— — — — — —
"Tom, where is this place?"
Daphne swayed a little as she stared at the rugged dirt path in front of her. Her head was still spinning.
"This is a village called Little Hangleton." Tom gestured for her to turn around.
Daphne did. They were standing halfway up a hillside. Down at the foot of the hill sat a run-down village, barely more than a hundred houses in total. It was breakfast time, yet only a dozen chimneys were giving off smoke.
That was the reality of modern Britain. With urbanization speeding up and birth rates falling, small villages quietly withered away every year until they simply disappeared.
"What are we doing here?" the girl asked, still confused. "Weren't we supposed to go watch the drama?"
"Dumbledore still has a long trip ahead of him," Tom said calmly. "The show won't start until tomorrow anyway. We've got time to take care of a small errand first."
Without Fawkes, Dumbledore definitely wouldn't make it to America today. So after leaving Hogwarts, Tom hadn't rushed there either.
The main character hadn't even arrived yet. What would be the point of watching the show?
The reason he'd left school in such a hurry was simple. He wanted to secure the Resurrection Stone first.
"The place we're heading to is the Gaunt family house." Tom took Daphne's hand and led her up the mountain path.
"Gaunt…" The girl quickly pieced it together. "You mean the Gaunts connected to Salazar Slytherin?"
"Exactly. The same Gaunts connected to Voldemort."
Tom nodded toward another hill in the distance. Faintly visible there was a cluster of abandoned buildings.
"That's the Riddle House. Voldemort's father was born there. The Gaunts are his mother's family."
"Tell me Voldemort's story," Daphne said eagerly.
Since she couldn't enjoy the latest gossip about Dumbledore yet, she figured Voldemort's past might be even juicier.
To his enemies, Voldemort was a nightmare, a name people didn't even dare to speak.
Among his own supporters, his reputation wasn't much better.
Aside from the true fanatics who followed him blindly, most pure-blood families like the Malfoys or the Notts didn't actually like him. They supported him for one reason only: profit.
Because those who knew the truth rarely spoke of it, Voldemort's origins had grown more mysterious over time. Daphne wasn't afraid of him now, but she was very curious about the Dark Lord who shared Tom's name.
Tom didn't refuse her request. As they walked along the winding mountain path, he began telling the story tied to this land.
"You probably know the general history of the Gaunt family," Tom said. "Their obsession with pure blood went way past normal. By the strictest definition the wizarding world once used, out of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight, only the Gaunts could truly claim to be pure-blood."
"To keep their bloodline 'pure,' they constantly married within the family. But the consequences were severe. Premature births, deformities, hereditary illnesses… all common. By the beginning of this century, the Gaunt family was already in complete decline. Honestly, the fact they survived until a few decades ago is almost a miracle."
Daphne nodded instinctively.
Every family knew the truth about its own history. On the surface they talked proudly about pure blood, but which family didn't have a few Muggle ancestors somewhere in the past?
Not even Muggle-born wizards. Sometimes it was outright Muggles, simply because marrying them reduced the risk of exposing magic.
"Voldemort's mother, Merope Gaunt, was born when the family was at its weakest," Tom continued. "Her father, Marvolo Gaunt, and her brother, Morfin Gaunt, abused her for years."
"Then one morning, by chance, Merope saw Tom Riddle Senior riding out to hunt with friends… and fell in love with him at first sight."
Tom paused for a moment.
He still found it ridiculous how common it was in Britain for fathers to pass their own names down to their sons. Supposedly it symbolized legacy and hope.
Barty Crouch Sr. Barty Crouch Jr.
Tom personally hated that.
Daphne, already absorbed in the story, instantly imagined the rest.
"So then they fell in love too, right? Got married, had a child… and that child was Voldemort?"
Tom let out a short laugh and ruffled her hair.
"Did you forget what I just said? The Gaunts were the product of generations of inbreeding. Almost all of them had hereditary defects. Their looks were… well, let's just say each one uglier than the last."
He thought for a moment before choosing a comparison.
"Merope…"
Tom finally said, "She was uglier than Snape."
He remembered that in one short story from his previous life, Merope had been portrayed as fairly pretty.
But that was nonsense.
In the original description, Merope was plainly described as ugly. Painfully so.
"Ew!"
The young lady's face twisted in disgust. Just imagining Snape as a woman made her stomach churn.
"Then how was Voldemort born?" Daphne asked, baffled.
"Love potion."
"…What?"
Her jaw practically hit the ground.
She knew plenty about love potions. Her best friends joked about using them all the time when gossiping about boys. That's what they meant when they talked about "drugging" someone.
But it was always just talk.
No one actually dared to do it. Using one was illegal.
Tom continued calmly, revealing a secret Voldemort would have killed to keep buried.
"Merope was actually quite talented at magic. She kept Tom Riddle Senior under the influence of a love potion the whole time. Long enough for them to marry… and conceive a child."
"The potion's effects were so overwhelming that Merope started believing the feelings were real. She forgot about her own appearance, forgot about the way she'd manipulated him, and convinced herself she had truly won Tom Riddle's love."
"So she stopped using the potion."
"Right before Voldemort was born, Tom Riddle Senior regained his senses. He abandoned the pregnant Merope and went back to his hometown."
"Merope lost all hope. She gave birth to Voldemort outside the doors of Wool's Orphanage… and named him Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"That's one of the reasons Voldemort's personality turned out so different from ordinary people," Tom added quietly. "He's a wizard born without love. A product of a love potion. He simply can't understand that emotion, which is why he became so utterly selfish."
Daphne needed a long moment to process everything.
She never imagined Voldemort's birth had been that twisted.
Tom went on to mention a few things about Wool's Orphanage and what eventually happened to Tom Riddle Senior and the Gaunt family. By the time he finished, they had reached the front of a crumbling shack.
"Impervius."
Tom drew his wand and walked a circle around Daphne, tracing a thin golden line on the ground that closed into a perfect ring.
Then he warned her seriously, "There may be traps inside left by Voldemort. Stay here and wait for me. Stay inside the Impervius Charm, okay?"
Daphne nodded obediently. "You be careful too."
Tom turned and walked into the courtyard.
The brick wall around the yard had collapsed halfway. What remained was covered in moss, and many of the roof tiles had fallen away, exposing the rotting wooden beams beneath.
The most unsettling sight, though, was the wooden door. Nailed to it was a shriveled, blackened snake, its body stiff in an S-shape.
Tom might be a Slytherin, but he had never liked that snake style.
He flicked his hand lightly. The decayed door tore free from its rotten frame and flew off into a clump of vines nearby.
Even with the doorway wide open, Tom stayed where he was. He lifted his wand, and a red curtain of light unfolded before him, slowly pushing its way into the house.
The moment the light overlapped with the building, it began to hiss.
Thin streams of black smoke rose into the air.
The red glow crept forward bit by bit, scanning the entire Gaunt house. Only after the sweep was complete did Tom finally step inside.
The smell of rot hit him instantly, strong enough to make anyone gag. Tom quickly cast a small pocket-space spell, the kind that could sustain life even in the vacuum of space, and only then did he breathe out in relief.
Inside, everything was in ruins.
Overturned tables and chairs, shattered pottery, dried stains smeared across the walls. The place looked like it had been ransacked long ago.
Tom's gaze settled on a half-collapsed cabinet in the corner.
He stepped over scattered debris and approached it.
The tip of his wand touched the cabinet lightly. A faint ripple of magic spread outward.
Immediately, ghostly green lines appeared across the surface like a spiderweb.
Voldemort's protective magic had been triggered.
But golden threads burst from Tom's wand tip, weaving through the air. Within seconds, the green patterns were eaten away completely.
Click.
The top drawer of the cabinet popped open.
Inside lay a ring set with a large, dull black stone.
Morning sunlight slipped through the cracks in the house and fell directly onto the gem. Under the light, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows stood out clearly.
At the same moment, a voice whispered into Tom's mind.
Put it on.
Put it on.
Tom rolled his eyes.
He simply stared at the Resurrection Stone. The enchantment trying to tempt him had no effect whatsoever.
As he'd always believed, the fewer things you cared about, the fewer weaknesses you had. The same stone that nearly killed Dumbledore meant nothing to him. In his eyes, it was just a rock.
If he weren't curious about the secret behind gathering all three Deathly Hallows, he wouldn't have bothered coming here at all.
"Such a crude trick," Tom muttered, shaking his head.
Voldemort's trap was laughably simple. He had no knowledge of Dumbledore's past and didn't believe anyone would ever find the Resurrection Stone. The curse was nothing more than blind luck waiting for the right victim.
Besides, even if Dumbledore came here now, the stone wouldn't tempt him anymore.
Ariana was already alive again.
The next moment, Tom spoke a strange syllable. Instantly, golden lines formed in the air, ancient runes flickering among them.
The ring lifted from the drawer as if pulled by invisible hands. It floated into the air, wrapped in dazzling golden light.
About thirty seconds later, the glow faded.
The Resurrection Stone was now sealed inside a hexagonal crystal.
Tom reached out, grabbed the crystal, slipped it into his pocket, and turned to leave.
He didn't bother resetting the trap or restoring the room.
If Voldemort discovered it, so be it. In fact, Tom almost preferred it that way. The more Voldemort kept tearing his soul apart to make Horcruxes, the better. Eventually he'd turn himself into a drooling idiot without Tom even lifting a finger.
"Done already?"
Seeing Tom come out, Daphne still didn't dare step beyond the golden circle. She raised her voice to ask.
Tom smiled and waved.
Only then did the girl dash forward and throw herself into his arms.
"Have I ever failed when I personally handle something?" Tom said with a grin. "Come on, let's head home. We'll go to America tomorrow morning."
"Mhm."
— — —
New York, USA—
At the International Confederation of Wizards headquarters, Pierce was panicking.
He had already received word that Dumbledore had left Hogwarts and was coming to settle the score with him.
Where was the dignity in that?
You're the greatest white wizard of the century, and because of a bit of verbal sparring you're coming to beat me up in person? Is that really appropriate?
What about all the people who used to insult you before? Why didn't you go after them?
Pierce felt deeply wronged. He had never intended things to spiral this far out of control.
Unfortunately, the situation was no longer something he could manage.
You could start a fight. But you didn't get to decide when it ended.
Truth only existed within the range of a wand.
In a panic, Pierce immediately summoned the Auror security chief. He also rushed over to the nearby Woolworth Building to request help from the Magical Congress of the United States.
At the same time, he sent messages to several friendly Ministries of Magic.
For the entire day, he struggled desperately to prepare.
Hundreds of Aurors moved into the headquarters. More than a hundred curse-breakers inspected the defensive enchantments, activating every protective measure available.
Pierce made up his mind.
Until Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts, he wasn't stepping out of the building even once.
And so, Monday arrived.
By eight in the morning, the usually bustling Fifth Avenue suddenly emptied. A thick fog had begun rolling through the streets.
Soon, not a single pedestrian remained.
Then from within the mist, a figure in a white robe slowly emerged.
His expression was calm and solemn as he walked forward, step by step, toward the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards.
.
.
.