Guardian Deity

Just as Professor McGonagall finished her soothing words, a discordant voice erupted from the crowd.

A blond boy's eyes lit up as he shouted arrogantly, "Professor, you said the school is our home? Then can't we eat before the Sorting? I'm starving to death!"

Professor McGonagall's expression darkened instantly, and she said coldly, "Do you truly think the school is your home? How could the rules be changed for you alone? Once the Sorting is over, I will deduct five points from your house!"

The boy burst into tears on the spot, wailing that the professor was a liar. Tom watched with great interest, laughing to himself: What a brainless idiot. He doesn't even know whose territory this is.

The Sorting ceremony officially began. Professor McGonagall picked up a list and read the first name: "Hannah Abbott!"

A rosy-cheeked little girl with two golden braids stepped timidly out of the line and put on the Sorting Hat. After a pause of a few seconds, the Sorting Hat announced loudly, "Hufflepuff!"

Applause immediately broke out from the second long table on the right, and people waved enthusiastically for her to join them; even the Fat Friar ghost tipped his hat in a friendly greeting.

Tom smiled along with them, feeling a sense of relief: Great, the "Iron Hat King" is still here. The world hasn't gone off track, and my advantage as a prophet remains intact.

"Do you know her?" Daphne asked in a low voice, frowning as she watched his gentle smile, her eyes full of confusion. "She looks like a country bumpkin. Why are you smiling at her?"

Tom paused, then shrugged helplessly. "I just think she's quite cute. You're overthinking it." He couldn't exactly say that this girl was the future Head of Hufflepuff, could he?

In truth, Tom was distracted himself; he was more curious than anyone about which house he would be sorted into.

Slytherin was absolutely out of the question; as a Muggle-born, he wouldn't fit in even if he went. Gryffindor was also a no-go—being too close to Harry meant being right under Albus Dumbledore's nose, and with his name being "Tom Riddle," he would certainly be under heavy surveillance.

He only wanted to be a quiet, top-tier student; he couldn't afford to provoke that bunch of troublemakers in Gryffindor.

After much thought, Ravenclaw seemed best, followed by Hufflepuff—who could refuse the temptation of having a kitchen right outside and food available twenty-four hours a day?

Just as he was pondering this, Professor McGonagall read out Daphne's name: "Daphne Greengrass!"

Daphne's face turned pale with nerves as she trotted up to Professor McGonagall and put on the Sorting Hat.

After about a minute, the Sorting Hat announced loudly, "Slytherin!"

The Slytherin table erupted in enthusiastic applause, far warmer than the reception for the previous new students—after all, she was from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and those pure-blood students had to show some respect.

As the next few students were sorted, the entire Great Hall fell silent the moment Harry Potter's name was called, everyone holding their breath.

The moment the Sorting Hat announced "Gryffindor," the cheers from the Gryffindor table echoed through the hall.

The twins nearly jumped onto the table, while the Slytherin table remained deathly silent; some stared at Harry with complex expressions, while others whispered among themselves.

In this eerie atmosphere, Professor McGonagall read the next name with a grave expression: "Tom Riddle!"

The students below showed little reaction, save for Hermione and Daphne, whose eyes brightened; everyone else assumed it was just an ordinary name.

But at the teachers' table, most of the professors' faces changed; to them, this name was no less than a thunderclap.

In the wizarding world, secrets could never be kept; whatever had happened would sooner or later leave traces behind.

Even Horcruxes, hidden deeper than a rat's hole, hadn't Albus Dumbledore dug them up one by one by following the clues?

Not to mention the name "Tom Riddle"—sixty years ago at Hogwarts, it had been a presence so bright it could blind the eyes.

Yet, thirty years ago, it had become a taboo that brought misfortune to anyone who uttered it.

Back then, Albus Dumbledore was still the Transfiguration professor, and Flitwick was already teaching Charms.

Sprout and McGonagall hadn't yet joined the Hogwarts faculty, but they were close to the Order of the Phoenix, so Albus Dumbledore naturally wouldn't have hidden those deadly past events from them.

As for Snape, he didn't need to be mentioned; he had once been Voldemort's most capable lackey, and now he hated Voldemort to the core.

He had long since investigated the details of Tom Riddle more thoroughly than his own potion recipes.

The most exaggerated reaction came from Hagrid; the giant was shaking like a leaf, his face as pale as if he had just run into a Dementor in the Forbidden Forest, muttering to himself.

Who could blame him? He had been a classmate of Tom Riddle's back in the day and had foolishly thought the man was a good person. How could he not panic now upon hearing that name?

It wasn't just them; Quirrell couldn't sit still either.

Before this, he had been shrinking his neck, hiding from Snape's gaze like a quail, terrified of being caught in a mistake.

But the moment Professor McGonagall read the five words "Tom Riddle," he jerked his head up, his eyes wide as saucers, staring fixedly at Tom as he walked toward the Sorting Hat.

That look was like someone seeing a lifeline, yet also like someone seeing a death warrant.

Snape had no mind to care about Quirrell's abnormality right now; the hatred in his eyes was practically overflowing.

If one were to say he was targeting Tom, that wasn't entirely true—to be precise, he hated the other Tom Riddle, the bastard who had become Voldemort and ruined everything he had.

"Severus," Albus Dumbledore's lips moved slightly, his voice so soft that only Snape could hear.

"There are many people in the world with the same name. A name is just a label to distinguish people. Don't let your imagination run wild because of others."

Snape didn't respond, merely letting out a cold sneer through his nose.

Don't think he was stupid; he knew exactly what Albus Dumbledore had been doing during the summer break when he went to pick up the new students.

He had originally thought the old fox was going to fetch Harry Potter, the savior, but what happened? Harry had gone off with that big oaf Hagrid.

In the entire wizarding world, besides Harry Potter, the only name that could make Albus Dumbledore go out in person was "Tom Riddle."

The students below weren't fools either; seeing the strange expressions on the professors' faces, the once noisy hall gradually quieted down.

By the time Tom reached the stool, one could have heard a pin drop.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, her tone tinged with complexity. "Riddle, just put on the hat."

She truly hadn't expected that in her lifetime, she would have the chance to teach a "Tom Riddle" again.

Tom nodded, sat down on the stool, and pulled the Sorting Hat over his head.

He dared to swear on Merlin's socks that the moment the hat touched his hair, it shrieked as if it had been grabbed by the throat: "Slytherin! A natural-born Slytherin!"