The new starters were ushered into a holding area when they arrived at Hogwarts. The spartan room had settles arranged in rows, with a raised platform and lectern at the front. It overlooked a quadrangle, had two small paintings and a hanging tapestry, but felt cold and impersonal. The stone walls leaned oppressively and coughing produced punchy echoes. Another prefect, who didn't introduce himself, sat at the front pretending to read a book. Tom grew up in an institution and instantly recognised what he was doing. It was the prefect's first brush with power and despite being thrilled, he was trying his hardest to appear bored. The title of his book: Transfiguration and Disfiguration: Form and Function Dichotomies, spread unease around the room; it made no sense and underlined their woeful lack of experience. Tom knew this was the intended effect; the book was propped up so everyone could read the title.

The prefect stood and began writing on the board behind him with a stub of chalk. He wrote the following:

1. Headmaster

2. Senior professor

3. Heads of houses

4. Senior form tutors

5. Professors

6. Teaching support staff

7. Support staff

8. Head boy/girl

9. House captains

10. School prefects

11. House prefects

12. Monitors

13. Upper sixth

14. Lower sixth

15. Fifth form

16. Fourth form

17. Third form

18. Second form

19. First form

When finished, he explained that this was the school's hierarchy; the rank order of precedence. He stabbed the words First form with his chalk.

'That's you, down there at the bottom. If anyone above you, which is me and everyone not in this room, says jump. You ask: how high?'

He'd obviously rehearsed the speech and was disgustingly pleased with himself. Most were intimidated by the sheer number of people they now answered to. The prefect sat down, ignoring someone who had their hand up and pretended to read his book again. Fifteen minutes passed.

A character in the painting by the door yawned, shook the pins and needles from his feet and went in search of a more interesting view. After the excitement of Hogsmeade and the dressing down from their lordly prefect, they'd reached an emotional plateau.

Before disappointment set in, the door opened and a girl wearing a prefect's tie announced. 'They're ready for you.' The room emptied and everyone filed along the corridor to the Great Hall. They would now be observed, examined and evaluated, by the rest of the school.

As the new starters entered, everyone turned to stare; while stars in the enchanted ceiling, gradually revolved above their heads. The headmaster — Professor Armando Dippet — was a tall man with a positive demeanour, but forlorn features. He had a habit of rubbing one palm over his balled fist, especially if he was seeking agreement and his grey hair was swept back in a man-plait. Despite a tendency for kindness, his face became terrifying when he widened his eyes and his speaking voice was deep: echoing from the far corners with ease.

'We've only just begun to... Ahem... Enchant the ceiling above you. You will be able to see the stars of course, but this is nothing to what we have planned. A work in progress, you might say...' He tailed off and was greeted by polite, rather than enthusiastic applause.

Four long tables, each decked in house colours, were laid with silver cutlery and gilded crockery. They were groaning with sandwiches; venison pies; sausages on sticks; cheese cubes with pineapple chunks; slices of pork and beef; apple and horseradish sauces; vegetable flans and quiches; crispy loaves; soft rolls and pats of creamy butter. Handmade crisps; crackers; cheeses and pickles; jelly; trifle; ice cream — which didn't melt — chocolate fingers and buttons. Layer cakes; fruit tarts; strawberry sponges; treacle lattices; thick cream; custard and jugs of pumpkin juice: fizzy or still. The unsorted first formers were shown to their place at the front of the hall, several yards forward of the other pupils.

After they were seated, the feast could begin; instantly, the hall erupted in excited chatter between mouthfuls. There was a tendency with students as they got older, to be above all the face stuffing, but there really was no better way start a school year. After forty-five minutes the pace slowed, with most having eaten far more than necessary. Dippet stood up, raised his wand and with a flick of the wrist, the feast was gone. Dirty plates, cutlery, cups, spillages: everything they no longer wanted to see.

Dippet introduced key staff members to the new pupils, via a long-winded and at times, incomprehensible speech. Pupils' attention frequently wandered to the stars crawling across the ceiling above.

'Now we must move on to sorting the new intake, as tradition dictates. Professor McAlistair, The Sorting Hat, if you please?'

McAlistair was already standing beside Dippet, holding The Sorting Hat. Awkwardness followed as Dippet pretended to look surprised, then he placed the hat on an ancient stool: said to predate Hogwarts. Dippet produced a scroll from the folds of his robes. Far and away the grandest robes in the room, displaying colour flashes from each of the four houses.

The Sorting Hat yawned, cleared its throat and shared a new song with the school:

Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw,

Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Though we battle, head-to-head,

With knowledge gained, we strive to spread,

Never friends, let it be said,

Along our path, alone we tread.

Slytherin, Gryffindor,

Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

The smattering of applause was interrupted.

'Robert Peyton-Reed!' Dippet boomed.

'Yes, up here lad, on the stool. That's the ticket. On your head now, it's not bitten anyone in years.'

As the hat touched Peyton-Reed's head, it blasted out Hufflepuff! Robert replaced the hat and joined his cheering house, who found him a place to sit.

'Marjory Phillips! That's it, put it on. It's not a test of ingenuity, Marjory.'

This time the hat was more considered, weighing matters up before announcing: 'Gryffindor. Almost certainly Gryffindor.' A delighted Marjory joined her new house.

So it went on for twenty more minutes, before the headmaster shouted.

'Gary Box!'

Gary shouted back.

'On my way, headmaster!'

There was self-conscious sniggering from the remaining new starters, but stony silence from the existing students; Dippet did not appreciate cheeky banter from juniors. Although Hogwarts may not technically belong to Dippet, it always felt like his school. Most put Gary's behaviour down to first-night nerves. The headmaster's eyes blazed like tiny suns, so Gary smiled as he held The Sorting Hat above his head. Once lowered it pretended to think, before announcing deadpan.

'The overflowing talents of this young man. Where do I begin? Ooh I know...' It perfectly mimicked Gary, '...Let's chuck him in Slytherin.'

Dippet watched Gary join an amused Slytherin house, who found his performance funny now that he was one of them. The headmaster felt torn. He might decide to let the incident slide, but future disrespect from a junior pupil, could not be treated so lightly.

The group of unsorted students grew smaller, while the intensity of stares from sorted and existing students increased. Including Tom noticed, those that were sitting alongside him minutes earlier.

'Tom Riddle!'

Tom rose to his feet. Surprisingly tall for his age, with thick hair that flopped as he walked and bottle-green eyes. A nearby Gryffindor girl, several years older, nudged feet with her best friend and raised her eyebrows a fraction; Tom had presence and any house would be happy to have him. Students leaned in closer when he sat on the stool and lowered the hat.

The Sorting Hat ummed-and-ahhed before voicing its thoughts. 'He's like royalty. A prince in exile. Overflowing with talent, few can aspire to. Yes, I'm sure of that. Hard worker, self-improver, thoughtful and wise. To hamper such ambition, well...? Is surely a sin. Better be... Slytherin!' Staff exchanged glances with one another. The Sorting Hat — unlike themselves — appeared to know who Tom Riddle was.

Relieved, Tom joined the Slytherin table and was met by Gary Box, who gave up his seat for him. Gary addressed his housemates.

'His Highness, Tom Riddle. Just back from exile!' Slytherin cheers greeted Gary's announcement and their amusement spread across the hall.

The headmaster remained uneasy. The Sorting Hat's magic was not fully understood and it was known to behave unusually, but claiming students were royalty? Unheard of!

* * * * *

After sorting, academic notices were presented by various staff members, especially to those sitting O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. It reminded new starters what ultimately awaited them — difficult exams — though many years away, everyone assured them that time would fly by. Dippet announced that supper was officially over and there was an almighty scraping of benches as everyone stood up. Prefects instructed the first formers to sit back down; they would be led to their houses, once the others had cleared the passages.

Gary leaned in to Tom.

'Slytherin's down below. Not much of a view I'm told, but the facilities are good. Head of house is Professor Slughorn, taken over this year. Ol' Sluggy. Not too bad, fights his corner for Slytherin, but likes to collect favourites.'

Tom was wary when he heard this. Becoming a favourite would bring privileges, but he was probably Parnaby's least favourite at Wool's. Tom had no past form for being someone's favourite.

Slughorn was a professor of potions, head of house and collected favourites as others did stamps or train numbers. Opposing every part of his orphanage upbringing, Tom would try to become a favourite. He knew from experience with Parnaby, that you couldn't look like you wanted something: that always inflated the price. It was essential to act like you could take it or leave it.

Gary continued.

'My parents work for the Ministry o' Magic, but they chose to bring us up in a muggle neighbourhood. Best of both worlds, see? Slughorn, he can be very muggle-like, with his elite groups.'

Each house was led away in turn, some mouthing good luck to their new acquaintances from the train, destined to be shaped by other houses. Slytherin was left till last. A pair of older boys and a girl, probably taking their N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year, inspected the new intake. 'Everybody happy?' Asked one of the boys grinning.

'Yeah, not so bad. Yourself?' Gary skirted just the right side of cheeky.

'Ooh, you've got a live one.' The girl flashed her eyes.

'I don't know if you're aware, but you are, without doubt, the most beautiful woman I've seen all day.' Gary said.

Against all expectations, the girl blushed and said nothing. Stumped into silence.

'I promise I'll say no more.' Gary mimed zipping his mouth.

The fun was over, so the group of three decided to leave, but not before one said. 'Don't let James Darling give you a hard time.'

Several minutes passed before the prefect who pretended to read the book earlier, came striding in.

'Follow me and keep up. You don't want to get lost in Hogwarts' dungeons, trust me.'

They crossed the foyer to the left and headed down the changing staircases; left again, then down a further flight of stairs, before more corridors. How were you supposed to remember this labyrinth? There were no lost pupils littering the corridors, so presumably you understood the layout eventually. Along the stone passages were candles in wrought iron sconces, with decorative brass snakes below and dormitories accessible on either side. They descended another flight of stairs, towards the house common room and approached an area of bare stone between two hefty buttresses. It contained the portrait of a woman looking to their left; her claret dress was torn and dotted with scorch marks. Jim Darling, with insufferable smugness, said, 'from ambition springs forth excellence.' The woman rolled her eyes without bothering to look at them, then blew a strand of hair from her face. The stone transformed into billowing fabric and drew back on either side.

Slytherin common room had a cavernous vaulted ceiling, of the kind found in mausoleums and decorative hangings and tapestries, lent the room's stone walls some colour. There were two suits of armour flanking the fireplace: one standing head bowed with a resting sword between its feet, the other animated in attack, sword high and preparing to strike. Varnished walnut panelling with filigree carving, covered the back wall and a candle chandelier was suspended above. The room was imposing and silenced the group, while nearby, Jim Darling puffed with pride. The stone hearth was topped by a broad mantel, containing house cups, shields and awards. Cherished photos of Slytherin academic and sporting stars, were slotted between the cups. In the grate a log fire crackled, baking everyone within range and standing before it with thumbs tucked behind his lapels, was Professor Horace Slughorn: Head of Slytherin House.

Jim Darling stood to the right of Slughorn, who began his new-starter speech. He explained that he was a new head of house, but no stranger to Slytherin; it was his own house while at Hogwarts, many moons ago. Slughorn covered the basics of their life as part of the Slytherin family. The form system began with the first, then the second (both junior). Followed by third, fourth and fifth (middle), then finally upper and lower sixth (senior). Baffling to those listening, Slughorn dispensed information, as if everyone were taking notes they could refer to later. He rambled and refused to follow scripts or prompts, often tapping the side of his head and saying, it's all up here! Slughorn moved on to Jim Darling, basking nearby in his aura.

'Then of course there's my right-hand man, quite literally: Jim Darling. Son of Theodorus Darling, our esteemed Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. If you know anything about the Wizengamot? Which judging by your puzzled expressions, you don't... No matter. I'd be lost without my Jim, eh?'

Jim Darling beamed with such unbridled delight, it was very nearly touching. He was also terrified that at any moment, the praise might stop.

Slughorn continued.

'Nancy Donnellan, who's just joined us, is our other Slytherin House Captain; if you'd be good enough Nancy to take the girls up to their dormitories? This evening's excitement has finally got the better of them.'

He noted and namechecked several departing girls from significant families. Slughorn's gaze returned to the group of first form boys.

'Ah Mr Box, I hope you're not going to prove too much trouble. I shan't hesitate to bend your father's ear, if you are!'

'Not part of the plan, Professor Slughorn.'

Slughorn's gaze settled on Tom. A flicker of emotion passed over his face: was it irritation, disappointment, disinterest? He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came, so he moved along, ignoring Tom.

'Ignatius Horne, I'm a long time admirer of your grandmother's work and we continue to be grateful for her generous legacy.'

They were finally shown to their beds. Gary and Tom were billeted together, on opposite sides of the dorm, but Gary swapped with Tom's neighbour before unpacking. After lights out, Tom stared up at the darkness; some would be feeling homesick now, with the unfamiliar smells and surroundings, but not him. Wool's was already a distant memory.

Fifteen minutes later and almost sleep, Tom heard a stage whisper.

'Tom! Pssst.' It was Gary.

'I'm bloody freezing, what say you we nip back to the common room and warm our tootsies by the roaring fire?' Saying no to Gary, was already proving difficult.

They tiptoed along the corridor. Then Gary repeated the password and both of them sneaked into the common room; leaping across the flagstones near the entrance. Neither were wearing slippers and the floor was like pond ice. The fire, despite being orange embers, still threw out tremendous heat. Gary cackled, 'Ooh, that's hit the spot.' The room flooded with light and Jim Darling strode towards them, hands lost in the folds of his robes.

'Out of bed on our first night? Well... That's an unpromising start.' He whistled at their astounding stupidity.

Both boys returned his gaze, though Jim would have preferred more anxious staring at the floor.

'Do you know who I am?' Jim contorted his face.

'Jim...Darling?' Gary's mouth shrugged: making Jim's surname sound like a term of endearment. It was a joke that had accompanied him everywhere for the last six years and he certainly wasn't going to tolerate it from a lowly first former.

Tom flinched, desperate to laugh out loud.

'James Darling. We don't know each other, so it'll always be Mister Darling to you, Box.'

'Yes, Mister Darling.'

'You're on house report, both of you. Inspections at eight-thirty after breakfast and seven-forty-five each evening: on the dot. I don't tolerate lateness and you're on my list now. Slip up and I'll be all over you.' Jim was an inch from Gary's ear, circling behind him.

'Get out of my sight.'

They leapt over the freezing slabs, Gary suppressing his laughter. 'Me ship's come in, Tom! Jim Darling wants to be all over me.'

* * * * *

Tom and Gary stood beside their beds at eight-thirty the next morning. Most found it disorientating when they awoke in their dormitory, with a only few windows near the ceiling. Not Tom: Hogwarts was a huge improvement on his usual sleeping arrangements. They hurried through breakfast, where second formers warned them not to be late, or fail the inspection. Do the punishment right, one advised, or Jimbo will be on your case till he leaves.

Since he and Gary were alone in the dormitory, Tom took the opportunity to practice a spell he'd used at Wool's. With no access to tutors, books or learning, the skills he'd developed came from intuition and dreams. The dreams were variations on a standard theme. Powerful storms, hill-splitting thunder accompanied by incantations; books with decorative text and sequences of unrelated visions. Someone placing an enormous hand on his head and whispering voices from unseen locations. They demonstrated ideas and words, which later produced predictable effects; being more a reminder of what he already knew, than a form of teaching.