Great and Terrible Things: 5
Summary: Before he fashioned a new name for himself, Tom Riddle was just a boy, the unknown heir to a thousand-year-old dynasty. He thought eminence his birthright—but greatness, he learned, could not be attained without sacrifice. (Canon divergent.)
CHAPTER FIVE: The First of September
The Hogwarts Express gleamed scarlet under the late summer sunlight, emitting billowing clouds of steam. Students crowded Platform 9 ¾, saying goodbye to families and hello to friends. The noise of animals (hooting owls and croaking toads and meowing cats) intertwined with the children’s sentimental reunions and farewells, creating a cacophony of discordant sounds. A calico kitten jumped onto Adriana’s trunk, stretched, then cocked its fluffy head and looked at her with curious orange eyes. When she reached out to pet it, the kitten hissed and scratched her hand, its claws just sharp enough to draw blood.
Tom laughed, and Adriana shot him the foulest look she could muster. Then she picked up the kitten by the scruff of its neck and dumped it on the ground. “C’mon,” she said, “Let’s go.”
The carriages near the front of the train were already full, mostly with older students who’d arrived early enough to get the best seats. Adriana had hoped for an empty compartment, but the best they could find was one near the back, where a handful of first-years were already sitting.
Tom marched inside without asking if anyone minded, forward as ever, and claimed a spot by the window. Adriana sat next to him and poked him in the ribs. “Who says you get the window seat, eh?”
“You didn’t ask if you could join us,” said a frowning, freckled boy.
“Is this your train?” Tom asked, sounding politely puzzled.
The freckled boy blinked stupidly.
“No?” Tom asked, all innocence. “Then I don’t need your permission, do I?”
Another boy sniggered. He was sandy-haired and blue-eyed, neither handsome nor plain, with a too-pointy nose but a smile that made up for it. “I’m Grayson Avery,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“And you?” Grayson asked.
“Adriana Sharrow,” she said.
The other children introduced themselves: there was Ignatius Prewett, the red-headed, freckled boy Tom had cheeked; Alphard Black, a good-looking, quiet, bookworm sort; and Celeste Lestrange, a very pretty girl with long dark hair.
“I don’t know the name Riddle,” said Ignatius, “nor Sharrow. You parents were wizards, weren’t they?”
“No idea,” said Tom. “We’re orphans, the both of us.”
Tom’s heritage might be a mystery to him, but Adriana knew well and good that her parents had been Muggles. From Ignatius’s tone she could guess that such a revelation wouldn’t win her any friends in this compartment.
“They could be Mudbloods,” said Ignatius.
Alphard rolled his eyes. “Or they could be Merlin’s great-great-great-grandchildren. Who cares?”
“You better care,” Ignatius said, “or at least pretend to. Elsewise your sister will skin you alive.”
Alphard looked up from his book to say, “I’m not afraid of Walburga.”
Grayson laughed. “You’re the only one then, mate. She’s bloody terrifying.”
Adriana tuned out the conversation circulating around (and conspicuously ignoring) her and Tom. She opened her trunk and withdrew the secondhand copy of Hogwarts: A History that she’d purchased in Diagon Alley—a choice that dashed the hope of buying new robes, but she would pick a good book over pretty things to wear any day—and turned to the pages about the Hogwarts Founders and Houses. She’d read this part at least three times already, but with the school only a few hours away, Adriana wanted to consider her options again.
Hufflepuff she had no interest in. Fairness and justice were the stuff of storybooks, only nobody told you that, and a House dedicated to those principles sounded at best naive and at worst downright foolish. Ravenclaw appealed to her more. She’d been a truly terrible student at the orphanage, but Adriana knew she was more intelligent than most, and as much as she hated homework, she wanted to learn all about magic that she could. Nonetheless, she suspected it was either Gryffindor or Slytherin that she would be sorted into.
Hogwarts, A History quite irritatingly failed to explain exactly how one’s House was chosen, and so she closed the book and asked the chattering children in her carriage about it.
Celeste said, “Sorry, I don’t know. My brother wouldn’t even give me a clue.”
“Walburga told me there’s a test of some kind,” said Alphard, “but she was probably lying.”
“Doesn’t matter how we’re sorted,” said Grayson, “it’s Slytherin for me. Averys have worn the green and silver for centuries.”
“Didn’t you have a cousin in Hufflepuff?” Celeste asked.
Grayson blushed a splotchy pink and said, “Third cousin, and she’s not an Avery anymore. She married a Weasley, if you can believe it.”
Adriana couldn’t guess who the Weasleys were, and didn’t care; she returned to Hogwarts: A History.
“At least the Weasleys are pure-blood,” Celeste said.
Ignatius snorted. “Blood-traitors you mean, carrying on with Mudbloods and Muggles…”
Talk turned back to Houses as the train ate up the distance between London and Hogwarts, and Grayson asked Tom where he thought he’d end up.
“Slytherin,” Tom said, without a moment’s hesitation.
“You sound certain,” said Ignatius.
“I am. It’s the House for greatness, isn’t it?”
“And you’re great?” Ignatius asked.
Tom smiled sharply. “We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”
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