Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

For a trained wizard, it was actually not too difficult to do what Riddle said.

However, considering that he was only eleven years old, had not yet gone to school, and did not even have a wand, yet could already control his magic to do whatever he wanted; this level of talent was terrifying. It indicated that Riddle possessed immense magical power and extraordinary magical control, far beyond the level expected of a normal wizard.

Evan couldn’t think of anyone capable of such a feat, not even Dumbledore.

Riddle’s ancestor, Salazar Slytherin’s powerful magical talent was perfectly displayed in him.

After centuries of inbreeding to maintain the purity of their bloodline, the Gaunt family’s efforts had finally borne fruit.

This kind of incredible magical talent should not appear in this era.

And certainly, it shouldn’t have appeared in Riddle.

But everything had been set, the cause and effect had been formed, even if Riddle had not gone to Hogwarts, he would have become the Dark Lord, and might even be more terrifying, becoming the most powerful Obscurial in history.

Power out of control could only bring disaster.

Evan had a glimmer of understanding that Voldemort’s rise was inevitable.

Inside the room, Riddle finished recounting his abilities in one breath.

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer. Chapters first released on NoveI~Fire.net

“I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”

“Well, you were quite right,” said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently, furrowing his brows slightly. “You are a wizard.”

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it.

Yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher.

His expression was almost bestial, so scary, evoking an inexplicable sense of fear and unease. Perhaps this was his true face.

“Are you a wizard too?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes, I am.”

“Prove it,” said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, “Tell the truth.”

Young Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, as if thinking.

“If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts —”

“Of course I am!”

“Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ “

Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant — please, Professor, could you show me —”

Had it been any other wizard present, they might have flatly refused Riddle’s request.

But Dumbledore was different. Based on Evan’s understanding of him, Riddle, who was too happy at this moment, had successfully attracted the headmaster’s attention. This would probably be the most frustrating thing for him in the many years to come.

Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick, and the wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle jumped to his feet, howling in shock and rage.

It was conceivable that all his worldly possessions were probably in that wardrobe.

But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. “Where can I get one of them?”

“All in good time,” said Dumbledore. “I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe.”

And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it, as if something was about to come out.

For the first time, Riddle looked frightened, his eyes flickering toward Dumbledore in apprehension.

“Open the door,” said Dumbledore in a commanding tone.

Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door.

On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

“Take it out,” said Dumbledore.

Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.

“Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?” asked Dumbledore.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. “Yes, I suppose so, sir,” he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

“Open it,” said Dumbledore.

Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them.

Evan and Harry stepped closer, only to see a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them.

Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

“You will return them to their owners with your apologies,” said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. “I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, “Yes, sir.”

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic — yes, there is a Ministry — will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws.”

“Yes, sir,” said Riddle again.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, or whether he took Dumbledore’s words to heart.

His face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, “I haven’t got any money.”

“That is easily remedied,” said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. “There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but —”

“Where do you buy spellbooks?” interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

“In Diagon Alley,” said Dumbledore. “I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything —”

“You’re coming with me?” asked Riddle warily, looking up.

“Certainly, if you —”

“I don’t need you,” said Riddle, interrupting Dumbledore again. “I’m used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time.”

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