Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

The process was simple and direct. A woman who was full of mystery and stories and actually had a significant background came to a Muggle orphanage alone at the last moments of her life, gave birth to the child in her womb and then died. It was a classic novel opening.

That child, who later became Voldemort, also had a typical template for a novel protagonist in his growth trajectory.

Unfortunately, in this story, young Dumbledore was also a protagonist.

Thus, Voldemort’s eventual failure, just like his predecessor Grindelwald, was inevitable.

As for the plot of this novel, Evan could only describe it as melodramatic. Shouldn’t the kind of story that readers love be one that delivers nonstop, mindless satisfaction from start to finish?

Who would enjoy a tale filled with the tangled, emotionally charged conflicts between Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Voldemort?

Behind her desk, Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.

“Did she say anything before she died?” asked Dumbledore. “Anything about the boy’s father, for instance?”

“Now, as it happens, she did,” said Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story; or perhaps it was simply the influence of magic.

“I remember she said to me, ‘I hope he looks like his papa,’” said Mrs. Cole, “and I won’t lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty — and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father — yes, I know, funny name, isn’t it? We wondered whether she came from a circus — and she said the boy’s surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word.”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” Dumbledore repeated softly.

“Yes, and we named him just as she’d said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he’s been here ever since.”

Mrs. Cole helped herself, almost absentmindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she said, “He’s a funny boy.”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “I thought he might be.”

“He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. Not normal, is it? I’ve seen so many babies, but never one like him. And then, when he got a little older, he was … odd.”

“Odd in what way?” asked Dumbledore gently.

“Well, he …”

But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass.

At that moment, Evan thought that Dumbledore’s magic had failed!

“He’s definitely got a place at your school, you say?”

“Definitely,” said Dumbledore.

“And nothing I say can change that?”

“Nothing,” said Dumbledore.

“You’ll be taking him away, whatever?”

“Whatever,” repeated Dumbledore gravely.

She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him.

Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, “He scares the other children.”

“Scares them?! You mean he is a bully?” asked Dumbledore.

“It’s not just bullying — it’s fear. A very hard-to-explain kind of fear. If you want to call it bullying, you could, I suppose,” said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, “but it’s very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents. … Nasty things …”

Dumbledore did not press her, but he was obviously interested.

Mrs. Cole took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy cheeks grew rosier still.

“Let me tell you, Billy Stubbs’s rabbit … well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it?”

Evan pursed his lips, his mind automatically filling in a scene straight out of a horror movie.

A boy woke up one morning to find his beloved pet rabbit hanging lifelessly above his bed, swaying…

“I shouldn’t think so, no,” said Dumbledore quietly, frowning as well.

Every young wizard would experience accidental magic before their abilities fully manifested, but this case was particularly unusual and cruel.

A normal young wizard wouldn’t have been capable of something like that. No wonder Mrs. Cole described young Riddle as odd and scary.

“But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then” — Mrs. Cole took another swig of gin, slopping a little over her chin this time — “on the summer outing — we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside — well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards.”

“Forgive me, but in what way?” Dumbledore asked.

“Just not right in the head, sometimes clear, sometimes dull,” said Mrs. Cole, wiping the gin from her chin. “and all we ever got out of them was that they’d gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they’d just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I’m sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things. …”

She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady.

“I can’t say any more. Some things were so terrible that I’m not sure if it was him, but I don’t think many people will be sorry to see the back of him. Yes, of that, I am certain.”

“You understand, I’m sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?” said Dumbledore. “He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer.”

“Oh, well, that’s better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker. Just get him out of here before anybody dies. Thank God,” said Mrs. Cole with a slight hiccup. She got to her feet, quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. “I suppose you’d like to see him?” Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novel{f}ire.net

“Very much,” said Dumbledore, rising too.

Evan and Harry exchanged a glance, each seeing the shock in the other’s eyes.

Was this the young Voldemort? Even before he learned magic, he was so scary. A rabbit hanged from the rafters, children left mentally broken, beatings with rusty pokers, and countless other strange and dreadful incidents. This was practically a standard template for the protagonist of a horror novel!

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