Chapter 444 - The Past (1/2)

There inside is a shallow stone basin with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols. A silver light was coming from the basin's contents, which were nothing like never seen before. A liquid like gas substance swirled about. It was bright, whitish silver, moving ceaselessly; the surface it was like waters being ruffled by the wind. And yet like clouds, they separated and swirled smoothly to look like liquid and very much solid.

Dumbledore carefully moved the pensive and placed it at his desk. Prodding the memories with his wand, he looked inside once again. The silvery substance became transparent until it looked like glass. Bending his face low until his long-crooked nose almost touched the silvery substance, when everything gave a lurch. once more

Dumbledore found himself staring at his younger self. He'd already had long hair and his beard was still auburn back down. He drew curious gazes due his flamboyant cut suit of plum velvet. In spite of himself, he chuckled at the sight of his younger self that made his way through a setoff iron gates that led into a bare courtyard. He mounted the steps to a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings.

He knocked once, when a scruffy girl wearing an apron opened the door. ”Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe is the matron here?”

”Oh. Um… jus a mo'…...Mrs. Cole!” The girl bellowed over her shoulder. A distance voice shouted something in response.

”Come in, she's on'er way,” the girl said.

Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white. The whole place was rather shabby, but spotlessly clean. A skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward him. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind. The woman was muttering to an aproned helper, when she halted and gaped upon finding Dumbledore.

”Good afternoon,” said Dumbledore, holding out his hand.

Mrs. Cole simply gasped.

”My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you kindly invited me here today.”

Mrs. Cole blinked, before feebly saying, ”Oh yes. Well – well, then – you'd better come into my room. Yes.” They arrived in a small room that was part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair, while she seated herself behind a cluttered desk.

”I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future,” said Dumbledore.

”Are you family?” asked Mrs. Cole.

”No, I am a teacher,” said Dumbledore. ”I have come to offer Tom a place at my school.”

”What school's this, then?”

”It is called Hogwarts.”

”And how come you're interested in Tom?”

”We believe he has qualities we are looking for.”

”You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one.”

”Well, his name has been down for our school since birth-.”

”Who registered him? His parents?”

At this point, Dumbledore took out his wand and gave her a perfectly blank piece of paper. A waver his wand caused her eyes to go unfocused as she placidly said, ”That seems perfectly in order.” Her dazed eyes fall upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had not been there before. She automatically served them both, before she began to down the gin.

”I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history. I think he was born here in the orphanage.”

”That's right,” Mrs. Cole muttered as she helped herself to more gin. ”I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour.”

”Did she say anything before she died?” asked Dumbledore. ”Anything about the boy's family, for instance?”

”Now, as it happens, she did,” Mrs. Cole eagerly said. ”I remember said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' 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 –.'