In the dimness of an office that smelled of damp and the dust of centuries, Tom Riddle, dressed in an immaculate silk robe, bent over a parchment. The pen, obediently gliding across the surface, traced clear, ominous symbols – plans to destabilize the Ministry, schemes for recruiting new supporters, instructions for already recruited Death Eaters. The Gaunt Manor was oppressively silent, broken only by the steady ticking of an antique clock that seemed to be counting down the seconds to the Dark Lord's triumph. Suddenly, the usual course of time was disrupted. In the very center of the room, right in front of the massive oak table, a whirlwind of sparkling energies erupted. The air trembled as if on the eve of a thunderstorm, and in the midst of the chaos, an ominous portal appeared, woven from iridescent threads of time and magic.Riddle recoiled, his eyes narrowed, and his wand was instantly in his hand, ready to fight. His face, which usually hides a storm of emotions behind a mask of haughty calm, was momentarily distorted by surprise, turning into a wary rage. A boy tumbled out of the portal, tumbling and stumbling. Eleven years old, no more. Dirty, disheveled, with huge frightened eyes. In his hands he clutched a strange, shimmering object that looked like a broken watch. The time flywheel. Riddle froze, wand still pointed at the intruder. Is there a mistake in time? Is this a failure of protection? Annoyance washed over him like a wave. So many carefully laid plans, so much effort, and everything could fall apart because of this boy who appeared out of nowhere. But curiosity broke through the veil of rage. Who is he? From where? And how did he end up here? The answers to these questions could be the key to new opportunities, new paths to power.