“Well, I’ll see you later today, shall I, then?” said Tom Riddle, as he rose from the Hogwarts staff table. “And thank you for the wine, Albus, it was delicious.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Tom,” said Dumbledore, smiling at his long-time colleague. Tom exited the Great Hall as quickly as he could, slowed by the age that was taking him. Taking some of his well-known short-cuts, he crossed up to the third-floor and into his office. When he entered the room, he sighed and sat in his chair. He was growing old… Sixty-six today… He pondered back on his fondest memories. He remembered his beautiful house in Little Hangleton, where he, his mother, father, and butler lived happily for seventeen years. With another sad sigh, he picked up a picture on his desk. There, he saw his beautiful mother, Merope Gaunt Riddle, her face lit up with joy, as she laughed and ran from the jet of water shooting out of his father’s, Tom Riddle Senior, hose. Then, giggling with excitement, was a tiny, black-haired, six-year-old version of him, pulling on his father’s jacket. He watched with a forlorn feeling at the happy memory. He felt a tear run down his face, and he wiped it away. It was hard not to cry as he remembered his parents. His mother had died ten years ago of dragon pox, and only a year after his father died of cancer. If he had been a wizard, he would be immune to the disease, but he was a muggle. Tom put the picture back on his desk as he walked out to his classroom, where the students were already beginning to gather. His seventh-year N.E.W.T. class was there first period, his favorite class. He cleared his throat.
“Good evening, class,” he said. The students quieted down. “Now, I hope you all finished your report on dementors?” The class nodded. “Good. Now, if you could pass them to the front…” Tom looked at each paper as he picked them up. He paused on one. “Harry, this is very good, I am glad that you understand the Demonescular Theory, one of the few that do, I might add.”
“Thank you, Professor,” said Harry Potter, Tom’s favorite student.
“You know, Harry, I have been teaching for over forty years, and I am still surprised at such high-quality work. Yours is very good as well, Hermione.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Hermione Granger with a smile. “I worked very hard.”
“’Course you did,” said her boyfriend, Ron Weasley, “You think it’s a crime to get less then a nine out of ten, you’ve never-“
“Thank you, Ron,” said Tom with a smile. “I hope yours turns out well, too. Now, if you could turn to page one hundred and thirty four in your textbooks, you will find…”
* * * * * * *
At dinner that evening, Tom had a special request for Albus Dumbledore. Albus was a good friend of his, who had always been kind to him and his beloved parents.
“Albus,” said Tom, “I was wondering if I could borrow your Pensieve for a day or two?”
“Of course, Tom,” said Albus, looking rather surprised. “Is there anything wrong?”
“No, Albus, I just miss my past.”
“Of course. You may take as long as you wish.”
“Thank you.”
Tom returned to his bedroom to find the Pensieve dutifully waiting for his use. Wearily, he placed his wand to his temple and thought, “Legilim Extractum.” A silver strand of light was removed from his head. Concentrating on a different thought each time, he placed several more memories in the Pensieve. Then, with a deep breath, he plunged into the strange substance. He felt himself falling through thin air, then landed in a beautiful English mansion. Smiling, he looked around. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the beautiful aroma his mother’s charms put on the house. He turned as he heard the door open. His smiled as he watched his father lead his mother, whose golden hair seemed to be glowing in the sunlight, across the foyer, as she carried a tiny baby in her arms.
“Tom,” she said, tickling the child’s chin, “This is your daddy, Papa. Can you say that?”
“Oh, come now, Merope,” said Tom Sr. with a smile. “He ccan’t understand you, nonetheless say it! But I daresay, he may be able to after some of those strange things those people did-“
“Come on, Tom,” said Merope with a giggle, “Those were simple, customary charms, everybody uses them.”
“Yes, that’s what you said the day you told me you were a witch, remember?” said Tom. “Yes, you had used some of that yourself to get to me, didn’t you?”
“Well, it turned out welll,” responded Merope with a smile. “But enough of that, let’s show little Tommy his room.”
“Didn’t I tell you we wouldn’t call him that, dear?” cried Tom. “There was nothing worse as a child than being called ‘Tommy,’ I would know…”
Tom watched, his wizened face grinning, as his parents led his past self out of the room. Then, everything went black, and the memory changed. Tom felt his feet land on hard floor. He looked around. He was sitting in the dining hall of his home, sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass window. Precious, the house-elf, carried a tray to the small breakfast table where Merope, Tom Senior, and Tom Junior were eating. Tom, who was called Marvolo then by his parents, had been eleven years old then, and it was during the summer.
“Thank you, Precious,” said Merope, taking some sausages from the house-elf. “Anyways, as I was saying, now that the war’s over, we really should meet a few more magical families, Tom, it would do us good, especially Marvolo-“ she stopped as an owl flew into the room, landing neatly on the table. Tied to its leg was a letter. “Let’s see,” she said, lifting up the letter. She cleared her throat. “To Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle, The Lower Dining Room, Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton.” A small smile tugged at the edge of her lips. “There you go, Marvolo, this is for you.”
Marvolo beamed excitably. “Is it, Mother?” Merope merely smiled and handed him the letter, which he eagerly opened. Tom put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Dear Mr. Riddle, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find a list of all necessary books and equipment.
“Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
“Yours sincerely, Arthur Tepper, Deputy Headmaster.”
Marvolo looked up, his handsome face glowing with excitement.
“I knew you would, son, I knew you would!” said Tom Senior, patting his son on the back. “I guess all of those strange things have paid off, eh?” Marvolo nodded. Merope took his hand.
“Congratulations, dear,” said Merope. “I hope you’ll like it there. You’ll have to tell me what it’s like, though, I never got to go…” Again, the room faded away, soon to be replaced with the entrance to the Great Hall in Hogwarts. An elderly man led a large crowd of children past Tom. Without a word, he opened the doors and the line entered. Tom slid through the crowd until he came next to Marvolo. As always, Tom marveled on his younger face, shaped the same, but with jet-black hair and smooth skin instead of the pearl-white hair and wrinkled face he now had. The first-years stopped in front of the sorting hat. The ancient hat opened its mouth, and began to sing.
”Welcome, children, welcome all!
At last I see, early this fall!
Now, don’t be frightened, don’t be scared!
For many like you, I have cared.
I am a chooser, I’ll sort you out
Different names of houses, I will shout!
So, when your turn comes, just step up,
And don’t act frightened, like a pup.
Your mind I’ll judge, your every thought,
Any secrets you have will be caught.
Perhaps, you’ll enjoy fair Hufflepuff,
The House where kindness is enough,
Or ingenius Ravenclaw,
Where your mind will prosper… ah!
Perhaps it’s better in Slytherin!
Where you will find your own blood kin.
But if not those, it’s Gryffindor!
Where courage is, more than anything, worth more!
So come forth, put me on your head,
And I am wise, so don’t you fret!”
The Great Hall burst into applause. When all was silent, Professor Tepper stepped up.
“Abbot, Gwendolin!” A small girl stepped forward and put on the hat. A few seconds later…
“Hufflepuff!” The girl ran forth through the clapping crowd to her table. Next, Boris Amerigo was sorted into Ravenclaw. About fifteen minutes later…
“McGonagall, Minerva!” A very pretty brunette stepped up. No sooner had the hat touched her head then-
“Gryffindor!” Grinning, she ran off to her table. Next, David Megeo was sorted into Slytherin, and Jonathan Moor was put in Hufflepuff. Finally…
“Riddle, Tom!” The younger version of himself stepped forward to the stool and, looking both sick and excited, put on the hat. Tom pondered on the words he had heard all those years ago…
“Ah, you’ve come, have you? Yes, we’ve been looking forward to you… It’s been over fifty years since the last Gaunt came to Hogwarts, yes… You and your mother are the last Slytherins, I see, so that is a major option… Kind, selfless, and very bright, you are a very interesting combination… I see a good, strong future, but it depends on what you do… As you know, you are the Heir of Slytherin, undoubtedly your mother told you that… But very brave as well… Where should I put you?”
Not Slytherin… not Slytherin… he had thought…
“Not Slytherin? That holds a great future, you know, Salazar would be very disappointed if his Heir chose the wrong path… No? Very well, then… GRYFFINDOR!” Tom smiled as Marvolo happily ran to his table. Professor Slughorn looked very disappointed, as did many Slytherins. For another time, the feast disappeared, and in its stead Tom found himself in a Hogwarts Express room. There, Marvolo, Minerva, and Percival Vargo, all of them sixteen years old, and an enormous thirteen-year-old Rubeus Hagrid sat playing cards. A whistle sounded, and the train slowed to a stop. Marvolo packed up the deck with his wand as the four friends stood up.
“Well, I’ll see yer next year,” said Hagrid, lifting up his bags.
“Yeah, I’ve gotta get going,” added Percival. “I’ll write, okay?”
“Bye, Percival, bye, Hagrid,” said Marvolo, shaking their hands. “Say hi to your foster-mother for me, Hagrid.” His friend grinned and left the carriage. Percival waved and followed suit. Only Marvolo was left. “Well, Minerva, I guess this is it for now.”
“I suppose so, Marvolo,” said Minerva, smiling sweetly. The two of them bent in and kissed, a long, deep, emotional kiss. Tom smiled as he remember his dating period with Minerva. When they broke apart, Marvolo smiled.
“Come on, I want you to meet my folks,” he said. “Come on!” The two of them ran off the train, through the barrier, and back into the muggle world. Tom Senior and Merope awaited, holding hands. “Hi Mum, hi Dad,” said Marvolo. “This is my girlfriend, Minerva.”
“Marvolo’s said so much about you,” said Merope, shaking her hand. “I’m so glad I finally get to meet you.”
“So, you’re the one that’s got my son standing on his head?” said Tom. “Well, don’t give him any ideas…” he winked and Minerva, Marvolo, and Tom Jr. smiled as Merope elbowed her husband in the ribs. Then, for one final time, the memory turned black, and when the darkness cleared away, an inescapable sadness enveloped him. He was standing in the Great Hall, but it was no longer the jolly, fire-lit dining hall it was before, but a funeral home, dressed in black. The four House tables were gone, as was the staff table, and in the latter’s place was a coffin. Slowly, Tom walked forward and looked into the coffin. There, white as snow, with her golden hair fallen about her, was his mother, Merope. Marvolo stood next to the coffin as well. Already he was showing a few wrinkles and a gray hair or two. But tears ran down his face as he looked at his deceased mother. Already his father had passed away, and now she had too.
“Tom,” said a voice behind him, “I’m so sorry.”
Both Tom and his younger counterpart turned and saw Albus Dumbledore, tears in his blue eyes.
“It’s not your fault, Albus,” said Marvolo. “Death is inescapable. Everyone must face it.”
Albus nodded gravely and stepped aside as Horace Slughorn stepped forward.
“A terrible loss, Marvolo, a terrible loss,” said Horace. “If there’s anything I can do for my favorite co-worker…?”
“No, Horace,” said Marvolo, shaking his head. “I guess I just need to face it.”
“Oh, Marvolo!” cried Minerva, coming up behind Horace, “I’m truly sorry, you must feel terrible.”
“Only naturally, Minerva,” Marvolo answered quietly.
Tom had seen enough. He cleared his head and felt himself flying through space and landed back in his office. He wiped some tears from his face, and climbed into bed, his mind whirling with memories of his past… If only his parents hadn't died. But no matter. He had friends, very good ones. He loved Albus and the other teachers as brothers, and the students as daughters and sons. He loved Hogwarts, and the people, and he couldn't imagine not going to it.