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Gingerly, he climbed into only the second boat he'd ever sat in, certain this would somehow go sideways despite all the other first years following instructions around him, evidently unsurprised at being separated from the rest of the students.
A fourth student climbed into the boat, so delicately it barely caused a ripple, and without any further input from any of them the boat started to move, following the barely visible students in the other boats along an invisible course, all presumably headed towards somewhere with food and warmth after this damnably long day.
“How do you do,” came the voice of one of the wizards in his boat, his hand held delicately out as though he were some sort of a prince, “the name’s Malfoy. And you are?”
He scowled, taking a moment to decide what to do. He should probably try to imitate the boy’s accent if nothing else, though he knew from experience that it wouldn't do much good in the long run. The rough spin of his robes would be obvious the moment they stepped into the light, even if they weren't entirely visible at the moment.
Before he could decide, the boat started to sway precariously, and then the head of a giant monster of some sort breached the surface of the lake with a giant splash. The boys in his boat, Malfoy and the others, seemed frozen in shock, but in the boat closest to them he saw one of the boys move to draw his wand.
“Don't you dare, Potter,” hissed another student, barely audible over the splashing waves, this one seated next to the one who had stupidly drawn his wand, who was now standing right at the tip of his boat. “You'll get yourself killed, sit down,” the boy hissed, tugging at the back of Potter’s robes in what seemed like a rather sensible train of logic, if only for the fact that not a single adult was in sight.
“Not a chance, Black,” Potter said, the grin evident in his voice. “But let go. If you aren't gonna help, the least you could do is not… not hinder my movements. This duel’s gonna be legendary, just you wait, and I need to be free to move.”
Well, staging some sort of a flashy duel seemed like a certain way for the Potter boy to get himself killed, and probably the rest of the poor sods in his boat right alongside him. At least he was in a different one. Potter'd had the right idea about drawing his wand though, and about the freedom of movement he'd need should it come to an actual fight.
There was another immense splash, and as the boats settled enough that he could look around again, he suspected a few of the boats closer to the front of the pack were gone now, eaten or overturned or something else he didn't get the chance to wonder at before the monster and he seemed to lock eyes, swimming straight to him.
He stood, knowing only that if this was when he was to die, he wanted to die on his feet.
Which was when his vision was suddenly obscured by something enormous falling over his head.
Well, well, well. What an interesting mind you have, a voice said in his head, to which, all he could think was a sort of silent screech of frustration and anger and also not a little bit of indignation that he'd die without even getting a chance to face the thing head on, with just a smidge of confusion at the end to top it off.
Oh, none of that, my dear, the strange voice continued. We can continue this conversation later, I understand. For now, I think you just might find what you need if you reach inside.
He didn't get the chance to wonder what the voice meant before he felt the sharp thud of something metal hitting the top of his head. He ripped away whatever piece of old leather had fallen over his head, getting a solid grip on a leather-wrapped handle of some sort, which he swung just in time for whatever was in his hand to reach the neck of the monster, just as it was about to eat him.
Time seemed to freeze then, and though he heard the other students still screaming around him, felt the water splashing on his skin, and smelled the all too familiar tinge of rust in his nose, what he saw next came only in flashes:
The head of an enormous snake falling into his boat with a heavy thud, bloody enough that his boots were soon soaked all the way through, that he would have never guessed that Malfoy's hair wasn't red if he didn't already know.
A sword growing heavy in his hand, also dropping blood, and though his arm trembled at the weight of it, he was strangely reluctant to let it go, he refused to, not for anything.
A flurry of professors finally arriving, bundling them off into an enormous stone castle one by one on what he thought might be flying broomsticks.
And then that dreaded voice, back in his ear once again.
You would have made a wonderful Slytherin, you know, the voice said, something almost wistful to its tone. You are cunning and with such ambition, not to mention the family gift… it trailed off, not seeming to notice his sudden desperate curiosity to know what family he could possibly have, and what their gifts may be. But that is not to be, Tom Riddle. Not after you drew the Sword of Gryffindor, not after you used it to slay Slytherin’s Monster. No, the only choice left for you now is—
“GRYFFINDOR!” the voice finished with a yell, the sound echoing through a large room, full now of all the rest of the children from the train he realized.
Tom couldn't focus on them though, nor on the leather hat that was somehow seated once more upon his head, nor on the sticky feel of the blood that had long since dried on his skin.
No, all he could see was the pained grimace of Albus Dumbledore, Gryffindor’s own Head of House, as he led the lukewarm applause to welcome Tom to their table, looking like he wished he was witnessing anything else.