Enemies
1 September 1938
Hermione sat on the train, looking out the window. She’d finished the one book she’d brought with her on the train, and having already read the year’s textbooks twice, she’d decided to let her mind wander for once.
Her companion on the train, however, was fully engrossed in a re-reading of Hogwarts: A History.
When the never-ending bombardment of green outside bored her, Hermione turned and looked at Tom. He didn’t bother to look up from the book, opting instead to turn yet another page. She huffed, but he didn’t dare look up at her.
“Tom,” Hermione said.
“Hermione, did you know—”
“I’ve read the book three times, Tom,” she reminded. “I think I know whatever stimulating fact you’re about to share with me.”
With a small groan, Tom put the book aside and stared out the window. When the trolley cart passed, he bought a chocolate frog, biting the head off with a quick chomp before examining the card he’d gotten. It was of a man named Bowman Wright, who had created the Golden Snitch.
Tom had learned plenty about the Golden Snitch along with all the other aspects of Quidditch in the weeks since his first trip to Diagon Alley; he’d devoured a complete history of the sport in one sitting because he’d become fascinated by it.
Until he learned that first years rarely made the house teams at Hogwarts, that is.
A rapping on their compartment door drew both Hermione and Tom’s attention away from their treats, and a young man stepped inside.
“Hello there,” he greeted. “I’m Edmund Brown, I’m one of the prefects. Are you both first years?”
Tom and Hermione nodded.
“I’m Hermione Granger,” she provided.
“Tom Riddle,” Tom followed. He glanced at the crest on the boy’s robes. “You’re in Gryffindor.”
The boy, Edmund, grinned a toothy grin and patted the crest. “Indeed I am. Best house there is, especially with Professor Dumbledore as the head. Of course, all the other houses have good aspects to them, except maybe Slytherin. But even if you end up there, there’s a nice bloke or two in that house. But I came in to tell you both that we should be arriving soon, so you’ll want to change into your robes.”
Hermione smiled brightly at Edmund and thanked him. Tom didn’t say a word.
“Oh, come now,” Hermione sighed at him as she gathered her uniform from her trunk. “Tell me you aren’t going to be in a sour mood because he talked ill of Slytherin. We’ve been through this, Tom; you’re probably going to end up in Ravenclaw.”
“I just don’t see why everyone hates the Slytherins,” Tom retorted. “Ambition isn’t a bad thing.”
“No one’s saying it is,” Hermione pointed out.
“Then why are you taking his side and acting like Slytherin is bad? We haven’t even been sorted yet; you don’t know what the houses are actually like,” he shot back.
At his quick remarks, Hermione stuck her chin out. “You’re right, but neither do you!” she huffed before storming out to change. Tom followed her out of the compartment and went his own way to change. He trained his features, putting on the impassive mask he’d perfected at the orphanage. It proved rather useful, especially when any of his fellow first years seemed a bit too curious about him.
Of course, it couldn’t dissuade all students.
“Hey,” a taller, stockier blond boy called after him. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”
Tom stopped and pivoted back to face his fellow student. The boy was much bigger than he, with shockingly white-blond hair and an upturned nose. Just by looking at him, Tom could tell he wasn’t going to get along with him too splendidly.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
“What’s yours?” Tom fired back. “Seems only fair you tell me first, since you went out of your way to get my attention.”
A few other boys were behind the blond boy, and they all broke out into murmurs.
“The name’s Abraxas. Abraxas Malfoy,” the blond boy provided. “And yours, mudblood?”
Tom didn’t quite understand the meaning of what the boy, Abraxas, had called him, but he knew it was insult. Clearly Abraxas came from an all-magic family, which gave Tom two options: he could try and use one of the basic spells he’d learned on him or he could settle things the way muggle boys did. Trying to use magic on someone who’d grown up around it seemed like a terrible idea, so Tom, ever practical, opted for his second plan.
“I’m Tom. Tom Riddle,” he stated. “Oh, and Abraxas?”
The blond boy laughed. “Wha—?”
Before Abraxas had the chance to finish mocking him, Tom’s fist had collided directly with his nose. This caused a great ruckus to erupt, with Abraxas and his cronies trying to chase Tom down. Thankfully, Tom was smaller and quicker, and darted out of their grasps. Other students began to look out of their compartments to see what was happening, and Tom almost escaped until he collided with a figure much larger than him.
“Malfoy,” the figure barked at Abraxas. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
The blond, whose nose was still gushing blood and appeared broken, pointed at Tom. “The mudblood hit me!” he shouted.
“And did you deserve it?” the older boy asked.
Tom snorted as Abraxas tried to maintain his innocence.
“Go back to your compartment,” the older boy ordered. “All of you.” He looked down at Tom, and Tom realized he was dressed in the Slytherin uniform and had a shining pin that proclaimed he was Head Boy. “What’s your name?”
“Tom Riddle,” Tom replied.
“Sebastien Lestrange,” the Head Boy shared. “My brother, Antonin, is a first year as well; best of luck with your sorting.”
“Thank you,” Tom nodded, going about his business.
When the train finally arrived, Tom wasn’t sure what to think. And when they got into the boats to cross the Black Lake to the castle and Abraxas Malfoy got into the same boat his him and Hermione, he was certainly uneasy.
Hermione watched the way he stiffened slightly at the presence of the blond boy — his bruised knuckles when he’d returned to their compartment hadn’t missed her notice — and she frowned.
“Fighting already?” she hissed.
Tom said nothing. Hermione frowned slightly and looked ahead, taking in the sight of the castle in all its glory.
But he stayed by her side until her name was called for sorting.
Professor Dumbledore placed the old hat on her head, and in a quick instant, it called out “Gryffindor!” and she was welcomed into a sea of burgundy and gold.
When Tom finally was called up, she held her breath and hoped for Ravenclaw. He looked over at her and gave her a small smile, the smallest of smiles, but as soon as their eyes met the hat made its decision.
“Slytherin!” it declared.
Hermione’s heart sank, but she remembered one of their talks from the summer.
“Regardless of what happens, you’re my closest friend,” she had assured them while they explored the grounds of Riddle House.
“Regardless of what happens, I’ll always be with you,” Tom had told her.
If only she’d known then what would become of them.