Foreword: Hi, guys! This is gonna be the longest author's note I do, so please bear with me. So, back in the 8th grade, I had an account where I wrote terrible self-insert OC stories, some of which I've decided to retool into something a little more readable. This was my first ever fan fiction, under the title Mine Alone in its early form, and it. Was. Terrible. I'm basically completely redoing the character Meg, and not shying away from the darker parts of her relationship with Tom. This story works under the AU assumption that Tom Riddle can feel some type of love. That being said, Meg and Tom will NOT have a healthy relationship, and my goal is not to romanticize it. If there's anything triggering within any chapter, I'll mention it in the note at the top, so you guys have a heads up. Thank you so much for reading!

Summer, 1952

Oh, God. Oh, this is the part where my life flashes before my eyes. I don't want... I don't want to see it, it's- I know what I did. The house in the moors, the summers in France. Papa... my first year, the sorting hat. Years at school, lonely, but ravenously learning whatever I could. And then I'm fifteen. Fifteen was so important, and I didn't know, I swear I didn't. It would have been different if I'd known. Oh! There I am, and there's... oh...

September, 1943

I had ridden the train before, of course, every year. And other trains besides. Mother found them distastefully muggle, but Papa always insisted on taking them when we visited the aunties in Provence. Usually, travel made me sleepy, the momentum and sway. On this day, on this train, however, I was wide awake. My brain tingled with the promise of at last returning to the school. I sat watching the green hills roll past with somewhat veiled interest. I had chosen an otherwise unoccupied car. First, it avoided the trouble of socializing with my peers; second, it allowed me to hum to myself the tune I'd picked up from my last trip to a London cinema.

It was a catchy tune, and I was engrossed in the swells of its melody. So engrossed, in fact, that I wasn't aware of Tom's presence until he spoke.

"What is that?"

"Mm?" I met his eyes, hoping he didn't catch the slight jump I'd given.

"The song." He sat opposite me, his long legs spreading, his head lolled to one side. "What is it?" He always looked so comfortable. I hated that.

"It's 'You Made Me Love You.' It's from an American picture."

"Hm." He blinked slowly. "I don't go to the pictures."

"No, I don't suppose you would." I lifted my chin and turned my face pointedly back to the window. He was quiet after that, but I had the distinct suspicion that he was staring at me.

About fifteen minutes prior to our arrival at the Hogsmead station, he broke the silence to say, "I suppose we should put on our robes."

I didn't look away from the window. "Mine is in here." I waited for the sound of steps, then the door opening and closing, before I quietly unfolded the robe on the seat beside me and slipped it on, along with my school tie.

I hadn't expected him to return, so the next time I heard the door open, I did turn to watch him enter. We were both standing now, Tom several inches taller than I. I hated the way the dark robe with its forest green lining looked against his pale skin. He eyed my matching garb with slightly widened eyes. "You're in Slytherin." It wasn't a question, but it certainly sounded like one.

"Yes." I rolled my shoulders back, standing straight. "I'm also in your year."

Tom recovered quickly, returning his face to its usual ennui. He shrugged. "I didn't know." I may have been projecting, but I thought I heard an air of defensiveness.

The rest of the trip passed in true, uninterrupted silence. It was the first time I spoke to Tom Riddle, but not the last.