The Hogwarts Express departed at eleven o'clock sharp, but Tom arrived early. When he boarded, there were still only a few students scattered around the train.
Without hesitation, he walked toward the last carriage—he didn't want to be disturbed later by people walking past his compartment as they boarded.
Reaching the second-to-last carriage, Tom casually picked an empty compartment, placed his luggage on the overhead rack, and pulled out a book titled Mastering the Intricacies of Thousands of Spells to read.
Andros's voice echoed in his mind.
"The Hogwarts Express is hidden inside a Muggle train station? And yet it hasn't been discovered?"
Tom chuckled. "It's actually the largest recorded use of a Muggle-Repelling Charm in wizarding history. These days, the Ministry sends people every year to reinforce it. I bet it's the one spell every Ministry employee can cast with their eyes closed."
"In my day, we didn't even have a Ministry," Andros sighed. "Magic is so much more convenient now... and it actually reins in the dark wizards who used to run rampant."
"Reining in dark wizards is a form of self-preservation," Tom said, cutting to the heart of the matter. "Modern Muggles aren't what they used to be. If the magical world were exposed today... most wizards wouldn't stand a chance."
Andros fell silent.
Though Andros wasn't prejudiced against Muggles, the pride that came with being a wizard—especially one of his era's strongest—was deeply ingrained in him.
Back then, Muggles had revered wizards like gods. Who would've thought they'd evolve to a point where they could pose a genuine threat to wizardkind?
No wonder books often said the Ministry of Magic was founded to protect the secrecy—and safety—of the magical world.
As Andros brooded in silence, Tom continued reading, calm and collected. He didn't plan to study with Andros today. Opening the mental space was just to give the "ancient relic" a glimpse of the modern world.
The train grew livelier as more students boarded, and just before departure, the compartment door slid open.
A girl stood there—golden curls, long lashes, and big, blinking eyes. She was clearly startled to find someone already inside.
But after a pause, she stepped in and asked a little shyly, "Um… is it okay if I sit here?"
"Of course," Tom said, nodding politely. He even helped lift her suitcase onto the rack like a true gentleman.
As he handled the luggage, he noticed something: though the suitcase looked unremarkable, its corners were lined with dark gold embroidery, and a small, intricate crest was stitched into the leather.
A family emblem—likely a pure-blood house.
Tom instantly understood: she was probably the young lady of a pure-blood family.
After thanking him, the girl sat across from Tom, sneaking glances at him as he resumed reading.
He's so good-looking!
The thought startled her. A faint blush crept across her baby-fat cheeks as she quickly looked away—only for her eyes to wander back of their own accord.
It was common knowledge: anyone named Tom Riddle was bound to be handsome.
His black hair curled slightly at the ends, and his dark eyes were intensely focused on the book in his hands. The girl's gaze locked onto his elegant features, caught somewhere between admiration and envy.
Why does a boy have better facial features than me? she thought bitterly. He's prettier than my sister!
Noticing that Tom had no intention of speaking, she shifted uncomfortably, then took the initiative. "Hi, I'm Daphne Greengrass. First-year at Hogwarts."
"Riddle," Tom replied, surprised she was the one to start the conversation. He closed his book and gave a courteous nod. "Tom Riddle. Also a first-year."
Riddle?
Daphne searched her memory. She'd never heard of that surname before. Hesitantly, she asked, "Are you half-blood? Or... Muggle-born?"
"Honestly, I don't know what I count as," Tom said with a shrug. "I was abandoned by my parents at birth. Maybe they were Muggles. Maybe they were Squibs. Doesn't really matter anymore."
He looked her straight in the eye. "Why? Does the noble Miss Greengrass regret sitting in the same compartment as me?"
In Cantankerus Nott's Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Greengrass family ranked near the top—a shining example of low-key elegance among pure-blood families.
Naturally, Tom assumed she'd be like the Malfoys—obsessed with blood purity and ready to bring up lineage at any moment.
But once again, things didn't go the way he expected.
"No, no! Please don't misunderstand!"
The girl waved her small hands anxiously. "I honestly don't care about that stuff. My mother always says that every pure-blood family has Muggle ancestors somewhere in their lineage. I was just curious because I've never met anyone from the Muggle world before..."
"Then I owe you an apology," Tom admitted calmly. "I judged you too soon."
"It's alright," Daphne said earnestly, shaking her head. Then she moved on from the topic altogether. "My little sister really likes Muggle fashion magazines. But she only has one really old one she found ages ago. If you ever get the chance, could you help me buy a few more? I'll pay, of course."
"No problem. But you'll have to wait until Christmas break."
Tom vaguely remembered some irrelevant details—Daphne's sister was named Astoria Greengrass. She had little presence in the original timeline, eventually ended up with Malfoy, and had some kind of health condition... died young, if he recalled.
Not that he'd ever bring that up.
Instead, he went along with the conversation Daphne had started.
She asked about all sorts of things from the Muggle world, and Tom answered patiently. When something particularly interesting came up, she'd even take out parchment and jot it down, saying she wanted to write to her sister about it.
It wasn't hard to tell from her words and actions—this was a sister who loved her sibling dearly.
Without realizing it, the train had already left the station, heading west toward the Scottish Highlands. The sound of the wheels clacking along the tracks didn't dampen their chatter one bit.
And just then, Andros popped up out of nowhere.
"I'll bet you a Galleon," he said smugly, "that girl likes you. No—she thinks you're good-looking and is totally thirsting over your body."