Rating: T

Warnings: None

Relationships: None

Chapter 3: Compital

Marvolo had thought that the days would pass slowly, that each day would feel like just another wasted in the mundane Muggle world. But time flew by as he went through his books in record speed. Wizards were fascinating - they were just like Muggles, with their inflated sense of superiority and petty squabbles and penchant for violent arguments. But they had the power to back up their superior attitudes, to quickly turn petty squabbles into murder, to bring war to an entirely new level.

The thing was, Marvolo may have been good at large shows of power - setting things on fire, for instance - but he was much more inclined towards subtlety. Muggle bombs were as far from subtle as it got, but magic - magic had so much more potential. Large-scale destruction with none of the explosions.

But for all that potential, their government and society were stuck in the Middle Ages.

When he was done with his extra reading, he started in on the textbooks. They were simple introductions to each subject, and he found himself quickly bored. Nevertheless, he studiously read each monotonous paragraph, making sure he understood the concepts they taught.

Before he knew it, it was September 1st. At first, he hadn't been sure how he would get to King's Cross, where he'd catch the train to Hogwarts. Neither did he expect any Muggle information kiosk to know where he could find a Platform 9 3/4. But everything worked out in his favor.

It went like this: quite simply, the matron's sister, a seamstress in London, had come down with a nasty illness. The matron, as the loving sibling she was, had decided to go down to take care of her. This was on August 29th. Marvolo had heard the matron telling the cook about it while he was sneaking off with his dinner. The next day, as the matron had been preparing to leave, he had casually mentioned that he would need to be in London by the first of September. His trunk had already been packed and stood ready next to him. With no lack of reluctance, she had taken him with her onto the train to London.

He had spent two nights on the sick sister's living room floor, warmed only by a few woolen blankets. On the morning of September 1st, he had been unceremoniously dumped onto Platform 10, where he had seen a couple of robed figures casually walk through a wall and had followed them, wand in his pocket and trunk in tow behind him.

That was how he found himself on a train platform that didn't exist in a city miles away without a lick of effort or too much trouble.

The first order of business was to shrink the trunk; he hadn't done so before because it would've been suspicious for him to leave for a boarding school with nothing but the clothes on his back. Then, he checked the large clock hanging over the platform; there was still a good hour before the train departed. That was no surprise, as the platform was empty, save for the family he had followed through the barrier and a few others. The train was already there, waiting, its doors open to early arrivals. Since Marvolo had no friends or family to say goodbye to, there was no point in hanging around; he immediately boarded the train.

The inside of the train was as empty as the outside; all he heard was the rumbling of the train beneath his feet. Compartment doors hung open, inviting occupants. The compartments were identical, he discovered, with the exception of the Prefect's compartment, which had a small plaque on the door labeling it as such and was much larger.

In the end, he decided that he would take a compartment at the end of the train; there were only so many entrances to the train, and none were near the end. Sitting away from one of those entrances would ensure that few, if any, other students would try to take the compartment, and late students wouldn't be cramming into his because the rest were full.

He shut the compartment door carefully behind him, noting how all outside noise was now muffled. Just like in the back of that pub - the Leaky Cauldron, he now knew, because it had been in the Muggle-born's guide, touted as a generally non-discriminatory establishment and the most used gateway into Diagon. The silencing charm would be helpful later, but right now, there was little noise, and it was rather stuffy in the compartment, so he opened the door again and cracked open a window.

He had planned to watch the people coming in and observe their habits, especially how they used magic, but the few people on the platform were just speaking quietly to one another. There was a small group, off to the side, comprised entirely of students, no more than fifteen years old. He wondered why they were here so early, and without their parents - perhaps they'd had to go to work, and had dropped their children off beforehand.

But none of them were using magic, so he turned around and pulled out his trunk, which contained his books. He had read all of them already, a formidable task overcome only by his stalwart determination. But it wouldn't hurt to reread some of the heavier ones - the one on wizarding governments, perhaps, since he was sure he hadn't gotten everything the first time around.

He settled in and soon lost himself in Valencia's concise descriptions and dry humor.

It was only when he heard a sharp rap on the glass of the door that he looked up, startled out of the wonderful world of corruption, mismanagement, and badly worded laws. He was fully prepared to dismiss a timid classmate looking for a new friend, readying a mouth full of sweetness and eyes full of venom, but he recognized the first-year standing there as Alphard Black.

Though he had planned on having the compartment to himself and reading away the entire journey, he now looked forward to talking to Alphard, since this time, he would know what he was talking about. And there was the added bonus of Alphard being a Black.

Before he said a word, Alphard invited himself in, shut the door behind him, and draped himself over the empty bench across from Marvolo. Marvolo was unsure of what to say, but again, Alphard beat him to it.

"No plans for making friends, then? Trying to be the lone wolf? Or just secretly a Ravenclaw?" Alphard raised an eyebrow at the book in his hands. "That would never be my book of choice, funny as Valencia is."

"Hello, Black," Marvolo greeted offhandedly, then shrugged in answer to Alphard's statement. "Growing up, no one around me was ever interested in politics." Not a lie. "As such, I don't know much about them. I felt it was only sensible to read up on them before I joined Slytherin." Because Slytherin was the stronghold for politicians' children, contrary to the belief of idealists who still thought children were sorted by personality.

"With that interest in knowledge, you might well end up in Ravenclaw instead," Alphard observed. "It's Alphard, by the way."

"Marvolo, then."

Alphard wasn't wrong that he had the qualities for Ravenclaw, but Marvolo had his own reasons for believing himself more Slytherin than anything else. However, to share them now would be unwise.

Rather than giving an explicit answer, he shrugged again lightly, neither an affirmation nor a negation.

They lapsed into silence, and Marvolo took the opportunity to return to a particularly confusing explanation of Ministry workings. It wasn't so much a fault of Valencia's for using imprecise wording or writing unreadably long sentences, so much as the fact that half the Ministry simply made no sense. At least a half hour must've passed since he'd arrived; in the background, now, students were gossiping with old friends, parents were saying their goodbyes, and the younger children were shrieking with no restraints. Marvolo ignored them, as well as his previous plan of objective observation.

"You don't know anything about the wizarding world, do you?"

Marvolo suppressed a flinch and slowly raised his eyes to meet Alphard's. "What gave it away?"

"You were pretty good, I grant you that. But you hesitated before giving your name as Marvolo. And I'm not saying it's not your name, but it doesn't seem like the one you generally go by. When I first met you, you weren't inclined to give away much information - understandable, of course, if you're the type to do that, but you're much more talkative now, presumably because you've read up on everything. Most people don't read government books for fun. I'd say that maybe your wizarding parent - your mother - died while you were very young, and you were left to grow up with a Muggle: that would explain your name, your lack of knowledge, and the purposefully vague mention of your home life."

Marvolo tiled his head, but said nothing. It was his implicit way of requesting clarification on the last point, and if Alphard was half as smart as he seemed, he would pick up on it.

As expected, he did.

"You said that 'no one around you' was into politics. Most people would say 'my parents,' or 'my father,' even, if you only lived with your father. By being vague, you were able to lie, to some extent, by omission, and lying by omission is not something most people notice. Lying indicates shame, or a wish to hide that parent's existence or heritage. I assume, then, that your father is Muggle. In a house such as Slytherin that mostly consists of prejudiced pureblood families, it would only be logical to hide the fact. Also, the surname you gave me was 'Riddle,' and giving yourself a Muggle surname as you gave yourself a wizarding one would offer you no advantage. It must therefore be your actual surname."

Alphard stared expectantly at Marvolo, expecting confirmation of his deduction.

Reluctantly, he admitted, "That was actually quite clever. I thought I was doing well enough hiding my background." He briefly considered asking that Alphard not repeat anything he had said, but that would allow Alphard to garner an explicit promise of a favor in exchange for the silence. Fortunately, from what he knew of Alphard, he wasn't the type to spread rumors about another just to bring them down. The information was safe in his hands.

At that, Alphard cracked a smile. "Also, you didn't answer to Marvolo, no matter how many times I called you. You need to work on that. That's what gave your name away, and when I started putting everything together."

Marvolo scowled into his book. He really would need to work on that.

"Well, Marvolo, have any questions to ask a pureblooded, educated, overly-cultured wizard?"

He did. He had many questions - questions about his questions, questions that would probably get him thrown into Azkaban just for thinking them.

"Not right now," he answered. "But I'll find you when I do."

The conversation dwindled again. The relative silence they sat in was much easier than it had been before. The silence was as much Marvolo's as it was Alphard's; as loquacious as the other seemed to be, he didn't seem to mind sitting back and observing the world around him, especially the students still on the platform.

After a paragraph, Marvolo found that he couldn't concentrate as well as he could when he was alone, and put the book down, resigning himself to watching the hustle and bustle of children saying goodbye to their parents or greeting friends they hadn't seen all summer. The clock on the platform declared it another fifteen minutes before departure, and the image of those hundreds of children squeezing their way onto the train at the last minute flashed in front of his eyes.

"What's that smile on your face?"

"Sorry?" Marvolo forced himself into an expression of detachment.

Alphard smirked. "Nothing."

Before Marvolo could forcefully ask for clarification, or perhaps start in on a more belligerent silence, someone knocked timidly on the compartment door. Marvolo suppressed the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance; this one was definitely a shy first-year.

"Are you going to let her in?" Alphard asked.

"Not really."

"She seems to know you."

Hearing that, Marvolo finally turned from the window and saw, to his horror, Myrtle beaming at him from the other side of the glass. Quickly, he opened the door and told her, "I'm sitting with Alphard here - he has some friends who will be coming along later. We'd love to have you, but there simply won't be enough room." He opened his eyes wide and lowered his head and added, "I'm sorry - perhaps we can sit together if we're in the same house?"

Because there was no way she was a Slytherin, so that was a mostly empty promise.

"Oh, that's quite all right," she simpered. Inwardly, Marvolo cringed. "I'll see you later, then."

It took all of his willpower not to hex her as she flounced off. As it was, he was unable to stop himself from slamming the door closed.

"Friend of yours?" That insufferable smirk was on his face again.

"I hope not."

"We should be off in about ten minutes. Which means that in about five, Algol's going to show up with his hair uncombed and his tie undone because he woke up about two minutes ago. He'll take up most of the space in this compartment, too, since he's likely going to want to finish packing in here, so you're not really lying to her."

"Algol?"

"Algol Lestrange. Close friend of mine. Has never been late in his life, but only because he considers things like dressing properly to be nonessential. Don't let him fool you; he's far more clever than he lets on."

Lestrange. Another pureblood name, one of some repute. He sounded like a very slovenly character; Marvolo wondered idly why his parents would let him to grow up like that.

True to his word, a boy their age stumbled into the compartment at five minutes to eleven with a bird's nest of brown hair, half his shirt on, a half-shrunken trunk, and a lump of assorted cloths and knick-knacks in his arms. Without so much as a greeting, half the pile was dumped on Alphard and the other half on the floor, the trunk was tossed against the window, and the boy was flopping onto the seat next to Marvolo.

Marvolo had no idea how he felt about this. He thought he might be disgusted, but Alphard had vouched for him, and Alphard was unusually intelligent and mature for someone his age. After a moment, Algol stood up and opened his trunk.

"Be a dear and pass my pants, Alphard?"

"Are these even clean?"

"I think so."

Algol really was trying to pack. In the train compartment. Minutes before departure. Marvolo decided that he felt a scientific sort of curiosity, and his fingers itched to write down his observations. Minute one. Specimen still has not noticed me. Minute two. Specimen appears to enjoy horrifying Alphard.

There must be some sort of an art to this disarray, but Marvolo couldn't for the life of him see where.

"Now the Venomous Tentacula seeds?"

"These are a Class C non-tradable substance."

"So?"

"Okay, never mind that. Why?"

"Just in case."

Specimen habitually ignores laws for frivolous reasons.

Alphard nodded sagely and handed his friend a glass phial.

When the warning for imminent departure was given and the predicted rush for the doors occurred, Algol was still packing. When the train started out of the station, Algol was still packing. And when the conductor came around for the tickets, Algol paused for a moment to hand over a piece of paper that looked like it had been crushed, soaked, straightened out, ironed, and tossed carelessly into a hearty beef stew, where it had been left to marinate for a few days. Somehow, it was still perfectly intact. "I had a few accidents with it," he explained.

The conductor took it delicately between his gloved thumb and forefinger, looking like he wished he'd brought a pair of forceps. So did Marvolo: who knew what kinds of new life could be discovered on there?

Algol finished packing another ten minutes later. It wasn't that he had all that much to be packed; it was just that for someone who was ostensibly a slob, he had very precise specifications of where he wanted what, and how.

Marvolo cleared his throat pointedly as Algol closed his trunk with a satisfied smile and shrunk it.

"Hello," Algol said cheerfully, as if he hadn't spent the past half hour ignoring him. "New friend of Alphard's?"

"It would appear so." Actually, he was unsure whether or not he counted as a "friend." From what he knew of social conventions, they had already progressed beyond "casual acquaintances" to something that could be called "friends," but Marvolo was loath to say so without an explicit agreement on their status first.

"Any friend of Alphard's is a friend of mine. Except that doddering old man. He scares me."

"Oh, he's fine," Alphard dismissed. "Just a bit weird sometimes, is all. He likes me."

Ignoring him, Algol stuck out a hand to Marvolo. "Algol Lestrange. Call me Algol, not Lestrange."

"Marvolo Riddle. Marvolo's fine."

Algol withdrew his hand before Marvolo could take it, and for a moment, Marvolo wondered if perhaps Algol was one of those purebloods who looked down on anyone with a hint of Muggle blood. But it seemed more like he had forgotten that he'd offered his hand in the first place than anything else: there was no hint of disgust as he turned to Alphard and asked, "Half-blood? Where'd you find him?"

"Madam Malkin's. My parents weren't there."

But then Algol inched towards the window, away from Marvolo, and leaned against the glass. He didn't say another word to him.

Marvolo picked up his book, which had been lying abandoned on the bench.

The rest of the ride was passed in even more silence, mostly companionable but occasionally awkward. A woman carting around a multitude of sweets came by, and Algol bought a few, some of which he gave to Alphard, who in turn handed some to Marvolo. Algol didn't comment.

As it went on, Marvolo found himself increasingly unsettled. Was this what purebloods would be like? Would he be alienated in this world, too, for something that was an inherent characteristic for him? In the Muggle world, it had been his magical ability, first discovered by accident and later sharpened into a formidable weapon. Now, was it to be his blood?

He found himself questioning his decision to go to Slytherin.

But no, he couldn't do that - he wouldn't let a few fools like them change his path. He'd force them to like him, and that was that.

"You should get your robes on, Marvolo," Alphard said quietly. "We're about ten minutes away."

He started. He had forgotten that he was wearing only his slacks and threadbare formal shirt. Involuntarily, he glanced at Algol, who sat comfortably in expensive black robes with his legs crossed as he stared unseeingly out the window, just as he had been doing for the past hour or so. The serenity of his expression and the blankness in his eyes were turned away from Marvolo but reflected on the glass. Quickly, Marvolo turned away, taking his robes out from his trunk and slinging them over his outfit, closing it up in the front so that the scruffiness of his shirt was no longer obvious.

"We should probably head out now to avoid the crowds," he said, trying to phrase it as a suggestion but instill the idea as an order. He wasn't sure if he had succeeded, but as he exited the compartment, he heard two sets of footsteps following him.

The other students were still in their compartments, most of them bleary-eyed as they put on their robes, having fallen asleep during the long ride. Only five others - two Ravenclaws and three Slytherins - were waiting at the door.

The door that was the closest exit for at least twenty other compartments.

As they waited there in a silence that was now decidedly awkward, interrupted only by attempts at conversation by one of the Slytherins, Marvolo entertained again the inevitable rush for the doors, this time from the inside out. It may well be even more chaotic.

They made it outside without incident or the injuries Marvolo had expected and were met by a short man holding a very bright lantern. Magical, he realized, because there was no way a normal lantern could shine that brightly.

"First years, follow me. First years, this way!"

They followed him away from the platform, down a tortuous, rocky path, and across a small field with the quiet murmur of the tired students and the crunch of pebbles underfoot the only sounds in the still, chilly, autumn air. Finally, they arrived at a large lake whose surface shimmered black and red under the purple streaks splashed across the sky as if it were a watercolor painting.

"I never understood why first years needed to go in on boats. It's bloody freezing," Alphard complained as he climbed in with Marvolo. "Everyone else just goes up in carriages - why can't we?"

Algol joined them in the same boat, too, despite his apparent reservations about Marvolo. Another boy, lanky and tall and somehow still prepubescent (how tall would he be once he hit puberty and his growth spurt came?) joined them. He was shy: he responded with a squeak when Alphard began talking to him. Alphard didn't mind, and kept going, somehow easing the silence.

So this was what he did, Marvolo realized. He talked so that others didn't have to.

That was useful.

"Now, watch carefully," Alphard was saying in a smooth, low voice. He leaned in closer, and everyone else did too, unconsciously. It felt as though Alphard was sharing some great secret. "Just after we pass this - yeah, right now - look up there, up there - "

Hogwarts Castle. It was beautiful, lit up against the sky like that, all golden light and turrets that reached up high for the sky. It had a sort of majestic grandeur that nothing else he'd seen in the wizarding world had had: this was power, he thought. To take this would be the ultimate triumph.

Perhaps he should aim to become Headmaster.

The boats glided as one into a little harbor against the castle and they were brought through the giant wooden doors to the entrance hall, at the end of which were another set of giant doors.

"Wait here," the teacher said, and disappeared.

Marvolo had expected it, of course - according to Valencia, they did this every year. (How Valencia knew was beyond him, since everything to do with the Sorting seemed a very jealously guarded secret. Valencia hadn't even attended Hogwarts, for goodness' sake. He'd gone to Beauxbâtons in France.)

The rest of the students began to fidget, some in anticipation, some of anxiety. Myrtle looked very green with the latter and thankfully stood swaying in her place far, far away from him.

"My parents told me that we have to fight a troll," Alphard proclaimed loudly. That broke the silence: in place of the apprehension was now outright panic - "I don't know any spells!" - "I knew I should've brought the sword... my parents said I wouldn't need it, oh God..." - "I'm prepared, of course. I'll just strike it between the eyes with a bomberda maxima."

There were several things wrong with that last one. Firstly, the weak point of dragons was between the eyes: trolls' skin was so thick that they didn't really have a weak point at all. Secondly, it was bombarda, not bomberda. And lastly, a bombarda maxima would do little against the troll, since that thick skin was reinforced with a nice bit of spell resistance.

Fortunately for that last clueless student, even wizards had more common sense than to stick an untrained child in front of a dangerously large and stupid creature like the troll.

Before it could get out of hand, the doors opened and Dumbledore appeared, now wearing robes instead of a suit, though they were still the same awful plum velvet.

"Hello, first-years," he said over the clamor of the students, and they all quieted down. His voice carried oddly; another spell, perhaps? "In a few moments, you will be Sorted. Do not become too worried over that: there are a lot of rumors flying around, as there are every year, about what you will have to do, but you will see that it is quite simple. For those of you who don't know, there are four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each house is defined by a particular set of qualities."

There was an audible gulp from Marvolo's left side, and everyone turned to look at the boy, who cowered.

"Your house will be your family in your time here at Hogwarts," he continued, drawing attention away from the unfortunate student. "You will live with them, eat with them, attend classes with them. This is where you will find your lifelong friends." Twinkling blue eye swept over the crowd.

In his head, Marvolo added darkly, And where you will find your enemies.

"Now, with that said, I wish you all the best of luck. Please follow me." He turned and pushed his way back into through the doors, this time holding them open as the students filed through.

Reading about the Great Hall was nothing compared to actually seeing it. Around him, he heard the oohs and ahs of the students who had never seen such opulence, but he forcibly kept his mouth shut and his expression unchanging and noted that neither Alphard nor Algol next to him seemed particularly awed.

He did notice, where the others did not, the Sorting Hat, which was tattered and dirty and all around not the kind of hat he'd want to ever touch his head, even though he'd grown up poor. No one could blame him; everyone who had gone through this school had had to put it on: that was some ten centuries of head lice. Or, considering the bathing habits during first few centuries since the school's founding, perhaps there was something closer to fifteen centuries' worth of head lice.

He shuddered and made no attempt to hide it.

In the time he had taken to be utterly horrified, the Hat had begun singing - something. Algol groaned quietly beside him. The tune was unremarkable and the words a repetition of what he'd already read in Hogwarts, a History, so he paid little attention. Instead, he took the chance to scan the Hall, his gaze lingering on the pale white ghosts floating around the room. It was then that he noticed that other than the first years, no one seemed to be paying much attention to the Hat at all.

Unsurprising, since they probably sat through this every year. It had to get old at some point.

When he turned his attention back to the Hat, it was closing up the song to the enthusiastic applause of the first years. Then Dumbledore pulled out a piece of parchment and announced, "Avery, Maes."

A dark-haired boy, back straight, proud but not boastful, glided to the front and had the Hat placed on his head. After a moment -

"Slytherin!"

Next was "Black, Alphard," and he watched as his new friend sat there for a moment, face contorting as if he were debating with the Hat, and then he was going to "Slytherin!" as well.

The other children were of little interest to him; he didn't hear a pureblood name again until "Lestrange, Algol," who went, predictably, to Slytherin.

Finally, it was his turn. When he heard "Riddle, Tom," he realized that he had never requested that he be called by his middle name instead. Now, the entire school would know his first name. He opened and closed his hands, finding them unexpectedly overheated and sticky, and held himself tall as he lumbered over to the Hat. At least, it felt like he was lumbering; he could only hope that that wasn't what it actually looked like from the outside.

The Hat was dropped onto his head.

Ah, he heard a voice say. Probably the Hat. Ah, I see. An interesting one, you are. Stubborn enough for Gryffindor, smart enough for Ravenclaw, far too ambitious for Slytherin. Oh, dear.

I'd like to be in Slytherin. Then, Wait, what about Hufflepuff? Not that I want to go to Hufflepuff, he thought, backtracking hastily.

You'd eat them alive, and he felt the Hat chuckle, a resonant, darkly amused sound that rung in his skull.

Slytherin, he thought again.

No. Ravenclaw, I think. You don't quite have the nobility of a Gryffindor, and you are ambitious enough that Slytherin would do little for you. Ravenclaw would be the best path for you.

Ravenclaws are smart, yes. But they study for the sake of studying; I don't. I study so I can further my own place in life. That's Slytherin.

Slytherin will lead you to ruin, but Ravenclaw - it will help you achieve so much more, become so much better -

He narrowed his eyes and glared at the inside of the Hat. Since his eyes were hidden, no one would see it. I am Slytherin, and you know it. You cannot mis-Sort me.

The Hat sighed, resigned. Marvolo was frankly surprised that it had given up so quickly. All right. You are not wrong; you are Slytherin. And so it shall be - you will be -

"Slytherin!"

The ease with which the Hat had given up was suspicious, and he would have to watch that. It had seen everything in his head and obviously tried to hinder him by putting him in Ravenclaw, away from what he needed. But ultimately, it had given in with little argument. Valencia had written that there was a confidentiality clause in the Hat's contract, but Marvolo resolved to find the exact wording of it and search for loopholes.

But in the meantime, he would enjoy his victory.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his head and smirked as he strode to the Slytherin table.

Notes:

1. Short chapter! Finally!

2. My real life friend is obsessing over her cats again and I have no idea what Dante's even doing, so this chapter is unbetad. Sorry.

3. School starts in about a week, which means that I will have less time to write. Conversely, that means Dante will have more time, at least according to her.

It also means I will be able to talk to her in person and therefore force her into writing, as much as anyone can force her to do anything, anyway.

This will still be updated once a month at least, if not twice a month, which is what I'm going for.