A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts
Chapter 624: Young Tom Riddle - (2)

"Sorry," Felix shook his head, "I didn't bring any money today, and letting a young wizard roam in unfamiliar places is dangerous enough. I have over a dozen households to visit this week, but once things settle down, I'll take you to Diagon Alley. You'll find everything you need there."

"Maybe you'll make a friend or two in the meantime."

The two exchanged glances, and it was the first time Felix outright refused Riddle since entering the room. Boom! Lightning exploded outside the window, but neither of them looked away. "Alright, Professor Dumbledore, see you next week," Riddle said.

Felix nodded at him, ignoring the hint of red in his eyes. He waved his hand, turning the twisted snake on the floor back into a wooden chair.

As he closed the door, the outside scenery blurred, and the long corridor seemed to open its jaws wide, ready to devour. Felix descended the stairs swiftly, and a gaunt woman—Mrs. Cole, the caretaker of the orphanage—hurriedly approached.

"Mr. Dumble—sorry, is it Mr. Dumble? Oh, are you done with your business?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cole. I'll be visiting again next week."

"No problem," Mrs. Cole said as they descended together, "It's a good thing—oh, slow down, you're walking too fast!" she shouted when Felix reached the corner of the first floor, already at the door.

He opened the door, turning to see the dilapidated, black-and-white-tiled entrance hall billowing with thick black smoke. Strangely, everyone around, just like Riddle, seemed oblivious, their eyes glowing with the same eerie red light.

"Why don't we finish that bottle of gin... Hap?" Mrs. Cole's voice turned deep and hoarse, and people with glowing red eyes stiffly approached.

"Goodbye," Felix simply said, then slammed the door shut.

The street was surrounded by dark clouds, and the wind howled fiercely. Felix quickly descended the steps outside the door, passing through the bare yard with a clang! The heavy iron gate slammed shut behind him.

Once outside, Felix vigorously waved his arms.

The wind grew fiercer, and the black clouds seemed to brush against nearby buildings. From the swirling clouds, a monstrous face twisted into view. A crack appeared in the ground beneath Felix's feet, rapidly extending into the distance.

The entire Wool's Orphanage suddenly sank.

Felix's expression was serious, knowing the backlash of changing strategies had arrived. Voldemort's will began automatically erasing this segment of memory that shouldn't exist. He pulled out a silver-blue substance from his pocket, and as his figure flickered, the blank memory fragments merged into the crack, mending and patching it.

When Felix stopped, the vision disappeared. Despite ugly scars on the ground and the sky looking as if patched with tape, this place was temporarily preserved, not completely abandoned by Voldemort.

Felix stood on the sidewalk, sighing in relief. After more than two months of experimentation, along with information provided by Dumbledore, he finally took the first step. He successfully planted a seed in Voldemort's mind.

What he needed to do went far beyond simple memory alteration.

Scattered memory fragments were useless. Wizards like Voldemort had robust defenses against their own memories—alterations, concealments, shields, or adding false memories would immediately alert him to something amiss, with minimal impact.

Felix didn't expect fake memories to make Voldemort cry and repent sincerely. Moreover, Voldemort's soul was inherently fragile due to its split. Drastically adjusting it could lead to devastating consequences.

So, Felix decided to open another front—create a separate branch in Voldemort's memories, the Wool's Orphanage. Just like traveling back to 1930s London, Felix would replace Dumbledore's impression in Riddle's memory, nurture him, and become his seven-year Transfiguration teacher.

Of course, Felix didn't need seven real years.

Time in memories passed quickly, so he only needed to appear at crucial moments, provide proper guidance, and fix the positive outcomes with 'memory nodes.' This way, Riddle would become powerful, different from the Dark Lord, and his experiences would shape him into someone with a distinct life trajectory. The richer the 'experiences,' the more distinct the personality, but ultimately, they would merge. Because memories were memories, not souls—they couldn't exist independently.

Felix strolled around the orphanage, turning to a wall and staring at a window on the third floor.

From this angle, only Tom Riddle's head was visible.

At this moment, Riddle sat expressionlessly on the bed, a booklist, a train ticket, and an unauthorized questionnaire laid out in front of him. Slowly, he furrowed his brows. For some reason, when they parted, he suddenly had the urge to attack the young Professor Dumbledore. A foolish idea, considering he relied on the man to enter the magical world.

Thinking of magic, Riddle's excitement caused his nostrils to flare, exhaling thick air. He then lowered his head to focus on the questionnaire. More mature than his peers, he had enough intelligence to analyze hidden facts from fragmented information.

Hogwarts had its rules, similar to those annoying rules outside. This meant the magical world had its order. Riddle wasn't sure how much the professor knew about his situation, but Dumbledore mentioned "making friends." Did that imply something?

Riddle felt uneasy, staring at the old wardrobe.

Hogwarts forbade stealing.

Dumbledore would come again next week.

He had to do something. Riddle got off the bed and walked to the worn-out wardrobe, swinging it open. Inside were a few old clothes, and on the top shelf was a small cardboard box.

Riddle took a deep breath, vividly recalling the origin of each item in the box—Dennis Bishop's yo-yo, Little Amy Benson's harmonica, and a silver-topped pin... all trophies he had snatched from other children.

No need to rush, Riddle thought. It would be better to wait until the day before Dumbledore's next visit to surrender them.

He slammed the cabinet shut, staring at the dusty mirror on the door. A smile gradually appeared on Riddle's face, showcasing patience far beyond his age. He meticulously adjusted the curvature of his mouth, the position of his arms, and his posture.

Innately talented, he quickly mimicked the proper stance.

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