you on your first step into our world. Unfortunately, the potion he is brewing has reached a delicate stage, and he cannot leave his cauldrons unattended. So…" Dumbledore gave a small shrug, the corners of his eyes twinkling, "an old man like me has been dispatched instead."
Tom listened quietly, his posture impeccable, his smile polite yet faintly curious.
"You will meet him eventually," Dumbledore continued. "He is a true master of potions, and I assure you—his teaching will benefit you greatly."
Then, with a deliberate pause, Dumbledore changed the subject. "In fact, Mr. Riddle, you are already… a rather unusual first-year."
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A Quick Acceptance of Magic
"My colleagues and I," Dumbledore explained, "have welcomed countless Muggle-born students to Hogwarts. Usually, it takes some convincing—parlor tricks, small demonstrations—to persuade them that magic is real."
He raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and the messy pile of books on Tom's desk immediately stacked themselves into a perfectly neat tower.
"Something like this," he said.
The old wizard tilted his head and looked directly into Tom's eyes. "But you… you accepted it instantly. Tell me, Mr. Riddle, do you not suspect this is a hoax?"
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Tom Reveals His Talent
Tom did not flinch under the weight of Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze. Instead, he lifted his hand slowly, his smile unbroken.
"Actually," Tom said calmly, "magic has always been around me."
From the bookshelf, a gold-edged envelope slipped out from between the thick pages of Grimm's Fairy Tales. It floated smoothly through the air and landed in Tom's palm.
It was, of course, his Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Tom turned it over casually, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, and added:
"Since I was six, I realized I could do things… unusual things. But I never believed myself unique. Surely, there must be others in the world like me."
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Dumbledore Applauds
Snap. Snap. Snap.
Dumbledore clapped, his eyes gleaming.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant. Such excellent control for one so young."
Then, lowering his voice, he added gravely: "But, Mr. Riddle, you are mistaken about one thing. Children often experience accidental magic—uncontrolled bursts, we call them. But to command it with such skill and willpower before even stepping into Hogwarts? That, even in our world, is rare."
His tone grew firm, almost prophetic. "Believe me, Tom—you will achieve great things in magic."
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A Time Traveler's Secret
Tom lowered his head modestly, feigning shyness. "Thank you, sir. I'm just… lucky."
Inside, though, relief washed over him. The first test was passed.
Because Tom Riddle was no ordinary orphan. He was a time traveler.
At six years old, when his magic had first erupted, it had also unlocked his memories of a past life. Slowly, painfully, he pieced it together.
At first, he didn't realize he had landed in the Harry Potter universe. But in third grade, during a math competition, he met a sharp-eyed girl named Hermione Granger. When she mentioned her father was a dentist, the truth hit him like a thunderbolt.
This isn't just England. This is the magical world of Harry Potter.
And his name—Tom Riddle. The name of the boy who would become Voldemort.
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The Dilemma of the Name
Tom had wrestled with the idea of changing his name. Who would want to live carrying the shadow of the Dark Lord?
But there were obstacles. He was still a minor; legally, changing a name wasn't simple. Even if he did manage it, Hogwarts would surely notice the discrepancy.
What if they missed me entirely? What if I lost my chance to enter this world?
No, it was too dangerous to gamble. Better to carry the name, wear it like armor, and tread carefully.
And so, Tom Riddle endured the whispers of fate. The day before yesterday, the Hogwarts letter had arrived—his golden ticket.
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Dumbledore Comes Himself
What surprised him, however, was not the letter, but the messenger.
He had half-expected Hagrid with his giant stride, or perhaps stern Professor McGonagall. Instead, the one who came knocking at Lewisham Children's Home was the greatest wizard of the age himself.
It made sense, though. Tom Riddle was far too special to ignore. Dumbledore, with his long history and keen instincts, could never resist checking in person.
Especially when my circumstances so closely mirror… his Tom Riddle.
The name alone was enough to summon suspicion.
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A Gamble on Dumbledore's Character
When Dumbledore had asked why he wasn't shocked by magic, Tom knew the truth: there was no way to fool a man who had lived for more than a century. Fake surprise? That would be laughable.
So Tom had gambled instead—he banked on Dumbledore's good character.
Surely, the wise old wizard would not become hostile over a mere name. Surely, he wouldn't pry into his memories with Legilimency, not unless provoked.
It was a dangerous gamble. If Tom had judged him wrong, he would confess everything, perhaps even offer to help destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes just to save his own skin.
But then… there was always the chance Dumbledore might simply dissect him like a magical experiment.
Thankfully, the gamble had paid off. Dumbledore remained kind, curious, and unthreatening.
For now, Tom Riddle was safe.
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Preparing for Diagon Alley
"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said at last, rising to his feet. "I must admit, I did not expect today to go so smoothly."
He extended a hand. "Since it is still early, why don't we prepare everything you'll need for Hogwarts at once? I, too, must visit Diagon Alley today."
"Of course, sir. Please wait just a moment."
Tom crossed to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a neat stack of banknotes—mostly tens and fives, a humble fortune for a boy of his background.
In Britain, the largest bill was fifty pounds, rarely used in daily life. In fact, flashing one at a corner shop could earn you an earful of insults beginning with "F."
Tom counted quickly: twelve hundred pounds. Enough to start a new life.
He smiled faintly and tossed the wad onto the bed.
"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore interrupted gently, "you should know—Hogwarts, together with the Ministry of Magic, provides financial aid to students in need. A loan, without repayment required."
Tom shook his head. "But I'm not exactly needy, am I?"
And with a quiet chuckle, he pushed the money toward Dumbledore.
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