Chapter 2: The Wings of a Butterfly

Chapter 2: The Butterfly's Wings 

In 1938, Dumbledore was not yet the headmaster of Hogwarts. 

At that time, he was just a Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, probably in his fifties. 

But it was in this year that he did something seemingly insignificant, yet it completely changed the future of the wizarding world. 

He admitted the future Dark Lord, Voldemort, into Hogwarts, thus setting Tom Marvolo Riddle on the path of pursuing his ambitions. 

Hoffa had read the original novel, and he had once been a fan of the series. 

But he never imagined that he would die and transmigrate into this world, arriving in 1938 England, and waking up to face one of the most prominent wizards of this world. 

He didn't know what this meant, but after Mrs. Cole left the room, Hoffa had already retreated to the corner. 

He looked at Dumbledore, fearing that he might use Legilimency or Obliviate on him. 

Neither outcome was acceptable to him, as he had just experienced death and memory confusion, and his nerves were still in a fragile, tense state. 

But Dumbledore didn't do either. Instead, there was only a spark of curiosity in his eyes. 

He was very interested in the child from the orphanage who could call out his name. 

He didn't rush to speak to Hoffa but first untangled the cat hanging from the ceiling and then leaned against the broken table in the room, smiling as he examined Hoffa. 

"Muggles wouldn't know my name, Hoffa." 

He had already remembered Hoffa's name. 

"Oh." 

Hoffa replied dryly. In his previous life, he had only lived for a little over a decade, while Dumbledore was at least in his fifties. Facing such an experienced wizard, he felt no sense of superiority. 

"You didn't even ask me what a Muggle is." 

Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed with amusement as he looked at Hoffa. "What's your full name, Hoffa?" 

"Hoffa Bach." 

Hoffa sighed and decided to be honest. 

In front of someone of this caliber, he could only play the role of an honest child. 

"Bach… sounds like a family from France." 

Dumbledore pondered for a moment. 

Then he took out his wand and laid it flat on his knee. 

Hoffa instinctively flinched, his eyes filled with caution. He had already recovered from the initial shock. 

Now, he just wanted to send Dumbledore on his way as soon as possible and sort out his thoughts. 

He needed to face this new life properly. 

Dumbledore keenly noticed Hoffa's fear, so he raised his wand and pointed it at him. 

Hoffa's eyes widened with alarm, and he took a step back, pressing himself tightly against the corner. 

What was he going to do? 

What was Dumbledore going to do to me? 

Was it coming? 

The Memory Charm? 

Legilimency? 

His mind was in chaos. 

Just as he was at the peak of his nervousness— 

Bang! 

A glass on the table suddenly shattered, as if responding to Hoffa's tension. 

Then— 

Poof! 

Accompanied by a sound like a cheap firecracker, a few colorful ribbons burst from Dumbledore's wand, floating softly through the air, accompanied by tiny sparkles, and landed on Hoffa's face. 

Hoffa stood dumbfounded in the corner, letting the ribbons fall and drape over his head. 

What was this? 

This scene wasn't in the original novel at all. What was he supposed to do? 

Dumbledore coughed lightly, put away his wand, and muttered, "Am I really that scary?" 

Hoffa didn't speak. He looked at the shattered glass on the table, then at Dumbledore's amused expression. 

He was completely speechless. 

"Did Beauxbatons send you an invitation, Hoffa?" 

Hoffa silently shook his head. 

"I see… I understand." 

(Hoffa didn't know what he understood.) 

With that, Dumbledore stood up, put on his hat, and said gently to Hoffa, 

"Perhaps you need a change of environment. By the way, I also like short-haired cats. Find a better place to bury this little one." 

After saying this, he gave Hoffa a slight wink and turned to leave the room. 

Only after Dumbledore left did Hoffa slowly slide down the wall and sit on the floor. 

For a moment, his brain seemed to shut down. After a while, he finally confirmed his coordinates in time and space. 

London, England, 1938, in the same orphanage as Tom Riddle. 

And what Dumbledore was about to do was recruit the future Dark Lord into Hogwarts. 

Not long after, Hoffa heard a faint clicking sound from upstairs, like a group of mice gnawing on a table. The sound was so subtle that it would go unnoticed if one wasn't paying attention. 

But it wasn't mice. Hoffa knew what was happening. 

In 1938, when Dumbledore recruited the 11-year-old Tom Riddle into Hogwarts, he had expressed dissatisfaction with Tom's bullying of other children. 

At that moment, he used a burning wardrobe to intimidate Tom and forced the future Dark Lord to make the only repentance of his life. 

The story of Harry Potter was long, but if one had to pinpoint the true beginning of it all, perhaps this was it. 

After all, if Tom Riddle hadn't entered Hogwarts, he wouldn't have become Voldemort, and if Voldemort hadn't killed Harry Potter's parents, none of the later events would have happened. 

And now, this historic moment was happening right above his head. 

Faint voices could be heard from upstairs. 

... 

Some boy: "I don't have any money!" 

Dumbledore: "That's easily solved. Hogwarts has a fund for those who need assistance to buy books and robes. Some of your spellbooks might have to be secondhand, but…" 

The boy: "Where do I buy spellbooks?" 

Dumbledore: "In Diagon Alley. I've brought your list of books and school supplies. I can help you get everything…" 

The boy: "You're coming with me?" 

Dumbledore: "Of course, if you…" 

The boy: "I don't need…" 

... 

Five minutes later, the conversation ended, and the sound of a door closing came from upstairs. 

Just as Hoffa thought Dumbledore's first meeting with Voldemort had concluded, Dumbledore's voice came down again. 

"By the way, the child whose room you took is also a wizard. If you're familiar with London, I hope you can help him." 

Tom Riddle let out a mocking laugh: "Hoffa? Him?" 

Dumbledore didn't respond further and left, closing the door behind him. 

... 

Downstairs, after hearing all this, Hoffa completely collapsed onto the bed. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 

There was no doubt that he had magical talent. Dumbledore had just tested his abilities in a completely unexpected way. 

No matter what the novel portrayed, the current Dumbledore was much more assertive and sharp than he had imagined, perhaps because he was younger now. 

And Voldemort was far more terrifying than he had imagined. His previous self had already died. 

Killed by the 11-year-old Tom Riddle, all for a room. 

If Dumbledore knew he was dealing with an 11-year-old murderer, he probably wouldn't have admitted him to Hogwarts. 

Sprawled on the bed, Hoffa sighed. 

He instinctively wanted to take out his phone and send a WeChat message to vent about reality. 

But when he reached into his pocket, his smile turned even more bitter. 

It would be over 70 years before Steve Jobs released the iPhone 4. That guy was probably still a single-celled organism. He might as well give up on the idea of playing with a phone. 

After sorting out his thoughts, Hoffa picked up the cat that Tom Riddle had hanged and buried it in a corner of the orphanage. 

Looking at the small pile of pebbles marking the grave, Hoffa pressed his hand to his chest and whispered, "I'll live well, carrying your part with me." 

Not long after, the sound of mealtime came from the orphanage. 

Hoffa adjusted his mindset, and the gloomy expression on his face vanished. 

He had magical talent and was likely to attend Hogwarts. 

Wasn't this exactly what he had dreamed of in his childhood? 

If that was the case, what was there to complain about? 

... 

On his plate was a slightly yellowed piece of white bread, two slices of bacon, half a broccoli, and a glass of orange juice. 

This was Hoffa's first meal in 1938 London. 

The orphanage's food wasn't great, but it was enough to keep the children from starving. 

Coupled with the fact that British cooks were notoriously careless, Hoffa felt the bacon in his mouth was exceptionally tough. 

But before he could force himself to swallow the bacon, a plate was slammed down in front of him. 

Clang! 

Hoffa, still holding half a strip of bacon in his mouth, looked up. 

A tall boy with black hair, pale skin, and strikingly handsome features stood before him. 

At least, Hoffa thought he was much more handsome than his current self. 

He was the kind of ordinary boy-next-door, while the other was the type who could attract talent scouts just by walking down the street. 

"Your head healed quite quickly, Hoffa." 

The boy narrowed his eyes and spoke softly, his gaze as if he were looking at some new toy. 

Without a doubt, this handsome boy was the infamous Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

The real deal. 

The most powerful Dark Wizard in European magical history, Voldemort. 

Fifty years later, his name would become one that could not be spoken. 

Hoffa disliked him. 

No one would like an 11-year-old who dared to kill and would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. 

And this child would never repent. 

But Hoffa wasn't afraid of him. At this point, he wasn't yet Voldemort. No matter how impressive, he was still just a child. 

He swallowed the bacon in his mouth and slowly stood up. 

"Get lost, Tom." 

Hoffa said calmly, his presence not at all inferior to the other. 

Tom was stunned, and his face instantly turned pale. A flash of red light appeared in his eyes, making him look like a ferocious beast. 

But then, something unexpected happened. 

He didn't rush over to hit Hoffa, nor did he use magic. Instead, he smiled and leaned in, as if the previous ferocity had been an illusion. 

"You and I are the same, Hoffa." 

He pointed at the other children eating dinner and said softly, "Not like these idiots." 

Hoffa was shocked. 

He could only say that, after all, this was the young Voldemort, a future tyrant. 

This level of composure was far beyond that of an ordinary child. 

One moment, he had pushed him off a cliff, and the next, he was trying to build a relationship with him. No wonder he would later gather such a large group of Death Eaters. 

To be honest, if he didn't know a bit about the future, he might have been swayed by that infectious smile. 

Tom: "If you're willing to be my friend, I can take you to a magical place." 

After saying this, he even extended his left hand to Hoffa with a friendly smile. 

But Hoffa just glanced coldly at the outstretched hand. 

"I'll go to Hogwarts on my own, but I won't shake the hand of someone who kills innocent animals." 

As soon as he finished speaking, Tom Riddle's young face was filled with hatred. 

The light bulbs in the orphanage flickered, and the air suddenly tightened. The orange juice in all the children's cups exploded. 

Cries erupted! 

Hoffa frowned. Such a strong magical fluctuation. 

Although he hadn't yet been exposed to magic, he could instinctively feel the terrifying talent within the other. 

Hoffa's face paled, but he didn't back down. In his previous life, he had been an ordinary person. 

But he was also someone with his own principles. Even if this person was destined to succeed, Hoffa would never shake his hand. 

The hand was withdrawn. 

The light bulbs on the ceiling returned to normal. 

Mrs. Cole rushed into the hall in a panic, comforting the crying children. 

By now, Tom had returned to his normal state. 

"I'll be watching you, Hoffa." 

He said calmly and then turned to leave. 

His words were calm, but the murderous intent was unmistakable. 

Hoffa snorted, shook his head, and tossed the last piece of bacon on his plate into his mouth. 

On the first day of his rebirth, he had already offended the Dark Lord. What a way to start! 

To be honest, Hoffa didn't like making enemies. The traditional Eastern education of his previous life had taught him the importance of staying low-key. But it was precisely because of this that he was eager to distance himself from Voldemort. 

Choosing the right side and quietly thriving was the way to go. Someone like him, with his immense ambition and blatant opposition to the world, would be doomed to fail even if his talent were a hundred times greater. Even without Harry Potter, the outcome would be the same. 

Thinking of this, Hoffa couldn't help but shiver. 

Although Voldemort was destined to fail, he didn't want to become a casualty of the wizarding war. 

This wasn't the era of Harry's birth. His father hadn't even been born yet. 

He couldn't rely on the protagonist's光环 and follow the savior to safety. 

Not to mention knowing the course of history and taking advantage of opportunities. 

The Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the Prisoner of Azkaban—those were all things from half a century later… 

Right now, he was completely in the dark. 

The road ahead was shrouded in chaos.