Excitement beat like a drumline through her veins when she woke the following morning. It was finally time. Hermione had packed and repacked, and packed again all of her Hogwarts school supplies and anything else she might need (toothbrush, soap, etc.) just in case. She wanted to be ready.

How odd, she thought, that school would start on a Thursday. As she dragged her trunk behind her out of her room, she met Tom's dark eyes. He'd been waiting for her.

"Good morning, Tom," she chirped.

"Good morning, Hermione," he returned. "Are you alright with that?" Tom nodded to her trunk.

She puffed up with pride; Hermione was nearly as tall as he was, though Tom was short at the moment. They went through periods of time where she was the taller and then where he was, but overall, she thought she was as physically capable. Her mother had been a feminist, Hermione remembered, and she would be one too. "I'm fine, thank you for asking."

Together they set out for London.

Mrs. Cole had given them enough to get to Kings Cross, but they were on their own from there. They had not been to the station before. While the orphans at Wool's often ran to market for flour or to the dairy for eggs, all the errands they performed were within a twenty-minute walking distance of the orphanage. Only the adults ever took the trains.

This whole day was one of firsts for Hermione. She would be riding a train and then going to a magical school. She couldn't believe the luck of being born as a witch.

"Calm down. Everyone will know you're a muggleborn just by the expression on your face," Tom admonished her.

A new worry wormed its way through Hermione. She hadn't thought of that. "Do you think it will matter?"

"I don't know," Tom said honestly, "but it's better to be inconspicuous about it for the time being. We need to get the lay of the land first."

Hermione nodded, then paused and looked around her. They were currently at Platform 9 and beyond that she could see Platform 10. "Where exactly are we going again?" She wanted to double check with Tom that they were in the right place.

He glanced down at the ticket which had come with their letters. "Nine and three-quarters. How can there be three-quarters of a platform? That doesn't make sense." They walked up and down Platform Nine for any sign of something different.

"Perhaps it's like Diagon?" Hermione discretely approached the brick wall and edged her wand out of her sleeve to tap a brick. When nothing happened, she moved further down the length of the brick wall to try there. She passed the clock high up in the center; it read 10:48, so they had approximately twelve minutes to figure out the situation.

Around them was the ordinary hustle one might expect of a train station. Important men and the rare important woman bustled about in their suits and smart hats, their briefcases held closely to their sides as they left one train often for another. Several of these adults threw strange glances their way, as though two preteenage children were a rare sight, but surely there were other children who used trains? Especially those who went to boarding schools, like they were.

Hermione tried to ignore them and continued her assessment. She tapped, stepped, tapped, stepped, tapped— and nearly fell over as her wand went through the wall.

"Tom!"

He turned away from his assessment of the crowd. "Yes?"

"I think I found it," she whispered. As he watched, she slowly laid a hand over the way, pushing through it until it had completely disappeared. "We're supposed to go through the wall."

"Through the— why did no one think to tell us?" Tom griped, hoisting his trunk by the handle and dragging it over. "Shall I go first or would you like to?"

"I will," Hermione said. She had made the discovery, so she felt she should be the one to do it. He nodded and she readied herself, straightening her shoulders and aiming straight at the tannish brick wall. She flinched as she met it, eyes squeezed shut on instinct, but when her feet landed on the other side, she opened her eyes wide and found herself in a different world.

All around her were children and their parents. They ranged in age from tiny siblings who clung to their mothers all the way to those who were on the very cusp of adulthood.

There were also animals, mostly owls, but also cats of all shapes and colors and little rats that sat on shoulders, croaking frogs and toads, and she thought she might have seen something that looked like a weasel, but she couldn't be sure.

The chatter was nearly overwhelming in volumn. Were Hermione not already over-excited, she might have covered her ears; instead, it all blended and rushed through her like a buzzing bee.

A hand clapped her shoulder and she jumped. Tom had appeared. "Shall we board?"

Hermione nodded. That was a good idea since they had moments before the train was set to leave. Together, they found a door and entered the gleaming red locomotive.

Most of the compartments were already full of children of various ages who clearly knew one another. The first years would mostly be at a disadvantage, she supposed, and them especially since they didn't grow up in the same world.

They found one toward the back that was empty and stored their trunks above, helping one another in hefting the things up. "Perhaps we should learn a charm to lighten heavy objects next," Hermione said; Tom gave her the slightest smirk.

They settled down across from one another and watched the din through the window as the remaining students hustled aboard. Parents waved and blew kisses. There was even a charm a few mothers performed that sent the print of their lipstick toward their students' faces, much to the children's dislike.

Hermione had a brief moment of longing, imagining her own parents there to see her off. They would've been surprised to find out she was a witch, but also accepting because they loved her more than anything. They gladly would have taken her to Diagon Alley; she'd have bought half a dozen books at least before they managed to drag her home.

Her parents would be fascinated by magic and its implications. Her father would have spent ages at the apothecary, asking what each and every ingredient could do, while her mother would have adored the healing section of Flourish and Blotts.

But that was a different life and a different Hermione. She sighed and turned her attention to her best friend instead.

Tom had already drawn out a book and he was reading. She supposed she should do the same.

The two bookworms easily became lost in their tomes, so lost that they didn't realize anyone was at the door until it whooshed open.

"Oh, hello. I didn't realize anyone was in here." It was a young blond man. He had a relaxed demeanor and looked to be their age.

"Just Hermione and I," Tom answered smoothly. He took the lead, as he often did when introducing them. "And you are?"

"James Avery," he answered. "But now you have me at a disadvantage."

"Tom Riddle." He gestured toward Hermione. "And this is my friend Hermione Granger."

"Hello," she said with a small wave, unsure of the etiquette of meeting her first peer.

James Avery smiled and gave her a little bow in return. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger. Most of the compartments are either full or loud. Might I join you here?"

The two of them exchanged a glance and Tom said, "You're welcome to. We were just reading."

Avery looked at the books in their hands, brows rising as he skimmed the titles. "Preparing for school, are you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's face heated. She was currently on her third read of Hogwarts: A History. "It's my favorite book," she murmured, embarrassed to be caught out.

"Is it?" Avery studied her a moment, then smiled. "Aren't you an interesting one? And you're already reading about magical theory, Riddle? Are your parents curse breakers? Spell inventors?"

It was Tom's turn to be caught off guard; it was clear to Hermione that he hadn't expected questions about his parentage so soon. "Er, no," he said awkwardly. "Not to my knowledge," he amended.

"That's a curious way to say it. What do you mean, 'not to your knowledge?'" Avery asked as he sat with a seat between him and Tom.

"I mean…" Tom looked to Hermione and she gave him the slightest shrug. "I don't know much about my parentage, I'm afraid. I'm an orphan."

Avery blanched. Whatever he had thought Tom might say, that was not it. "I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's alright," Hermione assured him. "We're quite adjusted to our situation."

"Are you an orphan as well?"

She nodded. "My parents died when I was seven, so I knew them a little."

"Oh." The blond looked distinctly uncomfortable now, as though he'd discovered something about the pair of them he wished he could take back. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," she said.

Tom did not respond. Instead, he returned to his book.

"Why are you reading about magical theory then? You must not understand it if you're a mu-muggleborn," Avery stuttered, grimacing as he stumbled over the word.

Tom coolly intoned, "I understand enough. This is a primer, after all, and it's not as though we haven't read our textbooks."

"You've already read our texts?" Avery's eyes narrowed. They were a curious shade of green, Hermione realized, neither particularly light nor bright.

"Yes, and we've practiced spells." Tom straightened up and turned to face the boy with the weight of his midnight blue eyes. "They're all simple enough."

"Show me, then," Avery insisted.

The corner of Tom's mouth curled in a smile. "Very well."

"Tom, I don't think—"

He pulled out his wand, aimed at Hermione, and incanted, "Colovaria."

The edges of Hermione's vision brightened. "You didn't," she gasped. She grabbed a lank of her hair and growled at the blonde color that was nearly a match to Avery's. "Tom Marvolo Riddle!"

Tom let out the tiniest laugh at her indignation. "It's temporary. Look. Finite. "

He was showing off, Hermione realized. He'd used the shortened version of the cancelling incantation rather than the full thing. When she glanced over at Avery, she saw a sly consideration in his eye.

"Marvolo?" Avery asked.

"Apparently my grandfather's name," Tom said. "My mother foisted a name on me and then died."

"It sounds familiar," Avery conceded. "Perhaps you have wizarding blood after all. You've certainly the talent."

"Is that normal?" Hermione asked. "Do those from wizarding families have more innate magical talent?"

"That's what they say." Avery shrugged.

"Hermione is nearly as talented as I am," said Tom. It was high praise from him, though she blushed at the 'nearly.' He liked that magic came more easily to him, but he also enjoyed that she had her own gifts. Even he had trouble beating her encyclopedic knowledge.

"Would you care to demonstrate?" Avery asked, somewhat snidely if Hermione read him correctly.

She was not a show off like Tom, and would not be performing a spell that was far outside their curriculum. Instead, she focused on the book loosely held in her friend's hands and said clearly as she swished and flicked, "Wingardium leviosa." The book rose and she flicked it higher and higher with her wand until it was roughly three feet above Tom's head. Then she favored him with a smirk and let the spell drop. He just barely managed to catch it as it fell back over his lap.

"Good show," said Avery, adding three claps to his announcement. "You are most certainly talented, Miss Granger."

During their little demonstrations, the train had departed and they were well on their way. Farmland passed through the windows in emerald blurs. Now and then one could see sheep or other cattle. She wondered what people thought of the scarlet train that crossed the country. She knew they were heading toward Scotland; she had never been, not to her recollection. It was another first.

"What have you learned about magical theory thus far, Riddle?" Avery asked some time later. Tom glanced up from his book and thought a moment. "There are four basic parts of a spell: intention, will, incantation, and wand movement. Of the four of these, will seems to be the most important."

"Why would you say that?" replied Avery, curiosity written across his face.

"Well," said Tom, "There are those who can do nonverbal magic, and some who can do magic sans wand, and accidental magic of children must happen without intention because some children aren't aware of magic yet, such as muggleborns. Thus, magic is born out of will."

"That book says all that?" Avery asked, crossing his legs and angling his body toward Tom.

"I extrapolated," was the smooth reply.

Avery blinked slowly, then laughed. "You know a lot of big, clever words. You'll probably be in Ravenclaw, the both of you."

Ah yes, one of the most anxiety-producing parts of their future that Hermione had avoided thinking about: House Sorting. There were four Hogwarts Houses and none of them sounded particularly bad, though there was that it about Salazar Slytherin leaving Hogwarts because he didn't want to admit certain types of students. All of the qualities deemed important to the Founders were good, noble traits, but Hermione had not brought them up to Tom because she worried they would disagree.

"You think so?" Tom smiled, though it wasn't his real one; only Hermione saw that. "I think I would prefer Slytherin."

Her heart ached at his admission. That was precisely why she hadn't talked to him about the Houses; already, they differed.

"And you, Miss Granger?" Tom and Avery both turned their gazes to her and she shrank in on herself.

"Oh, well. I don't think any House would be bad," she said. "I don't know that I see myself as a Hufflepuff, though I like to think I'm a loyal friend." She smiled wanly at Tom, who gave a nod. "Ravenclaw surely is the House most likely since I am bookish. I love academia, but I also don't think Gryffindor sounds bad. I like to think I'm brave—"

"Gryffindor!" Avery hid his mouth as he guffawed. "Gryffindor is a House for hotheaded fools."

"I don't know," she replied. "I think the idea of doing the right thing is beautiful, and I love meeting a challenge head-on."

"I would think your need to be at the top of the class is ambitious," Tom said insidiously. "You and I always fight for that position, do we not? You should be in Slytherin." With me , went unsaid, but Hermione knew him by now.

She chewed her lip and shrugged. "Like I said, they all seem rather good in their own ways. Who knows how I'll be Sorted."

They dropped the topic there.

At some point far after a woman with a trolley of sweets had passed, a girl opened their compartment door. She had deep auburn hair and grey eyes and looked to be around seventeen or eighteen. "It's time to put on your uniforms," she informed them. She was already in hers and there was a lovely silver and emerald enameled pin on her robes that declared her head girl. Thus, she must have been in seventh year.

"Of course," said Hermione. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Tom Riddle and James Avery. We're all first years. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The young woman gazed at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "Dorea Black, Head Girl. I must be going now." She slipped out and shut the door behind her.

Hermione stared after her a moment, wishing the girl would have stayed so she could ask questions. She was clearly a Slytherin by her pin; Tom would be interested in that.

"Hermione," Tom murmured. She turned to him. "Perhaps it would be best if you changed elsewhere?"

Her cheeks colored and she nodded. "That's a good idea." She gathered her uniform and smiled awkwardly. "I'll be right back, then."

She changed quickly into the uniform, which consisted of a knee-length grey skirt and a grey vest, a white button-down, and black robes over it all, plus the standard stockings and Mary Jane shoes. She saw most of the students wandering the train had ties of their house colors and could only assume she would get one once Sorted.

Hermione soon returned to the carriage with the boys and she had to admit, Tom made a dashing figure in his even if it was all second-hand.

They soon arrived at Hogwarts and the first years were rounded up by the groundskeeper, one Mr. Ogg. "Into the boats," he urged them, and she and Tom shared one as it glided across a vast dark body of water apptly named Black Lake.

Their first sight of Hogwarts came as they passed through a little outcropping of rock and the ivy that spilled over it like curtains to reveal the beauty that was Hogwarts.

It was silhouetted against the twilit sky, various warm lights lighting it like something out of a fairytale, which she supposed it was. Hogwarts was a magical castle, after all. Her heart nearly burst in her chest as she took in the collonades and towers— it was beautiful and she would be living there for the next seven years.

Hermione glanced over at Tom and he returned her stare, the lights of Hogwarts shining in his eyes, which were filled with the same wonder as her own.

From the boat house, they were led to the Entrance Hall, a tall room with many staircases leading off in different directions. Perhaps the strangest part was the plethora of portraits murmuring around them. She could catch bits and pieces of them talking about the new cohort, discussing how small they were, how unbelievably young.

Magic would never cease to amaze her, she decided then and there.

"Hogwarts: A History doesn't say how we're Sorted," she murmured to Tom as the two huddled together. "Only that Godric Gryffindor devised it and all of the Founders put a bit of themselves in it to make sure it was accurate."

Tom nodded as they filed into the Great Hall, then looked up.

Hermione had read about the enchanted ceiling, but seeing it in person was quite different. Over the tables laden with students, above even the floating candles, was the night sky in all its glory. She wondered how it would look were it raining. Would the water appear to splash as it landed on the roof or would it look as though it went through to the floor despite disappearing above their heads?

She was eager to find out.

An aged man of a frailty she had never seen before approached a podium and began to speak. "Students, welcome back to another year at Hogwarts. And to you first years, welcome to your new home. Hogwarts is a wonderous place where you learn much and grow. But first— your Sorting."

A familiar figure came into view, Albus Dumbledore, and he set down a stool and placed a tan leather, ragged hat upon it.

Just when Hermione thought things couldn't get any more unusual, a seam opened and the Hat began to sing.

"Oh, all ye children, listen to me,

For I have the brains of the Founders, you see."

Beside her, Tom fairly groaned. "Not much of a poet, is it?" he asked.

Hermione tried to suppress her smile, feeling it was impolite to laugh at a sentient Hat, but it was a near thing.

"Helga the kind, the loyal, the true

And Ravenclaw so clever, creative and blue…"

"I think I might hurl," she admitted. The song was utterly horrible, but she supposed that if the Hat did this every year, it would eventually run out of inspiration.

Luckily, the song was not long.

"And that is the tale of the Founding and me,

Now line up for Sorting by yours truly."

Professor Dumbledore stepped in front of the gathered first years with a scroll in hand. "When I call your name, please come up for your Sorting." He cleared his throat. "Avery, James."

Hermione took Tom's hand and squeezed it. In just a few moments, they would be Sorted into their House, the place where they would rest their heads for their years at Hogwarts. She was nervous and excited and scared all in one, and she tried to comfort herself knowing that Tom would be there no matter what.

"Black, Alphard."

She hardly paid attention to the Sorting, which was not a good thing considering she was toward the front of the alphabet.

"Granger, Hermione."

She jolted, electricity seeming to fly through her skin as she heard her name. Tom nodded to her and she released his hand at last, walking on fawn's legs toward the stool and its Hat. All too soon, the Hat was upon her head and she was sat down.

"My, my, what a curious mind you have."

"You can see into my head?"

"How else do you think I Sort successfully, dear? Now, let's see… you're bright. Very bright. I see a love of books, a desire for academic success, yes. You would do well in Ravenclaw… "

She could almost hear it wanting to add more. "But?" she prompted.

"But there is much more to you than that, isn't there? There's loyalty and kindness, true Hufflepuff traits. Oh, and ambition, but I don't think Slytherin is right for you.

"However, you've also shown yourself to be quite brave."

"I have?"

"To learn how to live in the circumstances you were dealt? Yes, dear, you're a brave one. You have a strong sense of right and wrong as well, unlike your friend. Curious, how attached you are to him, but there's that loyalty…

"What's wrong with Tom?

"I'm sure I'll see more during his Sorting. Don't fret about it. I'm sure there's good in him, too. Hmm. Hmm. You are a difficult one. It's really a matter of whether you care more about what is right or what is fact."

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked it.

"Many academics, theorists, you might even call them scientists, don't bother with ethics. It is not theirs to reason whether something is good or bad, but merely to discover or unearth."

"Oh. That doesn't strike me as wise," she said softly. She would never want to make a discovery that led toward ill for mankind.

"Indeed, but that is one of the downfalls of pure academics. Would you not consider yourself one, then?

Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't think I would."

"I thought as much. Then the choice is clear."

"Yes, I agree," she said, though her heart panged; she would be so far from Tom, who she was certain would get his way with Slytherin. Perhaps if she chose Ravenclaw.

"Would you like to ask for that? To be Sorted into Ravenclaw just in case?"

It would be seven years of her life, and there was no guarantee that Tom would be Sorted the same way. He might still veer toward the House of serpents.

It would be foolish to base her future on one such small hope.

"No," she said at last.

The Hat hummed. "Then off you are to…

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione heard cheers as she lifted the Hat from her head and set it on the stool. The table of red-tie-clad students were roaring and clapping in welcome of her.

Hermione's face colored and a smile spread across her cheeks as she nervously approached them. She had never been greeted so effusively in her life. She wondered if they would be as happy with her if they knew her, then reminded herself that it didn't matter; she would show them she was a witch worthy of their respect.

A redhead slapped her on the shoulder as she took her seat, beaming down at the girl. "You were nearly a Hatstall! Well done, Granger! Ignatius Prewitt, good to meet you."

"Hermione— well, I suppose you already know. But, what's a Hatstall?"

"Oh, that's when someone's Sorting goes on more than five minutes. Yours was about four or so," he replied.

She frowned and thought on that. "It's unusual?"

"It is. Mine hardly lasted thirty seconds, but then, all Prewitts are Gryffindors," he said proudly.

Kinsley, Alanna was Sorted into Gryffindor soon after and Hermione clapped along with everyone else as the girl joined the table. Ignatius Prewitt whooped and hollered his joy at welcoming a new Gryffindor.

The dark-skinned girl sat on the opposite side of the table as Hermione and she wondered if there was a reason for it, if it was because she knew someone or if she didn't want to know Hermione. Not that it mattered; as they were in the same year and House, they would soon be well acquainted. She could only hope that aquaintance went well.