In the wizarding world, there are no true secrets. Anything that once existed leaves traces behind.
Even something as hidden as a Horcrux can be pulled apart thread by thread, until the truth is exposed and Dumbledore digs them up one after another.
The name Tom Riddle had once shone like a star at Hogwarts sixty years ago. Then, thirty years ago, it became a taboo that people spoke of with fear.
Back then, Dumbledore had been the Transfiguration professor. Flitwick had been the Charms professor. Sprout and McGonagall were not yet teaching at Hogwarts, but given their close ties to the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore, he would have told them the basic facts all the same.
As for Snape, he had once been the Dark Lord's most effective follower. Now he was also the one who hated him most. He had investigated everything until it was painfully clear.
Hagrid was shaking the worst. His face had gone deathly pale.
Hagrid had been a student with Tom Riddle. And in his innocent way, he had once believed Riddle was a good person.
There was another man who was not calm either.
Quirrell.
The moment Professor McGonagall read out that name, Quirrell, who had been hunched over and doing his best to avoid Snape's scrutiny, suddenly lifted his head. His eyes locked onto Tom with a frightening intensity, staring at the boy walking toward the Sorting Hat.
And Snape, at that moment, had no attention left to spare for Quirrell's odd behavior. Hatred burned in his eyes.
It was not aimed at Tom.
No, it was aimed at Tom, but at a different Tom.
"Severus."
Dumbledore's lips moved. No one heard the quiet call except Snape.
"There are many people in the world with the same name. A name is only a label to help us distinguish individuals. Do not let someone else's shadow plant unnecessary thoughts in your mind."
Tch.
Snape did not answer. He only let out a cold laugh.
Dumbledore had gone to escort a new student during the summer. Snape had assumed the Headmaster was going for Harry Potter. Instead, Dumbledore had gone for Hagrid, that oversized fool.
And besides Harry Potter, the only thing that could possibly pull the old man out of his office was Tom Riddle.
Some of the sharper students noticed the shift among the professors. The Great Hall gradually quieted.
By the time Tom reached the tall stool at the front, every last bit of chatter was gone.
"Riddle, simply put on the hat," McGonagall said, lips pressed tight.
She had not expected she would ever have the chance to teach a Tom Riddle.
Tom nodded. He sat on the stool and lifted the hat toward his head.
He could swear on Merlin's socks that the hat had barely brushed his hair before it shrieked as if someone had grabbed it by the throat:
"SLYTHERIN! Born for Slytherin!"
McGonagall froze.
Snape's expression turned heavy.
Dumbledore fell silent.
Tom…
Tom's brain shut down.
He stared out at the sea of students craning their necks to look at him, his mind blank for a full second.
Slytherin?
How could it be Slytherin?
He was not pure-blood. He was not half-blood. He had no grand ambition. On what possible grounds did that hat think he belonged in Slytherin?
Was this the fate of anyone named Tom Riddle?
Inside the Learning Space, Andros, silently observing everything, was laughing so hard he nearly collapsed. He knew Tom's plans. Tom had contingencies for everything, even an emergency plan for Gryffindor.
Except Slytherin.
Just as McGonagall opened her mouth to tell Tom to join his table, the boy did something insane under the weight of dozens of eyes.
He grabbed the hat again and slammed it back onto his head.
"We need to talk," Tom said in his mind.
"Hm?" came the tiny voice near his ear. "Young wizard, the Sorting is finished. What is there to talk about?"
"You did not touch my head just now," Tom said smoothly. "So the Sorting you shouted must have been for Potter, right? He is the savior who defeated You-Know-Who, and the last heir of the Potter family. Proper bloodline. He clearly fits Slytherin perfectly."
At this point, Tom did not care anymore. If it got him out of Slytherin, he would sell Harry Potter without blinking.
Whether Dumbledore would later invite him in for a talk was a problem for Future Tom.
"Absolutely not," the Sorting Hat snapped.
Its voice carried real irritation now.
"Riddle, do not question the professionalism of a hat. I have never been wrong. I may be old, but my reaction time is not that slow. Slytherin is your result."
"But that makes no sense," Tom insisted. "How am I supposed to be in Slytherin?"
Tom's confusion poured into the hat like warm water. The hat's tone turned cheerful again, almost delighted.
"A desire to become the strongest. A stubborn will that refuses to stop until the goal is achieved. And that ancient magic in you, purer than Salazar and Godric themselves."
"If Salazar were alive, he would kneel and beg you to become his student."
Tom clenched his teeth.
Born for Slytherin, sure. Born for the universe, while we are at it.
He did not remember being this evil. That hat was slandering him.
"Doesn't the Sorting consider the student's preference?" Tom pressed. "I strongly request Ravenclaw."
"I reject your request," the hat said brightly. "All right, stop wasting my time. There are still other children waiting. And if you truly cannot bear to part with me, you can visit Dumbledore's office later. I will chat with you for a few Galleons."
"Fine. Then Hufflepuff," Tom tried again, refusing to give up. "Look, I'm Muggle-born. I'm kind by nature. My favorite thing is making friends. I'm basically a natural Hufflepuff."
The hat went silent.
A long silence.
So long that Tom almost dared to hope.
Then the hat spoke again. This time its voice was gentler, with the tone of someone giving heartfelt advice.
"Child… a person can have nothing, but they must have self-awareness. Promise me you will face what kind of person you really are, all right?"
Tom cursed in his head.
Stupid hat. One day I will sew that filthy mouth shut.
The moment the thought appeared, the hat caught it like a fish snapping at bait. Furious now, it shouted at full volume:
"SLYTHERIN! SLYTHERIN! TOM RIDDLE BELONGS IN SLYTHERIN!"
Tom was still about to argue when McGonagall reached in and pulled the hat off his head.
"Mr. Riddle," she said firmly, "the Sorting is over. If you have concerns, you may raise them later."
Tom forced a smile that looked more painful than polite. He dipped his head slightly to McGonagall, then walked toward the Slytherin table.
At first, there was no applause.
Everyone was still stunned by the sight of him putting the hat back on like he was demanding a second opinion from fate itself.
Maybe it had been too fast, some students thought. Maybe he just wanted more participation.
Then Daphne recovered first. She broke into a bright, sweet smile and clapped enthusiastically.
Only then did a thin scatter of applause ripple along the Slytherin table, people following her lead.
Tom sat down beside Daphne.
"I never thought you'd end up in Slytherin," Daphne whispered, excitement vibrating in her voice. "This is wonderful. We can attend lessons together."
"Yeah," Tom replied weakly. "I never thought so either."
After him, the final few students were Sorted. Blaise Zabini was the last one placed into Slytherin.
Only then did Tom realize something.
That was the same boy from earlier. The one who had believed McGonagall's line about Hogwarts being their home and immediately acted like it was his personal dining room.
Tom stared at him, expression flat.
So this was his new House.
Perfect.