Katie was removed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, by which time the news that she had been cursed had spread all over the
school, though the details were confused and nobody other than Harry1, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target.
“Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course,” said Harry to Ron and Hermione, who continued their new policy of feigning2 deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death
-Eater theory.
Harry had wondered whether Dumbledore would return from wherever he had been in time for Monday night's lesson, but having had no word to the contrary, he presented
himself outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, knocked, and was told to enter. There sat Dumbledore looking unusually tired; his hand was as black and burned as
ever, but he smiled when he gestured to Harry to sit down. The Pensieve was sitting on the desk again, casting silvery specks3 of light over the ceiling.
“You have had a busy time while I have been away,” Dumbledore said. “I believe you witnessed Katie's accident.”
“Yes, sir. How is she?”
“Still very unwell, although she was relatively4 lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin; there was a tiny hole in her
glove. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a
rapid spread of the curse —”
“Why him?” asked Harry quickly. “Why not Madam Pomfrey?”
“Impertinent,” said a soft voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms
where he had appeared to be sleeping. “I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day.”
“Yes, thank you, Phineas,” said Dumbledore quellingly. “Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St. Mungo's staff
are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery in time.”
“Where were you this weekend, sir?” Harry asked, disregarding a strong feeling that he might be pushing his luck, a feeling apparently5 shared by Phineas Nigellus, who
“I would rather not say just now,” said Dumbledore. “However, I shall tell you in due course.”
“You will?” said Harry, startled.
“Yes, I expect so,” said Dumbledore, withdrawing a fresh bottle of silver memories from inside his robes and uncorking it with a prod7 of his wand.
“Sir,” said Harry tentatively, “I met Mundungus in Hogsmeade.”
“Ah yes, I am already aware that Mundungus has been treating your inheritance with light-fingered contempt,” said Dumbledore, frowning a little. “He has gone to
ground since you accosted8 him outside the Three Broomsticks; I rather think he dreads9 facing me. However, rest assured that he will not be making away with any more of
Sirius's old possessions.”
“That mangy old half-blood has been stealing Black heirlooms?” said Phineas Nigellus, incensed10; and he stalked out of his frame, undoubtedly11 to visit his portrait in
number twelve, Grimmauld Place.
“Professor,” said Harry, after a short pause, “did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her after Katie got hurt? About Draco Malfoy?”
“She told me of your suspicions, yes,” said Dumbledore.
“And do you—?”
“I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie's accident,” said Dumbledore. “But what concerns me now, Harry, is
our lesson.”
Harry felt slightly resentful at this: if their lessons were so very important, why had there been such a long gap between the first and second? However, he said no
more about Draco Malfoy, but watched as Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve and began swirling12 the stone basin once more between his long-fingered
hands.
“You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle13, had abandoned his witch wife,
Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort.”
“How do you know she was in London, sir?”
“Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke,” said Dumbledore, “who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace we have just
been discussing.”
He swilled15 the contents of the Pensieve as Harry had seen him swill14 them before, much as a gold prospector16 sifts17 for gold. Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a
little old man revolving18 slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch19 of hair that completely covered his eyes.
“Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly,
well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along... going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of
story all the time, ‘Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,’ but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to
tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons20 for it. Best bargain
we ever made!”
Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended22 back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.
“He only gave her ten Galleons?” said Harry indignantly.
“Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity,” said Dumbledore. “So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy23, Merope was alone in London and in desperate
need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms.”
“But she could do magic!” said Harry impatiently. “She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?”
“Ah,” said Dumbledore, “perhaps she could. But it is my belief—I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right—that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped
using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of
her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life.”
“She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows24.
“Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?”
“No,” said Harry quickly, “but she had a choice, didn't she, not like my mother —”
“Your mother had a choice too,” said Dumbledore gently. “Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry.
She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage. And now, if you will stand ...”
“Where are we going?” Harry asked, as Dumbledore joined him at the front of the desk.
“This time,” said Dumbledore, “we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry ...”
Harry bent25 over the Pensieve; his face broke the cool surface of the memory and then he was falling through darkness again... Seconds later, his feet hit firm ground;
he opened his eyes and found that he and Dumbledore were standing26 in a bustling27, old-fashioned London street.
“There I am,” said Dumbledore brightly, pointing ahead of them to a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart.
This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances
due to the flamboyantly28 cut suit of plum velvet29 that he was wearing.
“Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled30 as they followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through
a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door
and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy31 girl wearing an apron32.
“Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?”
“Oh,” said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. “Um... just a mo... MRS. COLE!” she bellowed33 over her shoulder.
Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore.
“Come in, she's on ‘er way.”
Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front
door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying34 toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she
was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.
“... and take the iodine35 upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing37 all over his sheets—chicken pox on top of everything
else,” she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just
crossed her threshold.
“Good afternoon,” said Dumbledore, holding out his hand.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly39 invited me here today.”
Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, “Oh yes. Well—well then—you'd better come into my room. Yes.”
She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed 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 and seated herself behind a cluttered40 desk, eyeing him nervously41.
“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,” said Dumbledore.
“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?”
There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently42 sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his
velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly43 blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop44.
“Here,” said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, “I think this will make everything clear.”
Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.
“That seems perfectly in order,” she said placidly45, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few
seconds before.
“Er—may I offer you a glass of gin?” she said in an extra-refined voice.
“Thank you very much,” said Dumbledore, beaming.
It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice46 when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp47. Smacking48
her lips frankly49, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.
“I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage50?”
“That's right,” said Mrs. Cole, helping51 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 staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her
in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour.”
Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.
“Did she say anything before she died?” asked Dumbledore. “Anything about the boy's father, for instance?”
“Now, as it happens, she did,” said Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story. “I
remember she 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—yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus—and she said the boy's surname
was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word.
“Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any
family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since.”
Mrs. Cole helped herself, almost absent-mindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then she said, “He's a funny
boy.”
“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “I thought he might be.”
“He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was... odd.”
“Odd in what way?” asked Dumbledore gently.
“Well, he —”
But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry52 or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass.
“He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?”
“Definitely,” said Dumbledore.
“And nothing I say can change that?”
“Nothing,” said Dumbledore.
“You'll be taking him away, whatever?”
“Whatever,” repeated Dumbledore gravely.
She squinted53 at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided54 she could, because she said in a sudden rush, “He scares the other children.
”
“You mean he is a bully55?” asked Dumbledore.
“I think he must be,” said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, “but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents... nasty things ...”
Dumbledore did not press her, though Harry could tell that he was interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy56 cheeks grew rosier57 still.
“Billy Stubbs's rabbit... well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?”
“I shouldn't think so, no,” said Dumbledore quietly.
“But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then—"Mrs. Cole took another swig of gin, slopping
a little over her chin this time, “on the summer outing—we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside—well, Amy Benson and Dennis
Bishop58 were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but
something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things...”
She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady.
“I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him.”
“You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently59?” said Dumbledore. “He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer.”
“Oh, well, that's better than a whack60 on the nose with a rusty61 poker,” said Mrs. Cole with a slight hiccup62. She got to her feet, and Harry was impressed to see that
she was quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone. “I suppose you'd like to see him?”
“Very much,” said Dumbledore, rising too.
She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans63, Harry saw, were all
wearing the same kind of grayish tunic64. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.
“Here we are,” said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.
“Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton—sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you—well, I'll let him do it.”
Harry and the two Dumbledores entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron
bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.
There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had got her dying wish: he was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired,
and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.
“How do you do, Tom?” said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand.
The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital
patient and visitor.
“I am Professor Dumbledore.”
“'Professor'?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary65. “Is that like ‘doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?”
He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.
“No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling.
“I don't believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!”
He spoke66 the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had
widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if
“Who are you?”
“I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school—your new school, if you would
like to come.”
Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.
“You can't kid me! The asylum68, that's where you're from, isn't it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course—well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the
asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!
“I am not from the asylum,” said Dumbledore patiently. “I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would
rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —”
“I'd like to see them try,” sneered69 Riddle.
“Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, “is a school for people with special abilities —”
“I'm not mad!”
“I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”
There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering71 back and forth72 between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one
of them lying.
“Magic?” he repeated in a whisper.
“That's right,” said Dumbledore.
“It's... it's magic, what I can do?”
“What is it that you can do?”
“All sorts,” breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. “I can make things move without touching73 them.
I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”
His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.
“I knew I was different,” he whispered to his own quivering fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something.”
“Well, you were quite right,” said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. “You are a wizard.”
Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his
finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial74.
“Are you a wizard too?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Prove it,” said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, “Tell the truth.”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts—”
“Of course I am!”
“Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.'”
Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting75 moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, “I'm sorry, sir. I meant—please, Professor, could you
show me—?”
Harry was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell Riddle there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations76 at Hogwarts, that they were
currently in a building full of Muggles and must therefore be cautious. To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit
jacket, pointed77 it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick70.
The wardrobe burst into flames.
Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on
Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.
Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. “Where can I get one of them?”
“All in good time,” said Dumbledore. “I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe.”
And sure enough, a faint rattling78 could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened.
“Open the door,” said Dumbledore.
Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking
and rattling as though there were several frantic79 mice trapped inside it.
“Take it out,” said Dumbledore.
Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.
“Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?” asked Dumbledore.
Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. “Yes, I suppose so, sir,” he said finally, in an expressionless voice.
“Open it,” said Dumbledore.
Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Harry, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small,
everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished80 mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin
blankets.
“You will return them to their owners with your apologies,” said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. “I shall know whether it has been done.
And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”
Riddle did not look remotely abashed81; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly82 at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, “Yes, sir.”
“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure—been using your powers in a way that
is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that
Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry83 of Magic—yes, there is a Ministry—will punish lawbreakers still more severely84. All new wizards must accept that, in
entering our world, they abide85 by our laws.”
“Yes, sir,” said Riddle again.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had
finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, “I haven't got any money.”
“That is easily remedied,” said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. “There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books
and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but —”
“Where do you buy spellbooks?” interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon21.
“In Diagon Alley36,” said Dumbledore. “I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything —”
“You're coming with me?” asked Riddle, looking up.
“Certainly, if you —”
“I don't need you,” said Riddle. “I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley—sir?” he
added, catching86 Dumbledore's eye.
Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle, but once again he was surprised. Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of
equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, “You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you—
non-magical people, that is—will not. Ask for Tom the barman—easy enough to remember, as he shares your name —”
Riddle gave an irritable87 twitch88, as though trying to displace an irksome fly.
“You dislike the name ‘Tom'?”
“There are a lot of Toms,” muttered Riddle. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, “Was my
father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me.”
“I'm afraid I don't know,” said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.
“My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died,” said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. “It must've been him. So—when I've got all my stuff—
when do I come to this Hogwarts?”
“All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope,” said Dumbledore. “You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There
is a train ticket in there too.”
Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, “I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on
trips—they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?”
Harry could tell that he had withheld89 mention of this strangest power until that moment, determined90 to impress.
“It is unusual,” said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation91, “but not unheard of.”
His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously92 over Riddle's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken;
Dumbledore was at the door.
“Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts.”
“I think that will do,” said the white-haired Dumbledore at Harry's side, and seconds later, they were soaring weightlessly through darkness once more, before landing
squarely in the present-day office.
“Sit down,” said Dumbledore, landing beside Harry.
Harry obeyed, his mind still full of what he had just seen.
“He believed it much quicker than I did—I mean, when you told him he was a wizard,” said Harry. “I didn't believe Hagrid at first, when he told me.”
“Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was—to use his word—'special,'” said Dumbledore.
“Did you know—then?” asked Harry.
“Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?” said Dumbledore. “No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I
was certainly intrigued93 by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and
friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others’ sake as much as his.
“His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and—most interestingly and ominously94 of all—he had already discovered that he had
some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. And as you saw, they were not the random95 experiments typical of young wizards: he was already
using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured96 into a cave were
most suggestive... I can make them hurt if I want to...”
“And he was a Parselmouth,” interjected Harry.
“Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact,
his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy97, and domination.
“Time is making fools of us again,” said Dumbledore, indicating the dark sky beyond the windows. “But before we part, I want to draw your attention to certain
features of the scene we have just witnessed, for they have a great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings.
“Firstly, I hope you noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, ‘Tom'?”
Harry nodded.
“There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, he wished to be different, separate, notorious.
He shed his name, as you know, within a few short years of that conversation and created the mask of ‘Lord Voldemort’ behind which he has been hidden for so long.
“I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless? He did not want help or companionship on his
trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence,
that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded98. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one.
“And lastly... I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, Harry—the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies99. You saw the box of stolen articles he had
hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying100 behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-
like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later.
“And now, it really is time for bed.”
Harry got to his feet. As he walked across the room, his eyes fell upon the little table on which Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested last time, but the ring was no longer
there.
“Yes, Harry?” said Dumbledore, for Harry had come to a halt.
“The ring's gone,” said Harry, looking around. “But I thought I you might have the mouth organ or something.”
Dumbledore beamed at him, peering over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
“Very astute101, Harry, but the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ.”
And on that enigmatic note he waved to Harry, who understood himself to be dismissed.
凯蒂第二天就被送往了圣芒戈魔法伤病医院，这时她被咒语攻击的消息已经传遍了全校，不过传闻的细节含糊不清，似乎除了哈利、罗恩、赫敏和琳恩，没人知道凯蒂并不是那个诅咒预期的目
标。
“哦，马尔福当然也知道，”哈利对罗恩和赫敏说，他们俩继续对哈利提出的马尔福是食死徒的理论采取装聋作哑的策略。
哈利一直怀疑邓布利多不能及时赶回来上周一的课，不过既然没有收到不上课的通知，他还是在八点整准时到了邓布利多办公室的门口，敲了敲门，然后被叫了进去。邓布利多在那儿坐着
，看上去很是疲惫；他的手依旧是那副烧得很黑的模样，不过他做手势让哈利坐下时，还是露出了微笑。冥想盆又被摆到了桌子上，在天花板上映出了点点银光。
“我不在的这段时间你挺忙的吧，”邓布利多说。“我想你目击了凯蒂的意外。”
“是的，教授。她怎么样了？”
“还是不太好，不过相对来说她已经很幸运了。看来她只是皮肤的一小块擦到了那串项链：她手套上有个小洞。如果她把项链戴上，或者只是用没有戴手套的手拿着项链，那她就死定了，
也许当场就没命了。幸运的是斯内普教授有能力阻止这个诅咒的快速蔓延——”
“为什么是他？”哈利迅速问。“为什么不是庞弗雷夫人？”
“放肆，”一个懒洋洋的声音从墙上的一幅画像里传了出来，菲尼亚斯·奈杰勒斯·布莱克，小天狼星的曾曾祖父从他的臂弯中抬起头，他刚才正在装睡。“我管理霍格沃茨的时候，绝不
会让一个学生用这种口气提问。”
“是的，谢谢你，菲尼亚斯，”邓布利多安抚他说。“斯内普教授在黑魔法方面比庞弗雷夫人懂的更多，哈利。而且，圣芒戈那边的人每小时就送一份报告过来，我对凯蒂不久就能痊愈持
乐观态度。”
“这个周末你去哪儿了，教授？”哈利抑止住他在撞大运的强烈感觉问道，菲尼亚斯轻轻地发出了一阵嘘声，显然他和哈利的感觉一样。
“我现在不愿意说，”邓布利多说。“不过，我会在适当的时候告诉你。”
“你会告诉我？”哈利大吃一惊。
“是啊，我想会的，”邓布利多从袍子里取出一个装着新的银色记忆的瓶子，用魔杖戳了戳，塞子被拔掉了。
“教授，”哈利试探地说，“我在霍格莫德遇到蒙顿格斯了。”
“啊，是的，我已经知道蒙顿格斯在你继承的宅子里偷了东西，”邓布利多微微皱起了眉头。“自从在三把扫帚遇见你之后，他就躲了起来；我相信他是害怕见我。不过请放心，他不会再
从小天狼星的老房子里偷走任何东西了。”
“那个卑鄙的老杂种偷走了布莱克家族的宝贝？”菲尼亚斯·奈杰勒斯愤怒地说；他怒气冲冲地走出了像框，毫无疑问是拜访他在格里莫广场12号的那幅画像去了。
“教授，”哈利短暂地停了一下，接着说，“麦格教授有没有告诉你凯蒂受伤之后我跟她说的那些话？关于德拉科·马尔福的？”
“她跟我说了你的怀疑，是的，”邓布利多说。
“那么你认为——”
“我会采取所有适当的措施来调查每一个与凯蒂的意外有关的人，”邓布利多说。“不过我现在关心的，哈利，是我们的课程。”
哈利对此感到有些忿忿不平：如果他们的课程这么重要，那为什么两次课之间要间隔那么长的时间呢？不过，他还是没有再提德拉科·马尔福了，只是看着邓布利多把新的记忆倒进了冥想
盆里，又一次用长长的手指搅动起这个石盆。
“你一定还记得上次我们关于伏地魔发迹的故事已经讲到了哪儿，英俊的麻瓜汤姆·里德尔抛弃了她的巫师妻子梅洛，回到了小汉格顿的家乡。梅洛一个人留在了伦敦，怀着将来会成为伏
地魔的那个孩子。”
“你怎么知道她在伦敦呢，教授？”
“根据卡拉塔库斯·伯克提供的证据，”邓布利多说，“他机缘巧合地助我们找到了拥有那串项链的商店，就是我们刚才谈论的那一串。”
他和从前一样搅动着冥想盆里的东西，就像一个淘金者正在筛出金子。冥想盆里的银色漩涡之中冒出了一个缓缓旋转的小老头，银白色的他看上去就像鬼魂，可是比鬼魂更实在，他浓密的
头发完全遮住了眼睛。
“是啊，我们是在一个奇怪的情况下得到的。它是被一个年轻的女巫带来的，那时候刚巧要过圣诞节了，哦，当然是很多年以前了。她说她极度需要金子，嗯，那是很显然的。穿着破衣服
，从很远的地方来……还要生孩子了。她说那个盒式坠子是斯莱特林的东西。嗯，我们总是听人这么说，‘哦，这个是梅林的东西，这个是他最喜欢的茶壶，’不过在我们检查了它之后，却发
现上面真的有斯莱特林的标记，只要用几个简单的咒语就能知道真相。当然了，那几乎是无价之宝。她似乎并不知道这个东西值多少钱。很乐意地换了十个加隆。这是我们做过的最划算的一笔
买卖。”
邓布利多又特别用力地摇了摇冥想盆，卡拉塔库斯·伯克沉入了记忆的涡流之中。
“他只给了她十个加隆？”哈利愤怒地说。
“卡拉塔库斯·伯克并不慷慨，”邓布利多说。“于是我们知道，在她怀孕的最后日子里，梅洛孤苦伶仃地待在伦敦，她极度地需要金子，以至于卖掉了自己身上仅有的一件值钱的财物，
那个金盒子，马沃罗珍藏的传家宝。
“可是她会魔法啊！”哈利急不可待地说。“她可以用魔法找到食物和一切她想要的东西，不是吗？”
“啊，”邓布利多说，“也许她可以。不过我相信——这又是猜测了，不过我确信我是对的——她被丈夫抛弃之后，就不再用魔法了。我认为她不想再做女巫了。当然也可能是没有回报的
爱情和接踵而至的绝望榨干了她的力量；这有可能会发生。不管怎样，她直到自己生命垂危的时候也不愿意再举起魔杖了。”
“她甚至也不愿意为了自己的儿子活着吗？”
邓布利多扬起了眉毛。
“你不会是同情伏地魔了吧？”
“不是，”哈利迅速说，“可是她有得选择，是不是，不像我的妈妈——”
“你的妈妈也有得选择，”邓布利多温和地说。“是的，梅洛·里德尔不顾一个需要她的儿子而选择了死亡，可是不要对她太苛刻了，哈利。她已经受了那么长时间的苦，从来没有你妈妈
那样的勇气。那么现在，请站起来……”
“我们要去哪儿？”哈利问，这时邓布利多也走到了桌子前面和哈利站在一块儿。
“这一次，”邓布利多说，“我们要进入我的记忆。我想你会发现丰富的细节，并会满意与它的准确性。我跟在你后面，哈利……”
哈利朝冥想盆弯下了腰；他的脸浸入了冰凉的记忆之中，又一次掉进了黑暗……几秒钟之后他的脚碰到了结实的地面，于是他睁开眼，发现他和邓布利多正站在一条熙熙攘攘的老式伦敦街
道上。
“我在那儿，”邓布利多快活地说，指着前面一个高大的身影，他正在一辆马拉牛奶车前面过马路。
这个年轻的阿不思·邓布利多长发和胡须都是赤褐色的。穿过马路走到他们这边之后，他开始大步流星地沿着人行道往前走，穿着一件裁减得十分华丽的暗紫色天鹅绒套装，吸引了许多好
奇的目光。
“衣服真棒，教授，”哈利情不自禁地说，而邓布利多只是咯咯地笑了，他们俩不远地跟在年轻的邓布利多身后，最后穿过一组铁门走进了一个空旷的院子，前面是一幢四四方方的阴暗建
筑，四面围着高高的栏杆。他走上几级台阶，敲了敲大门。过了一会儿，一个系着围裙、穿得破破烂烂的女孩把门打开了。
“下午好。我和科尔夫人有个约会，我想她是这儿的女总管。”
“哦，”女孩盯着邓布利多古怪的样子，看上去很疑惑。“嗯……等一下……科尔夫人！”她过回头吼了一声。
哈利听到遥远的地方传来了大声的回应。女孩又转过来对着邓布利多。
“进来吧，她这就过来。”
邓布利多走进了铺砌着黑白瓷砖的走廊；整个儿看上去破旧不堪，但是一尘不染。哈利和老邓布利多跟在后面。他们身后的门还没有关上，一个瘦削、疲惫的女人就急匆匆地朝他们走了过
来。她脸上棱角分明，看上去与其说是冷漠，倒不如说是焦急，她一边朝邓布利多走过来，一边和身旁的另一个围着围裙的助手说着话。
“……然后把这瓶碘酒拿给楼上的玛莎，比利·斯塔布斯在抠自己的结痂，还有埃里克·威利床单上全是汗——可水痘是当务之急，”她自顾自地说，看到邓布利多之后她愣在了那儿，惊
讶的表情就像是见到长颈鹿走了进来一样。
“下午好，”邓布利多伸出了手。
科尔夫人还在发愣。
“我叫阿不思·邓布利多。我给你写过一封预约信，你友好地邀请了我今天到这里来。”
科尔夫人眨了眨眼。显然在确定邓布利多不是一个幻觉，然后她说，“哦，对。嗯——好吧，那么——到我的办公室来吧。是的。”
她把邓布利多让进了一个小屋子，里面一半像是起居室，一半像是办公室。这里和走廊一样破败，家具既陈旧又不搭配。她请邓布利多坐到一把摇摇晃晃的椅子上，自己则坐到乱成一团的
办公桌后面，紧张地盯着他。
“我到这儿，正如我在信中说的，是来和您探讨汤姆·里德尔未来的安排，”邓布利多说。
“您是家属吗？”科尔夫人问。
“不，我是个老师，”邓布利多说。“我过来接汤姆去我们学校。”
“那么，这是什么学校？”
“叫霍格沃茨，”邓布利多说。
“你们怎么会对汤姆感兴趣？”
“我们相信他具备了我们寻求的品质。”
“你是说他赢得了奖学金？他怎么可能呢？他从没有报名参加过什么考试。”
“嗯，他出生的时候就被列到学校的名单里了——”
“谁替他注册的？他的父母？”
毫无疑问，这是个不太容易对付的精明女人。显然邓布利多也这么认为，哈利看到他悄悄从天鹅绒套装里抽出了魔杖，与此同时在桌面上拿起了一张完全空白的纸。
“看这个，”邓布利多把那张纸递给了她的同时，挥了挥魔杖，“我想这个能说清楚一切。”
科尔夫人的眼睛突然一片迷茫，接着又恢复了神采，她专心地凝视了一会儿那张空白的纸。
“看起来完全符合程序，”她平静地说，把那张纸又递了回去。然后她的目光落到了一瓶杜松子酒和两个玻璃杯上了，那里就在几秒钟前都肯定没有东西。
“呃——来一杯杜松子酒？”她格外礼貌地说。
“非常感谢，”邓布利多笑着说。
很明显，科尔夫人喝起杜松子酒来可是老手。她给两人倒满酒，然后一口气喝干了自己的那杯。她第一次朝邓布利多笑了笑，不加掩饰地咂了咂嘴，而邓布利多把握住了这个时机。
“我在想你能否可以告诉我一些汤姆·里德尔的过去？我觉得他应该是出生在这个孤儿院吧？”
“没错，”科尔夫人又倒了一些杜松子酒。“我记得无比清楚，因为我当时刚上这儿来。那是除夕夜，天寒地冻的，又下着雪，你知道。糟糕的夜晚。然后那个女孩，当时就比我大一点儿
，她跌跌撞撞地走上大门口的台阶。嗯，她不是第一个这样的。我们把她带进来，一小时之后她把孩子生了下来。又过了一小时她就死了。”
科尔夫人感慨地点了点头，又吞下了一大口杜松子酒。
“她死前所了些什么吗？”邓布利多问。“比如有关孩子的父亲？”
“真凑巧，她说了这个，”手里端着一杯杜松子酒，面前又坐了一个热心的听众，科尔夫人现在看上去非常享受。
“我记得她跟我说，‘我希望他长得像他爸爸，’老实说，她这么想是对的，因为她一点儿也不好看——然后她告诉我要给他起名叫汤姆，以纪念他的父亲，中间名是马沃罗，纪念她自己
的父亲——是的，我知道，怪名字，对不对？我们还在猜想她是不是从马戏团来的——然后她说男孩的姓是里德尔。说完这些就死了。
“嗯，我们就按照她说的给孩子起了名，这个可怜的女孩似乎把它看得很重，可是没有什么汤姆和马沃罗，也没有任何姓里德尔的人来找过这孩子，没有任何亲属，所以我们就把他留下了
，直到现在都待在孤儿院里。”
科尔夫人又倒了一杯酒，几乎有些精神恍惚了。她颧骨上泛起了两片红晕。然后她说，“他是个奇怪的男孩。”
“是的，”邓布利多说。“我想可能是。”
“他还是婴儿的时候就很奇怪。几乎从来不哭。然后，他长大了一点儿，就变得……古怪了。”
“古怪，怎么个古怪法？”邓布利多温和地问。
“嗯，他——”
科尔夫人突然停了下来，她从酒杯上面询问般地瞥了邓布利多一眼，眼神不再那么空洞了。
“他肯定会去你们学校念书，你说的？”
“肯定，”邓布利多说。
“我说的事情不会改变这一点吧？”
“不会，”邓布利多说。
“不管怎样你都会把他带走？”
“不管怎样，”邓布利多庄重地重复道。
她眯起眼看了看他，仿佛在考虑该不该信任邓布利多。显然最后她决定相信他，因为她突然说道，“他吓到其他孩子了。”
“你的意思是他是个小霸王？”
“我想是的，”科尔夫人微微皱了皱眉，“可是很难抓到他。总是出乱子……棘手的事儿……”
邓布利多没有催促她，不过哈利看得出来他很感兴趣。她又呷了一大口杜松子酒，玫瑰色的脸蛋变得更红了。
“比利·斯塔布斯的兔子……嗯，汤姆说不是他干的，我也不知道他怎么做得到，可尽管如此，那兔子总不可能自己跑到椽子上吊死吧，是不是？”
“我也这么认为，不可能，”邓布利多平静地说。
“但是，我真的不知道他是怎么爬上去做的。我只知道他和比利头一天刚刚吵过。然后——”科尔夫人又痛饮了一口，这次溢出了一点流到下巴上，“夏天我们去远足——你知道，每年我
们带着他们出去一次，去乡下或者海边——嗯，艾米·本森和丹尼斯·比绍事后都变得不太正常，我们盘问来盘问去，他们俩都只说是跟汤姆·里德尔去了一个山洞。汤姆向我们发誓说只是去
探险了，可那儿一定发生了什么，我敢肯定。还有，嗯，许许多多事情，怪事儿……”
她又看了看邓布利多，虽然双颊鲜红，可目光却很坚定。
“我想不会有太多人为他的离开感到难过的。”
“你肯定能理解，我们不会让他永远待在那儿。”邓布利多说。“他还是会回到这儿，至少，每个暑假。”
“哦，好吧，这总比他在这儿用生了锈的拨火棍打别人的鼻子强，”科尔夫人轻轻地打了个酒嗝。她站了起来，哈利留意到她尽管已经喝掉了瓶子里三分之二的杜松子酒，可还是稳稳当当
的。“我猜你会想见见他？”
“非常想，”邓布利多也站了起来。
她领着她走出办公室沿着石头楼梯往上走，沿路向经过的助手们做着指示，还大声呵斥着那些孩子。哈利看到孤儿们都穿着统一的灰色长罩衫。看得出来他们都被照顾得相当好，但不可否
认这个供他们成长的地方也太严酷无情了。
“就是这儿，”科尔夫人说，这时他们转过了第二个楼梯平台，走到一条长走廊的第一个房间门口。她敲了两次门，然后走了进去。
“汤姆？有人来看你了。这位是邓布利通先生——对不起，是邓多尔波。他是来告诉你——算了，还是让他说吧。”
哈利和两个邓布利多走进了房间，科尔夫人在他们身后关上了门。这是一个光秃秃的小房间，只有一座旧衣橱和一张铁床。一个男孩坐在灰色的毯子上，脚伸到他们面前，手里拿着一本书
。
汤姆·里德尔的脸上没有一点刚特家的痕迹。梅洛临死前的愿望实现了：汤姆整个儿就是他英俊父亲的迷你版，在十一岁的孩子里算长得高的，黑头发，脸色苍白。他看到邓布利多古怪的
装束时稍稍眯起了眼睛。他们沉默了片刻。
“你好，汤姆。”邓布利多往前走去，伸出了手。
那男孩犹豫了一会，然后也伸出了手和他握了握。邓布利多拖过汤姆旁边的硬木头椅子坐下，他们俩看起来就像是一对儿医院的病人和探视者。
“我是邓布利多教授。”
“‘教授’？”里德尔重复道。他看上去很警惕。“是不是和‘博士’差不多？你来这儿干什么？是她让你进来看我的？”
他指着门，科尔夫人刚刚走了。
“不是，不是，”邓布利多微笑着说。
“我不相信你，”里德尔说。“她喜欢让我被人看，是不是？说真话！”
他把最后三个字说得掷地有声。这是一个命令，听起来似乎他经常这样说话。他瞪大了眼睛对邓布利多怒目而视，而邓布利多只是愉快地微笑着，没有回答。过了几秒钟，里德尔不再瞪着
他看了，可是仍然很警惕。
“你是谁？”
“我已经告诉过你了。我是邓布利多教授，在一所叫霍格沃茨的学校工作。我来接你去我的学校——也就是你的新学校，如果你愿意的话。”
里德尔的反应十分惊人。他从床上跳了起来，远远地躲开了邓布利多，看上去很愤怒。
“你别想骗我！你是从精神病院来的，是不是？‘教授’，是的，当然了——好了，我不会去的，知道了吗？那只老猫才应该去精神病院。我从来没有对小艾米·本森和丹尼斯·比绍做过
什么，你可以问他们，他们会告诉你的！”
“我不是从精神病院来的，”邓布利多耐心地说。“我是一个老师，如果你能安静地坐下，我会告诉你霍格沃茨是个什么地方。当然了，如果你不愿意去那儿，没有人会强迫你——”
“我倒要看看他们怎么强迫我，”里德尔冷笑道。
“霍格沃茨，”邓布利多接着说，仿佛没有听见里德尔的最后一句话，“是一所接收拥有特殊能力的学生的学校——”
“我没疯！”
“我知道你没疯。霍格沃茨不是一所接收疯子的学校。它是一所魔法学校。”
一阵沉默。里德尔呆住了，他面无表情，可是目光却来来回回地打量着邓布利多的眼睛，似乎是想找到它们在说谎的证据。
“魔法？”他小声重复着。
“没错，”邓布利多说。
“是……是魔法，我会的那些原来是魔法？”
“你会什么？”
“什么都会，”里德尔喘着气说。一抹兴奋的红晕出现在他凹陷的脸颊上；他看上去很狂热。“我不碰到东西就能让它们动起来。我不用训练就能让那些动物听我的话。我能让惹恼我的人
吃苦头。如果我想要，就可以让他们受伤。”
里德尔的腿在颤抖。他跌跌撞撞地坐回到床上，盯着自己的手，垂下脑袋，看上去就像是在祈祷。
“我就知道我与众不同，”他低声对着自己颤抖的手指说道。“我就知道我很特殊。我一直都知道肯定有什么原因。”
“嗯，你想得非常正确，”邓布利多不再微笑了，他专注地盯着里德尔，“你是一个巫师。”
里德尔抬起了头。他的脸变了形：洋溢着幸福的表情，不过由于某种原因它并没有让他变得好看；恰恰相反，他雕刻精致的容貌不知为何显得更粗糙了，表情近乎于残暴。
“你也是个巫师吗？”
“是的，我是个巫师。”
“证明给我看，”里德尔马上说，命令的语气和刚才他说‘说真话’时如出一辙。
邓布利多扬起了眉毛。
“如果我证实了这一点，你就要跟我去霍格沃茨——”
“当然会！”
“那你就要称呼我为‘教授’或者‘先生’。”
里德尔的表情在开口前的一瞬间僵住了，他用一种几乎察觉不到的礼貌语气说，“对不起，先生，我的意思是——请问，教授，能不能展示给我——？”
哈利确信邓布利多会拒绝，会告诉里德尔以后在霍格沃茨多的是时间去实践证明，而眼下由于置身于一幢全是麻瓜的建筑里，所以要谨慎一些。可是令他大吃一惊的是，邓布利多从套装夹
克的内兜里抽出了他的魔杖，指向了角落里的那个破衣橱，随意地挥了一下。
衣橱突然着火了。
里德尔跳了起来，也难怪他会震惊和狂乱地吼叫；他的全部财产一定都在里面；可是就在里德尔开始责骂邓布利多的时候，火焰消失了，衣橱完好无损地立在那儿。
里德尔盯着衣橱和邓布利多，然后，他的表情贪婪地指了指魔杖。
“我在哪儿能弄到一个？”
“在适当的时候，”邓布利多说。“我想有什么东西要从你的衣橱里出来。”
果然，衣橱里传出了一阵嘎吱嘎吱的微弱响声。里德尔头一次看上去有些害怕。
“把门打开，”邓布利多说。
里德尔犹豫了一会儿，然后走过去打开了衣橱的门。在最顶上的一层，一叠破旧的衣服上放着一个纸盒子，它正在不断振动并发出那种嘎吱声，仿佛里面关着几只疯狂的老鼠。
“拿出来，”邓布利多说。
里德尔把颤抖不已的盒子拿了下来，他看上去很慌张。
“盒子里有什么你不该拥有的东西吗？”邓布利多问。
里德尔向邓布利多抛去了一个意味深长的目光。
“是的，我想是的，先生，”他最后呆板地说。
里德尔打开了盖子，看也不看就把里面东西的都倒在了床上。哈利本以为能看到什么刺激的东西，可是那儿却只有一堆乱七八糟的平常小玩意儿；其中有一个溜溜球，一枚银白色的顶针，
还有一只失去光泽的口琴。盒子清空了之后，它们停止了颤抖，安静地躺在薄薄的毯子上。
“你把它们还给各自的主人，并且道歉，”邓布利多平静地说，把魔杖放回了夹克里。“我会知道你做了没有的。我还要告诫你的是：霍格沃茨不容许偷窃。”
里德尔看上去一点儿也不窘迫；他仍旧冷冷地打量着邓布利多。最后他用一种不带感情色彩的声音说，“是，先生。”
“在霍格沃茨，”邓布利多接着说，“我们不仅教你使用魔法，还教你如何控制它。你一直以来——在不经意间，我敢肯定——使用魔法的方式既不是我们学校所教的那种，也不会为我们
所容忍。你不是头一个，也不会是最后一个让魔法在手中失控的人。但是你应该知道霍格沃茨会开除学生，而且魔法部——是的，有这么一个部门——会惩罚那些更严重地破坏法律的人。所有
进入我们的世界的新巫师都必须接受这一点，遵守我们的法律。”
“是的，先生，”里德尔再次说。
没人知道他此刻在想些什么；他把那些偷来的东西放回纸盒子时，脸仍旧是一片空白。等收拾完了之后，他转过身来对邓布利多坦率地说，“我一点钱也没有。”
“那很容易解决，”邓布利多从口袋里掏出一只皮革钱袋。“霍格沃茨设立了一个为需要购买书本和长袍的困难学生提供帮助的基金。你需要买一些二手的咒语书之类的，不过——”
“在哪儿买咒语书？”里德尔打断了他的话，没有向邓布利多道谢就接过了那只沉沉的钱袋，现在正在仔细地查看一枚肥大的金加隆。
“在对角巷，”邓布利多说。“我带了你的课本和仪器的清单。我能帮你找到每一件——”
“你要和我一起去？”里德尔抬起头说。
“当然，如果你——”
“我不需要你，”里德尔说，“我习惯独自做事，我一直是一个人逛伦敦的。怎么才能到对角巷去——先生？”他补充了一句，盯着邓布利多的眼睛。
哈利以为邓布利多会坚持陪同里德尔一块儿去，但是他再一次吃惊了。邓布利多把装有清单的那个信封递给了他，精确地告诉了他如何从孤儿院去破釜酒吧，接着他说，“你能看到它，而
你身边的麻瓜——那是不会魔法的人——却看不到它。去找酒吧的招待员汤姆——很容易记住，你们俩名字一样——”
里德尔敏感地抽动了一下，仿佛想赶走一只讨厌的苍蝇。
“你不喜欢‘汤姆’这个名字吗？”
“有许多人都叫汤姆，”里德尔嘟囔道。然后，仿佛压抑不住内心的疑惑，又好像这个疑惑是不由自主地冒出来似的，他问道，“我父亲也是一个巫师吗？他也叫汤姆·里德尔，他们告诉
过我
收听单词发音 |
1
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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2
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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3
specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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4
relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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6
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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7
prod
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| vt.戳，刺；刺激，激励 | |
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8
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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9
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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10
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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11
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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12
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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13
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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14
swill
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| v.冲洗；痛饮；n.泔脚饲料；猪食；（谈话或写作中的）无意义的话 | |
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15
swilled
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| v.冲洗( swill的过去式和过去分词 )；猛喝；大口喝；（使）液体流动 | |
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16
prospector
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| n.探矿者 | |
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17
sifts
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| v.筛( sift的第三人称单数 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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18
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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19
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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20
galleons
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| n.大型帆船( galleon的名词复数 ) | |
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21
galleon
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| n.大帆船 | |
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22
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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23
pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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24
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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25
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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26
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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27
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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flamboyantly
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| adv.艳丽地、奢华地、绚丽地。 | |
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29
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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30
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
scruffy
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| adj.肮脏的，不洁的 | |
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32
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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33
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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34
scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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35
iodine
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| n.碘，碘酒 | |
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36
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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37
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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38
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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39
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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40
cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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41
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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42
inconveniently
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| ad.不方便地 | |
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43
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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44
desktop
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| n.桌面管理系统程序；台式 | |
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45
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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46
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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47
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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48
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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49
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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50
orphanage
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| n.孤儿院 | |
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51
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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52
blurry
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| adj.模糊的；污脏的，污斑的 | |
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53
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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54
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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55
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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56
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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57
rosier
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| Rosieresite | |
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58
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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59
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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60
whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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61
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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62
hiccup
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| n.打嗝 | |
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63
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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64
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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warier
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| 谨慎的，小心翼翼的( wary的比较级 ) | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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appraisingly
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| adv.以品评或评价的眼光 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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