First Magic Experience

Crashing through the barrier, the cacophony shifted in an instant. A deep crimson steam locomotive screeched to a halt at the platform packed with wizarding students, a gleaming sign on its side reading "Hogwarts Express."

On one side of the wall lay the chaotic mess of Muggles; on the other, the boisterous din of wizards. Tom sniffed the air, sneering inwardly: At least it smells better than the musty air at the orphanage. I'll make do; it's not like it's my first time starting this magical journey as "Tom Riddle."

The Hogwarts Express didn't depart until eleven. Tom had arrived early, and with few students on board, he couldn't be bothered to squeeze into the middle carriages. He headed straight for the very last one, out of sight and out of mind, hoping to avoid the crowds and enjoy some peace—or at least a quiet place to slack off.

In the second-to-last carriage, Tom ducked into a random compartment and tossed his trunk onto the rack, nearly collapsing it. He then pulled out Ingenious Responses to Myriad Magics and began to flip through the pages.

Andros's voice suddenly exploded in his mind, filled with astonishment: "This pathetic train is actually hidden in a Muggle station? Aren't they afraid of being seen and exposed?"

Tom let out a scoff without even lifting his eyelids: "And what else would they do? The wizarding world hasn't been wiped out because they're good at hiding, not because they're strong."

"This is the largest-scale Muggle-Repelling Charm site in history. Those idiots at the Ministry of Magic probably can't do anything else besides that charm. They come here to cast it every single day, more punctual than Muggles heading to work."

"We didn't have that useless department back in my day," Andros said, his tone a mix of nostalgia and defiance. "Though, I suppose it's convenient for keeping those troublesome Dark wizards in check so they don't ruin our reputation."

"Managing Dark wizards is just self-preservation." Tom closed the book and opened it again, his tone casual yet hitting the mark. "Muggles today aren't the fools who worshipped wizards as gods back then. If we really provoke them, we might not come out on top; we'd barely be able to save our own skins."

Andros went silent instantly. He didn't discriminate against Muggles, but the arrogance of a wizard was carved into his bones. After all, as one of the strongest of his era, how could he look up to defenseless Muggles? He never imagined that the Muggles who were once at their mercy could actually threaten wizards. Only now did he understand the Ministry's rules: to put it bluntly, they were cowards, terrified of being discovered and losing their survival.

Seeing that he had nothing more to say, Tom couldn't be bothered to engage, returning to his pretense of reading. He had no intention of studying magic today; opening his mind was just for a bit of fresh air, letting this old antique see the modern world so he'd stop droning on about "how great I was back then," which had already made his ears ache.

The train gradually grew lively. With only a few minutes left until departure, the compartment door slid open with a loud "clatter," nearly hitting the wall.

A young girl with golden curls poked her head in. Her long lashes fluttered, and her large eyes went wide. Not expecting anyone to be inside, she gave a start, but she steeled herself and stepped in anyway, clutching her hem as she asked in a small voice, "Can I sit here? All the other compartments are full."

"Go ahead, no one's stopping you." Tom's words were gentlemanly, but his actions were anything but. As he helped her with her luggage, he deliberately pushed it toward the edge of the rack. The girl let out a startled gasp, and only then did he slowly steady it, secretly amused: Teasing a little girl is more fun than reading.

Tom glanced at her trunk. It looked ordinary, but the edges were embroidered with dark gold, and a gaudy crest sat in the corner—likely her family's coat of arms. She looked every bit the pure-blood young lady, same as a Malfoy, radiating that "my family is rich" energy. She'd probably put on airs about her bloodline.

After thanking him, the girl sat opposite him, her gaze lingering on Tom's profile. This person is really good-looking, she thought. The moment the thought crossed her mind, she was startled by herself. Her baby-fat cheeks flushed crimson, and she quickly looked away, though she couldn't help but steal another glance.

The boy named Tom Riddle had never lacked in the looks department. His black, curly hair hung over his forehead, and while his eyes seemed fixed on his book, they had long since drifted out the window.

As she watched, the girl felt a pang of jealousy: Why are a boy's features more delicate than mine? He's even on par with my sister, Astoria!

Seeing that Tom wouldn't speak, the girl gathered her courage to strike up a conversation: "Hello, I'm Daphne Greengrass, a first-year student. What about you? Are you a first-year too?"

Tom closed his book and glanced at her, his tone languid: "Riddle. Tom Riddle. Same as you, a first-year."

Daphne frowned, thinking hard for a long time, but couldn't recall any pure-blood family named Riddle. She asked tentatively, "Are you half-blood? Or Muggle-born?"

Tom spread his hands, looking completely indifferent: "Who knows? I've been in an orphanage since I was a baby. Could be a Muggle, could be a Squib, it's all the same. What, Miss Greengrass, do you regret sitting with me?"

He knew the Greengrass family, of course—one of the "Sacred Twenty-Eight." They always pretended to be low-key and noble, no different from the Malfoys. They'd likely spout nonsense about blood purity, and just thinking about it was exhausting.

To his surprise, Daphne waved her hands frantically, rushing to explain: "No, don't misunderstand! I don't care about bloodlines. My mother says all pure-blood ancestors had Muggle relatives; there's nothing to be proud of. I'm just curious about the Muggle world—I've never seen a Muggle before."

Tom paused, then smiled, offering a sincere apology: "It was my mistake. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made assumptions about you."

"It's okay!" Daphne shook her head, leaning forward with bright, sparkling eyes. "My sister, Astoria, loves Muggle fashion magazines, but she only has one old book that's been out of style for over a decade. If you go to the Muggle world later, could you help me buy a few? I'll pay you!"

"Sure, but you'll have to wait until Christmas." Tom agreed offhandedly, fragments of memory flashing through his mind: Daphne's sister, Astoria, was a wallflower who eventually ended up with Malfoy and died young due to poor health. He kept these trivialities to himself and continued the conversation along the lines Daphne had set.

The entire journey was filled with Daphne's questions about the mundane details of the Muggle world—how Muggles dressed, how they ate. She listened with earnest attention, even pulling out a notepad to jot things down, muttering about telling her sister.

Watching her dedication, Tom chuckled inwardly: This girl is quite the doting sister, much better than those hypocritical pure-bloods.

The train started moving without them noticing, clattering toward the Scottish Highlands. Outside, the noise was deafening, but the two of them were deep in a heated conversation, paying it no mind.

Just as Tom was busy fooling Daphne into believing that "Muggles have to chant spells to ride bicycles," Andros's voice popped up again, making a confident wager: "I bet a Galleon that this little girl definitely likes you—no, wait, she thinks you're good-looking and is lusting after you!"

Tom glanced at Daphne, who was busy taking notes, and gave a faint "Oh." He retorted in his mind: This old antique doesn't know a thing; she's just curious about the Muggle world. Though, with my looks, it wouldn't be strange if someone were interested, but I can't let the girl hear that. Andros, you old fossil, stop thinking about such nonsense and focus on magic.