Thanks to Miss Granger, Tom had already confirmed years ago that this world was indeed the Harry Potter he remembered.
They'd met not once, but many times—on the battlefield of elementary school competitions.
Tom entered for practical reasons: bonuses, scholarships, school awards. Hermione entered for fun, because her hobby was learning.
But survival always outweighed hobbies. In over ten encounters, Tom crushed her nine times.
The one time he lost? A cursed three-legged race at a sports day, where his idiot teacher tripped him up.
Hermione had expected Hogwarts to end their rivalry. For a moment, she even felt regret—her strongest competitor would disappear from her life.
But fate had other ideas. When she opened the door to Tom's train compartment, there he was again.
---
Hermione's Excitement
The initial shock faded fast. Her eyes lit up.
If Tom Riddle was here… then her chance for victory remained.
She promptly forgot the original reason she'd come—helping Neville find his toad—and ignored Daphne completely. She plopped into the seat beside Tom, words spilling out like an avalanche.
"Riddle, I've already finished Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, and most of the recommended extra books over summer. What about you?"
"Oh, and I've already practiced some beginner spells. Which House do you think you'll be in? I want Gryffindor—it's supposed to be the best!"
Tom closed his eyes. It was like being mobbed by a flock of birds.
Finally, when Hermione paused for breath, he raised a finger toward the pudgy boy hovering miserably in the doorway.
"Granger. Your friend."
Neville Longbottom looked ready to cry.
"And by the way," Tom added dryly, "this compartment doesn't have a toad. Try somewhere else."
Hermione blinked, then remembered Neville's existence. Her cheeks flushed with guilt.
"I'm sorry, Longbottom, I got carried away!"
Neville shook his head. "N-no, it's fine."
Hermione beamed at Tom. "Then I'll talk to you later. Don't you dare fall too far behind—I need to beat you properly!"
And with that declaration, she swept Neville away, leaving the compartment quieter but charged.
---
Daphne's Anger
The silence didn't last.
Daphne leaned forward, face flushed with irritation. "Tom, who was that girl? So rude."
She hadn't so much as greeted Daphne. She'd barged in, spoken like a queen, and even sat beside Tom without permission.
Tom gave a small smile, noticing how Daphne had dropped "Riddle" and now used his first name. Progress.
"A girl I met at competitions. She's… competitive. Very competitive. But she doesn't mean harm. You'll understand later."
"I don't want to understand," Daphne huffed. "She's just like the stupid lions Mum complains about. Loud and thoughtless. No wonder she wants Gryffindor."
Tom bit back a laugh. Daphne was right, but also adorably jealous.
He remembered well—Hermione's personality in first year was prickly at best. She'd fought with everyone: roommates, Ginny, Luna. Even Harry and Ron had nearly ditched her, and they were famously forgiving.
It wasn't until later, after countless reconciliations, that she managed to keep real friends.
For now, Tom let Daphne rant, then gently changed the subject.
---
A Quiet Nap
The rhythm of the train lulled Daphne. Before long, her eyelids drooped. She curled up by the window, breathing softly.
When the whistle shrieked and the train began to slow, Tom touched her shoulder.
"Daphne. We're nearly there."
She blinked awake, dazed, rubbing her eyes. Then she felt the corner of her mouth damp.
She'd drooled.
Her cheeks turned crimson. Did Tom see? Did he notice? Would he think she was childish?
Tom, oblivious to her spiral of panic, only nodded toward the rack. "Robes. Quickly."
---
Arrival at Hogwarts
The train screeched to a halt. Steam hissed. Students spilled out into the night air.
"Firs'-years! Firs'-years, this way!"
The booming voice belonged to a mountain of a man. Hagrid towered over the crowd, lantern swinging in one hand.
Tom and Daphne joined the line of nervous eleven-year-olds. Together they followed him down a dark path toward the lake.
There were perhaps eighty or ninety new students—fewer than a hundred. Enough for Tom to estimate that Hogwarts likely held around six hundred in total across seven years.
The number had dipped, he realized, a consequence of the fear that had lingered since Voldemort's fall. During brighter times, enrollment would swell close to a thousand.
They reached the cliff. "Duck yer heads!" Hagrid called. Everyone obediently stooped, though in truth only he needed to.
It was said this was the very path the four Founders themselves had once taken, so every generation of first-years retraced their steps. A tradition, a reminder of legacy.
The boats glided forward. Across the water loomed the silhouette of Hogwarts, towers rising against the night sky. Windows glowed with golden light.
Tom's chest tightened. Finally. Hogwarts.
---
The Oak Door
The boats scraped ashore. Students clambered out, following Hagrid up a stone stairway. They gathered before a massive oak door.
Hagrid raised his huge fist and knocked three times.
The door creaked open.
Standing there was a tall witch in emerald green robes, expression sharp enough to cut glass.
The chatter of children died instantly. Every first-year froze, silent as mice before a cat.
"First-years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid announced.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here."
Professor McGonagall gave him a curt nod, then turned. "This way."
The doors swung wide, spilling warm light into the night. One by one, the children stepped inside, their footsteps echoing against polished stone.
And with that, Tom Riddle entered Hogwarts at last.
--