The Patronus

Professor McGonagall had barely finished reassuring them when a discordant voice rang out from the crowd.

A blond boy's eyes lit up, and he shouted arrogantly, "Professor, you said the school was our home, right? So why can't we eat first and get sorted afterward? I'm starving!"

Professor McGonagall's expression darkened at once. "Do you think the school really is your home? The rules won't be changed for your sake. Once the Sorting is over, I'll take five points from your house!"

The boy burst into tears on the spot, shouting that the professor was a liar. Tom watched, thoroughly entertained, and snickered to himself. What a brainless idiot. He should know whose turf this is.

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

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

Applause immediately broke out at the second table on the right. People waved enthusiastically, beckoning her over, and even the ghost Fat Friar happily doffed his hat in greeting.

Tom smiled along with them, relieved. Thank goodness the Iron Hat King is still here. This world hasn't gone off track, so I can keep using my foreknowledge.

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

Tom paused, then shrugged helplessly. "I just thought she was cute. You're reading too much into it." He couldn't exactly tell her that the girl would be Hufflepuff's head of house one day, could he?

Tom was distracted himself, actually. He was more curious than anyone about which house he would be sorted into.

Slytherin was out of the question. He was Muggle-born, and he wouldn't fit in there. Gryffindor was no good either. It was too close to Harry, which meant right under Dumbledore's nose. And with a name like "Tom Riddle," he'd definitely be watched like a hawk.

All he wanted was to quietly excel at school. He couldn't handle that bunch of troublemakers in Gryffindor.

After thinking it over, Ravenclaw seemed best, with Hufflepuff as his second choice. Who could resist the temptation of having the kitchens right outside your door, with delicious food available around the clock?

While he was pondering it, Professor McGonagall read out Daphne's name: "Daphne Greengrass!"

Daphne's little face had gone pale with nerves. She hurried up to Professor McGonagall and put on the Sorting Hat.

About a minute later, the Sorting Hat announced loudly, "Slytherin!"

A burst of applause erupted from the Slytherin table, far more enthusiastic than the welcome the earlier first-years had received. After all, she came from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Pure-blood families. Their fellow pure-bloods had to show her some respect.

The next few first-years were sorted in turn. When it was Harry Potter's turn, the entire Great Hall fell silent, and everyone held their breath.

The moment the Sorting Hat announced "Gryffindor," cheers rang out from the Gryffindor table, echoing through the Great Hall.

The twins nearly jumped onto the table. By contrast, the Slytherin table was as silent as the grave. Some stared at Harry with complicated expressions, while others muttered under their breath.

Amid that strange atmosphere, Professor McGonagall solemnly read the next name: "Tom Riddle!"

The students below barely reacted. Only Hermione and Daphne's eyes lit up; everyone else thought it was just an ordinary name.

But most of the teachers at the High Table changed expression. To them, that name was like a thunderclap.

The Wizarding World was no place for keeping secrets. Anything that happened would sooner or later leave a trail.

Even Horcruxes, hidden deeper than a mouse hole, hadn't stopped Dumbledore from following the clues and digging them up one by one.

And then there was the name Tom Riddle. Sixty years ago at Hogwarts, it had shone so brightly it could have blinded you.

But thirty years ago, it had become a forbidden name that brought misfortune to anyone who spoke it.

Back then, Dumbledore had been the Transfiguration professor, and Flitwick was already teaching Charms Class.

Sprout and McGonagall hadn't started teaching at Hogwarts yet, but they were close to the Order of the Phoenix, so Dumbledore hadn't kept those deadly old stories from them.

Snape needed no introduction. He had once been Voldemort's most devoted lackey, and now he hated him to the depths of his soul.

He had already looked into Tom Riddle's background more thoroughly than his own Potions recipes.

Hagrid had the most extreme reaction. The big man trembled like a leaf, his face as pale as if he'd just come running out of the Forbidden Forest after seeing a Dementor, and he kept muttering to himself.

After all, he'd been Tom Riddle's classmate and had foolishly thought he was a good person. How could he not panic at the sound of that name now?

They weren't the only ones. Quirrell was getting restless, too.

Until then, he'd kept his head down, shrinking like a quail to avoid Snape's gaze, terrified Snape would catch him out.

But the moment Professor McGonagall said the five syllables of "Tom Riddle," he jerked his head up. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared at Tom walking toward the Sorting Hat.

He looked as if he'd seen both a lifeline and a death warrant.

Snape had no time to concern himself with Quirrell's strange behavior just then. Hatred practically spilled from his eyes.

It wasn't that he was targeting Tom, exactly. More accurately, he hated another Tom Riddle—the bastard who had become Voldemort and destroyed everything for him.

"Severus." Dumbledore's lips moved ever so slightly. His voice was so soft that only Snape could hear him.

"There are plenty of people in the world with the same name. A name is just a label to tell people apart. Don't let idle speculation about someone else get to you."

Snape said nothing, merely giving a cold snort through his nose.

Dumbledore shouldn't think he was a fool. He knew perfectly well that Dumbledore had gone to fetch the new students over the summer.

At first, he'd thought the old fox had gone to pick up Harry Potter, the Chosen One. But what happened? Harry had gone off with that big idiot, Hagrid.

In the entire Wizarding World, only Harry Potter and someone named Tom Riddle could make Dumbledore go out of his way in person.

The students below weren't fools, either. Seeing the professors at the High Table looking so unsettled, the noisy Great Hall gradually fell quiet.

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

Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together, her voice tinged with mixed feelings. "Riddle, just put on the hat."

She truly hadn't imagined that in her lifetime, she would get to teach a "Tom Riddle."

Tom nodded, dropped onto the stool, picked up the Sorting Hat, and pulled it over his head.

He would swear on Merlin's socks: the moment the hat touched his hair, it started screaming as if someone had grabbed it by the throat. "Slytherin! A natural-born Slytherin!"