After delving through the gas-like substance inside of the Pensieve, the three landed swiftly in a bustling, old-fashioned London street. Muggles were wearing clothes that were entirely outdated, and the walk was littered with buildings that seemed to look dark and haunted.

"There I am," said Dumbledore brightly, pointing to a tall figure crossing the road.

This younger version of Dumbledore seemed to sport auburn hair, unlike the usual silver Diana had always seen it. His face was much less worn from age and he wore a deep velvet plum suit that attracted many curious stares.

"I like that suit," Diana said before she could stop herself, and Harry attempted to cover his laugh with a cough. Dumbledore chuckled, and they followed across the street and entered a tall, rusted iron gate that swayed crookedly. They strode toward the large, dilapidated building and up the crumbling stone steps.

Young Dumbledore knocked on the door.

It opened clumsily and a scruffy girl wearing an apron emerged.

"Good afternoon," Dumbledore said politely. "I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

"Oh," said the girl, peering wide-eyed at his unusual outfit. "Um...just a mo'... MRS. COLE!" she bellowed indelicately over her shoulder.

A distant voice shouted something in response, and the girl motioned them inside.

"Diana," Dumbledore said quietly, "remember I showed you the memory long ago of when I visited your mother at the orphanage?"

She nodded.

"This is mere days afterward. At that point, I had my suspicions regarding the prophecy of your mother and father."

Harry, who could not hear what Dumbledore was saying, eyed them curiously. They waited patiently in a shabby lobby with dirty checkered-tiled floors and walls with ugly, peeling wallpaper. The place looked dreadful, and Diana had the fleeting notion that her time at St. Mungo's, no matter how horrible, was most likely better than having to live in this place. A sharp-featured woman came bounding around the corner, a few stray hairs that had escaped her tight bun flying wildly around her face. She looked incredibly high-strung and as if she was going to burst from stress, and the sight of a stranger did not warm her in the slightest. She was talking to another employee, instructing them to do multiple different tasks, and then turned to address Dumbledore.

"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore kindly, holding out his hand for her to shake. She gaped at his outfit.

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

Deciding that Dumbledore was, in fact, real, she blinked furiously. "Oh yes. Well--well then--you'd better come into my room. Yes."

She led them into a small room that was closer to the size of a closet and invited Dumbledore to sit in a rickety wooden chair across the desk. The three observers squished in behind Dumbledore's younger self to watch.

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

"Are you family?" asked Mrs. Cole gruffly.

"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," he replied.

"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?"

Under the desk, Diana watched Dumbledore pull out his wand and pick up a piece of blank paper. He waved his wand, then handed the paper to the woman.

"Here," he said. "I think this will make everything clear."

Her eyes slid in and out of focus as she looked at the paper for a moment.

"That seems perfectly in order," she said, handing it back to Dumbledore at once.

"I was wondering if you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?" said Dumbledore after a moment.

"That's right," said Mrs. Cole. "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."

Diana's heart clenched slightly for Merope.

"Did she say anything before she died?" Dumbledore asked the woman. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now as it happens, she did," Mrs. Cole said, who seemed to enjoy telling the 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--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 boys surname was to be Riddle. And she died after that without another word.

"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."

She grabbed a bottle of gin from beneath her cupboard and two dusty glasses. She poured Dumbledore some and she then served herself a generous portion of it, downing it whole in two gulps. It was silent for a moment.

"He's a funny boy," she said.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, taking a small sip. "I thought he might be."

She poured herself another large glass and took a sip. "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. She took another sip, and two pink splotched appeared high on her cheekbones.

"Well, he--"

She cut herself off abruptly, eyeing Dumbledore suspiciously over her nearly empty glass.

"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?" she asked.

"Definitely."

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing."

"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"

"Whatever."

Diana's heart thumped quickly as the woman down the rest of her glass. "He scares the other children."

"You mean he is a bully?" asked Dumbledore.

The woman obviously seemed very hesitant, as if she were to reveal anything, she would be breaking rules. "I think he must be," she said with a frown, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents...Nasty things..."

It was silent, for Dumbledore did not press her on the matter. Diana's eyebrows furrowed as she watched with eager anticipation.

"Billy Stubbs's rabbit...well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have possibly done, but even so, it didn't seem to 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--" she took a swig directly from the bottle, and some messily dribbled down her chin. "--on the summer outing--we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or the seaside--well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop 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..."

A cave. It clicked in her head, like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together. A cave on the seaside, the woman had said. Diana had been dreaming of a cave on the seaside for months. Her breath hitched, and she got the attention of Dumbledore, who furrowed his eyebrows at her.

"I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him," commented Mrs. Cole, taking another swig of gin.

"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" clarified Dumbledore. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."

"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," she waved with a slight hiccup. She got to her feet, surprisingly steadily. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"

"Very much," Dumbledore said, rising too. He followed her out of the closet and down the corridor lined with thick wooden doors. They ascended a flight of stairs and turned off of the second landing to the first door in the 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."

Both Dumbledores, Diana, and Harry entered the tiny dorm and Mrs. Cole closed the door behind them. Recalling the memory she had watched with Dumbledore last year about his first time meeting Vera in her orphanage, Diana couldn't help but note the major differences about their bedrooms. Vera's room had looked as lively as it could've, with pictures drawn and colored onto scrap paper hanging on the walls and tattered old books littering her desk and drawers. Tom's room looked vacant, as if no one lived there; there were no personal affects of any kind, other than the book that Tom Riddle was reading on his bed.

There was no trace of his Gaunt heritage in him--he looked to be the spitting image of his handsome father, even at such a young age, with dark hair and pale, even skin. His dark eyes narrowed as he examined Dumbledore's odd appearance. As she looked at him, she saw many physical similarities between him and herself: their same dark hair and eyes, the same calculating look that seemed to be consistently present in their eyes.

"How do you do, Tom?" said Dumbledore politely, walking forward and holding out his hand.

Tom hesitated, but finally took it. He kept eye contact confidently, just as Diana noticed Vera had done, but unlike Vera's, is face was impassive and observant. Dumbledore turned Tom's desk chair and sat. It looked ominously like a patient meeting with a doctor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. While Vera had been excited when Dumbledore introduced himself, Tom looked warily suspicious. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

Tom's voice, Diana noticed, had not adopted the cool impassivity that she saw in memories of his teenage years. As a child, it seemed his voice was perpetually angry and accusatory.

"No, no," assured Dumbledore with a smile. Tom's aggressiveness completely unfazed Dumbledore.

"I don't believe you," said Tom. "She wants me looked at. Tell the truth!"

He spoke the last words with such demanding force that Diana was momentarily startled. It reminded her very much of herself, and how she could have such strong authority despite her young age. Dumbledore, it seemed, continued to smile pleasantly despite Tom's outburst, which seemed to rattle the boy slightly.

"Who are you?" asked Tom, his glare finally having subsided and his tone now replaced with tired wariness.

"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."

Tom abruptly sprung from the bed and backed away, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, 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 an 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," he sneered confidently.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on as if he had not been interrupted, "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."

It was silent as Tom froze. To most wizards who had grown up without the knowledge of their own kind, being told something as odd as this would come as quite a shock; but Tom, only wide-eyed for a moment, seemed to not be as surprised as one would expect.

"Magic?" he whispered.

"That's right."

"It's...it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," breathed Riddle in uncharacteristic excitement. His face lit up just at the thought. "I can make things move without touching 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."

The hair on the back of Diana's neck bristled. His sadistic joy that he felt for this kind of control disturbed her deeply. The way he talked about it, with such happiness and excitement, rattled her.

"I knew I was different," he said quietly to himself. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore who was no longer smiling, rather watching Tom intently. "You are a wizard."

"Are you a wizard too?" asked Tom eagerly.

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," he said, using the same commanding tone he had before. "Tell the truth."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "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.'"

Tom, who had most likely never called anyone 'sir' or 'Professor' before, hardened his features for a fleeting moment and in an oddly polite voice, said, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant--please, Professor, could you show me--?"

Diana watched Dumbledore solemnly extract his wand from his suit, and pointing it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, he gave it a sharp flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames, and Tom jumped to his feet in surprise. It reminded her of the burning Quidditch pitch. Tom looked as if he was going to lunge at the man, but as quickly as it appeared, the flames dissipated and the wardrobe looked completely unblemished.

"Where can I get one of those?" asked Tom after a moment, eyeing the wand in Dumbledore's hand.

"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

A loud, muffled rattling came from inside the wardrobe, and Tom looked frightened.

"Open the door," Dumbledore said.

Tom hesitated, but finally obliged and pulled out a small, cardboard box from the highest shelf. The contents rattled, and Tom paled.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.

Riddle gave the man a long, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said in an expressionless tone that gave Diana goosebumps.

"Open it."

He opened it, and inside was an assortment of random objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, a mouth organ. They fell still the moment the lid opened. Diana realized they were trophies.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, though firm. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Tom coldly stared at Dumbledore, and in an emotionless tone, said, "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts," continued Dumbledore firmly, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have--inadvertently, I'm 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 Ministry of Magic--yes, there is a Ministry--will punish lawbreakers more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Tom again. His face was entirely blank, proving useless for Diana to even attempt at trying to read his emotions. He carefully placed the objects back in the box. "I haven't got any money," he told Dumbledore.

"That is easily remedied," Dumbledore assured, 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--"

"Spellbooks?" interrupted Tom. "Where do you buy them?"

"Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore patiently. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything--"

"You're coming with me?" asked Tom, looking up from the galleon he had been examining.

"Certainly, if you--"

"I don't need you," said Riddle at once. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go 'round London all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley--sir?"

Dumbledore did not insist on going with. "You will be able to see it, though Muggles around you--non-magical people, that it--will not. Ask for Tom the barman--easy enough to remember, as he shares your name--"

Tom's eye visibly twitched. It did not go unnoticed by Dumbledore.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," he muttered. And then, as if he had been itching to ask, he blurted, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," answered Dumbledore gently.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," Tom muttered to himself. "It must have been him. So--when I've got all of my stuff--when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore explained the train on September first, and rose to leave. He held out his hand, and Tom shook it.

"I can speak to snakes," he said. "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?"

"It is usual," replied Dumbledore, "but not unheard of."

This situation reminded Diana strongly of the memory of Dumbledore meeting Vera, and how at the end she revealed that she hears thing. She hears voices in her head. Dumbledore's reaction to Vera was the same as it was now: his face remained casual and calm, but he scanned Tom curiously, and though he did not look it, the information intrigued him significantly.

"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

"I think that will do," said the white-haired Dumbledore, and they were soaring through darkness before emerging back in the office. The three sat down in their chairs.

"He believed it much quicker than I did," said Harry. "I mean, when you told him he was a wizard. I didn't believe Hagrid at first, when he told me."

"Oh, he already knew," said Diana, chuckling humorlessly. "He always knew he had to have been special. He said it himself."

"Did you know--then?" Harry asked Dumbledore after a moment,

"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" said Dumbledore. Diana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "No, there were many things I did not know about Tom Riddle and who he would become. However, I was most definitely intrigued. While at Hogwarts, I kept a watchful eye on him just in case.

"His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and--most interestingly and ominously of all--he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. As you saw, they were not the random experiments typical of young wizards. He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. I had only ever seen such developed magic on two other people in my long life."

"Who are the other two?" asked Harry.

"Vera Beauregard, Diana's mother, and Diana herself."

Harry stared at Diana curiously, and she shifted in discomfort. She didn't like talking about herself like this.

"And he was a Parselmouth," Harry interjected after a moment.

"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, secrecy, and domination.

"Time is making fool of us again," said Dumbledore, glancing through the window at the darkened sky. "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.

"First, I hope you noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, 'Tom.'"

"He didn't want to be tied to anyone," muttered Diana. "He wanted to be solely special in everything from his abilities to his name."

"Indeed," Dumbledore commended. "Of course, he soon shed his name and created the mask of 'Lord Voldemort.'"

"I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless? He did not want my help on his trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. 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 deluded. The only person I had ever seen Tom Riddle treat as a friend was Diana's mother, Vera; especially as they got older, you could see she was the only person he ever treated with his version of respect. It made the Death Eaters very jealous of her."

"The trophies," Diana mentioned. "He kept trophies of his victims."

"He did," Dumbledore nodded. "Souvenirs, if you will. He found an odd sentimental value to them, which will become very important in later meetings. Now, Harry, it is finally time for bed. Diana, once again, stay for a moment."

Harry got to his feet a strode across the room and his eyes landed on one of the shelves.

"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore after Harry had halted.

"The ring's gone," he said. "But I thought you might have the mouth organ or something."

Diana snorted loudly and Dumbledore beamed at the boy.

"Very astute, Harry, but the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ."

Harry left.

"I trust you noticed the striking similarities between my conversation with Tom and my conversation with Vera?" Dumbledore began. Diana nodded.

"Of course," she said, and he eyes trailed along the portraits on the walls. "They mentioned a cave," she began quietly. "Is it the same cave I see in my dreams?"

"I believe so," said Dumbledore gently. "I have reason to believe that that might be the next Horcrux's location."

She nodded. "Do you know for sure?"

He chuckled lightly. "I don't know anything for sure," he mused. "But I am investigating. I should know not too long from now."

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "It was Draco who sent the necklace, wasn't it?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore delicately, "I'm afraid I think it was. The necklace was for me, and had I received it, it would have killed me. You and I both know the orders he has been given."

"You don't think he'll be able to do it, do you? Kill you, I mean."

"As far gone as most suspect Draco might be, I am still insistent on believing that he is not a bad person. I think, when the time comes, and he is presented with an opportunity, I do believe he will not go through with it."

"Do you really think Severus will be able to kill you, then?"

"He'll have to. You know it's the only way."

A tear ran down her cheek, and Dumbledore smiled at her gravely.

"You can do this, Diana. I believe wholeheartedly that you are strong enough to face this."

"What if I can't do it?" she whispered.

"You'll have to. There is no other way."

The sat in a solemn silence, like two companions lamenting a death. No one spoke. She just tried to make herself remember that when he dies, she won't be alone. She still has her friends.