Tom nearly dropped his book when Andros's voice burst into his head.
"I'd wager a Galleon that girl likes you."
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Andros, do you even have a Galleon?"
"She's only eleven years old. What does she know about love?"
Tom didn't say it aloud, but the thought lingered. He wasn't about to "fall in love" with a child. But… well, it wasn't a crime to wait and see what she became in a few years.
Andros, unfazed, chuckled. "What's the big deal? In my time, people married and had children at thirteen or fourteen. Some even earlier."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "And what about you, Mr. Andros?"
That one hit like a killing curse. Silence.
Because, of course, Andros had never married. A battle fanatic, a magic obsessive—he had no time for family life. Even at death, he had been the ultimate single dog.
If he had ever left descendants, perhaps his legendary magical talent would have given birth to a dynasty. But he hadn't. Which, Tom supposed, explained why bloodlines mattered so much in wizarding society. Families carried strength forward. Look at the Gaunts, or the other Sacred Twenty-Eight—wealth and influence preserved across centuries.
Tom smirked when Andros finally retreated into the mist, defeated. Score one for me.
---
Daphne the Rich Girl
He turned back to Daphne, who continued firing questions at him with curious intensity. With the patience of a snake charmer, Tom guided the conversation, asking just enough questions of his own.
And the innocent little heiress… spilled everything.
Her mother was the Director of the Department of Magical Transportation. Her grandmother had held the same post. Her great-grandmother as well. Three generations of bureaucratic dynasty.
Her family's tradition? Marry sons-in-law into the household. For three hundred years, every Greengrass child had been a girl.
Then Daphne complained about her allowance. "Only two hundred Galleons per semester! It's barely enough."
Tom nearly dropped his jaw.
Two hundred per semester. Six hundred per year.
That was nearly the same as what Dumbledore had bankrolled him for seven years combined.
A soft and cute little rich lady… and single-handedly richer than most Hogwarts professors.
Tom's thoughts took a dangerous turn. Marrying into her family wouldn't be a problem at all.
Without realizing it, his tone toward her softened. And Daphne, pleased by the warmth, smiled brighter and brighter.
---
The Trolley Witch
At half past twelve, the compartment door slid open again. A kindly witch with a trolley beamed. "Anything off the cart, dears?"
"Certainly!"
Daphne leapt up like a delighted child, rifling through the sweets. Her hands flew—Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's, Pumpkin Pasties, Licorice Wands. She bought almost everything, though in varying amounts. By the time she finished, the cart looked stripped bare.
The total? Two Galleons and thirteen Sickles.
Tom almost laughed. That was more than the Weasley family's pocket money for a year.
No wonder Daphne thought two hundred Galleons wasn't enough. At her rate, she'd burn through it in a month.
While she paid, Tom studied the trolley witch. Rumors said she had been working the Express since it first ran in 1830. If true, she was at least 180 years old—a rare age even among wizards.
He summoned Andros to observe. Together they scrutinized her every movement, but found nothing strange. Perhaps she was simply a woman blessed with remarkable longevity.
When the cart rolled on, Tom let it go.
---
A Feast for Two
Daphne carried her loot back, spread it on the table, and pushed half toward Tom.
He accepted it without hesitation. If he couldn't manage the shamelessness to eat a girl's snacks, how could he ever dream of being a proper gigolo someday?
As they munched, conversation drifted again, this time to the Sorting.
"My family's all Slytherin," Daphne said with a shy smile. "I'll almost certainly be Sorted there too. But Mother says any house is fine… except Gryffindor."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Why not Gryffindor?"
Her nose wrinkled. "Mum says Gryffindors are the source of all trouble. Wherever they go, chaos follows."
Tom considered. Fair enough. Mrs. Greengrass wasn't wrong.
"Um… Riddle," Daphne said, voice uncertain. "Do you want to be in Gryffindor?"
She worried she'd insulted him.
Tom smiled easily. "No. I hope for Ravenclaw. Maybe Hufflepuff. Somewhere quiet. Good for study."
Daphne's shoulders relaxed, relief softening her features. "You love studying so much, you'll definitely be Ravenclaw."
---
A Sudden Interruption
The train clattered on toward the Highlands. After their meal, both leaned back, drowsy, ready for a nap.
Then a shriek rang outside their door. Tom ignored it, but moments later—
Knock knock. The door slid open before either answered.
A bushy-haired girl poked her head in, dragging along a round-faced boy.
"Have you seen a toad—" she began, then froze. Her eyes locked on Tom.
Her breath hitched.
"Riddle? Why are you here?!"
Daphne's brow creased instantly at the rudeness. And when she realized this stranger knew Tom, her frown deepened into something darker.
Tom looked up calmly. "Ms. Granger. Since you're on the Hogwarts Express, why wouldn't I be?"
Hermione Granger stammered, blushing furiously. "N-no, I didn't mean you couldn't. I just meant—this is wonderful!"
Daphne's face fell into shadow. Her favorite new toy was suddenly at risk.
Competition had arrived.
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