Thanks to Miss Granger, Tom had been able to confirm what kind of world this really was years ahead of schedule.
Ever since that third-grade math competition, he had run into Hermione Granger again and again at various primary school contests. Tom competed for prize money and school rewards.
Hermione competed because she genuinely enjoyed it.
Learning was Miss Granger's hobby.
Unfortunately for her, hobby could not beat Tom's desire to survive.
Across more than a dozen clashes, Tom won most of the time. The only loss he could remember was during a sports day event, when the incompetent teacher assigned to his team moved like a newborn giraffe and dragged him down in the three-legged race.
Hermione had thought that once she went off to Hogwarts, her rivalry with Tom would end. She had even felt a little regret about it for a while.
And then she saw him again.
On the train.
In the same school.
As a classmate.
Her first reaction was stunned disbelief. Then the shock melted into pure excitement.
That meant she still had a chance.
A chance to finally beat Tom Riddle and prove herself.
In her excitement, Hermione forgot why she had come to this compartment in the first place. She also completely ignored the blonde girl sitting opposite, as if Daphne Greengrass didn't exist at all.
Hermione marched straight in, plopped down right next to Tom, and started firing words like a machine gun.
"Riddle, I finished Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Major Magical Events of the Twentieth Century, and most of the extra reading over the summer. What about you?"
"Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I've already mastered a few basic spells too. Which house do you want? I want Gryffindor. I heard it's the best one."
Tom closed his eyes.
He felt like a hundred birds were chirping and flapping around his head at once.
He waited until she paused to breathe, then calmly pointed at the boy frozen in the doorway. The poor kid looked lost and on the verge of tears.
"Granger," Tom said, "did you forget your friend?"
"And we don't have your toad. Try another carriage."
Hermione turned around, finally remembering reality. She flashed the chubby boy an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, Longbottom. I got excited and forgot."
"I, I-it's fine," Neville Longbottom stammered.
"We'll talk later," Hermione declared, already halfway out the door again. "Don't fall too far behind, or beating you won't feel satisfying!"
She tossed that final line like a challenge flag, then rushed off with Neville to continue the toad hunt.
The moment she was gone, Daphne puffed up like a offended kitten.
"Tom, who was that? She was so rude."
She wasn't wrong.
Hermione had barged in without greeting, hadn't even looked at Daphne once, and spoke with the kind of confident superiority that made Daphne's teeth grind.
Tom smiled faintly, noticing the small but telling change. Daphne had switched from calling him "Riddle" to "Tom."
"She's a friend I met through competitions," Tom said lightly. "And yes, Daphne, she's like that. Very competitive, but she doesn't mean harm. You'll understand her eventually."
"I don't want to understand someone that rude," Daphne huffed, her noble temper flaring. "No wonder she wants Gryffindor. She's exactly the kind of stupid lion my mother warned me about."
Tom's mouth twitched, but he didn't argue.
Truthfully, Hermione's personality in first year, and for much of her early years, was not exactly popular. In Tom's memory, she had clashed with just about everyone at one point or another, from roommates to Ginny and Luna.
And as for Harry and Ron, those two had unusually soft tempers and short memories. They made up fast and forgot faster.
If she'd relied on most other people, Hermione might not have had any real friends at all.
Tom didn't want Daphne stuck in complaint mode, so he smoothly shifted the topic.
Later, Hermione came by again.
This time Daphne was asleep.
Tom raised a finger in a quieting gesture, and Hermione, forced to actually notice the situation for once, backed out of the compartment again.
As the sky darkened and the train's speed began to drop, Tom knew they were close. He gently nudged Daphne awake.
Daphne blinked, still half-dreaming, her expression soft and adorably blank. Then her eyes focused and she remembered where she was.
"Tom, are we there?"
"Almost. The train's slowing down."
"Oh! Then we need to put our robes on."
Daphne scrambled to her feet in a hurry. Then she felt something damp at the corner of her mouth. She wiped it with her hand, and her face went bright red.
She had drooled.
She had actually drooled in her sleep.
Did Tom see it?
Did he notice?
Was her sleeping posture ugly?
Was he going to think she was gross?
Tom, who had absolutely no idea her brain was spiraling through twenty different disasters, simply noticed that the girl who had been chatting nonstop earlier had suddenly gone quiet.
…
With a long whistle, the Hogwarts Express finally rolled to a stop.
The moment they stepped off the train, the night air hit them, cool and sharp. A massive figure called out in a booming voice.
"All firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
Hagrid.
He herded the first-year students into lines and led them toward the boats that would take them across the lake to Hogwarts.
Tom and Daphne climbed into one boat together. Two other first-years joined them, sitting opposite. Tom casually counted heads while the boats filled.
This year's intake looked like eighty or ninety students, probably under a hundred.
That meant Hogwarts wasn't as tiny as he'd once imagined.
Seven year groups together would put the student body somewhere around six hundred.
That was substantial.
As their boat drifted forward, towering cliffs rose alongside the route. Hagrid told the students to duck. In reality, it looked like only Hagrid actually needed to. Everyone else could have stayed upright.
According to tradition, this was the same path the four Founders had once taken when they first came to Hogwarts, and every new generation followed it as a kind of inheritance.
After what felt like a long stretch of water and whispers, the boats bumped against a wooden dock.
Students climbed out one by one, then followed Hagrid up stone steps until they gathered in front of a massive oak door.
Hagrid raised a fist the size of a ham and knocked three times.
The doors swung open.
A tall witch in emerald-green robes stood framed in warm light, her posture straight, her expression stern enough to silence a room.
The first-years who had been talking loudly just seconds ago immediately shut up. They stood rigid and quiet, like mice that had just spotted a cat.
"Firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said, gesturing back at the crowd of small, nervous faces.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here."
Professor McGonagall gave him a brief nod. Then she opened the door wider and ushered the students into the bright, welcoming entrance hall.
Tom stepped across the threshold with Daphne beside him, and felt something settle in his chest.
He had made it.
But as he followed the line forward, his eyes flicked toward the front of the hall.
Because the Sorting was coming next.
And for someone named Tom Riddle, the moment the hat touched his head could decide everything.