Andros's sudden appearance gave Tom quite a fright. He frowned and snapped irritably, "Andros, do you even have a Galleon to your name?"
"She's only eleven. What does she even know about liking someone?"
Tom wasn't talking about himself, of course. The idea of falling in love with an eleven-year-old girl was absurd.
But… raising one for a few years didn't sound so bad.
"What's the big deal?" Andros said nonchalantly. "In our day, getting married and having kids at thirteen or fourteen wasn't uncommon. Even younger in some cases."
"And what about you, Mr. Andros?" Tom shot back with a smirk.
That hit a sore spot. Instant silence.
Andros, back in his day, was a battle maniac and a fanatic for magic. Women only slowed down his progress in spellcraft. Forget thirteen or fourteen—he died a single man, through and through.
It was a shame, really. With all that magical talent, if he'd passed it down, he might have founded a powerful lineage.
To be fair, the wizarding world's obsession with bloodlines did make some sense. A strong wizard left behind traces of their power, not to mention a wealth of magical knowledge. Purebloods tended to preserve that kind of legacy better than half-bloods.
Just look at the Gaunt family—or any of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Their ancestors had all been formidable in their time.
…
Seeing that Andros had been thoroughly KO'd and even shut down the study space himself, Tom chuckled to himself and turned his attention back to Daphne's endless stream of questions.
During their chat, Tom managed to slip in a few probing ones of his own.
A naïve little girl was no match for a master manipulator. In no time, she'd unknowingly spilled all the inner workings of the Greengrass family.
For example: her mother was the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. So was her grandmother. And her great-grandmother before that…
Apparently, it was a family tradition.
Also, the Greengrass family had another unique custom—men married into the family, and for the last three hundred years, they'd only given birth to daughters.
When Daphne casually mentioned that her pocket money was only two hundred Galleons per term, Tom was very tempted.
So what if he had to marry into the family?
Hogwarts had three terms per year. That was six hundred Galleons annually—nearly what Dumbledore offered him for seven years' worth.
A rich girl. A soft, adorable, spoiled little rich girl. What's not to like?
Unconsciously, Tom began treating Daphne much more gently, and her smile never left her face after that.
Around half past twelve, the compartment door slid open again. A beaming woman poked her head in. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"
"Yes, please!" Daphne jumped from her seat with the excitement of a curious kitten and rushed over to the trolley to make her selections.
Well, "selections" was putting it lightly. She practically bought everything—though in varying amounts. She even cleared out nearly all the Chocolate Frogs.
The total came to two Galleons and thirteen Sickles—roughly the Weasley family's entire pocket money for a year.
Suddenly, Tom understood why Daphne thought two hundred Galleons was too little. At her spending pace, she'd burn through it in a month.
While Daphne was paying, Tom quietly observed the trolley witch.
Rumor had it she'd been hired by the Ministry when the Hogwarts Express was first launched in 1830. That made her at least 180 years old.
Quite the age, even by wizard standards.
Tom didn't stop at observing her himself—he even dragged Andros out of his sulking. But no matter how closely they watched, neither of them saw anything suspicious about the witch.
In the end, Tom chalked it up to a naturally long life and let it go.
Daphne generously spread all the snacks out on the table and invited Tom to share.
Tom accepted her kindness with perfect composure. If he couldn't even manage that, he could kiss his sugar-mama dreams goodbye.
The two of them chatted as they ate, and the topic eventually turned to the Sorting Ceremony.
"Everyone in my family's been in Slytherin," Daphne said shyly. "So unless something unexpected happens, I'll probably be sorted there too. But the other houses sound nice as well. Mum won't be mad… as long as I don't end up in Gryffindor."
"What's with the Gryffindor hate?" Tom asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Mum says Gryffindor is the root of all trouble."
Daphne wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Wherever there's a Gryffindor, there's chaos. You never know what kind of mess they'll stir up next."
Tom considered that and couldn't help but agree—Lady Greengrass had nailed it.
"Um… Riddle, do you want to be in Gryffindor?" Daphne asked hesitantly.
She thought Tom had gone quiet because she'd offended him and instantly regretted her bluntness.
"No," Tom smiled. "I hope to be in Ravenclaw. Or maybe Hufflepuff. Somewhere quiet, where I can focus on studying."
"You love studying so much, you'll definitely make it into Ravenclaw," Daphne said with certainty.
Just then, a piercing shriek rang out from the corridor outside. Tom and Daphne didn't pay much attention—just figured someone had dropped a frog or two. They were finishing up and planning a little nap when someone knocked on the door.
Then, without waiting for a reply, the door slid open.
"Have you seen a toad—Riddle?! What are you doing here?!"
The girl in the doorway had a head of thick brown hair and an adorably youthful face, marred only by her oversized front teeth.
She stopped mid-sentence when she spotted Tom, let out a horrified squeal, and jumped back like she'd seen a ghost. The chubby boy behind her looked like he was about to cry from the fright.
Daphne was already frowning at the rude intrusion, and now that the girl seemed to know Tom, her expression darkened even more.
Tom, meanwhile, remained perfectly calm as he looked up. "Miss Granger. If you can be on the Hogwarts Express, why wouldn't I be?"
"N-no, I didn't mean you shouldn't be," Hermione Granger stammered, flustered. "I just meant… this is wonderful!"
Daphne's face went completely dark. She suddenly had a terrible feeling—like her favorite toy was about to be snatched away.