Chapter Text
1 September, 1940
The scarlet steam engine let out a low whistle, echoing across the crowded platform at King’s Cross. Luggage clattered, trunks were hoisted, and students hastily boarded the train. Somewhere behind Tom, a child was crying. He didn’t turn around.
He walked the length of the train with purposeful steps, dressed neatly in pressed secondhand robes that had been subtly adjusted to fit his growing frame. His shoes gleamed. His hair, styled with precision, shone in the morning light as he passed compartment after compartment. Eyes followed him.
This was his third time boarding the train, but it felt like the first time he’d done so on his own terms.
He was no longer the scrawny, overlooked boy with the guarded scowl and silent fury just beneath the surface. He wore his charm, honed and sharpened over the summer, like a well-tailored set of robes. He smiled, just enough. He nodded when someone greeted him and let his gaze linger long enough to make others blush or smile or squirm, depending on his aim.
He caught sight of a pair of Ravenclaw girls whispering behind their hands after he passed. Tom gave each girl a smile and nod, his smile widening as their faces broke into matching blushes.
When he reached an empty compartment near the back, he slid the door open and stepped inside. He sat by the window, crossing one leg over the other, hands folded neatly in his lap. Outside, parents fussed over younger children, and prefects barked directions. He watched them through the glass, thoughtful.
Someone slid the door open a few minutes later.
“Riddle,” said a voice. “Mind if we join?”
Tom turned. It was Christopher Nott, a second-year Slytherin whose father worked at the Ministry. His cousin, Livia, who stood behind him in the doorway, was in Tom’s year. Like his cousin, Christopher had never once spared Tom a kind word before last Christmas.
“Everywhere else is full,” Livia added, her cheeks red.
Tom offered a gracious nod. “Of course, you’re welcome to join me.”
The Notts entered, Christopher beside Tom while Livia settled across from him. A few moments later, another boy joined them: Paul Avery, from Agatha’s year, lanky and sharp-eyed. Then, Ruby Rosier and her younger sister Druella sauntered in, with the elder greeting Tom cheerfully before taking a seat across from him.
Tom spoke little during the journey, but when he did, it was with measured precision. He asked Nott about his family’s summer travels, made a well-placed comment about a recent article in the Daily Prophet that Avery had read, too, and engaged with Livia and Ruby in a discussion of the coming term’s electives with perfect poise.
He played the part effortlessly.
But behind his dark eyes, thoughts clicked into place like pieces of a puzzle. He had returned stronger, smarter, and better prepared.
This year, they would come to him.
The Slytherin common room gleamed with firelight and polished brass, shadows flickering along the floors. Students were scattered across leather armchairs and high-backed sofas, talking over one another in the post-feast haze of too much food and lingering summer heat. First and second years huddled together in corners, whispering excitedly about their timetables and speculating about who would make the Quidditch team.
Tom slipped inside with the others, and heads turned. Younger students greeted him with wide eyes and tentative smiles, already swept up by the myth of the boy who’d beaten Abraxas Malfoy in a duel and earned the professors’ praise. Even some of the older students, who had once scoffed or looked away, acknowledged him now with stiff nods. Not all, of course. Parkinson and Greengrass made a few snide comments under their breath, but they sounded almost bored, as if it was more habit than malice.
“Riddle,” Orion Black called smoothly from his usual perch near the fireplace. Several others stood clustered around him, all pale with noble features, all looking apprehensive but resolved. Orion stood and beckoned Tom closer, the hem of his robes falling just so. “Please allow me to formally introduce you to my relatives. This is Alphard, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” He gestured toward a poised fifth-year with striking grey eyes who inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Tom gave him a smile, trying not to let his confusion show on his face.
The hint of a smirk played at Orion’s lips as he continued. “And this is Walburga, my second cousin,” he added, gesturing to a fourth-year who had hexed Tom far too many times during his first year for him not to recognize her.
Walburga was tall and severe, her face pretty in a cold, unapproachable way, her wild hair pinned half-heartedly atop her head like she hadn’t bothered to tame it properly. She gave Tom a contemptuous smile that was more a baring of teeth.
She turned back to Orion. “I hardly see the point of introducing myself to this mudblood. It’s not like they have any proper manners.”
Orion, to his credit, ignored Walburga completely.
“This is Cygnus Black, my second cousin,” Orion continued smoothly.
A first-year boy with slightly lighter hair than his relatives but the same noble features gave Tom a tentative nod.
“And this is my sister, Lucretia.”
An elegant fifth-year with gently curling hair gave Tom a hesitant smile, her face otherwise guarded.
“It is a pleasure to be formally introduced,” Tom said, offering a courteous smile as he shook each of their hands in turn. Walburga looked like she would rather touch a pile of dung than shake his hand, so she hovered hers beside his until Tom took the hint.
Orion gave him a long look with the hint of approval. The exchange had a quiet weight to it, and it wasn’t until later that night that Tom realized what it had been: a public endorsement. A quiet claim.
Tom drifted through the room after that, exchanging greetings and pleasantries with those who approached him and sparing disarming smiles for those who didn’t. Several groups of girls began whispering in earnest. Ruby, Druella, Lavinia, and Livia sat in a loose circle by the staircase, giggling into their sleeves. Ruby flicked her hair over her shoulder and whispered something that made the rest of them dissolve into laughter.
“It’s just unfair! I mean, look at his smile,” Lavinia murmured dreamily, not softly enough.
“For Merlin’s sake, quit your disgraceful fawning over that mudblood,” Walburga Black snapped as she passed them, her voice low and sharp.
None of the girls paid her any mind.
Tom met their stares and gave them a wink as he passed. Livia gasped. Lavinia clutched Ruby’s arm, and Ruby just laughed harder.
He was halfway down the hall to the boys’ dormitories when he heard the footsteps behind him.
“Still enjoying your little audience?” Abraxas Malfoy said.
Tom turned just in front of the third-year boys’ door, one brow lifting. “Should I not?”
Abraxas’s mouth curled into something like a smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve changed.”
“I’ve adapted.”
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”
Tom tilted his head. “I think I’m learning how things work.”
A pause. The corridor behind them hummed faintly with the murmurs and footfalls of the common room. Abraxas looked down, jaw tight, as though weighing whether to speak again.
“You’ll never belong,” he said at last, but it lacked fire. The words had been said before, many times, but this time they hung in the air like something half-spoken and already fading.
Tom smiled coldly. “If you’re right,” he said, brushing past him, “then I’ll rise above.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
In the quiet of his dormitory, the other boys still laughing and jostling in the common room, Tom drew the green bed curtains shut around himself and pulled out the small black diary. Its leather was smooth beneath his fingers, familiar.
He opened to a blank page, dipped his quill, and wrote:
1 September, 1940
The game begins again. But this time, the board is mine.