He had seen her the moment she stepped onto the platform. Tom Riddle stood perfectly still, his hands in his pockets, as the swarm of students parted around him like water around a stone. His expression was unreadable, a mask of polite indifference, but his attention was absolute, a laser-focus that missed nothing: the way she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, the slight lift of her chin as a first-year stumbled too close.

It wasn’t a question. A prefect barked an order, directing students toward the waiting horseless carriages. The crowd began to shift and flow in that direction. Olive bent to pick up her case.