Percy Jackson and the Locket of Salazar [Book 6]

31) An Evil Pre-Teen (AKA My Sister Three Years Ago)

We entered the room silently. It was bare save for some basic wooden furniture and a rickety iron bed frame and mattress. The gray of the halls had been sucked into this room as well, a young boy sitting atop a pile of gray blankets, legs outstretched, holding a gray book in his lap.

I had known, of course, that Voldemort hadn't always looked like the weird, noseless snake demon from the depths of Tartarus, but seeing him as an actual child really brought to light how evil he'd become.

He looked like his father. I wondered how he would feel if he knew he was nearly identical to a Muggle.

"How do you do, Tom?" The younger Dumbledore said pleasantly, holding out his hand to be shaken. The boy stared at it for a moment, as if it were some sort of threat, then finally took it, giving a hesitant but strong shake. Dumbledore puled a rickety wooden chair over to his bedside and sat in it. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" Tom repeated warily. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" His finger, long and skinny, was aimed at the door from which Mrs. Cole had just left.

Dumbledore assured him that that was not the case, but Tom crossed his arms, saying, "I don't believe you. She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

The authority in this young boy's voice was shocking and terrible. I jerked at the tone, the command, certain that young Dumbledore would stumble under the weight of his words. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the only response the professor gave was to smile kindly.

Tom glared, but after several seconds of silence, he slumped slightly, looking even more wary. "Who are you?"

"I have told you," Dumbledore said. "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."

I remembered finding out that I would get to go to Hogwarts. A mixture of elation at being able to wave around a magical umbrella of my own and relief at being away from my stepfather. The emotions I felt at the time, while messy and unorganized, were good feelings.

Tom was pissed. He leapt to his feet, backing away from Dumbledore, scowl marring his face. He was a handsome boy, but that look made him impossibly ugly. "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? The 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 wondered how people looked at young Tom for him to think everybody thought he was crazy. I wondered what all he'd done to earn that expression.

"I am not from the asylum. I am a teacher, and, if you will sit down calmly, I will 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," Tom scoffed.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, uncaring of the twerp's interruption, "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 for magic."

The anger had vanished from Tom's face, along with every other expression. His blank eyes jittered as he tried to catch the lie in Dumbledore's words. "Magic?" His voice, hardly a whisper, revealed more than his face did — there was something so hesitantly hopeful in those quiet words.

"That's right." Dumbledore nodded.

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

"What is it that you can do?"