Daphne

McGonagall was stunned, Snape's face darkened further, and Albus Dumbledore wiped the smile from his face, sitting there in complete silence.

As for Tom himself, he had completely crashed.

Using the height of the stool, he looked down at the crowd of students with their necks craned and faces full of curiosity, his mind a total blank.

His head was spinning with questions: What was going on? Slytherin? He was Muggle-born, neither pure-blood nor half-blood, and he had no grand ambitions—why on earth was he being sorted into Slytherin? Was this Tom Riddle's destiny? Something he couldn't escape no matter what?

Inside the Study Space, Andros was laughing like a maniac, shouting in his mind to stir the pot: "Hahaha, Tom! So this is your fate! Didn't you plan out every single house? How did you manage to miss Slytherin? This hat has nailed you down for good!"

Tom gritted his teeth in frustration, but unable to lash out on the spot, he could only curse the old man in his heart for enjoying the chaos.

Just as Professor McGonagall reached out to signal him toward the Slytherin table, Tom, in front of everyone, slammed the Sorting Hat back onto his head.

He negotiated with the ragged hat in his mind: "Hat, let's talk this over. You must have misread me. You were touching Potter, weren't you? He's the Savior, the only heir of the Potter family, with pure blood—that's the real Slytherin material. It has nothing to do with me."

To avoid Slytherin, he was desperate enough to sell Harry Potter out completely.

He secretly mused: If Dumbledore knew he was sabotaging the Savior like this, he'd probably drag him into his office for an afternoon of "heart-to-heart" talks.

"Bullshit!" the Sorting Hat's voice crackled with irritation. "Riddle, stop questioning the professionalism of a hat that has lived for a thousand years! When have I ever misread someone? Even if I am an old hat, my reaction time isn't that slow! Slytherin is your home!"

"This isn't magical at all! How could I possibly go to Slytherin?" Tom truly couldn't understand it. His only wish in this life was to be a quiet academic; he didn't want to get involved in the backstabbing and drama of Slytherin.

Sensing the confusion in his mind, the Sorting Hat's tone turned cheerful again: "You have an ambition to be the strongest hidden in your bones, that drive to never stop until your goal is reached, plus an ancient magic purer than Salazar and Godric's—if Salazar were still alive, he'd be on his knees begging you to be his student!"

Tom gritted his teeth: A natural-born Slytherin? How did he not know he was so evil? This broken hat was clearly slandering him!

"Sorting Hat, isn't sorting supposed to consider the student's wishes? I strongly request to go to Ravenclaw!"

"Denied!" the Sorting Hat said crisply. "Don't hold up my work; there are other young wizards waiting. If you really want to chat, come find me in Dumbledore's office. Two Galleons per chat, no swindling children."

Tom wouldn't give up, trying to flatter himself: "Then Hufflepuff is fine too! Look at me, Muggle-born, kind-hearted, loves making friends—I'm practically a natural-born Hufflepuff!"

The Great Hall was deathly quiet. Everyone watched Tom "locked in a struggle" with the Sorting Hat, looking completely bewildered.

After a long while, the Sorting Hat's voice finally sounded, filled with helplessness and persuasion: "Child, one can be untalented or lack a background, but one cannot lack self-awareness. Promise me, try to face yourself, can you?"

"You stinking hat, I'll sew your mouth shut sooner or later!" Tom cursed fiercely in his mind.

The moment this thought of revenge surfaced, the Sorting Hat caught it, and the hat immediately shrieked at the top of its lungs: "Slytherin! Slytherin! Tom Riddle must go to Slytherin!"

Professor McGonagall couldn't take it anymore. She reached out, plucked the hat off his head, and said with a hint of exasperation: "Mr. Riddle, the sorting ceremony is over. If you have any questions, take them up with Headmaster Dumbledore later."

Tom squeezed out a smile that looked worse than crying, gave a slight bow to Professor McGonagall, and shuffled toward the Slytherin table.

At first, no one clapped. Everyone was baffled by his move of putting the hat back on—did he think the sorting was too fast and wanted to play a bit longer? The young wizards were all whispering to themselves.

It wasn't until Daphne reacted, her face blooming into a sweet smile as she clapped vigorously, that a few scattered, hesitant claps followed at the Slytherin table.

Tom sat down next to Daphne, looking completely wilted. "Tom, I really didn't expect you to come to Slytherin!"

Daphne lowered her voice in excitement, her eyes full of joy. "This is great! We can go to class together and go to the dining hall together from now on!"

"Yeah, I didn't expect it either," Tom replied listlessly, lacking even the energy to lift his eyelids, while cursing the Sorting Hat eight hundred times in his heart.

After he sat down, the last few students were sorted one after another. The final one to be sorted into Slytherin was Blaise Zabini.

Tom glanced at him and instantly felt amused—wasn't this the idiot who had believed McGonagall's nonsense, treated Hogwarts like his own home, and even dared to challenge a professor about eating first?

The two locked eyes, saw the mutual disdain in each other's gaze, and simultaneously looked away, ignoring one another.

"We need to talk." Snape stared at Tom's back, his brow furrowed so tightly a mosquito could have been crushed in it, feeling that something was increasingly wrong.

Could this Tom Riddle be Voldemort reincarnated through some dark, twisted magic?

He knew better than anyone that the speed of the Sorting Hat didn't necessarily indicate a wizard's potential, but it certainly revealed a student's character and the essence of their soul.

In all his years, he had never seen a student sorted into Slytherin so quickly; perhaps only if Salazar Slytherin himself were resurrected would he receive such treatment.

What did that mean? It meant this kid's compatibility with Slytherin was terrifyingly high.

Even as the Head of Slytherin, he didn't consider this a compliment worth celebrating, especially since the last person with such compatibility had become the universally reviled Voldemort.

But Dumbledore paid no attention to Snape's gaze.

Once Blaise Zabini was seated, he stood up with a smile, cleared his throat, and said: "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts, both new and old students."

He paused, then spoke: "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you all!"

After saying this, he bowed slightly and sat back down in his seat at a leisurely pace. Thunderous applause erupted instantly from the hall, and Tom joined in, clapping quite hard.

"What does that even mean?" Andros in the Study Space was completely bewildered, his face blank. "I didn't understand a single word, so why is everyone clapping?"