The Train Ride Before Summer.
The Hogwarts Express rumbled beneath him, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks filling the quiet compartment. Harry sat by the window, one leg crossed over the other, fingers idly spinning a teacup between them. The tea inside barely rippled—his control was that precise.
It was strange, watching the students outside, their voices echoing down the corridor, brimming with excitement for the upcoming summer. He supposed, in some ways, this was meant to be nostalgic. A train ride home. A transition between school and something else.
But home didn’t exist for him. Not really.
The compartment door slid open.
“Professor Evans.”
Tom Riddle stood in the doorway, his expression schooled into its usual calm, though his eyes flicked over Harry as if assessing something. He had done that more often lately—watched him. Calculating. Observing.
“Riddle,” Harry greeted, not looking up.
Tom stepped inside, closing the door with a quiet click. He didn’t ask for permission to sit, but he did anyway, settling into the seat across from him with the smooth, self-assured grace of someone who expected to belong anywhere he went.
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the steady hum of the train.
Then—
“You don’t look well, Professor.”
Harry’s fingers stilled on the cup.
“Oh?” He raised a brow, the faintest trace of amusement curling at the edges of his mouth. “And here I thought I was maintaining my usual charm.”
“You’re pale,” Tom continued, undeterred. “More than usual.”
Harry hummed noncommittally, finally taking a sip of his tea. It was lukewarm. Disappointing.
“Summer must not agree with you,” Tom mused.
“Or perhaps,” Harry said, lazily swirling his tea, “I find myself tired of being perceived.”
Tom’s lips twitched—there and gone. Not quite a smile, but something close.
“You are always perceived, Professor.”
Harry sighed dramatically. “Unfortunate, that.”
Another stretch of quiet. Outside, laughter drifted past the compartment. A group of third years ran by, their robes swishing as they raced to find seats.
Harry set his teacup down with a soft clink.
“You stayed behind after class again this week,” he noted, meeting Tom’s gaze. “Looking for something?”
Tom tilted his head, as if considering his answer. “Curiosity,” he said at last.
“A dangerous thing.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Harry watched him for a moment, then exhaled slowly, leaning back against the seat. His body still ached from holding its shape for so long—humanity was exhausting.
But Tom didn’t need to know that.
Not yet.
“Enjoy your summer, Riddle,” Harry said, closing his eyes.
For once, Tom had no reply.