The Spell That Makes Space Bigger

Andros's voice popped up out of nowhere, making Tom's heart skip a beat; he nearly swallowed the words already in his mouth. He retorted irritably, "Andros, do you even have a single Galleon in your pocket? She's only eleven. What could she possibly know about liking someone? You're just stirring up trouble for no reason."

He didn't mention himself; talking about romance with an eleven-year-old girl was absurd. Still, Tom stroked his chin and pondered—once she grew into her looks, it wouldn't be entirely out of the question. After all, she was undeniably beautiful.

"What's so strange about that?" Andros replied dismissively. "Back in my day, people getting married and having kids at thirteen or fourteen were a dime a dozen, some even earlier. You're just making a fuss over nothing."

Tom raised an eyebrow, intentionally poking at a sore spot. "Oh? And did you, Mr. Andros, get married and have kids at thirteen or fourteen?" This question silenced Andros immediately. Tom nearly laughed out loud; the Andros of those days had been a battle-crazed magic addict who viewed women as nothing more than obstacles to his research.

Forget thirteen or fourteen—he had remained single his entire life until the very end. He had possessed peerless talent but left no heir behind; otherwise, he likely could have built a thriving family line.

Tom sighed inwardly for a moment before his thoughts immediately veered off track: the magical world's emphasis on bloodline made sense. Powerful wizards left behind foundations of strength and ancestral knowledge for their descendants, making it much easier for pure-blood families to pass down their legacy.

Take the Gaunt Family, for instance—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Their ancestors had certainly seen their share of glory.

Seeing Andros rendered speechless and sulkily shutting down the Study Space, Tom shook with suppressed laughter. He turned back to Daphne, putting on a gentle expression to field her questions. As they chatted, Tom couldn't help but fish for information.

Daphne was simple and guileless; within minutes, she had spilled the entire background of the Greengrass Family. Her mother was the head of the Department of Magical Transportation, as were her grandmother and great-grandmother—a veritable "dynasty of the Transportation Department." The Greengrass Family also had a tradition of taking in sons-in-law, and for three hundred years, they had only ever given birth to girls.

What tempted Tom most was Daphne's complaint: "Sigh, my allowance is only two hundred Galleons a term. It's never enough; I even have to scrimp and save just to buy Muggle magazines."

Tom's eyes lit up, his mental abacus clicking away: marrying into the family didn't sound so bad! Hogwarts had three terms a year, meaning Daphne's annual allowance was six hundred Galleons—nearly the total sum Dumbledore had given him for seven years.

A sweet, wealthy girl—how could he pass up such a benefit delivered right to his doorstep? Once this thought took root, Tom became even gentler toward Daphne, his tone growing patient. He coaxed the girl until her eyes curved into crescents, and the way she looked at him became even more clingy.

Nearing twelve-thirty, the compartment door was pushed open gently, and a smiling woman poked her head in: "Anything off the trolley, dears? We have Chocolate Frogs, pumpkin juice, and toffee."

"Yes!" Daphne's eyes brightened. She hopped off her seat and hurried to the trolley, grabbing a bit of everything—especially sweeping up the Chocolate Frogs until they were piled like a small mountain on the table.

When it came time to pay, the vendor quoted: "Two Galleons and thirteen Sickles." Tom was stunned; that amount was equivalent to the entire Weasley family's annual allowance! He finally understood why Daphne complained about two hundred Galleons being too little; at this rate of spending, she'd be broke in a month.

While Daphne was busy paying, Tom quietly observed the vendor. He had heard that this person had been selling snacks here since the Express began in 1830, making them one hundred and eighty years old—a ripe old age for a wizard.

He watched closely, even calling out the reclusive Andros to take a look, but until the vendor left, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Tom shrugged, assuming it was just natural longevity, and didn't give it another thought. Daphne pushed the snacks toward Tom: "Riddle, have some too. I bought way too much."

Tom accepted them readily, thinking to himself: If I don't even have the courage to live off a woman, how can I talk about the future?

As they ate and chatted, the topic turned to the Sorting. Daphne looked a bit embarrassed: "My family are all Slytherins, so I'll probably go there too. The other houses are fine, as long as it's not Gryffindor."

"Why do you dislike Gryffindor?" Tom asked curiously, holding a Chocolate Frog.

Daphne looked utterly disgusted. "My mother says Gryffindor is the source of all trouble—a bunch of brutes. As long as they're around, there's no peace; you never know what kind of mess they'll stir up."

Tom nodded, deeply agreeing. That lot in Gryffindor truly brought trouble wherever they went. "Riddle, do you want to go to Gryffindor?"

Seeing him stay silent, Daphne thought she had angered him and lowered her head in annoyance. "No, I want to go to Ravenclaw," Tom said with a smile. "Hufflepuff would be fine too, as long as I can study in peace. I certainly don't want to be lumped in with the troublemakers of Gryffindor."

"You love studying so much, you'll definitely get into Ravenclaw!" Daphne's eyes lit up, she said with certainty, looking at Tom with even more admiration.

Just then, a scream echoed from outside the compartment. The two exchanged a glance but didn't pay it much mind; with so many new students, it was inevitable that some would be easily startled.

After finishing their snacks, both felt a bit sleepy and prepared to nap for a while. Not long after, someone knocked on the door, and before they could respond, the door was pushed open.

A girl with bushy brown hair poked her head in. Her face was cute, though her front teeth were a bit distracting. She stopped mid-sentence when she saw Tom, shrieking, "Have you seen a toad—Riddle?! Why are you here?!"

The chubby boy behind her was so startled he nearly hid behind her. Daphne, who already found her intrusive, saw that she knew Tom and her little face crinkled up in displeasure.

Tom remained calm, glancing at her. "Miss Granger, if you can be here, why can't I? Is the train run by your family?"

"No, I didn't mean you couldn't..." Hermione stammered, her face turning red as she hurriedly explained, "I meant, this is great! I didn't expect to run into you here!"

At these words, Daphne's face went completely dark. She gripped the hem of her skirt tightly, feeling an inexplicable sense that her precious toy was about to be snatched away.

Come to think of it, Tom owed his early grasp of this world's details to Hermione.

Ever since that math competition in the third grade, he had constantly run into Hermione at various elementary school events—he went for the prize money and school awards, while Hermione did it purely because she was bored; learning was simply her hobby.

What use was a hobby? It couldn't compare to his desperate thirst for survival. Over a dozen encounters, Tom had won most of them. The only time he had stumbled was during the three-legged race at sports day, where the clumsy teacher assigned by the school had lacked coordination and dragged him down.

Hermione had originally thought that since she was going to Hogwarts, she would never have the chance to compete with Tom again, and she had felt regretful for several days. Seeing him on the train now, her eyes lit up—didn't this mean she still had a chance to defeat Tom and prove she was better than him?