Chapter 1
As the scarlet train sets of from platform nine and three quarters, swirls of steam rises from the chimney. Numerous children crowd around the windows, waving their arms wildly, laughing, cheering.
Hermione Granger is not one of them. Instead, she sits silently in an empty compartment, on a forlorn bench concealed in red scarlet. Her rather small, black suitcase lies neatly stowed away above her head, moved into place with a flick of her wand.
Solemnly, she rests there, reading an old leather book she had scoured the ancient bookstores at Diagon Alley for. Magic spells and incantations were its secret, many long forgotten.
Not that it bothers Hermione Granger. Occasionally, she flicks a page over, dust flooding from the book into the compartment. And so she sat, in a deep trance as she absorbed every bit of information the grubby pages had to offer.
It had been costly, but it had been worth it, Hermione Granger decides. A book was a better companion, a better friend, a better comfort than any child could ever wish to be. Her foolish parents had been persuaded with a snap of her poised fingers. They pampered her, spoiled her, and Hermione knew why.
She was no fool, she had decided very early on in life. She would not deny truths, or cling to impossible scenarios. No, Hermione Granger would be smart, and that would be needed. Her childhood had taught her one thing, one thing, that she would never let go.
The world was hers to conquer, and anyone, anyone in her path would pay.
Since then, many of her former objectives, or missions as she preferred, had changed. Not this one. They had not been a usual child's, and her parents had been ever oblivious to that.
And yet, their obnoxious behavior could not unsee the past.
Hermione remembers the day very clearly when she first levitated something. Her mother's complexion had been ashy, a pasty white, and she'd been sweating, quaking in fear. Her father had dropped the newspaper with absolute shock, eyes widening in an unsaid fright, and then they had fled the room.
Hermione Granger had absolutely no illusions. Her parents were afraid of her.
Though, she had to admit the advantages. The pampering, the ability to have everything at her fingertips and very command had shaped a girl who cared very little. It had brought forward a girl who knew that the world was hers to conquer, not anyone else's, but hers. Nevertheless, she had been robbed of a loving childhood, any hope of true happiness.
Yet did it bother Hermione? Not one bit.
A weak knock on the thin glass of the compartment door tears Hermione from her thoughts. A young boy saunters arrogantly into the compartment, with neat platinum hair and dark, grey eyes. He wears a deep midnight black uniform, as they all do, and his mouth is quirked downwards, permanent annoyance painted on his face, in form of a sneer. His face radiates pure irritation, and his cold eyes look down on her, as if he was better than her. Pulling his hand through his slick mop of platinum, he drawls at her. "Can I sit here?"
His voice is brimming with vexation, and he doesn't wait for an answer.
Casually, he positions himself opposite Hermione. There is a certain arrogance in everything he does. It makes her blood boil, to see something so brainless act like everything belongs to him. It was hers, only hers.
The world is hers to conquer.
In a tone that would do any ice queen proud, Hermione replies, her voice an abyss of intense frost. "You never even listened for an answer."
The boy winks at her, his face morphing into a lazy smirk. "Would it matter what you said? I doubt it would." He declared, with an air of exasperation.
"I take whatever I want." The fury in his voice was clear. Hermione raises an eyebrow.
The boy glares at her, sourly. "I haven't introduced myself. No wonder you're clueless." Sticking out his hand, he smiles, as if it were a great gift. Regarding him cautiously, Hermione's hands remain firmly planted on the pages of her book.
His stance stays the same. He doesn't seem to be bothered at all, but when she catches his stormy gaze, she sees the irritation clearly. Yawning, the boy declares his name anyways. "I'm Abraxas Malfoy. You've heard of my father, yes?"
Malfoy. The name seemed familiar to Hermione, and she remembers back to Brutus Malfoy, who had tried to get a law through preventing so called interbreeding with Muggles. According to her books, the he was an unpleasant man. Apparently, if she has done her maths correctly, Abraxas must be his son. Quickly, Hermione attempts a sugary smile. The Malfoys, whilst said to be arrogant, had a lot of connections.
"Hermione Granger. An honour to meet you." She takes his hand, and shakes it.
Abraxas nods triumphantly. He sits back, his body leaning loosely against the seat. "So, Hogwarts must be exciting for you."
"Of course." Hermione replies, putting her book to the side, careful not to damage the precious pages. "I was ever so shocked, I mean, I'm the first witch in my family."
Abraxas stares at her, confused, and then his face morphs into the epitome of horror. Then, Hermione realises her mistake. Malfoys were blood purists. And she had admitted she was a muggleborn. Cursing internally, Hermione thinks rapidly. Just a slip of the tongue...
Looking at her in disgust, Abraxas asks, "You're a mudblood?" His gaze wonders to his hand, where he touched her, and he looks at it like it is infected with some sort of plague.
"A mudblood! I sat with a mudblood!" He spits the words full of fury, as if she had deceived him, like she was a pest. His glance is full of wildfire, and it's focused on her. "You filthy piece of dirt! I touched you!" His facade of arrogance has broken, and revealed a furious boy. For once, Hermione is lost for words. She's barely on the train, and she's already made an enemy. Thinking fast, Hermione opts for damage control.
However, her anger gets the better of her. The prejudiced git had stormed in here, insulted her and blames it on her. For goodness sake, it isn't her fault he can't see sense.
"Don't you think you are being foolish here? You don't know me, or my personality, yet you come here and judge me for my parents, a factor I can't control? Isn't that imbecilic? Aren't you being imbecilic? If you didn't like my personality, fine. If you think I'm dumb, fine. But judging me for my blood is incredibly short sighted and naive." Breathing heavily, Hermione stops her rant.
Slowly, she hisses at him, like a snake, a glimmer in her stare. "Who do you think you are?"
The boy stands up, an brewing storm in his sliver irises. His hand instinctively moves to grasp to his wand. Hermione's face remained impassive, still.
Abraxas shouts at her. "You'll pay for that, mud-"
Hermione snaps her fingers. It's a small charm, one she can do wandless, and rather useful too. The boy stumbles back, still with grace, and makes a move to open his mouth. No sound comes out. Hermione waves her hand again, and it snaps shut. "Close your mouth, will you? Otherwise you'll catch flies." She smirked, and the sweet taste of vengeance fills her mouth. She musters him up and down. Pathetic.
"Lost for words now, are we?" she mocks, eyes gleaming. "The big bad mudblood is getting her revenge. Poor Abraxas." Grinning, Hermione feels victorious. The brat is finally getting what he deserves. His face is paling, rapidly, and he looks as if he is going to wet himself. Then, Hermione's gaze hardens into a glare. "Leave." she commands, gesturing towards the door. As he turns to flee, Hermione jumps up and grabs him. She grasps his chin and pulls his face opposite hers. "Don't mess with me."
The boy nods, eyes wide. His face is red, with fury and fright. He spins around, and flees.
Hermione tilts her head thoughtfully as he leaves. "Don't mess with me." she repeats, an iron fist in her voice.
He broke, quickly, she observes. If everyone here breaks so quickly, then Hogwarts will be empty by the time she reaches seventh year. Hermione smiles, knowing this show was unnecessary. And yet it empowers her. Let them be afraid. Let them whisper in the hallways. As long as they stay away from her, she'll stay away from them. The boy though, he asked for it.
"Impressive show there." Another boy stands in the door, his face impassive. He eyes her, up and down, before sticking out his hand. "Tom Riddle." The boy doesn't smile. Hermione doesn't either.
"Hermione Granger." She briefly remembers her when her Father would introduce himself. He would always add 'at your service'. She doesn't. Hermione observes that he doesn't shrink back in disgust. So he isn't a blood purist. Or maybe he is, and has another course of action planned out.
And so they stand, gripping each others hands, firmly, staring each other in the eye. His are green orbs, dark and powerful. His brown hair is combed back, and he has a pasty complexion, clear of any imperfections.
After what feels like an eternity, he releases her hand. Both sit down, silence apparent.
Tension hangs thickly in the air. They stare at each other, unblinking, cold, devoid of any emotion. A brief jealousy overcomes her, and she wonders absentmindedly how he manages his monotone display effortlessly, a skill Hermione had taken years to perfect.
"New for Hogwarts, are you?" The boy asks, yet the curiosity in his voice is lacking.
"Obviously." Hermione drawls, gesturing at her plain uniform.
The boy- Tom- regards her in silence. "Yes. Obviously." He repeats. "I can sit here?" In a way, it sounds more like a command then a question, yet Hermione nods. The boy interests her, in a deeper kind of way. Not amusement wise, like Abraxas did. Not like some strange creature at an exhibition. No, he baffles Hermione. Because the more she studies him, the more he seems like her.
Hermione has never met someone like her. No, everyone else was naive, foolish in her eyes, especially other children, with their short sighted judgement, or with their unnecessary need for attention and compliments. They were inferior, unable to understand the things she so clearly saw.
Yet Tom is different. There is something dark, strangely mature about him, and Hermione can't put her finger on what.
His glacial gaze scrutinizes her, as if he was trying to absorb all her secrets. It's something Hermione does when she first meets people. Catch their gaze, see if they look away, find their intention. Some religions say eyes are windows to the soul. To Hermione, they're an open book. Hermione smirks victoriously.
"You won't be able to read me." It's a fact she's proud of. No one knows her secrets. Not even herself. They're hidden away, locked tightly in the depths of her heart. Tom laughs, seemingly amused at her bold statement. "Everyone can be read. To me, they're all an open book."
Hermione looks up, chin held high. "Not me." She sneers. "Never."
Tom snorts at her speech, entertainment clear in his voice. Hermione prides herself in maturity, but next to him, she feels like a foolish child. She feigns ignorance. "What do you mean?"
She's genuinely curious, burning to know what this boy is hiding behind his frozen façade.
Tilting his head, Tom answers. "Just debating your choice of wording."
Hermione can sense a retort coming. She's right.
Tom fluidly speaks. Leaning back, he pops a sweet in his mouth.
"Never say never."
They sit in muteness the rest of the journey. Occasionally, Tom makes some casual comments on the stunning scenery. Hermione simply glowers sourly at him. He makes her feel small, like an ant, and she hates it. She'll show him she's better, and her confidence sours under her soothing words. Yet she's still seething, furious at the boy, desperate to lash out. Hermione decides to bide her time. Her revenge will not run away. No, she thinks, eyes gleaming maliciously. It only comes closer.
The whole way, Tom regards her in silence. It puts her at unease, but she does not show it.
When they get off the train, a robust professor welcomes them. By the looks of it, he's lost several limbs, replaced with wooden prototypes. As he limps, a woolen cloak billows in the wind. A luminous laugh echoes across the train tracks as he opens his arms wide. "Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor Kettleburn, and I will be your care of magical creature's teacher. If you would follow me." His voice is coarse and scratchy in his throat.
Hermione's attention is focused somewhere else. Near to her, a massive boy towers over everyone else. Seemingly twice the size of a normal human, and seemingly twice the strength too. Tom, she notes with relief, has left her. She spies him talking to the blond boy she put down earlier. If Tom lowers himself to the company of the brainless, he is just as brainless as them, Hermione Granger decides. Tom Riddle is inferior.
A great lake rests in front of the bustling crowd of students. It's murky, grimy waters raise discomfort in her mind, contrasting heavily to the clean environment she is used too. Raising her eyebrow, Hermione notices the absence of older students. Strange. Perhaps it's some sort of special thing to the first years, some sort of ritual, whatever Professor Kettleburn decides to do.
And then, she realizes his intention. The banks of the murky waters are lined with boats. Little, wooden rowing boats, feeble and cramped. She can barely see them between the silhouettes of the trees.
"All right kids. Pair up and get in a boat."
A frown passes Hermione's face. Back in primary school, she never worked in pairs. It affected her work rates and significantly decreased her progress. Involuntarily, she finds herself searching for Tom. No, she decides. She doesn't want to seem ridiculous. Besides, isn't she supposed to hate him?
Again, her thoughts wonder to the boats. They seem a little lost, alone on such a wide surface of brown water. Hermione has never liked them. They make her sick, and being sick makes her feel weak, subjected to a factor she can't control. Hermione doesn't like many types of transport, flying especially. Planes make her feel fear, and fear makes her weak, easily controlled.
In the end, only her and the giant are left without partners. Reluctantly, Hermione climbs into the wooden rowing boat with him. She perches on the edge of it, somehow trying to find a way to balance the boat. It's leaning heavily to the giant's side, who edges nearer to the middle.
Hermione grimaces, and braces herself for the silence to come. However, after mustering the boy, she recognises his strength. Better a ally than an enemy. All though, from his kind smile, he wouldn't hurt a fly. His black, shaggy hair is unkempt and a permanent glimmer sparkles in his eyes. He seems the opposite of her or Tom. Suddenly, she doubts his usefulness. There's probably not a devious bone in his body.
Surprisingly, she is not the one to make conversation. "'ello."The boys mutters awkwardly. "I'm Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone calls me Hagrid." He reaches out his hand, and whilst doing so, drops the paddle.
"Careful." Hermione reprimands him. Remembering her intention, she smiles forcefully. "I'm Hermione Granger." A long silence follows her proclamation, and Hermione looks to ease the tension. Conversation might help.
"Hagrid," she begins. The foreign name tastes strange on her tongue. "I don't mean to be intrusive, but how are you so tall?" She figures that manipulation won't help her far here. He's to simple, and the simplest are the hardest to manipulate. She's generally curious. Perhaps a potion, like Scele Gro? Being straightforward here will assist her in finding out about him. Hermione can take advantage of that.
Hagrid goes red, and looks to the floor, mumbling something incoherent. Maybe she was too intrusive? Perhaps she should use some humour, to put him at ease.
"Don't worry," she jokes, "If you've fallen into Skele Gro, I won't tease you." She hopes the giant will take her attempt at a joke and open up to her.
Hagrid shrugs nonchalantly. "My parents are both tall, I guess..." he says, fidgeting nervously, gaining a strange interest in his shoes. It's easy to tell he's lying. Never mind, Hermione thinks. She'll only lose his trust if she pushes him now. At Hogwarts, she'll find out more.
Professor Kettleburn's voice echoes across the rippling surface lake. "There's Hogwarts. Welcome home!"
A massive castle towers over them, grand and powerful, with countless turrets and barracks and halls. Little lights ornament it, and celebrate its beauty. It awes her, imposing and tall, and Hermione feels like an ant next to it, small and insignificant. Captured by the castle, Hermione turns to Hagrid, whose eyes are dreamy as he gazes at the castle.
"Home..." he whispers gently.
Hermione cannot bring herself to scowl, despite her usual tendencies.
"Home." she agrees, and a mere shadow of a smile hushes over her lips, as their boat floats through the still, dark water...