The Hogwarts Express was scheduled to leave King's Cross at eleven sharp. Tom, true to habit, arrived early.
When he boarded, only a handful of students had taken their seats. The corridors echoed with the clatter of trunks and the chirp of owls.
Tom didn't want company. He walked past compartment after compartment until he reached the second-to-last carriage. Fewer interruptions, fewer curious stares. Perfect.
He slipped into an empty compartment, stowed his luggage neatly on the rack, and pulled out a thick book—A Thousand Magical Clever Responses. The title alone was a promise: wit sharpened into weapon. Tom flipped it open and began to read.
---
A Conversation with a Ghost of the Past
Andros's deep voice rumbled in Tom's mind.
"This train—it's hidden right inside a Muggle station. And no one fears discovery?"
Tom smirked, not lifting his eyes from the page. "This is the largest, most elaborate use of the Muggle-Repelling Charm in wizarding history. The Ministry re-casts it every year. At this point, every employee there could probably do it in their sleep."
Andros sighed, half admiring, half wistful. "We had no such department in my era. Convenient, yes. And effective—it restrains dark wizards as well."
Tom turned a page, his tone casual. "Restraining dark wizards is the same as protecting yourself. Modern Muggles aren't like the ones who worshipped wizards as gods. If our world is exposed now, most witches and wizards won't survive it."
Andros fell silent.
Though he didn't despise Muggles, his arrogance as a wizard was bone-deep. He had been a giant of his age, a figure sung as Hercules. In his time, the notion that Muggles could threaten wizards would have been laughable.
But now, after a month of learning, even Andros had to admit: Muggles had grown terrifying.
---
An Unexpected Guest
As Tom lost himself in the book, the train grew livelier. Laughter, the slam of trunks, the calls of parents saying last goodbyes. Just as the whistle shrieked, the compartment door slid open.
A girl stepped in, blinking at the sight of him.
Golden curls framed her round face. Long lashes fluttered over bright eyes. Startled, she hesitated for a moment before asking softly, "Um… can I sit here?"
"Of course."
Tom rose smoothly, lifting her trunk and placing it on the rack with the ease of habit.
As he set it down, his sharp eyes caught details others might have missed: dark gold embroidery lining the case, and an intricate family crest in the corner.
A pure-blood emblem.
Tom filed the observation away.
---
The Pureblood Heiress
The girl sat opposite him, folding her hands primly in her lap. She sneaked glances at him, blush blooming across her cheeks.
He's handsome, she thought, startled by her own reaction. His dark hair fell in natural waves, his gaze focused and intent on his book. His features were sharp, almost too perfect—unfairly so for a boy.
She looked away quickly, only to find her eyes drifting back.
As everyone knows, people named Tom Riddle are born dangerously good-looking.
But Tom didn't so much as glance at her. He kept reading, indifferent, and the silence pressed heavily. The girl shifted, fidgeted, and finally summoned her courage.
"Hello, I… I'm Daphne Greengrass. First year at Hogwarts."
---
A Surprising Conversation
Tom set his book down politely. "Riddle. Tom Riddle. Also first year."
"Riddle?" Daphne tilted her head, puzzled. She searched her memory. The name rang no bells. "Are you… half-blood? Or… Muggle-born?"
Tom shrugged easily. "I don't actually know. My parents abandoned me at birth. Perhaps they were Muggles. Perhaps Squibs. It doesn't matter."
His dark eyes glinted with irony. "Why? Does the eldest daughter of the Greengrass family regret sharing a compartment with me?"
The Greengrasses were an old name, etched into the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Elegant, respected, a model of pure-blood restraint. Tom half-expected disdain, the same sneering attitude Malfoy would surely display.
But Daphne's reaction surprised him.
---
Daphne's Response
"No! Please don't misunderstand!" she blurted, waving her hands nervously.
"My mother always says all pure-blood families have Muggle ancestors if you go back far enough. I was only curious because I've never met a Muggle-born before."
Her honesty was disarming.
Tom inclined his head. "Then I owe you an apology for assuming otherwise."
"It doesn't matter." Daphne shook her head quickly, eager to change the subject. "Actually, I have a younger sister who adores Muggle fashion magazines. But she only owns one old copy she found years ago. If you ever get the chance, could you bring me a few? I'll pay you, of course."
Tom blinked. So this was Daphne Greengrass—dutiful elder sister. He recalled a faint detail from memory: her sister Astoria, sickly, later linked to Malfoy. But he kept the thought to himself.
"Consider it done," Tom said smoothly. "But you'll have to wait until Christmas."
Daphne's smile lit her face. She pulled out a quill and parchment, scribbling furiously as Tom spoke of the Muggle world. Every detail, she said, would be sent to Astoria in a letter.
Tom found himself answering her steady stream of questions, amused at her curiosity.
She wasn't what he expected of a pure-blood heiress at all.
---
The Train Moves
The whistle shrieked again. The Hogwarts Express jolted, then rolled forward, pulling away from King's Cross toward the Scottish Highlands.
The compartment swayed gently, wheels clattering, but neither Tom nor Daphne seemed to notice. Their conversation flowed easily now, a mix of Muggle curiosities and wizarding anecdotes.
Andros, however, was less subtle.
---
Andros the Matchmaker
In Tom's mind, the ancient Greek suddenly snickered.
"I'd bet you a Galleon this girl likes you. No—she already thinks you're pretty and wants your body."
Tom nearly choked on air. His expression remained smooth, but inwardly he wanted to throttle the grinning spirit.
Trust Andros to turn even an innocent train ride into battlefield banter.
---