A/N: Why, hello there. Long time no see. Uhm… Sorry for the really long wait. School's really been eating me up, especially those darn AP's. I sincerely hope that those of you who have been following my story so diligently have not given up on me. I did warn you that it might take a while in between updates, you know. Anyways, I'm probably going to post the next chapter as well within the next week or so, as soon as I can work on it; possibly Thanksgiving at the latest. The Sorting takes place in this chapter; I attempted my own song for the hat, and I give you permission to be as harsh as you like on it. Well, I'll not take up your time any further, so, without further ado, I give you Chapter Six of Monster: The Story of Tom Marvolo Riddle. (p.s. Latin translations can be found at bottom of chapter )

Chapter Six

He was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale.

(Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 13, pg. 269)

The door to his compartment slammed open, startling Tom from his book. He quickly pulled his calm façade back into place as he looked up at the intruder, or intruders, rather, as it so happened.

A tall blonde boy with an air of hauteur surrounding him looked down at Tom with annoyance so obviously plastered onto his face for the world to see. Mistake number one: never display your emotions so easily. You'll become an easy target for manipulation. He thought. His gaze fell on the blonde's right where a thin, mousy-haired boy stood with a bored look. Better, Tom thought. Feigning indifference to replace curiosity. He could be useful. The boy on the left, however, made Tom want to laugh out loud – instead, he just raised an eyebrow a miniscule amount. For this boy, the one to the blonde's left, looked like something escaped from the circus. He was huge and hulking, with long, hairy arms and a mass of hair sticking up from his head and neck. Tom briefly wondered if the compartment door had had to magically expand to accommodate the brute, but quickly shook it off. A blasé look conforming to his features, Tom turned back to his book, hoping, but knowing that they wouldn't, the trio would take a hint and leave him be.

Before the three boys had interrupted him, Tom had been musing as he'd read on the events of that morning. Ms. Cope had come in to make sure he was ready to leave at 9:30, pretending to fuss with his appearance, pretending that she was not happy to see him go, pretending that she and the staff would not be celebrating his departure that night, pretending to give him advice, motherly advice, on first appearances and friendships and who knew what else. Tom had glowered resentfully throughout, being that he was listening to her real thoughts as she spoke him and was irritated by her extremely transparent pretense. His relief was prevalent when the taxi came to pick him up, ecstatic to finally leave the dark orphanage in search of his bright future. Deciding to have one last go at the woman, he went so far as to disarm her by pecking her quickly on the cheek and, smiling, say, "I shall miss you very much, Ms. Cope. Do tell the other children I said goodbye." With that he had left, never once looking back, not even to see the incredulity on the woman's face who had once sworn to his mother that she was no longer alone.

Quiescent meditations, however, were not meant to be, as the intrusion by the three boys had proved. When he heard the door slam shut and the boys move to stand over him, Tom heaved a heavy sigh and closed his book once more to look at the boys hovering over him.

As tall as he was for his age, he was still shorter than the boys when sitting down. As much as this bothered him (he felt he was in a position of weakness, sitting below anyone), he refused to show that their intimidation efforts affected him; instead he stretched, languidly settling his arm over the back of his seat and crossing his right leg over his left, seemingly perfectly at ease. He peered up at the blonde (who was quite obviously the leader of the group) from under his shock of neatly combed-to-the-side black, wavy hair, and smiled. "Can I help you?"

The blonde, somewhat startled at the boy's reaction to him and his party, quickly schooled his features back to one of disdain and said, "Yes. You can leave." The two behind him chuckled; Tom just raised an eyebrow, further showcasing his aristocratic, proper, demeanor. He seemed to ponder the boy's statement, and then yawned.

"No."

The others stopped laughing. The blonde scowled, looking down at the boy in front of him. He noted that this insolent boy was fairly slight, but not unhealthily so, with black, wavy hair; he had eyes darker than the gloomiest night, cast with a hypnotic, transfixing vivacity, unparalleled to anything he'd ever seen before. He frowned, shaking himself from his stupor and jerked his thumb over at the huge boy. "How about I get Goyle over there to make you."

Tom looked down at his nails and buffed them against his shirt. "Intriguing idea, but I really don't think you want to do that," he replied, sighing as though he were suffering a terrible bout of boredom. "If you really feel that you must resort to such barbarism, then do what you will; you'll only embarrass yourself."

The blonde's ears and neck turned red and he clenched his fists, looking down at the unaffected boy. "Goyle!"

Goyle cracked his knuckles menacingly and took a step forward as the blonde moved back, recovering his previously haughty demeanor.

Tom sighed once more, thoroughly uninterested. His wand leapt out of his sleeve in an instant. Before the others had time to process anything they were all sitting on the bench in front of Tom bound and gagged as he continued to sit in the same position as before, thoroughly amused, his wand no where to be found.

"You can't say I didn't warn you," Tom chuckled, the delight of confrontation dancing in his dark eyes. I knew this would be fun, he thought joyously. I can't wait to see how everything else will play out. "I think I'll leave you like this for a few minutes, yes? Just until you've learned your lesson."

Tom picked his book back up, but then set it down, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Maybe," he pondered aloud, thoroughly enjoying himself, "I'll undo your binds now. Yes, I think I shall; you understand fairly well what you stumbled upon and that you were in the wrong. Am I right?" At the other's insistent nods, he grinned. "Yes, I'll let you go."

With another flick of his wand, Tom had their binds undone and the gags out of their mouths. The blonde rubbed his jaw gingerly as he appraised the boy once more in front of him. He could make a powerful ally, the boy thought. Time to make amends.

Knowing fully well what the boy was thinking, Tom allowed him to speak, wanting him to have to suffer his embarrassment.

"The name is Abraxas Malfoy," the blonde sniffed. "Georgio Goyle, and Chester Nott," he pointed to each. Tom tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"Tom Riddle."

Abraxas nodded and stuck his hand out. Tom grasped it and they shook. "Good to meet you, Tom."

"Pleasure."

The boys all took their seats across from Tom, and soon they were all talking and taking pleasure in each others presences and the challenges each presented.

"My whole family's been in Slytherin," Malfoy boasted, "So it's only natural that that's where I'll be Sorted." He looked at Tom, seeking his approval. Already, Tom had the boys at his command, and he smirked for Abraxas to continue. "Goyle and Nott's families have also always been in Slytherin. Except for that one cousin, eh, Nott?" Malfoy nudged him, laughing at the look of disgust on his friend's face.

"Yea," Nott grimaced, "but we don't keep in touch with her. Got sorted into that bloody Gryffindor house; I'd rather be a stupid Hufflepuff than a Gryffindor," he sneered.

"Oh, come now, Chester," Malfoy leered. "You can't possibly mean that, I mean, at least Gryffindors are somewhat intelligent." At the furious look on Nott's face, however, Malfoy snickered. "Or maybe not."

Tom frowned as Malfoy's silvery gaze came to rest on him, but already knew what to say. "My father was a wizard – went to some foreign school, but both he and my mum died after I was born. However, from all that I've read on the subject, Slytherin seems to be the best choice." Tom didn't mention the book that lay deep in his trunk on dark wizards, which included the enlightening passage on Slytherin, nor any of his suspicions on the founder. He needed to always remain one-up from all those around him; distant; powerful.

He also failed to mention that all he knew about his parents were what he made them out to be – nothing more than what he desired of them.

The subject was dropped as the food cart came by at around two-thirty. Malfoy, Nott, and Goyle all bought food as Tom looked on. He wasn't about to waste what little money he had left over on food. Besides, he grinned, watching the other three practically falling over themselves to offer him some of their spoils, that's what followers are for.

Several hours later the train began to slow. Tom and the others quickly changed into their robes and then stepped off of the train.

"First Years," a voice crowed over the crowd. "This way, First Years! Into the boats, the lot of you," a jolly older man called.

Tom walked confidently over to the boats, Abraxas one step behind him and Nott and Goyle two steps behind Abraxas. The hierarchy had already been established.

Climbing gracefully into the boat, Tom sat at the prow, impatient to be going. The other three clambered in after him. Not too long after, the boats were ordered forward across the smooth, glassy lake, bright stars dotting its surface, an infinite wilderness waiting to swallow them all up.

X

Tom and Abraxas stood in the middle of the group of first years in the Great Hall. People at the four House tables were laughing and shouting greetings to their friends, as well as looking at the "ickle firsties." Tom heard snatches of – "Oh, but they're so tiny," and, "Blimey, when did they get so little?" in addition to, "Oy, Evans, were we ever that small?" Tom ignored most of these, as he was a good head taller than the majority of his peers. He pretended to listen to the inane whisperings of Abraxas, but was really focused on the Hall itself.

Four long and gleaming tables took up the vast majority of the Hall, with a slightly smaller table in front of the rest where the teachers and staff all sat. Unlike the students in their black robes with tall and pointed black hats, the teachers were bedecked in multi-colored and even multi-patterned robes.

The ceiling, he knew, was enchanted to look like the sky outside. Had he not known this, he would've sworn that he really was standing under the stars, rather than a dining hall. He tore his eyes away to take in the staff table once more; his gaze zeroed in on Professor Dumbledore. The Professor smiled at him as their eyes locked. Tom nodded stiffly before ripping his eyes away just in time to see a small witch scramble to the head table levitating a three-legged stool. As it settled down on the raised platform, a hush fell over the Hall as everyone turned to look at a dirty old hat that was set upon it.

But was it just a hat? Tom smirked, recalling what he had read about the Sorting Ceremony in Hogwarts, a History:

'The Sorting Ceremony is as old as Hogwarts itself and is its longest-standing tradition. The legend, as purported by the Hat, and which is congruous with documents in the school library, is that the Founders did not wish to invade the impressionable minds of their students to place them within the proper Houses. It was Godric Gryffindor who came up with the Idea to imbue an object with all of the other Founders' memories, ideas, and knowledge in such a way that would not harm the students. Godric "whipped off" his favorite hat and he and the other three enchanted it to, literally, have a brain of its own. The Hat can think, feel, and even speak; it grows and molds itself throughout the ages, the years it is alive, to be able to properly Sort the many different generations. It has been known to converse with the Headmasters as well as the portraits of those long gone. But only if it so chooses; that itself is a rare occurrence.'

The hat began to shake and, laughing, burst into song.

"When I was but a Hat

Over a thousand years ago,

Magic was not a shared act

Much to our Founders' woe.

Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff

With heads bent over plans

Created this place for magical learning

And thus Hogwarts School began!

Fiery Gryffindor, with brave notions,

Took those with courageous air;

Fair Ravenclaw, that lover of knowledge,

Nurtured those of similar mind did share.

That slippery Slytherin admired all schemers

Taking only those who had cunning and ambition;

Caring Hufflepuff loved all just the same,

Loving those of loyal, just, hardworking cognition.

So now you know the Houses four,

Come now, don't be shy!

Into your mind I'll have a look,

And on to your table you'll fly!"

At the songs end the entire Hall burst into loud applause, cheering and whistling merrily. Tom, too, clapped, albeit slowly, Abraxas, Goyle, and Nott following his lead. The little old woman took out a long scroll and, clearing her throat, called out, "Aaron, Matthew!"

The first year, looking a bit green, stumbled up to the stool and placed the Hat on his head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted thirty seconds later.

The boy smiled and ran to go sit down amongst his peers who made room for him at the table, clapping him on the back and asking all sorts of questions. "Bartleby, Louisa," was called next and she too was Sorted into Hufflepuff by the Hat. A few moments later, "Black, Cedrella," became the first Ravenclaw. Tom looked over to the Slytherin table, noticing that it was much smaller than the other House tables, and he grinned widely. They only take the elite, he thought. I must make sure to be placed there. His thoughts ended there when Cedrella's twin brother, Aries Black, was the first to be Sorted into Slytherin. Tom looked over at Cedrella, who seemed a bit put-out, and then he went back to staring at the Slytherin table, comparing how they greeted the first years to how the other Houses did it.

The Slytherin's remained calm and stoic, standing up to receive the newcomer as one. They took turns shaking his hand and introducing themselves. They continued speaking to him once seated again, interested looks on their faces. Tom narrowed his eyes and continued to observe them.

The Sorting continued with "Cory, Liana," as the first Gryffindor. Goyle was the first of their group to go into Slytherin, quickly followed by Malfoy and Nott. The body of first years to be Sorted was dwindling quickly until, at last, Tom heard his name called.

"Riddle, Tom Marvolo."

Raising an eyebrow at the use of his middle name, the only one to have been called as such, he moved gracefully to the head table standing tall and proud as all eyes turned to him. His nonchalant, unaffected mask didn't once waver, when his internal thoughts were in such opposition to his external appearance. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, his stomach turning in on itself, his lungs shrinking, his thoughts all over the map…

As he settled onto the stool and had the Hat placed on his head, he closed his eyes demurely and sucked in a deep breath.

Silence.

And then…

Hello there, Tom Marvolo Riddle. A voice whispered in his ear. Dear me, it has been quite a while since I last saw one of you, the voice chuckled in his ear.

What do you mean? Tom asked politely, trying to reign in his wild curiosity at the Hat's comment.

In a moment, boy, in a moment. You're quite intelligent, you know that there is nothing you can hide from me, so don't insult either of us by attempting it, the Hat chastised. Tom smirked, listening as the Hat continued. Cunning and ambitious. Intelligent and shrewd. Power, raw power, courses through your veins, its core at your heart. You've suffered many an injustice, oh yes, indeed you have. A thirst for revenge. More overwhelmingly, a thirst for power. There is only one logical place for you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, but before I place you there, allow me to leave you with some advice: Control and Power are nothing if you haven't anyone to share it with. Be not afraid, when the time comes, to open your heart because believe you me, it will come. As for that question you posed… Well. I think I'll leave that mystery alone for you to solve, puer patrici.

There was silence, and then, "SLYTHERIN!"

Shocked on the inside, smirking on the outside, Tom took the Hat off of his head and walked confidently over to the Slytherin table. Whispers followed him. Speculation abounded. The Hat had taken a bit too long to decide the fate of this dark boy. The Slytherins appraised him. The Gryffindors narrowed their eyes. The Ravenclaws looked thoughtful. The Hufflepuffs clapped politely.

Tom ignored the whisperings and the thoughts he could hear as he settled himself between Abraxas and a more senior student. He nodded and smiled at everyone, answered questions, shook hands, seemingly the epitome of cordiality as he captured the elder Slytherins in his fine-tuned web.

Professor Dumbledore stared after him, deep in thought.

Once "Zanders, Hector" had been Sorted into Ravenclaw and the Hat and stool taken away, the man sitting in the middle of the teachers stood up and silenced resumed. The man Tom presumed to be the Headmaster was the sorriest excuse for a man in power if he ever saw one. Medium in stature, feeble in appearance, he smiled weakly (but warmly) at the students assembled before him.

"Welcome, new students, and welcome back to those of you returning," he said meekly. "Before you receive the Welcoming Feast that has been prepared for you, there are a few announcements to be made…"

"Pathetic," Abraxas murmured into Tom's ear, chuckling as he sought Tom's approval. Tom just smirked, resuming his false, but seemingly sincere, attention on the Headmaster. Abraxas frowned, but followed suit.

"… the Forbidden Forest is still out of bounds, hence its name. 'Forbidden Forest.'" He smiled as though he'd just said something rather funny, and a few students giggled indulgently. "Banned items can be found posted on the bulletin by the doors to the Great Hall. Yes… erm. I think that's about it. Okay." He sat back down, and food filled the four House tables.

Tom grinned widely at the food set before him. No more dreary orphanage meals; he could now eat as much as he liked. He sighed happily as he stacked his plate with food.

Dinner was over quickly and soon the Slytherin Prefects, Liam Howe (who happened to be the elder boy Tom had been sitting next to, and had had an enlightening conversation with on the finer points of Transfiguration) and Diane Petrarch, were leading the first years to the Slytherin common room. They turned left out of the Great Hall, walked down several flights of stairs, turned right down another hall, trudged through a door pretending to be a vibrant tapestry, and went down another flight of stairs before appearing near a blank stone wall.

"Sanguine serpentes," Liam said.

With a rumbling sound, an arch of light was made ass the stone in front of them disappeared. Tom, who was at the head of the line, pushed through the arch and set foot in the common room.

The first thing he noticed was how green everything was, from the drapes on the wall to the high-backed armchairs. The second thing was the bust of a monkey-like man with cold eyes and a long, angular beard. Snakes were carved around the pedestal the statue rested on, as well as around the stone fireplace and the legs of the chairs and tables. A green light seemed to pulse throughout the room, and when he looked up, Tom couldn't even make out the ceiling it was so high. Or maybe, he mused, it's just an illusion, meant to intimidate.

Tom noticed Malfoy, Goyle, and Nott were waiting for him at the foot of the stairs to the boys' dorms. He smirked, taking his time as he sauntered over to them, excitement and pure happiness pervading his body. He climbed the stairs ahead of the others, admiring the snake's undulating body that served as a banister. Tom walked down the hall to the highly polished mahogany door labeled "First Years" and pushed it open.

Seven four-poster beds were situated in the large room with enough space for each person to have privacy. Tom's bed stood near a large nook which, he noticed with pleasure, had the most privacy of all, despite the fact that it was near the middle of the room.

The beds had emerald green hangings with silver sheets of silk, as well as an emerald green comforter embroidered with snakes, his trunk lying at its foot. He trailed his fingers delicately over the fine hangings and bedding, ignoring the other boys' insignificant chattering, his chest swelling with an emotion so long forgotten that he couldn't understand or identify what it was.

Is this what it means to be home? He wondered in awe, a strange feeling in the back of his throat.

Tom quickly undressed, hastily throwing on his pajamas and sliding in between the cool sheets. He drew the hangings around him, placed his wand obeisantly under his pillow and, closing his eyes, drifted into a peaceful sleep full of warmth. A hand stroked his head softly, welcoming him home at last.

A/N: translation #1: puer patrici = boy of privilege/inheritance. Translation #2: Sanguine serpentes = blood of the serpents, or serpents blood. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I really hope that I can get the next one in within the next few weeks. Hopefully updates won't be so far apart as this last time. Normally I wouldn't ask, but, just because I want to know that I still have some readers, be a dear and leave a little review. Just to say hi, or yell at me, or say this is stupid, etc. Constructive criticism is always appreciated and taken into account. :D