July 30, 1991.
For London, which is always gloomy and ready to rain at any time, today is a rare sunny day.
The sky was dotted with a few soft white clouds, and the warm sunlight with a hint of heat poured down unhindered.
The cozy atmosphere makes people want to put a lounge chair in the yard, take a comfortable nap, and enjoy this hard-earned good weather.
However, only a few people have the opportunity to enjoy a leisurely life, and most people need to work hard to stay in this world longer and more decently.
This is the case in the Lewisham area of south London.
Central areas such as Chelsea and Kensington have been occupied by aristocratic lords and financial vampires. Most of the docks, ordinary wage earners and a large number of Caribbean immigrants can only live in such remote areas.
Pedestrians on the street walked hurriedly, fearing that if they were a step slower they would be delayed in adding bricks and tiles to their boss's mansion and luxury car.
However, when they pass by an old man, they always can't help but slow down and look back.
The old man did not feel offended by this, but smiled and nodded in greeting, walking briskly, even surpassing many young people.
The reason why he is so eye-catching is that his appearance and dress are very strange.
The old man was tall and thin, with silver hair and beard that were long enough to be tucked into his belt.
He wore a purple robe that dragged on the ground.
The fabric of the robe looked very expensive, and it was embroidered with dazzling stars and moons.
Behind his crescent-shaped glasses were a pair of deep blue eyes, which were clear, bright, and piercing, a look that did not belong to his age.
After walking for about half an hour, the old man arrived at his destination - 23 Elm Avenue, with the words "Lewisham Children's Home" hanging on the door.
This is a clean and tidy residential area with white townhouses on both sides of the road. Because it is working hours, the area is very quiet.
The doorbell rang.
"Here it comes!"
The old man didn't have to wait too long before a response came from inside the room. Then the door opened and a middle-aged woman in her forties was stunned for five seconds after seeing the old man. Then she asked uncertainly:
"You are... Headmaster Dumbledore?"
The old man smiled and nodded to admit his identity: "Yes, I am the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. You should be Ms. Alman, right?"
"I received your reply. I came here today to dispel your doubts."
Arman smiled reluctantly.
I always feel that the doubts in my heart are getting deeper. What should I do?
With such strange attire, can he be a serious principal?
Could it be Alzheimer's?
However, Dumbledore did not intend to explain further, but looked inside the room.
"Where is the child?"
"Come with me, he is exercising in the backyard."
Arman stepped aside and led the way for the old man.
By the 1990s, a large number of centralized orphanages in the UK had been abolished and replaced by a family foster care system that encouraged citizens to adopt orphans.
The existence of the children's home is more like providing a temporary residence for children with family conflicts or psychological problems. Most of them stay here for no more than six months.
However, there are exceptions. For example, orphans who do not want to be adopted can live here until they are 18 years old and continue to receive subsidies.
Arman is the manager of this children's home assigned by the government. Apart from him, all the staff are volunteers.
Crossing the room, Dumbledore followed Arman to the backyard of the villa.
There were four children in the backyard at this time, all boys around ten years old. A boy with black hair and black eyes was punching continuously with worn boxing gloves, and the sandbag hanging on the clothesline was shaking.
The boy was very handsome, with bright eyes, a straight nose, and delicate facial features, as if he was the most perfect work carefully carved by God himself.
"Tom!"
Arman called out, and when the boy stopped and looked over, she continued, "This is Headmaster Dumbledore, and he's here to invite you to join their school."
"Thank you, Auntie Arman."
Tom thanked him and then bowed slightly to Dumbledore, "Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Be more casual, kid." Dumbledore smiled and pointed to the house: "If you don't mind, can we go to your bedroom to talk?"
"No problem." Tom agreed readily and handed the gloves to a boy: "Seth, one thousand times, don't be lazy."
"Yes, Boss."
Seth nodded grimly.
When Dumbledore re-entered the house, he looked back and saw Seth had already put on his gloves and started practicing, throwing every punch with all his strength.
....
On the second floor of the room, Tom took Dumbledore to his room.
The room he lives in is the master bedroom of the house. It is quite large and has a separate bathroom and dressing room in addition to the bedroom. It is a complete suite.
There is a table and a row of bookshelves in the corner against the wall. There are many books on the table, and various certificates and trophies on the shelves.
"Please take a seat, Mr. Dumbledore."
There was only one chair in the room, and Tom motioned for Dumbledore to sit down, while he sat on the bed.
"Kid, let's formally introduce ourselves again."
The height of the chair was not suitable for Dumbledore, and he felt a little cramped sitting on it, but he didn't care at all. With a kind smile unique to an elderly person on his face, he said softly:
"I am Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I cordially invite you to study at Hogwarts and help you control and master the power of magic."
"I know, sir; I have read that letter fifty times."
Tom cleared his throat and said, "I am Tom Riddle. As you can see, I am an orphan. I am honored to attend Hogwarts and be personally guided by the headmaster."
Tom Riddle...
The old man's bright pupils began to dilate and his expression became dazed.
Tom Riddle, an orphan, has an extraordinary appearance and is domineering.
This element...can it be pulled a little fuller?