Dumbledore had weathered far too many storms in his life. Even though all the "flags" were practically overflowing, they could still be explained away as mere coincidences.
He would never arbitrarily define a student just because of the same name and a similar background.
After zoning out for only a few seconds, Dumbledore returned to normal. Looking at Tom, who still wore a perfectly polite smile, he stroked his beard to cover up his momentary lapse and said gently,
"Mr. Riddle, 'honor' might be a bit much, but this is indeed a rather marvelous sort of fate."
"We happen to have a Potions professor who is far too busy. He was supposed to be the one to guide you, but unfortunately his potion brewing has reached a critical stage and he can't leave. So the task fell to this old man instead."
"But you'll have plenty of chances to meet him in the future. He is an absolute master of Potions, and you'll benefit greatly from his teachings."
"Actually, Mr. Riddle, you are a very special new student."
Dumbledore shifted the topic and asked with a hint of puzzlement,
"My colleagues and I have extensive experience introducing Muggle-born children to Hogwarts."
"But a child like you—who accepts the existence of magic so quickly… you're the first I've encountered. Usually, we need to use a few methods to convince them, for example, like this."
Dumbledore snapped his fingers. The scattered books on the writing desk immediately began to move, quickly arranging themselves into neat stacks.
"Mr. Riddle, did it never occur to you that magic might simply be an elaborate trick?"
Faced with Dumbledore's question, Tom did not avert his gaze. He looked straight into the old man's brilliant blue eyes and extended his palm.
"Actually… magic has always been right by my side."
From between the pages of a thick Grimm's Fairy Tales volume on the bookshelf, a gold-trimmed envelope flew out and landed neatly in Tom's hand.
It was the Hogwarts acceptance letter he had received the day before.
Toying with the envelope, Tom explained,
"Ever since I turned six, I realized that I'd awakened some rather extraordinary abilities. But I never believed myself to be uniquely special—there must be others in this world like me."
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Dumbledore did not spare his applause or his praise.
"Splendid—truly splendid. Such excellent control."
"Mr. Riddle, there's one thing you're mistaken about. Someone who can cast spells by sheer force of will before even enrolling—such individuals are exceedingly rare, even in my… no, in our world."
"Believe me, you will certainly achieve great things in magic in the future."
A young wizard experiencing uncontrolled magical outbursts was perfectly normal. If there were no outbursts at all, that meant the child was a Squib.
But usually, after an outburst, magic was completely uncontrollable and would fall into dormancy. Only after obtaining a wand and receiving proper instruction could one use magic proficiently.
What Tom had just demonstrated was extremely refined—clearly something he could already control with ease.
While Dumbledore was delighted that Hogwarts was about to gain an outstanding student, his heart still felt oddly… blocked.
Too similar.
Even more similar now.
"You flatter me, sir. I'm just a bit luckier than most."
Tom lowered his head shyly, though inwardly he let out a sigh of relief.
That hurdle… was cleared.
Tom was a transmigrator.
When his magic first erupted at the age of six, it also awakened his memories from his previous life.
At first, Tom hadn't known that this was the Harry Potter world—until his third year, when he participated in a mathematics competition and encountered a rival named Hermione Granger.
After asking around and learning that Miss Granger's father was a dentist, his entire mind went blank.
This was actually the magical world of Harry Potter?
And his name in this world carried… rather extraordinary significance.
Tom Riddle—wasn't that bloody Voldemort?
After that realization, it wasn't as if Tom hadn't considered changing his name.
But leaving aside the fact that he was a minor and couldn't legally change his name or surname until adulthood, there was also the risk of whether Hogwarts would still "find" him after the change.
That wasn't a gamble he could afford.
After all, this was a magnificent and fantastical magical world, and Tom didn't want to risk missing out on it.
So he endured the weighty karma attached to this name and lived with it up to this day—finally receiving his long-awaited Hogwarts acceptance letter two days ago.
What he hadn't expected was that the person guiding him into the magical world wouldn't be Hagrid, nor Professor McGonagall.
But Dumbledore himself.
Still, he understood why it had alarmed the greatest white wizard of the century.
To Dumbledore, Tom Riddle was simply too special.
Especially when his experiences were so eerily similar to those of the previous Tom. It was only natural that Dumbledore would come in person to see whether this was Voldemort reincarnated.
When Dumbledore raised his doubts earlier, that had been Tom's first real trial.
Why didn't he show shock or suspicion?
Tom didn't believe that any feigned surprise of his could fool Dumbledore—a man of vast experience who had lived for over a hundred years.
Rather than acting, it was better to handle it as he had just done: openly displaying his talent and using that as the explanation.
Of course, that too was a gamble.
A gamble on Dumbledore's character—that he wouldn't develop hostility toward him out of thin air just because of his name, nor immediately use Legilimency to probe his memories.
If he lost the bet… then he'd surrender on the spot and spill everything like pouring beans from a jar. He wouldn't really lose much—he might even get to witness Old Dumbledore speedrunning the destruction of seven Horcruxes.
As for whether he'd be sliced up for research afterward… that was another matter entirely.
Fortunately, he won the gamble. Dumbledore's character was indeed solid—he didn't do anything out of line.
"Mr. Riddle, I didn't expect things to go so smoothly today."
Dumbledore stood up and extended an invitation.
"There's still plenty of time. Why don't we strike while the iron's hot and prepare everything you'll need? I happen to be going to Diagon Alley today by myself to pick something up."
"Of course, sir. Please give me a moment."
Tom nodded and walked over to the desk, pulling a stack of banknotes from the drawer—mostly ten- and five-pound notes.
In Britain, the largest denomination was fifty pounds. Even decades later, despite inflation, this remained the case. And fifty-pound notes were mostly used for large transactions. Try using one at a convenience store—whether you'd get beaten up was uncertain, but someone would definitely greet your family with a word starting with "f."
"Mr. Riddle."
Only now did Dumbledore remember something he had overlooked.
"For students from financially difficult backgrounds, Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic have a regulated loan program—and it doesn't need to be repaid."
"But I'm not poor, am I?"
Tom counted the money—twelve hundred pounds in total—and smiled as he waved it at Dumbledore.