Albus Dumbledore recognized him, or at least recognized his family.
Vincent stood at the entrance of Ollivanders Wand Shop.
Through the thick crowd, he spotted an extraordinarily tall figure, a truly distinctive man.
For some reason, Vincent felt almost instantly that this was the friend Harry had wanted to introduce him to.
Dumbledore followed Vincent’s line of sight and saw the person approaching Ollivanders.
“That’s Hagrid. He’s Harry’s guide, and he’ll take care of the rest of Harry’s arrangements.”
Vincent quietly followed Dumbledore to an ice cream parlor nearby—to be honest, he hadn’t expected a magical street like Diagon Alley to have such an ordinary ice cream shop.
“This is no ordinary ice cream shop,” said Dumbledore.
“The treats here are delightfully unique.”
Dumbledore stepped up to exchange a few words with the shopkeeper, returning with two large bowls of ice cream.
Vincent was certain he couldn’t possibly finish one on his own.
Still, he took a spoon from the side and ate in small bites, waiting for Dumbledore to speak first.
Never move before your opponent does.
Until Dumbledore explained who he was, Vincent wasn’t going to reveal anything about himself.
Perhaps the old man had already thoroughly investigated him before coming here anyway.
Dumbledore’s mood seemed to have softened.
“You’ve acquired a wand of immense power. The Basilisk is a legendary creature; no one could have imagined that Ollivander’s shop actually harbored a horn belonging to a Basilisk.”
The Ollivander family had existed for centuries, and as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, it was hardly surprising that they possessed rare antiques in their collection.
Only wizards with family lineages truly understood how many extraordinary treasures their ancestors had accumulated over hundreds of years—wondrous artifacts beyond an outsider’s imagination.
Dumbledore slowly ate half his ice cream, and Vincent matched his pace, remaining calm throughout—far calmer than any child his age should be.
He looked even more like that person now.
He had been just as cold and detached back then, as though nothing in the world could move him, save for the fanatical gleam in his eyes whenever magic was mentioned, devoid of affection for anything else in existence.
“Riddle. Your surname is Riddle.” Dumbledore set down his spoon, finally stating his purpose.
Vincent let out a deep sigh.
“You can be direct with me, Headmaster Dumbledore. Is there something wrong with my surname? What significance does it hold? I imagine it stands in opposition to the name ‘Harry Potter’—otherwise, you wouldn’t have worn such a grim expression when you saw me.”
Dumbledore looked at him with an even stranger gaze—not one of caution or hostility, but the quiet regret of someone looking at an exceptionally intelligent child whom he might fail to guide properly.
“You are exceptionally intelligent,” Dumbledore said.
“I once knew a child as bright as you, but sadly, he did not walk the right path. It made me overly paranoid, so I grew wary the moment I saw your name. For that, I owe you an apology, my child.”
Once bitten, twice shy.
When he saw that surname again, Dumbledore admitted that the flaws inherent in human nature had stirred within him.
He hadn’t gone to see the boy, nor had he assigned a guide to him.
At times, he had even wondered if everything that followed might never have happened if that other child had never received his letter from Hogwarts.
So when he saw the name again, he hesitated.
Though the letter was eventually sent, he had refrained from coming forward to serve as his guide.
Muggle-born young witches and wizards knew nothing of the wizarding world, so letters were sent with detailed instructions allowing their parents to take them to Diagon Alley.
Only under exceptional circumstances, such as Harry Potter’s, would they dispatch someone to assist in person.
Vincent fell somewhere in between.
He wasn’t famous like Harry Potter, and if not for that peculiar surname, perhaps no one would have noticed that he had no parents to accompany him to Diagon Alley either.
Vincent maintained an aloof expression even now, though the tight grip on his spoon gave away his nervousness.
“What did you come to tell me, then?” Vincent asked.
“Are you going to revoke my admission to Hogwarts?”
Nipping all potential tragedy in the bud was the most logical solution.
He had no idea what the surname truly meant, but judging by the old man’s demeanor, it was certainly nothing good.
His former adoptive parents had taught him how to handle unexpected complications.
It just so happened that this time, he was the complication.
There was nothing to be shocked about.
Vincent could face the situation calmly; the worst outcome was simply returning to Privet Drive and living as an ordinary person with no worries about basic living conditions.
How many people longed for a life free of financial worry and never got it?
What more could he ask for?
Contentment brought happiness.
Having grown up in an orphanage, Vincent knew better than anyone how to be satisfied with what he had, and he had never expected much to begin with.
“No, child,” Dumbledore said.
“I did not come for that. I came to apologize—to apologize for the assumptions I harbored in my heart. You are not him, and I should not view you through the lens of the past.”
The emotion in Vincent’s eyes froze, his fast-working mind momentarily grinding to a halt.
“What do you mean?”
So he wasn’t going to be expelled or turned away.
It was completely opposite to what he had anticipated.
Dumbledore offered a smile—a warm, gentle smile that every young witch and wizard at Hogwarts would come to know well.
He said softly, “Hogwarts welcomes you, young wizard. You will undoubtedly become a fine talent in the wizarding world. I have never doubted how exceptional Hogwarts students can be, and you will surely be among the finest.”
Vincent didn’t understand.
Knowing that something terrible had happened in the past, how could someone still treat him with such goodwill?
An orphanage was where the cold cruelty of the world was most apparent, where children had to fight for every scrap of resource to survive.
His adoptive parents were accomplished businesspeople who had taught him from an early age how to pursue benefits and avoid harm.
Vincent knew full well why he had been adopted.
He had done his best to play the role of a suitable replacement, and when they had a biological child of their own, he had quietly accepted being set aside without making a fuss.
His wand was still with him, and the old wizard before him was welcoming him to Hogwarts.
He had yet to figure out what the surname Riddle represented, but the kind gaze of the old man in front of him wasn’t fake; it carried genuine warmth and sincerity.
Vincent struggled to process it.
“If you’re afraid I’ll do something I shouldn’t, you ought to solve the problem at its root. Preventing me from entering the wizarding world is the safest choice. If something unfortunate happens in the end, you will regret not stopping me today.”
“Regarding what happened back then, I do have regrets,” Dumbledore said gently.
“Yet my regret is not bringing him to Hogwarts, but failing to show him enough care and attention.
I did not understand him well enough, which allowed his mind to twist and led to tragedy.
“Child, I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and the students of Hogwarts are all my children. For children, what elders ought to do is guide them—not berate them after the fact for straying from the right path, but reflect on why we failed to notice their struggles in time.”
It was a lesson Dumbledore had taken a long time to truly understand.
“Vincent! There you are! I thought you left without me!”
Harry’s voice drew closer, and a second later, he slung an arm around Vincent’s shoulder.
Only then did Harry notice the unfamiliar wizard sitting next to Vincent.
Flustered, he quickly pulled his arm back and stood up straight.
“Hello, sir.”
Dumbledore beamed.
“Hello, Mr. Potter. I am Dumbledore. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Hagrid, who had been delayed due to his towering frame navigating through the dense crowd, arrived a moment later.
Seeing Dumbledore, he started to smile, but as his eyes fell on the boy sitting beside him, his expression froze in utter shock.
“Headmaster Dumbledore, he…”
“He is an incoming student, Vincent Riddle, and I am his guide,” Dumbledore said warmly.
“He is an exceptionally fine child, and I am confident he will enjoy a wonderful student life at Hogwarts.”
Hagrid stammered, looking like a large, burly man reduced to timid silence by Dumbledore’s gentle words.
“Well, all right… Dumbledore’s never wrong. If he says so, then it must be fine.”
He muttered under his breath, almost talking to himself.
Vincent felt even more bewildered.
*Has he seen me before too?
Even before hearing my name, his reaction to my face was off.*
He had initially assumed that the issue lay with the surname given to him by his adoptive parents, never expecting the real issue to lie with his face.
Yes, his adoptive parents were named Riddle—a fairly common surname.
Their family had engaged in business for several generations, accumulating substantial wealth by present-day standards.
When he had occasionally exhibited magical talents in his early childhood, his adoptive parents had recoiled as if facing a deadly enemy.
When Dumbledore showed up, Vincent had assumed that his adoptive family had once caused some major trouble in the wizarding world.
Vincent had even planned his response: if Dumbledore used the surname Riddle as a reason to deny him entry to Hogwarts, he would disclose that he was adopted, severing all ties with the family’s past.
He wasn’t about to give up an opportunity to step into a whole new world.
Nothing brought him greater satisfaction than exploring the unknown.
Compared to what others thought or might do, Vincent prioritized himself above all else.
Unfortunately, before he could bring it up, Dumbledore had relented.
And the reaction from Harry’s large friend didn’t seem to be caused by the surname either—so what was it really about?
Even before stepping foot inside Hogwarts, Vincent had already found a mystery worth unraveling.
He would definitely find out what had truly happened with “Riddle.”