Pity the Living ♔ Tom Riddle

15 || Immobulus

September 1st, 1938

Platform 9 ¾

Running towards a brick column at full speed seemed a ridiculous way to enter a magical alternate platform. Tom Riddle stared in horror at the absurd suggestion of running at a solid object, in full view of hundreds of muggles, with the possible humiliation of crashing into the imposing arched column. How ridiculous. He was about to turn his trolley back around, convinced it was all a trap, when a family appeared in wizarding attire, attracting stares from confused muggles. The three children, all with dark hair and freckles, pushed trolleys loaded with a trunk and an owl in front of them. Definitely wizards. He watched as each of the children pushed their trolleys through an invisible barrier, followed by their parents walking through at a sensible pace behind them. That damn Professor had tricked him; you didn't need to run at it like a fool.

Gripping the handle of his trolley, Tom Riddle slowly and nervously began to push his trolley towards the column. Just as the tip of his trolley was about to hit the brick, he closed his eyes in anticipation. Surprisingly, he felt nothing as he continued to walk as though nothing obstructing was there. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with a most magnificent sight. With the golden painted letters on the steam engine, a bright scarlet train gleamed on the illuminated platform. The Hogwarts Express lived up to its name. The platform was filled with excited students jumping with excitement while their parents held tears in their eyes. Childish, Tom thought. Carrying his black leather trunk with gold-encrusted initials, he approached the train with determination. The young man was pleased to arrive early and knew he must find a carriage before the remaining students arrived. Placing his trunk in the baggage compartment, he made his way through the crowds of older students in the hallways, choosing an empty compartment closer to the front of the train.

The summer had been an agonising wait, anticipating the inevitable day he would step into the halls of the infamous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Already prepared for the upcoming year, Tom's intentions were to establish himself well in the eyes of his teachers and a leader among his peers. It would establish his security and connections throughout his education. As much as he would begrudgingly admit he admired Gisela's uncle, he was determined not to depend on the man. She needed more than just a suspiciously motivated Grindelwald family member for protection.

A loud click interrupted Tom from his thoughts, the compartment door sliding open with a horrible screech. A short boy, wearing a houseless tie, stood at the cabin entrance, looking unsure. He had dirty blonde hair, combed neatly, with deep brown eyes set aside a short, sharp nose. His robes were perfectly tailored and of the finest quality. Money meant connections, however, so Tom straightened his back and presented a polite smile. The boy could be useful.

"Can I sit here? My brother won't let me sit with the older Slytherins until I'm sorted," asked the boy, with a high-pitched voice, gripping the edge of the door nervously.

"Of course," smirked Tom, offering the nervous boy a seat. He shuffled over, sitting across from Tom, sticking his hand out nervously.

"Damian Nott."

"Tom Riddle."

"I've never heard of the Riddle family," Damian frowned, confusion washing over his face.

"It's just my English name. My family is German," Tom smoothly replied, his story already well prepared and set in stone.

"Oh," exclaimed the small boy in excitement, "are you here because of the war?"

"Yes."

"How fascinating! What house do you think you'll be sorted into?" Damian asked, babbling at an annoyingly quick pace.