Jack the Ripper. The most infamous serial killer of 1888 London.
Who would have thought that over a century later, someone would try to claim that title again?
"You know who I am?"
Tom smirked. "I read the paper on the bus ride over. I know there's been a nuisance lurking around London lately. But, Mr. Jack, do you have any idea who is standing in front of you?"
"Just a brat. Quit yapping."
How boring.
Tom mentally rolled his eyes.
He had really wanted to do a dramatic introduction.
Sure, Jack the Ripper was terrifying.
But the person standing before him was—
The world's most brilliant young wizard. An eleven-year-old prodigy in Potions, Herbology, and Magizoology. The true genius who had faced the world's most terrible dark lord, "Voldemort," alone and crushed him!
Tom Riddle.
Even without magic, I know a thing or two about throwing hands.
Back when Tom first woke up in this life—before he even knew this was the world of Hogwarts—his dream had been to become an underground boxing champion.
Clearly, this "Jack" was just a garden-variety psychopath. He had no code of honor, no assassin's creed; he just wanted to butcher the two kids standing in front of him.
Wham!
A fist connected squarely with Jack's face. Several teeth went flying, his mouth filled with blood, and he was out cold before he even hit the ground.
Hilarious. I can dodge Voldemort's Killing Curse; did you really think a tiny dagger could touch me?
Behind him, Misha's mouth formed a perfect "O."
Are all wizards this tough?
Is this normal for Hogwarts students?
If I get into Hogwarts, will I be like Tom? Could I become someone like him?
"Tom, when did you get so... so amazing?"
"Pfft. Didn't I beat up those university students the exact same way when they were bullying you back in the day? Come on, let's go home."
Jack the Ripper was nothing more than a minor footnote. He lasted less than a minute in their story before Tom dealt with him.
That punch was a concussion waiting to happen; Mr. Ripper wouldn't be waking up until tomorrow morning.
Under the streetlamp, Tom noticed Misha was wearing a pair of white ballet slippers. She was walking a bit gingerly—it was hard to describe, but she looked like someone suffering from full-body muscle soreness after an intense workout.
Wait, wasn't there an old leotard hanging in the storage room?
"Come to think of it, it's Christmas today. Miss Misha, would you care for a dance?"
Misha's face turned bright red instantly.
She felt just like she used to—as if Tom only needed one look to know exactly what she was thinking. She had no secrets from him.
"Isn't it... isn't it too late?"
Was it late?
Maybe a little. And the atmosphere was lacking.
The most atmospheric thing around was a flickering streetlamp overhead.
Couldn't the government spare a few Knuts to fix these things?
Never mind.
Tom drew his wand and gave it a graceful wave.
"Stellas."
In an instant, it looked as if countless stars had descended into the thick London fog. They emitted a soft, gentle glow—not blinding, but enough to chase away the gloom.
No girl could refuse a scene like this. Misha covered her mouth with both hands.
"My Lady, may I have this dance?"
This was Tom's first dance of Christmas.
There was no lively audience—well, actually, the audience was quite lively.
The shadow beneath Misha's feet was practically grinding its teeth.
Dance, dance, dance... dance my foot!
But every time the shadow wanted to lash out, Misha seemed to anticipate it, suppressing it instantly and preventing it from touching Tom.
Misha, why are you protecting him?! Get lost! Damn it!
Hidden in the fog, there were two other spectators.
Snape turned to the man beside him. "Albus, what should we do about the Ripper?"
"What Ripper? Oh, you mean that nasty child playing copycat? The Muggle police will sort him out tomorrow morning."
Snape paused. "And what about the Dark Magic coming from Misha? How do you intend to handle that?"
"What about it? Is the Sectumsempra curse you taught Tom not Dark Magic? As long as it isn't used for evil, it is of no consequence. I will handle the Ministry."
Snape retorted, "Her bloodlust is too strong! We should intervene."
"Do you know what that shadow actually is?" Dumbledore asked suddenly.
"No."
Snape could only tell that the shadow harbored intense murderous intent. It had a psychological drive to destroy everything outside of its host.
Dumbledore stroked his beard and sat down on a nearby bench, admiring the children's dancing.
"Young wizards experiencing magic for the first time often produce remarkable phenomena. Do you remember Harry Potter? He vanished a glass pane at the zoo to free a snake. Now... why do you think Misha created a shadow that is an exact replica of herself?"
Without waiting for Snape's answer, Dumbledore mused, "Miss Misha has no evil intentions. She simply wants to be with Tom. But Mr. Riddle has been worked to the bone by a certain Potions Professor—busy every day, even spending his weekends in the laboratory. That isolation is what drove her to create a new version of herself."
Dumbledore pointed at the shadow. "Its essence is Misha. From the moment of its creation, it became a new Misha—a brand new Misha. The reason she seems so different to you is that this 'new' Misha has no friends. The children at the orphanage ignore her, or worse, don't even know she exists. They trample over her dignity at will. Even Tom has ignored her. But look at Tom now—oh?"
Dumbledore's lips curled into a smile.
"Albus, finish your sentence!"
"Our young wizard seems as brilliant as ever. It appears he has already discovered the true nature of the shadow. It looks like this will be a sleepless night."
Dumbledore patted the space beside him. "The night is still young. Don't you want to sit down and watch?"
"I'll stand."
"Oh, sit down." Dumbledore pulled Snape onto the bench.
"Yes, let's admire the view—hiss—"
Dumbledore suddenly sucked in a breath.
Why did the look in Misha's eyes as she watched Tom seem... off?
Didn't she just want to be Tom's sister?
Misha's gaze reminded Dumbledore of someone else.
Hermione Granger—that brilliant, somewhat bossy young witch.
It seemed Tom's future life at Hogwarts wasn't going to be very peaceful.
"By the way, Severus. Tom has such high talent in Potions. Why don't you take on another student?"
"You want me to teach Misha potions?" Snape snapped. "Impossible. I don't have the energy for that!"
"She's very obedient."
"I don't care if she's obedient!"
Dumbledore smiled. "She is Tom's sister."
"..." Snape fell silent. "I'll consider it."
Snape was so easy to manipulate.