"I know this sounds super sketchy. You've been chilling inside the Gaunt ring for fifty years, nobody bothering you, and then some random wizard pops up out of nowhere asking about Dementors. But it's all true. I'm allies with the future Voldemort. We even share the secret of immortality. Compared to Horcruxes, Dementors are honestly small potatoes."
"Let me think… just give me a second…" Riddle's mind was racing.
"You still don't trust me. Why do you think I've been studying those nasty dark creatures? It's all so I can bring you back."
"That's not what I meant. I'm just… this is a lot to take in. It's too sudden. I need time to process."
"Of course you've got time to think it over—after you tell me the secret of the Dementors. Like… how exactly do you make them obey commands?" Melvin said, his inner salesman already rubbing its hands together.
"Why Dementors specifically?"
"Because they're the guards of Azkaban. They're the ones keeping watch over—and tormenting—your loyal Death Eaters." Melvin leaned in, not giving Riddle a moment to breathe. "After you fell, the Death Eaters split into two groups. The sneaky opportunists claimed they were under the Imperius Curse and dodged punishment. The true believers insisted you'd return someday, so they got locked up in Azkaban and suffered."
"How dare they… how dare they…"
"Voldemort's main soul is missing, and here you are—a soul fragment—still hesitating. How long are you planning to drag this out?"
Riddle's eyes kept shifting. His ghostly heart was pounding. This wizard who called himself an ally knew about Horcruxes, knew about the curse on the Gaunt ring—secrets only he himself should know…
Finally, he made up his mind and gritted his teeth. "It's Legilimency. Dementors are weird. They have physical bodies but aren't affected by magic because those bodies are hollow—no souls. They survive by sucking up other people's emotions and memories to fill the void."
Melvin's eyes glinted. "Tell me more. Details."
Riddle launched into the story of that one summer when he'd dealt with Dementors up close.
He remembered it clearly. After solving the mystery of his parentage, he'd hidden out in Little Hangleton, killed the Muggle Riddles, and framed Morfin Gaunt. But he didn't leave right away. He stuck around Greater Hangleton, studying dark magic, experimenting with making multiple Horcruxes, and admiring his own handiwork.
His setup had the authorities chasing their tails. The Muggle police couldn't figure out the cause of death, arrested a gardener at random, only for the Aurors to step in and release him. The Aurors quickly determined the Muggles had died from the Killing Curse and zeroed in on Morfin.
To arrest a notorious dark wizard with a record, they sent Hit-Wizards—and Dementors.
That's when Riddle first met the Dementors. Those dark creatures could appear in broad daylight, invisible to Muggles, tall and skeletal, draped in cloaks, surrounded by freezing mist. Fire and light (things most dark creatures feared) did nothing to them. Only the Patronus Charm could drive them away.
Practically immortal.
Riddle was fascinated. Problem was, he was a pure dark wizard—zero happy memories in his head—so he had no way to control them with a Patronus.
The Dementors didn't want anything to do with him either. A cold, twisted, evil soul with no happiness? To a Dementor that feeds on emotions and memories, he was basically garbage.
That weird stalemate gave Riddle the chance to study them and run experiments.
"Actually, Fiendfyre can drive them off too, but it's loud, hard to control, and makes them mad. Later I tried torturing them with Unforgivable Curses, then using Legilimency to read their minds."
"Lady Luck was smiling on me—I found the right method."
For the Riddle in the Gaunt ring, this was his most recent memory, and he sounded pretty proud of it. "Dementors are born from despair and pain. They can make sounds with their throats, but that's not how they talk to each other. They use the cold mist as a medium and communicate almost like natural Legilimency. I read their thoughts that way and sent my own commands back."
"That's… unbelievable," Melvin couldn't help but marvel.
Riddle's talent in dark magic rivaled Herpo the Foul or Salazar Slytherin himself. Too bad splitting his soul and messing with dark magic fried his brain, letting him walk right into Dumbledore's trap.
"I once watched Ministry Aurors 'talk' to Dementors from a distance. They were babbling away in thick London accents, waving their arms like idiots, honestly thinking the Dementors understood English or hand gestures."
Riddle sneered. "In reality, they're half-finished creatures bred by wizards—dumber than an old country wizard's guard dog. They just instinctively read the Aurors' intentions with their natural Legilimency."
"Yeah, the Azkaban Aurors never really studied them," Melvin nodded thoughtfully. He hadn't realized the Ministry's partnership with Dementors worked like that.
Natural Legilimency is rare in wizards, but plenty of magical creatures have it in their blood—like Demiguise, Runespoors, and some Sphinxes.
"I've told you how to tame Dementors, Mr. Mel… Lewinter. What's next? Break your followers out of Azkaban, hunt down the missing main soul, and bring the real Voldemort back?"
Riddle's tone was probing.
Melvin paused, catching the unspoken meaning behind those words. He looked into eyes that used to be deep brown but now looked bluish-gray in the silver mist.
Young Tom Riddle—ambitious, cunning. After hearing about the wizarding wars, he clearly didn't want to resurrect the failed Voldemort. He was testing the waters, looking for another path centered on himself—the soul fragment in the Gaunt ring.
Not the future Dark Lord.
Melvin's lips curved into a faint smile. A few stray ideas floated through his mind. He was looking forward to it, but he didn't have a full plan yet.
"We need to wait for the right moment. I've got some intel to gather. Tom, my friend, I think you need time to sort your thoughts too. Let's talk details next time we meet. Sound good?"
"Looking forward to it."
Riddle gave a slight bow, tipped an imaginary hat, and his ghostly form shattered into specks of light.
Melvin suddenly understood how the Hogwarts professors of that era must've felt. A top student—polite, perceptive, always knowing exactly what the professor wanted, keeping just the right distance, never clinging. Perfect in every way.
"How did he end up ruining his own brain…?"
…
Magical Menagerie, Diagon Alley
"Squeak squeak…"
"Caw caw…"
The place was a chaotic symphony of animal noises.
It was a cramped, grimy pet shop. Shelves were a mess, cages rattled with every kind of creature, and the air smelled… questionable. Every time a customer walked past, something screeched or flapped.
Fat purple toads played with half-dead flies. Gem-studded tortoises basked by the window. Brightly colored snails inched along. There were cats of every color, noisy ravens, and sleek black rats.
The shop owner—a witch with thick black-rimmed glasses—was pitching black cats to some country customers: "Don't let their size fool you. These are top-notch guard cats with kneazle blood. Better than clabbert hounds, and totally legal—no restrictions. Super easy to keep."
"Couldn't spot the kneazle blood, but they do look a bit like foxes…"
The customer knew their stuff, haggled the price down in two seconds, grabbed the cage, and left.
Finally it was the young wizard's turn. The owner spotted Melvin's handsome face and her smile got a lot warmer. "What can I get for you, sir? A clever raven? A long-lived tortoise? Fresh batch of toads—just in!"
"I'm not here for pets. I need pet supplies."
"Then you've come to the right place! Nobody in Diagon Alley knows magical creatures better than the Magical Menagerie." She grinned wide enough to show every tooth. "What exactly? Pet food? Cat tree? Moisturizer for toad shedding?"
"I need a professional Undetectable Extension pet carrier for medium-sized creatures. Has to be airtight and completely block magic and scent."
The owner's smile faded a bit, eyes narrowing. "Sir, Undetectable Extension Charms are Ministry-regulated. I'll need registration and a reason."
"I'm a Hogwarts professor. It's for special teaching materials."
That magic word—Hogwarts—worked like a charm. "No problem at all! Come check out these suitcases… Professor, mind telling me what animal it's for? So I can recommend the best one?"
"A young troll."
The witch looked genuinely impressed. "Yeah, you'll definitely want scent-blocking."
"It's a marsh troll. Doesn't handle Scottish Highland weather well. Needs total isolation from outside magic."
"Don't worry, we're professionals here."
After some serious haggling, Melvin walked away with a top-of-the-line magical creature containment case for four hundred Galleons—the kind that could sneak past most countries' Ministry border checks.
"Oh, by the way—do you guys rent winged horses?"
"You bet!"
Fresh off a big sale, the owner was practically glowing. "We've got Granian and Thestral—both well-trained. Good for riding anywhere in Britain. When the rental's up, just release them; they fly back on their own. Which one are you thinking?"
"Thestral. Nice and invisible."
"Follow me. They're out back. Sign the contract and you can take it right now."
"How long will the professor need it?"
"A day and a half."
"So the contract ends the evening of September first—sound good?"
"Rent?"
"Sixty Galleons a day. Day and a half makes ninety."
"Let's sign."
Another big sale—the witch couldn't stop grinning.
Pretty much every Diagon Alley shop has a backyard, expanded with extension charms for bigger creatures. There were stables, pens for cattle and sheep, even a pond. The Granians and Thestrals were in the stables.
Melvin tucked the chosen Thestral into the suitcase and stepped out of the backyard—right into Harry, Ron, Hermione, and little Bastian.
The four of them were crowded around a cage with a fat white rabbit that kept morphing between rabbit and top hat with loud poof sounds. Their eyes were sparkling.
"Professor Lewinter!"
Melvin was just as surprised. "What are you guys doing here?"
"Shopping for school stuff," Hermione said, holding Bastian's hand high. "My parents and Ron's parents are having drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. I brought her to Diagon Alley for a bit."
"ID and enrollment stuff all sorted?"
"She's officially Bastian Granger now!" Hermione nodded proudly, then started complaining. "We had to interview at a bunch of schools—I even had to go with her. The whole family's exhausted."
The little girl grinned wide.
Melvin walked over, ruffled her hair, and checked her magically. "The mutated magic is still growing slowly, but it's stable. No problems short-term."
Hermione wanted to ask about treatment, but this wasn't the place. She pressed her lips together and stayed quiet.
He turned to the boys. Ron held up a trembling rat. "We're here to get Scabbers checked out. Ever since I brought him back from Egypt, he's been off."
The battered, balding old rat—torn ear, missing toe—was curled up shaking, looking nothing like the shiny rats in the cages.
"Poor Scabbers. I don't know what's wrong with him," Ron sighed.
Melvin just tsked. What's wrong? He's terrified his old "friend"—now enemy—is gonna recognize him.
The shop owner took the rat, examined it, and muttered, "He's been through the wringer. At this age, don't expect him to bounce around. Maybe three more years, tops."
Harry didn't care much about the rat. He was more excited about the new term and tomorrow morning's train.
"Professor Lewinter, when are you heading back to school? Hermione and Ron are staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too. Tomorrow we're taking the Ministry cars to King's Cross. Wanna come with us?"
"Nah, you guys go ahead. I've got stuff to do."
Melvin shook the suitcase lightly and gave them a warm smile.
He had all his gear ready. Tomorrow he'd tail the Hogwarts Express and snag himself a lost Dementor.