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Tom Riddle looked around at the room that the magical vortex he had suddenly been pulled into had dropped him in. Stone walls and stone floors, lit by candles and torches, not a lot to go on, but then again, he knew every stone of his castle and this was clearly the hidden ritual chamber on the fourth floor.
His gaze shifted to examine the students who must have done this. There wouldn’t be any punishments of course, such initiative and cleverness must be rewarded, to have both gained access to the room and to have summoned him through the walls of Hogwarts was no mean feat. Though he would need to examine their methods to ensure they hadn’t placed themselves or others at risk, as well as upping the security on the ritual chamber.
The “students” in question were a haggard bunch, and some of them were clearly beyond school age. A hint of alarm began to raise the hairs on the back of his neck now. None of the students seemed to recognize him either, a second point of concern.
Tom felt like there had to be a reasonable explanation still, right up into he looked into the horrified eyes of the one person that did recognize him. This Albus Dumbledore was clearly older and far more haggard than the one whose portrait adorned his office, and his arm appeared blackened by some sort of nasty withering curse.
He coughed gently to break the silence.
“Good evening, or night perhaps, I think I once read something about workings of dimensional magic benefiting from practice during the witching hour. Anyhaps, I am Tom Riddle, who are you to have drawn me from my time and place?
“Riddle! THAT’S Tom Riddle!?” A girl with rather bushy hair exclaimed, turning towards Dumbledore. “You said the ritual would summon us a hero from another world to fight for us!”
Tom interjected. “Ah, I’d rather hope that my contributions to society have grown beyond a hectic adventure I was tossed into as a teenager. Yes I defeated Grindelwald, but I’ve put in a lot of work to tamp down the hero worship and I much prefer to be called Headmaster nowadays.”
Dumbledore’s eyes darted in alarm to Tom’s wand, which he had instinctually dropped into his hand at his unexpected magical translocation. Tom matched his gaze to see a familiar Elder wand in the hand of his predecessor.
“Ah so you did it yourself here. Good show, much better than my Dumbledore, leaving saving the world to children. Very irresponsible, I could never do such a thing to a student of mine, I do hope however that you didn’t misrepresent to these good people a ritual that was actually to summon a certain Master of something or other?”
Tom tsked as Dumbledore’s eyes once again darted back to his hand. Twisting his wrist slightly he displayed the ring he wore there and the Peverell crest emblazoned upon it.
The other headmaster looked faint, but was saved from responding by the bushy haired witch once more.
“How can you call yourself a hero when you’re the very Dark Lord we summoned you to defeat?! This is a disaster!”
“Oh bollocks”
**************************
“Ah, yes, well. My Dumbledore never really trusted me either. Not sure why entirely. I was always on my best behaviour and all the other professors loved me. Even after I defeated Grindelwald and everyone was practically worshipping me as a hero he was still suspicious.”
Tom leaned back in the chair he had transfigured and continued talking to the young couple in front of him.
“When I applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Dippet could hardly say no to the Defeater of Grindelwald, not even with Albus whispering baseless accusations in his ear. We were colleagues for a number of decades in fact. Quite the chilly professional relationship actually, but I got by.
“He did receive the Headmastership before I did of course. Even as the hero of the War, I didn’t have nearly the seniority he did. But he was absolutely dreadful at the job. Yes, he was a mite better than Dippet in some ways, but very lax with student safety and classroom standards. It was appalling.”
His chair was now balancing on a single leg, rocking slightly under the influence of his magic.
“Those were the reasons I put in my appeal to the board you see? The fact that he tried to use his position to oust me was coincidental. A little nudge here and a push here, and Albus Dumbledore was the shortest tenured Headmaster Hogwarts has seen since Quentin Trimble. I believe last I heard of him his brother had tried to knock some sense into him and they have since retired in the west country raising goats and sheep.”
He scratched his chin idly.
“I think Aberforth raises the goats and Albus the sheep. If I recall correctly he knits socks with the wool.
A slight push more and his chair was now completely floating and he began working on transfiguring the legs while maintaining the charm. Having the strongest wand in the world was no excuse for letting one’s skills turn rusty.
“His portrait was most disagreeable for the first few years to be sure. Eventually I went so far as to acquire some training in magical painting. Now when he gets too ornery I’ll paint him in a single lemon sherbet. He grumbles that I won’t paint him a bag, but I’m fairly certain if I do that it would never actually empty properly and there would go my leverage for some peace and quiet.”