INTERLUDE

Chapter 1 – Changes

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The door snapped behind me. As it did, a heavy thud sounded as I lay my trunk down on its side at the foot of my bed. Folded on the mattress were freshly-laundered sheets, blanket, and pillow case. I remembered the sensation from twice before, but the thinness I felt as I skimmed my fingers over them was jarring compared to the rich fabrics I was used to.

A light breeze made me look up. Someone, probably Martha, had opened the window. It struck me then how I had not opened a window in my bedroom for years now—seeing as the bedchamber would immediately flood with lake water if I did. The thought amused me.

I spent the intervening hours between when the door closed and dinner emptying my trunk and making my bed fit for sleeping in again. It was quiet work; no one came in to say anything to me and I certainly had nothing to say out loud to myself. With the spare cakes I had bought on the train, I wrapped Tom's portions in the paper bag the trolley lady had given me, scrawled his name on it, and placed the parcel in front of his door without knocking. I had learned he preferred to be on his own at outset of the summer holidays.

He came down late to meals too, after the dining hall was a little emptier than at the start of the meal hour. Knowing this, I went downstairs as the clock struck six, prepared to sit by myself and quietly observe. I didn't mind being alone; other than Tom, I felt no real friendship with anyone at Wool's. I hadn't before when I was younger and the fact that I had been so often gone for so long these past three years with no contact just amplified the gulf. There had been always one person that I could count on in recognizing my reappearance, however...

I scanned the hall in search of her but she was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't like Alice to get sick, yet there wasn't a trace of her to be found. Could she have…?

"Where's Alice?" I dared to ask Mrs. Cole as she walked between us.

The look on her face morphed from surprised to sympathetic before she answered. "Why, she's gone. Adopted at last."

My mouth parted just slightly in shock. "Adopted?" I repeated. I felt a heavy weight drop somewhere within me. (In my heart or my stomach?) "When?"

"Last October," Mrs. Cole said. "Are you quite all right?"

I nodded faintly and our caretaker moved on. I turned back to my plate, blank. October, so long ago! Alice had said her final goodbye to Wool's only a month after I had said goodbye for the term. And now what? Where was she? Did she have fine clothes? Did she eat out at restaurants on the weekend? Did she have a puppy to play with? Was she living the dream? My dream?

I clenched my fists around the edge of the seat. I shouldn't have cared. I shouldn't have been so interested. I had never liked Alice. She had been a torment for as long as I could remember. And I also remembered that I had come to terms with the fact that I would likely never see myself in a home with a proper mother and father. Yet I couldn't suppress the bitter sadness I felt even then.

That summer was the dreariest summer yet. I found myself almost missing the constant taunting from Alice, whose absence now made my life at Wool's truly tedious. Monotony had set in by the second week.

Tom and I took to sitting under the big tree in the courtyard, a pale imitation of how we spent our lazy afternoons under the willow by the lake at Hogwarts. Tom threw rocks into the bushes while I read aloud passages from old dusty Muggle books that I could find in hidden around the building. At night, I paged through my textbooks—partly out of boredom, but also with the intent to refresh what I had learned the last year.

One mid-August morning, I woke up to a rapping on the window. I stretched my head to look up and around to see the silhouette tawny owl tapping its beak furiously against the glass. Throwing my blankets to the side, I pushed aside the curtains and lifted the frame. The owl had already dropped its envelope on the ledge outside, holding it down with one foot while sticking its other out, a collection pouch tied to it. I blinked at it for a moment before spinning around to find the payment. A few seconds' worth of searching the pockets yielded the required change, which I dropped into the pouch. With an aggravated look, the owl took off with a flourish, leaving my letter on the drop.

I broke the seal and pulled out the parchment, unsurprised to see it contained my booklist for the fourth year. Nevertheless, I smiled broadly at it, knowing it would mean a trip to Diagon Alley.

Tom appeared to have received his booklist as well, as he was in better spirits that day. We arranged to go buy them that weekend, after obtaining permission from Mrs. Cole. Following our purchases, the last dregs of summer passed by infinitely more quickly. I absorbed the new material as rationally as I could, determined to let it last me the final wretched two weeks before we were back in King's Cross.

It ended up being a wise decision to review and preview, for upon arrival in my first class, we were all informed of the importance of the OWLs we would be sitting before long. There was certainly a new rigor to the class, that was for sure, but other than the work, the year passed by uneventfully.

The summer of 1942, in retrospect, was when things began to change.

I saw Tom less that summer than I normally did when we were at Wool's. I thought he spent almost all his time shut up in his room, appearing sporadically at meals.

What on earth was he doing? Not magic, surely. He'd be expelled, and he knew that. But I would hear strange things from his room sometimes. I thought that he must have been practicing spells of some sort, for the words I heard were not English, or any other language that I knew of, for that matter. I guessed he must have been reading books he had somehow managed to fit into his trunk, along with everything else that filled the case up the brim on its own.

When I did see him, though, he would be in an oddly happy mood. The first time I noticed it, he brushed it off with a "nothing" in reply. Then I asked him what he was doing that occupied so much of his time, and he said simply, "reading". So I was right about that suspicion, but I couldn't pull any more out of him. "I'll tell you more about it sometime," Tom said, before getting up, discarding his dishes, and returning back upstairs. Eating quickly was another oddity he seemed to have developed these past weeks.

Tom's newfound happiness was amplified the day that we received our booklists that summer. He found me at breakfast, which he normally skipped, a broad smile on his face.

"Wasn't expecting you," I said, sparing him a look before returning to my cereal.

"I wasn't expecting this," he said in reply, handing me a piece of parchment. I glanced at him briefly and took it.

Dear Mr. Riddle, the letter began.

It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been nominated by Professor Slughorn to serve as Prefect for the House of Slytherin from the academic year 1942-1943 onward. I am happy to confirm his recommendation with this letter.

Your duties will commence September 1 aboard the Hogwarts Express. Please report to the Head Boy and Girl in Compartment 1 at the start of the journey to receive instructions. Upon your arrival at Hogwarts, you will be advised further on your responsibilities and how to succeed in your new role. Enclosed is a brief description of expectations, which you should review now. Additionally, you will find your Prefect badge, to be worn on the front of your robes when on duty.

In acting as Prefect, you join a special class of Hogwarts students and will be held to that standard at all times. Any abuse of your authority will be punished accordingly.

Congratulations on receiving this position.

Professor Armando Dippet,

Headmaster

I handed it back to him. "That's wonderful Tom, well done."

His face furrowed. "But you received the same, I assume?"

I shrugged. "Apparently not."

Tom's hand with the letter fell. "Oh. I'm sorry, then, I thought you would have for sure—"

"Ah, it's all right," I said. I didn't mind, truthfully. It hadn't even occurred to me to anticipate it. "It doesn't matter to me. Less to worry about, right?"

A/N: Hurrah for the last interlude chapter! From here on out it's Evelyn and Tom's fifth, sixth, and seventh years, so I'm excited to finally get into the real meat of the story. Thanks for sticking by through the build up, looking forward to sharing the nitty gritty of their final years :)