Hogwarts: I am Snape

Chapter 50 Tom's Life Isn't Easy

Mrs. Cole stood up briskly, her legs still very steady, not at all like someone who had drunk most of a bottle of gin.

She then led Snape and the two Dumbledores out of the office and up the stone stairs, shouting orders to her helpers as she went, while also loudly scolding the children who passed by.

The orphans were all dressed in identical gray, fitted robes, and were very neat. They appeared to have received reasonable and careful care, but their expressions lacked the liveliness expected of children their age.

“While it’s not a bad place,” Snape shrugged, “it’s not exactly a good place either.”

“Yes, Severus,” Dumbledore nodded. “The atmosphere here is too gloomy and oppressive.”

“Since you’re going to take Tom to Hogwarts anyway, why not just let him grow up there?” Snape asked, voicing his question.

“No one has ever done that before. Hogwarts has its rules,” Dumbledore said helplessly. “Young wizards are only taken to the school when they reach the appropriate age.”

“Yes, orphans always seem to inevitably grow up in misfortune,” Snape muttered to himself, his mind drifting to the storage room under the stairs of the Dursleys’ house at No. 4 Privet Drive.

Mrs. Cole led them around a corner on the third-floor landing and stopped at the door of the first room in a long corridor.

She knocked twice on the door, then pushed it open and went inside.

Snape and the two Dumbledores entered the room together, and Mrs. Cole closed the door behind them.

In the empty room, a handsome black-haired boy sat on a gray blanket, his long legs stretched out in front of him, reading a book in his hand.

“He’s quite handsome,” Snape commented quietly, “but also very fierce.”

Tom stared intently at the young Dumbledore, his eyes wide with suspicion and distrust. "I don't trust you. She wants someone to examine me, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

Then, to prove to Tom the existence of magic, and perhaps also for the purpose of intimidation, the young Dumbledore leisurely pulled his wand from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the dilapidated wardrobe in the corner, and casually waved it.

Tom's wardrobe immediately burst into flames...

Tom was forced to open the wardrobe door at the command of the young Dumbledore.

He dumped the contents of a cardboard box onto his bed, which included a spool of string, a silver thimble, and a tarnished harmonica.

"At Hogwarts, we not only teach you to use magic, but also to control it... The Ministry of Magic will punish lawbreakers more severely... Once you enter our world, you must obey our laws..."

"I don't need you... I'm used to doing things myself..."

"Leaky Cauldron... I'd like to ask around about the bar owner, Tom... He has the same name as you..."

"I can talk to snakes..."

"Goodbye, Tom. See you at Hogwarts..."

A few seconds later, Snape and Dumbledore once again floated lightly through the darkness before landing steadily in their office in reality. "Professor, Voldemort really dislikes the name 'Tom,'" Snape said to Dumbledore with a strange look as he sat down at the headmaster's desk. "It's quite remarkable that Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron, has survived this long."

“Your associations are quite detailed,” Dumbledore’s lips twitched, “but that’s not the point for tonight. We should be thinking about what useful information we can glean from this memory.”

“Oh, okay, let’s change the subject.” Snape adjusted his posture slightly. “You disciplined Tom by setting the wardrobe on fire?”

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Dumbledore sighed heavily. “I was too young then, and I believed too much in power.”

"When did you stop believing in power so much?" Snape pressed. "After 1945?"
"I remember the Chocolate Frog picture card said that you defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945. I believe you couldn't have done that without power."

Dumbledore remained silent for a long time, staring straight at Snape.

Seeing that the headmaster did not answer, Snape continued to speak to himself: "Professor, do you think that if Tom had had parents from childhood, or had been raised by other loving wizarding families, he would have turned out the way he did?"

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore sighed again. “No one knows the outcome of a hypothesis.”

“Actually, I still have some doubts, or rather, some dissatisfaction.” Snape frowned slightly, then continued, “The wizarding world’s methods of dealing with young wizards are far too simplistic and brutal.”

"Children with wizarding potential may intentionally or unintentionally use their magic, which may cause harm to others."

"On the other hand, it could also directly harm the young wizards themselves, or indirectly invite retaliation from Muggles. This has been the case for hundreds of years, and it remains so now. Isn't there a better way?"

Dumbledore's long beard trembled uncontrollably. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

At that moment, behind Snape, Fawkes the Phoenix let out a soft, melodious chirp, then fluttered its wings and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, nuzzling his head against his.

Snape suddenly noticed that Dumbledore's bright blue eyes were somewhat dim at this moment.

“Severus,” Dumbledore finally spoke, “do you want to help me fight Voldemort, or do you want to help him fight me?”

"What are you saying?" Snape realized the inappropriateness of his words and quickly feigned ignorance, widening his eyes. "I don't understand what you're talking about. Of course, I'm wholeheartedly committed to fighting Voldemort with you!"

Dumbledore didn't press the matter: "I think you should realize the importance of this memory by now, shouldn't you?"

“Yes, Professor,” Snape sat up straight and replied, “Little Tom loves collecting trophies.”

"That box was full of spoils he had taken from others through various means. Perhaps we can assume that he would use the same methods to collect objects suitable as Horcrux containers?"

“I agree. But judging from the crown, I don’t think Tom would choose ordinary loot,” Dumbledore said. “He has his own standards and would certainly choose the container for the soul fragment carefully.”

“It’s a pity I couldn’t get Mr. Burke’s memories directly,” Dumbledore said, raising his wand and pressing the tip against his temple, drawing out a long strand of silver hair. “But his words are of equal value.”

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(End of this chapter)