Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's creations or the Harry Potter Universe, unfortunately.

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~Dreams of Disaster

Tom stared at Hogwarts castle in awe, conscious that his soon-to-be classmates were doing the same. Children had already clustered into little groups, creating their coteries for the year, and possibly the ones after that.

No one was standing next to Tom, and he felt a sudden pang of loneliness and loss, before pushing those feelings away. He would not be weak... not weak... not weak... not him...

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter. What's your name?" someone asked cheerfully from somewhere to the right and beneath him. Tom looked down into the greenest eyes he had ever seen. The boy asking the question had untidy, spiky hair that looked as though he had been electrocuted. A strange scar adorned his forehead. A haze of powerful light magic surrounded and enveloped his body, concentrated in several places more than others. However, strangely, pure black magic emanated from the scar. Tom made a mental note to ask about its origin later.

"I am Tom Riddle. Nice to meet you, Harry Potter," Tom replied. Maybe, he allowed himself to hope, I will have a friend here.

Harry smiled back at him in a friendly way, but then an awkward silence settled between the two.

"So," Harry continued, taking the initiative, but still fidgeting nervously with his robes, "what house do you want to be in?"

"Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, right?" Tom asked in clarification. "I prefer Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but I think the Sorting Hat has the last say in the choice of house."

Harry seemed to wince slightly before saying, "So you're one of those bookish types, right? You probably like learning. Unfortunately, studying is not one of my strengths. My mum and dad were in Gryffindor, but I don't think I'll live up to their legacy. I just want to..." He trailed off.

Tom nearly laughed. Was it true that Harry didn't realize how powerful he was? Some grown wizards probably would not rival his raw magical aptitude. But Tom kept his mouth shut and his face expressionless, before saying, "I think -"

"Hey, Harry!" a redhead shouted rudely, marching up to Tom's conversation partner, and grabbing his hand. "You don't have to hang out with slimy Slytherins, come on and talk to us Gryffindors over here!"

"And you are...," Tom asked coolly, expecting the redhead to realize the error of his deeds. The arrogant boy did not seem to realize any sarcasm in the statement.

"I'm Ron Weasley, chess champion, Gryffindor Golden Boy, and Boy Who Lived. You should watch out if you go to Slytherin, you slimy snake, because Dean, Seamus, and I will prank you like no tomorrow!"

Tom smirked back and grabbed Harry's other hand. "I'm Tom Riddle, and you are nothing more than a - " Tom let out a stream of several curse and swear words, some of which he had heard but didn't know the complete meanings of.

Ron's face turned redder and redder by the second, before deepening to an ugly puce color. "You'll get what's coming to you, Riddle. I might not know lots of magic yet, but I can still make your life difficult for you."

He stormed away, dragging Harry with him, without waiting for a response. In a few minutes, Harry was talking animatedly with Ron's large group of friends, without looking back to acknowledge Tom.

Something in Tom broke at the sight. Was he really so repulsive that no one would pay attention to him? Did he deserve no friends?

A flash of green caught Tom's eyes for a split second, and he realized that Harry was staring silently at him. The other boy's lips curved into a small smile and he winked ever-so-slightly before mouthing, "Friends?"

Tom allowed himself to smile back for the first time in years. The muscles felt odd when stretched, and he thought he was grimacing, but Harry still looked at him encouragingly.

Then the moment was lost. Harry was again chatting with a boy named Seamus who had a thick Irish accent. Weasley threw bits and pieces into the conversation here and there.

But a swell of triumph and and happiness broke through the dam of inscrutability that Tom had created for himself over the years. Friends? he thought. Would he be friends with Harry Potter?

The word sounded nice and warm and comfortable, like a fire on Christmas Eve.

Yes, friends indeed.

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~Dreams of Disaster