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1938. Dumbledore wasn't headmaster yetâjust a Transfiguration teacher in his fifties. That year, he did something small that changed everything.
He recruited Tom Riddle into Hogwarts. The future Dark Lord's path to power started right there.
Hofa had read the books. Been a fan. Never imagined he'd die and wake up hereâ1938 Britain, staring at one of the wizarding world's legends.
After Mrs. Cole left, Hofa backed into the corner. Watched Dumbledore. Legilimency? Memory Charm? Either would be bad. He'd just died. Memories scrambled. Nerves shot.
But Dumbledore didn't cast anything. Just looked interested. A Muggle orphan who knew his name? Fascinating.
He freed the cat from the ceiling first. Then leaned against the broken desk, smiling.
"Muggles don't know my name, Hofa."
Already memorized it.
"Oh." Flat response. Hofa had only lived twenty years. Dumbledore was fifty-six. No advantage here.
"You didn't ask what a Muggle is." Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed. "Full name?"
"Hofa Bach."
Better to be honest. Against someone like this, play the obedient child.
"Bach... French family, perhaps." Dumbledore pulled out his wand. Laid it across his knee.
Hofa flinched. Guard up. Shock worn off. He just wanted Dumbledore gone so he could think.
Dumbledore caught the fear. Raised his wand. Pointed it at Hofa.
Hofa's eyes widened. Backed against the wall.
What's he doing? Memory Charm? Legilimency?
Right when tension peakedâ
*BANG!*
Glass on the desk exploded. Responding to Hofa's panic.
*POOF!*
Like a cheap Halloween popper. Streamers shot from Dumbledore's wand. Drifted down with sparkles onto Hofa's face.
Hofa stood frozen. Streamers draped over his head.
This wasn't in the books.
Dumbledore coughed. Pocketed his wand. "Am I really that frightening?"
Hofa said nothing. Looked at the shattered glass. Then Dumbledore's amused face. Speechless.
"Did Beauxbatons send you a letter?"
Hofa shook his head.
"I see." Dumbledore stood. Put on his hat. "Perhaps you need a change of scenery. By the wayâI also like shorthair cats. Find a proper place to bury him."
He winked. Walked out.
Hofa slid down the wall after he left. Brain rebooting. Finally confirmed his coordinates.
1938 London. Same orphanage as Tom Riddle.
Dumbledore was recruiting the future Dark Lord right now.
Faint clicking sounds came from upstairs. Like rats gnawing wood. So quiet you'd miss it.
Not rats. Hofa knew what it was.
1938âwhen Dumbledore recruited eleven-year-old Tom, he'd shown displeasure at the bullying. Set a wardrobe on fire. Forced the future Dark Lord into his only moment of remorse.
Maybe this was the real beginning. No Hogwarts for Tom meant no Voldemort. No dead parents. No Harry Potter story.
And it was happening right above his head.
Muffled voices drifted down.
...
*Boy:* "I haven't got any money!"
*Dumbledore:* "Easily remedied. Hogwarts has a fund for books and robes. Some will be secondhand, but..."
*Boy:* "Where do you buy spellbooks?"
*Dumbledore:* "Diagon Alley. I have your list. I can help you get everything..."
*Boy:* "You're coming with me?"
*Dumbledore:* "Certainly, if you..."
*Boy:* "I don't need you to..."
...
Five minutes laterâdoor closed upstairs.
Then Dumbledore's voice came down again.
"By the way, the boy whose room you took is also a wizard. If you know London, help him out."
Tom Riddle laughed. "Hofa? Him?"
No answer. Door closed.
...
Hofa collapsed on the bed. Didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He had magical talent. Dumbledore had tested himâcompletely unexpected way.
Current Dumbledore was sharper than the books suggested. Younger. More forceful.
And Voldemort was more terrifying. His predecessor was dead. Killed by eleven-year-old Tom Riddle over a room.
If Dumbledore knew he was recruiting an eleven-year-old murderer...
Hofa lay spread-eagle. Sighed. Reached for his phone out of habit. Laughed bitterly.
Steve Jobs was seventy years away from the iPhone 4.
After collecting his thoughts, Hofa picked up the cat Tom had hanged. Dug a hole in the corner. Buried it.
Looked at the small pile of pebbles. Pressed his chest. "I'll live well enough for both of us."
Dinner bell rang.
Hofa adjusted his attitude. Gloom vanished. He had magical talent. Probably going to Hogwarts. His childhood dream. What was there to complain about?
...
Dinner: yellowing bread, two bacon strips, half a broccoli, orange juice.
First meal in 1938 London. Orphanage foodâjust enough to keep kids from starving.
British cooks were famously lazy. Bacon overcooked and tough.
Hadn't finished chewing when a tray slammed down across from him.
*CLANG!*
Hofa looked up. Bacon dangling from his mouth.
Tall boy. Dark hair. Pale skin. Strikingly handsome. More than Hofa's current face. Hofa was ordinary neighbor kid. This boy could get scouted walking down the street.
"Your forehead healed fast, Hofa."
Eyes narrowed. Like looking at an interesting toy.
Tom Marvolo Riddle. The real deal. Europe's most powerful Dark wizard. Fifty years from now, people wouldn't dare speak his name.
Hofa hated him.
Nobody likes an eleven-year-old killer who'd never repent.
But Hofa had an adult's mind. Wasn't afraid. Right now, Tom was just a talented child.
Swallowed the bacon. Stood slowly. Looked at young Voldemort. Wondered what kind of person would turn that face into a snake's.
"Get lost, Tom."
Calm voice. Presence matched Tom's completely.
Tom froze. Face went white. Flash of red in his eyes. Like a vicious animal.
Then something unexpected. Didn't attack. Didn't cast magic. Just smiled. Leaned closer. Previous ferocity vanished.
"You and I are the same, Hofa." Pointed at other children. "Different from these idiots."
Hofa was stunned.
Young Voldemort. Future legend. Yesterday pushed Hofa off a cliff. Today making friends. No wonder he'd build a massive Death Eater army.
If Hofa didn't know the future, he might fall for that smile.
"If you'll be my friend, I can take you somewhere magical." Extended his left hand. Warm smile.
Hofa looked coldly at the hanging palm.
"I'll get to Hogwarts myself. Won't shake the dirty hand that killed an innocent animal."
Tom's small face filled with hatred.
Ceiling lights flickered. Air tightened. Every child's orange juice exploded. Crying erupted.
Hofa frowned. Powerful magic. He hadn't learned anything yet, but instinct screamedâthis kid's talent was terrifying.
Face went pale. Didn't back down. Past lifeâordinary guy with principles. Even if Tom was destined to succeed, Hofa wouldn't shake that hand.
Hand withdrew. Lights normalized.
Mrs. Cole rushed in, comforting crying children.
Tom recovered.
"I'll be watching you, Hofa." Quiet voice. Left.
Calm words. Naked killing intent.
Hofa snorted. Shook his head. Tossed last bacon strip into his mouth.
First day aliveâalready pissed off the Dark Lord. Nice.
Hofa didn't like making enemies. Traditional upbringing taught him to keep low. But that's exactly why he had to distance himself from Voldemort.
Pick the right side. Keep your head down. Get rich quietly.
Not like Tomâflaunting ambition, fighting the world. No matter how talented, that only ended one way. Even without Harry Potter.
Hofa shivered.
Voldemort was destined to fail. But Hofa didn't want to become a casualty.
This wasn't Harry's era. Harry's dad wasn't even born. No protagonist halo. No historical knowledge to exploit.
No Philosopher's Stone. No Chamber. No Azkaban prisoner. All half a century away.
Right now, flying blind.
The road aheadâcompletely dark.
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