My Classmate at Hogwarts is Voldemort

"I don't know what he is to me?" Old Tom was silent for a long time, smiled wryly, and shook his head. "That period of life was like purgatory for me. My education and conscience told me that Even the son of the devil is just an innocent life, not to mention my blood flowing in his body, he is my heir, but..."

Choking on the smoke, Old Tom grabbed his neckline and coughed violently. The wrinkles on the face of this man in his prime were wantonly tangled, and the scars on the chapped skin seemed to penetrate to the bone.

"Conscience?" the young reporter murmured to himself, adding a note to the pamphlet recording the conversation.

"That's right," Old Tom said, clutching his chest and frowning, "I understand that in the eyes of ordinary people, I'm a thoroughly bad person, and I don't have any conscience at all! But I still can't face that experience, after so many years Come on, except for the loss of my daughter, that is my deepest and most terrifying nightmare, so that I have always harbored resentment towards the son I have never met, even though I know it is to vent my anger, but I... oh!"

"I understand, Mr. Riddle, after all, people are emotional animals." The reporter nodded and continued to ask, "You said before that you have been looking for your daughter all these years, so have you ever looked for your son? ? I thought it would be easy if you wanted to find him."

"Indeed." Old Tom lay weakly on the sofa, holding a cigar and letting the smoke rise. His trembling hands made the rising smoke show an extremely zigzag line, just like he was with Merope twelve years ago. The spiraling white steam presented by the pot of potion seen in the small apartment where he lived together—the unimaginable experience of ordinary people and the unbearable potion of Muggles almost destroyed his mind and body. After speaking, he closed his mouth tightly, and his eyes became empty.

"So over the years, have you ever looked for your own son?" The reporter didn't care about that. Since this gentleman asked to be interviewed, he should dig deeper. The keen sense brought by his career excited him. , compared to the nonsense of an old gentry, his cold-blooded and ruthless deeds are more likely to make readers angry, his bloody wounds are more likely to arouse people's discussions, more likely to drive newspaper sales, and more likely to make him successful ——He has already tasted the sweetness of a successful news. The interviewee this time is a fragile and emotional man, and there are too many wounds on his body that can be opened.

"I didn't..." Old Tom squeezed out a few words in a trembling voice.

"Why?" The reporter asked passionately, he even forgot about Old Tom's wealth and the manservant behind him, and couldn't wait to find out something explosive, "Have you never thought that a single mother How should I live in London with a child? You said that lady is the daughter of a shabby family next door, so maybe she doesn’t have the ability to live in London! Not to mention that she is still pregnant with your child, have you thought about such cruelty? What kind of embarrassing life will her abandonment bring her?"

"I haven't thought about it! I've never thought about it at all!" Old Tom roared hysterically, his cheeks were flushed abnormally, he glared at the reporter, and stretched out his trembling fingers to his head , "Can't you understand human language? I said it! That's the devil! Could it be that the devil starves to death because the soul it controls escapes? If it really starves to death, it's really gratifying!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." The reporter quickly raised his hand and put it on his chest, looked up at the male servant who appeared again, nodded his head as if smashing garlic, and signaled with his eyes that he would not ask questions like this again, and said, "Calm down, Mr. Riddle, that's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean? It seems that you, like those quack doctors, think that my running away is just an excuse for refusing to admit that I abandoned others?"

"I'm not." The reporter categorically denied it, but "Yes, I think so" was written on his face.

"I'm really not afraid to tell you that I've done this kind of thing more than once or twice." Old Tom picked up the newspaper on the coffee table, went to the reporter, pointed to Tom's photo and said, "I saw his face Is he exactly like him when I was young! Exactly! Do you know what that means?!"

"This...means that he is indeed your relative?" the reporter replied in a low voice.

"No! I just want to tell you that if you have such a face, you can live happily and happily. There will never be a lack of beautiful women around you. Even if you rely on women to support you, you can live a very nourishing life without suffering haha I'm trying so hard to find a place in this kind of hotel restaurant to take my fiancee to dinner!"

"Mr. Riddle! I—" The reporter's face also flushed red. He felt insulted, but sadly found that what Old Tom said was true.

"So you see? When I was young, I did a lot of dumping girls! Did a lot, you know?" said old Tom, waving a newspaper like a conductor. "Before I met my wife I'm a prodigal too, but I never deny those relationships or passions, and I don't shy away from my responsibilities to them, I'm not a poor guy, I have money."

When it came to money, Old Tom returned to his field of expertise, and his mood stabilized. He calmly put one hand on the armrest of the sofa, crossed his legs, waved his hand and asked the servant to light the next cigar for him, and squeezed it Taking a deep breath in his hand, he exhaled a puff of smoke at the reporter.

"Do you understand?" Old Tom said rather proudly, "The reason why those girls like me even though they know I'm so flirtatious is because they know that there is no way they can lose money when they associate with me."

"It's different. What's more important between a man and a woman is emotion..." The reporter justified bitterly. He thought of his fiancée who was struggling like himself in the big city of Paris. Thinking of the recent improvement, his heart surged. A touch of sweetness.

"What stupid things are you talking about? Boy." Old Tom sneered as if he had heard some joke, and mocked, "It's just a poor boy like you who keeps saying such things every day. Do you know statistics? I have dated so many girls, but my true love is only my wife. What is the ratio? Go back and figure it out yourself."

"Okay." The reporter didn't know what to say, so he continued to ask according to the outline, "So have you looked for your son before?"

"I... haven't looked for it." Old Tom struggled to admit, and the reporter smiled with confidence.

But he immediately added: "My family members actually knew about this, so after I returned home, they sent servants to look for my possible heirs."

"Oh?" The reporter asked excitedly, "Is there any result?"

"Yes." Old Tom closed his eyes, took a deep puff on his cigar, and hid his head in the smoke again. After a while, he said, "That woman...she's dead."

"Dead?" The reporter sat up straight, tightly holding the notebook and pen in his hand.

"Yes, after I ran away, the woman died." Old Tom breathed a sigh of relief, and began to repeat in a trance, "Yes, she died. I saw the news a few weeks ago and was going to come to France." At that time, the old housekeeper of the family told me about this. On the last day of that year, she died at the gate of an orphanage in the West End of London... She... If I had known about this earlier, I would have actually... "

The reporter felt sick to his stomach, and the old Tom on the opposite side didn't even bother to cry out fake tears. In his eyes, every word of this guy who did something wrong was justifying himself, and everything was proving that " I didn’t know about it” and “I only found out after it happened”, he had no remorse at all in his heart, no sympathy for the woman who died for him, only the joy of escaping the sea of ​​suffering, it was really hard for him to feel sorry for the old woman. Tom empathizes.

"Maybe it's true what he said? If he is really controlled by the devil as he said, then he is indeed a complete failure." The reporter thought in his heart, and quickly refuted himself, " How is it possible? How can there be a potion to control love in this world, it's just this man's sophistry... What's wrong with me, how can I believe such a thing?"

"Mr. Riddle." The reporter's professionalism is good. Apart from the previous disputes, he did not bring his emotions into the interview. He calmed down and continued to ask, "You just said that this lady died in an orphanage. Does that mean she left the baby there?"

"That's right." Old Tom took a deep look at him, nodded and said, "He grew up in that orphanage. I took your report and asked the person in charge of the orphanage. He left there only last year."

"Really?" The reporter quickly recorded in the pamphlet, "Does this mean that you... oh no, your servants or someone else are very aware that your biological son has been living in an orphanage."

"He looks exactly the same as when I was young." Old Tom didn't answer the reporter's question directly, but said with emotion, "That woman named him the same as me—Tom Riddle."

"So you actually knew about it, but you let your child grow up in an orphanage," the reporter asked, "Is it just because of the emotional dispute between you and his mother?"

"I said it! I have no relationship with her!" Old Tom came back to his senses, stared at the reporter angrily, with bruised veins on his forehead, panting violently, and scolded, "There is no so-called emotional dispute!"

"So that's why you allowed your own son to grow up in an orphanage?" The reporter looked at the out-of-control old Tom triumphantly, writing fast and chasing after the victory, "Then why are you doing it again now?" Come to him? As far as I know, he has at least one like-minded friend who has a life of his own, and you came to him because he became famous because of my reporting?"

Old Tom was panting heavily, and his face and neck were flushed.

"Sir, this is the end of today's interview." The valet behind Old Tom stepped forward, covered the reporter's booklet with his hand, and warned softly but forcefully, "I hope you can report truthfully and don't write some Something for no reason."

The reporter tried hard to withdraw his pamphlet, but to no avail, he shrugged and stood up.

"Well, Mr. Riddle, thank you for accepting the interview with our newspaper, your story is wonderful."

The valet let go, the reporter took a step forward, and extended his right hand to Old Tom, but he ignored the reporter in front of him, tilted his head to one side, and smoked the cigar in his hand vigorously, the reporter smiled awkwardly, turned and left.

"As I said, I have no malice towards that child. I am old and sick all over." Old Tom said weakly behind him, "I just hope to find my own son and hand over the family business to him, and then Let him find his sister, no matter what I do, but that is the business of the fathers."

"I understand, Mr. Riddle." The reporter nodded, took off the coat from the coat rack and put it on his body, left and closed the door behind him. He no longer trusted the man's words. In his opinion, no matter whether it was the outrageous story or the final hypocrisy, they were all just quibbles that he planned.

Coming out of the room, the reporter angrily picked up the pamphlet, bit the cap of the pen in his mouth, and wrote as he went downstairs:

"Mr. Grindelwald and Mr. Dumbledore, the performance artist group that set off a trend in France and even Europe, have disappeared for a long time. People's understanding of the two gentlemen is limited to the work of that night-"Looking for Pythia", but this is not enough at all The society is curious about them, so that the author has received so-called "gossip" about them since the report was published. But this report is different from the previous rumors that were difficult to verify. A person who looks very similar to Mr. Grindelwald Gentlemen like me bring new news that is more real, more intimate and more unimaginable."

"Tom Riddle, a gentry from Hangleton, England, a wealthy family and a satisfactory life made him perverse and irritable, and made him older and weaker than his peers. This self-proclaimed Gellert Green The man of Mr. Devore's father found the author three days ago and asked us to publish his missing person notice in the newspaper. It is difficult for anyone to connect the artist Mr. who is in the limelight with Mr. Riddle who is like an octogenarian. Get up... From Mr. Riddle, the author learned of a bloody love story."

Turning around the stairs, the pen was out of water. He flicked his wrist, took off the cap of the pen in his mouth and threw it into his pocket, but in it he found the meal coupon for the high-end restaurant downstairs that Old Tom gave him.

The young reporter struggled for a moment, let go of the meal coupon, smoothed the handprints made by Old Tom's valet on the pamphlet, and added a sentence after the paragraph.

"How did Mr. Riddle change from a handsome gentleman to what he is now? It all has something to do with the woman he said, Mr. Grindelwald's mother. In this bloody love story, Riddle Sir is undoubtedly a victim too."