Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable below.
Tom Riddle stood quietly, self-assured even as a ten-year-old, as the names of the other children were called. They quaked and trembled, but Tom wasn't afraid. He knew what House he would be Sorted in.
Slytherin had been his first choice. Then he had thought about it: was it really such a good idea to get Sorted into a House that was known for producing dark wizards? Grindelwald's followers had all came from Slytherin. Really, it would be obvious to anyone with half a brain that the next dark lord would come from Slytherin.
No, Slytherin was out. Gryffindor, perhaps – it was for the brave at heart. Surely no one would suspect him there.
Then he had realized: if he wanted to avoid suspicion, what better House than Hufflepuff?
"Riddle, Tom!" called the professor, and Tom confidently strode up to the stool where the ugly old hat was waiting.
Placing it on his head, he thought, Put me in Hufflepuff.
Hufflepuff, boy? the Sorting Hat replied, a touch of anger in its voice. Did it even have a voice? I decide where to put you, and I can tell you're clearly Slytherin.
Now, surely you can be persuaded otherwise.
Ha! Slytherin through and through, I see!
Put me in Hufflepuff or I swear I will cut you up and dispose of you.
Very well, the Hat said. But you will come to regret it. Out loud, it shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
Tom grinned. Regret it? He would never regret it.
He slid off the stool, catching Professor Dumbledore's surprised expression. With a smirk, he walked to the Hufflepuff table and sat down, already thinking about how he would take over the wizarding world.
They would never suspect a thing.
"My name," he said smoothly, "is Voldemort. I wish to rid the world of mudbloods and blood-traitors. I will build a new world order ruled by purebloods. I – "
"Tom? Tom Riddle?" asked one of the members of the crowd incredulously. "I remember you! You were in my year at Hogwarts. A Hufflepuff, right?"
Tom tensed. "No, I believe you are mistaken," he said. "I'm Voldemort."
The man started laughing. "A Hufflepuff planning to be the new dark lord!"
"Silence!" hissed Tom. "My name is Voldemort! I am no Hufflepuff!" He was beginning to regret getting himself sorted there. Sure, it had been useful when he'd unleashed the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets – no one had the slightest inkling it had been he, not even Dumbledore – but now it was backfiring. He was being humiliated.
"What kind of name is Voldemort?" another person asked derisively.
"It means 'Flight of Death,' if you must know," Tom said with a haughty sniff. "I found it very poetic."
"You can't be serious! A Hufflepuff, calling himself Flight of Death!" the first man exclaimed, still laughing.
"It is my destiny! Voldemort comes from Tom Marvolo Riddle, just scrambled!" shouted Tom angrily. "I will rid this world of mudbloods and you will follow me if you know what's good for you!"
"Oh God, how old are you? That's so childish! Scrambling your name? No one's going to take you seriously, Tommy!"
That was the last straw. "I will succeed, and you will regret you didn't take me up on my offer!" Tom howled. Then he apparated away.
"So, Tom," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. He peered at him through his moon-shaped glasses. "You want to be a professor?"
"I do," replied Tom. He couldn't resist grinning; Dumbledore, the old fool that he was, believed that since he was a Hufflepuff, he could do no wrong! He knew becoming a Hufflepuff had been a good idea. As a professor, he would have access to Hogwart's extensive library and, most importantly, its young, malleable students. He would raise his army here. Who cared if the purebloods didn't take him seriously? No, not him.
Dumbledore stopped smiling. "What?" he said, paling.
Tom froze too. "What? What happened?" He couldn't have guessed what Tom had been thinking, could he? Then he remembered: Dumbledore was an accomplished Legilimens.
"Er, you see, Dumbledore, I, uh, what you saw, that wasn't – "
Tom was cut off by Dumbledore's laughter. He waited five entire minutes for Dumbledore to stop laughing. Every time it seemed like he was about to stop, something would set him off again and he'd start all over. Finally, he got a grip and, wiping some tears away from the corner of his eyes, said, "I'm so sorry for laughing, Tom. I hadn't realized that...that you...that you wanted to be the next dark lord!" Dumbledore started laughing raucously again.
Tom flushed angrily. "How dare you laugh!"
"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said, still chortling mirthfully. "It's just that you, well...aren't very frightening."
"I am frightening!" insisted Tom. "It was I who unleashed the basilisk!"
"Don't be silly, Tom. You're a Hufflepuff."
"I am more than a Hufflepuff! I asked the Sorting Hat to place me there in order to deceive everyone!"
Dumbledore suddenly looked very serious, and Tom felt a mixture of fear and happiness. So he finally realized Tom's true cunning, had he?
"This might be more grave of a matter than I had originally thought..." Dumbledore said.
"Yes? Yes? Go on! Try to blast me away with your magic! Tell me about how you fear me and what I will soon become!" Tom shouted excitedly.
"Tom..." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Are you..."
"Am I? Am I what? Impossibly evil and devilishly handsome? Why, yes I am. So glad you finally realized!" Tom said with a practiced sneer and a cackle that he'd been working on for years.
"Are you going through a midlife crisis?"
Tom stared at Dumbledore, open-mouthed. Then he clutched at his hair and wailed, "NOOOOO!"