My Classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort

"Oh...it's you, Gnar."

Tom rubbed his sleepy eyes, the milky white nightcap on his head slid aside, a grass green fur ball trembled, he covered his mouth and yawned, stretched his hands aside to grope around the pillow, lifted the quilt from the bed Get out of bed.

Nelson held the two-way mirror in his hand, as if watching a horror documentary filmed by a handheld camera.

"Did you just wake up?"

"Yeah," looked up at the wall clock in the dormitory, looked down at the mirror, rubbed his eyes again, and said weakly, "Actually, I just fell asleep not long ago."

"Tom?"

"What's wrong?"

"Tom Riddle? Is that really you?" Nelson's mouth twitched, and he asked uncertainly, "Are you possessed by Slytherin? I've never seen anyone in bed after eight o'clock in the morning Tom Riddle."

"What are you talking about?" Tom opened the door of the bathroom and put the mirror aside. He glanced at it and found that Nelson had been arranged properly, so he nodded in satisfaction, picked up the tooth bowl and prepared to wash, and put it in his mouth. Taking a sip of water, he said vaguely, "I stayed in the secret room last night, and I didn't go out to fool around."

"You are really studious." Nelson sucked his teeth and praised insincerely.

"That's not it," Tom continued with a froth in his mouth as he rolled his eyes at Nelson, "I've discovered a powerful magic that even a mediocre wizard can blow up a street with a spell—so I think you That's right."

"What?" Nelson was interrupted by him, and for a moment he even forgot what to ask him for.

"That's what you told me, because there are too many mediocre guys, and for the convenience of teaching, the spells are getting simpler and weaker."

"Did I say that?" Nelson scratched his head, and it was hard to recall what he said to Tom when he interpreted Slytherin's transfiguration. He nodded and sighed sincerely, "You really know Do reading comprehension!"

"By the way, why did you come to me early in the morning?" Tom threw the toothbrush into the tooth bowl, raised his head to rinse his mouth, stroked his hair with one hand, stared at the big mirror in front of him and said, "I just heard you say, My uncle is your father, so we are really cousins."

"That's right..." Nelson finally remembered the business, and quickly waved his hand, "No, I mean, not only did I find your uncle, I also found your father."

"What did you say?"

"I said, I found your father!"

"What did you find?"

"I found your father!"

"What are you my dad?"

"I found your father..."

"Who found my dad?"

Tom may not have understood what Nelson was saying for a while, or maybe he resisted the news from the bottom of his heart, and he even wondered how Nelson could say a sentence like a music box that is magically played a song on a loop. Talk upside down.

Nelson was so annoyed that he took out a crumpled "Journal de Paris" from his pocket, pressed it tightly to the mirror, picked up the mirror, and shouted at Tom:

"Your father, Old Tom Riddle saw our report in Paris and went to Paris to find you! He published a missing person notice in the "Paris Journal" looking for us, you can read it yourself!"

Tom fell into a long silence, because the newspaper covered the mirror, and Nelson couldn't see his expression and state clearly. In the quiet air, he once thought Tom was disconnected, but the faint breathing sound told him that the person opposite him I am seriously reading the newspaper with only a few dozen words.

"Gnar," Tom said after a long time, "How can you find everything?"

Nelson lifted the newspaper covering the mirror. Tom's face was full of melancholy, so gloomy that he could almost squeeze out water. The last time he saw Tom like this was on the streets of Paris. When the outrageous report "Finding Pythia - the great performance artists Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald first appeared on the streets of Paris".

"You know, I'm good at this." Nelson took out the ring with the resurrection stone and shook it at Tom, "But I didn't find it this time, it was a saint who saw you looking for Green DeVoe, just brought me the report."

Tom's expression became even more melancholy. He was like Oedipus who was being teased by fate, Alsace who picked up Frostmourne, and Hu Hai who coveted the throne—causing Nelson to ask: "Are you okay?" , Tom?"

"I'm fine...but he's really..." Tom sighed, the maturity and sophistication that didn't match his age disappeared without a trace, his eyes were full of resistance and panic to this Muggle father who fell from the sky , he paused for a while, looked around, and asked, "Is he really my... father?"

"How would I know that?" Nelson could only joke with a relatively brisk voice, "I don't rule out the possibility that someone with the same name and surname as you really has something to do with Grindelwald and Dumbledore."

"Okay..." Tom nodded, recalling what he knew about the poor parents. In England, the same name is very common, which is why Tom resisted his own name, but the surname is so strange, so the same name On the contrary, there are not many cases of the same surname. Since Mrs. Cole said that her mother named herself after her father, then the "Tom Riddle" who came to her after hearing the news is most likely the one she never had in those ten years. The father who never showed up.

"Oh." He lowered his head and sighed.

"Oh..." Nelson didn't know what to say, and he sighed, and asked, "This...Mr. Riddle seems to be in France right now. Let me check the situation for you."

"Oh!" Tom continued to sigh.

"It's not that your girlfriend is pregnant, why are you sighing?" Nelson comforted, "It's a good thing, at least you are not an orphan anymore, aren't you? I will go to France tomorrow to help you find the way, if this person is not very good , let’s not look for him, anyway he can’t find us, at most he can find—”

"No!" Tom refused softly.

"Find Grindelwald and let them duel!" Nelson finished the remaining half of the sentence, and when he heard Tom's words, he asked in surprise, "What did you say?"

"No need, Gnar." Tom shook his head lightly, "Let me face this matter myself."

"Is it okay?" Nelson asked with some concern. This kind of father who has not been seen for more than ten years does not sound like a good person.

"No problem Gnar." Tom clenched his fists, and the panic in his eyes disappeared, "Didn't I live healthily without him?"

"I just want to know what happened to the situation." He whispered.

...

"To be honest, I still think that woman controlled me in a strange way." Beside the fireplace, Old Tom shivered, as if recalling the bloody love story when he and Merope were dating. , he picked up a cut cigar from the table with trembling hands, the manservant behind him strode forward to light the fire for him with a wink, and then disappeared neatly into the darkness behind the sofa, In the lingering smoke, Old Tom said slowly, "I fled back home later, everyone said I was crazy, or thought I was just making excuses for abandoning others, but only I knew that during the nearly a year What a horrible thing I've been through."

"Mr. Riddle, can you explain in detail?"

On the sofa opposite him, a young reporter was holding a booklet while listening and recording. On the expensive leather cushion, the young reporter was a little fidgety. He was wearing an ill-fitting high-end suit, like It was a doll that was fitted with the body of another doll—at first glance, he looked like a lucky man who had been poor for a long time. He was the reporter who wrote the report before, and he was a master of reading comprehension.

The crazier the era, the more people will pursue these specious things. With that report, he also gained unimaginable fame and a certain amount of wealth before. He also gained this interview. opportunities for men.

"It's the first time I've mentioned this to anyone other than my family." Old Tom took a sip of the cigar in his hand, and the smoke he exhaled wrapped his whole head. That woman—the daughter of the shabby family living on the hill opposite our house, I really don’t know what’s going on, but the first thing I wake up every morning is to think about her, and every night when I fall asleep, I also think about her. She, whether she is by my side or not, there is only one thought in my mind, and that is to miss her."

"I understand, Mr. Riddle," the young reporter nodded, which seemed to be within the scope of his knowledge, "to tell you the truth, all I have in mind now is to take my fiancée to the hotel floor after the interview is over. Let’s have a good meal at the next restaurant.”

"I invite you," Old Tom waved his hand impatiently, and the valet behind him appeared from the shadows again. He went to the reporter and put down a meal coupon, and then retreated into the darkness without making a single sound. Tom continued, his voice a little shrill, "That's different, like you're thinking about your fiancée now, but you can ask me questions here, grab your goddamn pen and write in that goddamn book , you can hear what I said, but I can't! My mind was full of that woman, and I could hardly do anything except think about her and interact with her!"

"Your crazy love is really rare." The well-informed reporter also felt that his knowledge had increased, and he was amazed.

"I said that's not love!" Old Tom's head came out of the lingering smoke, and he let out a low roar from his throat in despair. The manservant behind him appeared again, staring at the reporter indifferently.

Seeing this, the reporter quickly waved his hand to apologize.

"Sorry, sorry, Mr. Riddle, that's not love, you go on."

"That's right, that's not love," continued old Tom, leaning back on the couch again, hiding his head in the smoke, "when I'm awake, I just want to go to bed with her, and when I go to bed, I dream of being in bed with her." ..."

"Sorry to bother you," the reporter raised his hand and asked, "Mr. Riddle, can I include this in the report?"

"Of course." Old Tom leaned forward, poked his head out of the smoke again, and grinned at the reporter with his blackened yellow teeth, like a crazy jackal. The love victim in the crazy fantasy", and the famous gentry who doubled the wealth of the Riddle family, "Of course you can write anything, even if it is fabricated, it doesn't matter, and the attitude of the reader has nothing to do with your thoughts. "

"I will modify it..." The reporter still maintained the gesture of waving his hand before, and added at the end, "in a literary way."

"Very well," Old Tom nodded with satisfaction, only the cigarette butt with a faint orange light was visible in the smoke, "my mother was still alive at the time, and she took me to see a doctor—a psychiatrist, you've heard A kind of doctor who specializes in treating people's brains. He said that I was just too guilty of that woman, so I fantasized about her controlling me to comfort my conscience... Huh, that's a quack doctor, although I The behavior during that time was completely illogical, but I remember that memory clearly!"

"I understand that this is a new science, a new profession, and it's normal to have misjudgments."

"When I was with her, I would sometimes be sober for a moment. She didn't fully grasp my thoughts. Every time I was sober, I would look for a way to escape in the broken apartment she rented." Tom gritted his teeth and said, "She doesn't look very smart, but she is actually smarter than anyone else—in order to prevent me from escaping, she would lock the apartment before going out, and she even rented an apartment on the fifth floor, just in case I would turn over. window escape."

"Did she put you under house arrest?"

"That's right, I can only think of a way inside the room," Old Tom nodded and said, "Then one day, I found that the kitchen was unlocked. Before going out, she would lock the kitchen door specially. It was really lucky that day..."

Old Tom said, patting his chest apprehensively, "I saw her use one of those pots on the hearth--the kind you get in the smithy for melting iron, you know?"

"The crucible," said the well-informed reporter.

"That's right, it's a crucible! She uses that kind of crucible to boil a strange liquid every day, and the luster of the mother-of-pearl looks abnormal! She mixes that thing in her rice every day for me to eat. Infatuated with her!"

"So you believe that the lady drugged you over a long period of time to make you fall in love with her," the reporter concluded.

"That's right," Old Tom said with a conceited smile as he hadn't smoked a cigar for a long time, and the smoke that shrouded his face faded, "After knowing all this, I started to pretend to be sick, pretending that I had an upset stomach. I haven’t eaten for days! But in those three days, I still pretended to be infatuated with her as before, maybe it made her feel that she could make me obsessed without that disgusting aphrodisiac, so she stopped feeding me that thing—this is for gave me a chance to escape from this devil."

"The devil?" the reporter interjected, looking up. "I noticed you seem to be calling your ex the devil."

"That's right, that woman is a devil, a devil who seduces believers, a devil who plays with people's hearts, a devil who has the means of hell..."

"Then Mr. Grindelwald?" The reporter looked at Old Tom's face carefully and said seriously, "I noticed that he looks very similar to you."

"Him? He's almost exactly the same as when I was young!" Old Tom struggled, and the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched rapidly. After a while, he closed his eyes and said weakly, "That may be the child born between me and the devil..."

The reporter got excited. The old jackal finally showed his weak side in front of him. To the reporter, this kind of weakness is like the temptation of the bloody smell in the sea to the shark. He licked his lips and asked:

"Then is he a devil to you, or a child?"

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