:parseltongue:
'thoughts'
Tom didn't pay too much attention to the rhyming song the old hat was spouting; the novelty of which quickly disappeared like the first sweet notes of freshly sprayed perfume – enticing at first, but soon fading. Instead he let his eyes trail and weave over people, capturing the wide eyes and eye rolls and crinkled-around-the-edges. People, were something Tom was good at. What made them tick, what made them break – what made them unravel and then tie up into something pretty for Tom.
He could tell Avery was doing the same – the boy standing by him had an air of impatience about him, not listening to the hat's warbles but keeping his senses busy. He traced the boy's stare to the professor's table, and keenly evaluated the teachers as he knew Avery must also be doing. These were people, and Tom knew people – whether they had magic in their blood or not made no difference. Whether they had 'Professor' attached to their name made no difference, too.
Dour witches and wizards wrapped in velvets and silks and cloth lined the long table, pointed hats aplenty, long beards – white, black, and brown, lips pursed in grim smiles and resigned despair. These people would have an ounce of authority over Tom's next seven years, and he needed to start making good impressions; one had already slipped through the cracks.
The man himself was smiling pleasantly in the wings, dressed in garish pink robes, waiting for the hat to finish it's dreadful tune. Tom's hatred curled in the corner of his mind and hissed, while Tom himself tightened his face to remain neutral. It would not do to have his peers aware of any emotional weakness.
"If you're not in Slytherin, don't expect me to speak with you again." A voice whispered in his ear, and Tom almost thought it was Nagini if it weren't for the lack of sibilance and actual content.
"You're assuming that I would want to, Avery." Tom murmured, keeping his gaze strictly pointed ahead.
He could feel Avery's white straight teeth smiling behind his shoulder.
"You wound me, how shall I ever get over the social snubbing of a name-less boy?"
Tom inwardly bristled, but kept a short smile painted on his face.
"Names are powerful things, Avery. I would liken them to a spell – watch how mine enchants you when I take the stage."
Avery laughed. "Clever, Tom. But let's hope that yours won't fizzle out when called – it won't matter if you're Slytherin, if you have no power in the first place."
"But what is power, Avery? Is it fine clothes, money, strength? No – power is what you make of it, it's import lies where you place it." Tom turned around, flashing a smile at the boy. "And you're talking to me."
A slow grin slid across Avery's face.
"Well then, oh nameless one. Let's reveal our cards."
Almost as if the tattered hat had been listening in on their conversation, it chose that very second to finish it's last note, putting an end to their discussion. Tom turned back round to the front, and watched with narrowed eyes as the professor took the stage, long robes drooping on the steps. Blue eyes twinkled down at the first years, warm and genial, and Tom could feel Avery's rancour behind him.
"Muggle-lover." Avery spat, enmity stiffening his words. Tom felt inclined to agree – how could a wizard love those who were so clearly lesser than them? Did the professor not know how they treated Tom, how they scorned him for being different?
The professor unrolled a long sheet of parchment, curling at the bottom with black splashes of ink running down in what Tom supposed was a list. The professor peered through half-moon glasses at the top of the sheet.
"Akram, Asira." Called the professor, and a tall girl with shiny black hair made her way over to the stool, where the professor then lifted the hat to rest on her head. The hat was too big – it fell down over the girl's eyes and Tom started to wonder how sanitary it was – it certainly wasn't hygienic for all the first years to wear the same hat in succession of each other.
The hat's wide rim split open, the warped leather wrinkling.
"RAVENCLAW." It bellowed, but was soon drowned out by the fierce clapping from one of the tables after the first syllable was uttered. Tom raised an eyebrow – would the houses do that for every student? If so, it would surely get old fast.
The professor lifted the hat off of Akram's head, and gestured to the applauding table. The girl skipped down and sat with her new housemates, seemingly relieved to be out of the spotlight. Tom wondered how the hat was sorting them; how did it know their personality just from being in contact with their heads – could it read minds? Tom shivered. That hat better not say anything about him if it could go through his memories, or the professor would be on to him.
The professor cleared his throat, and read out the next name on the list.
"Avery, Llewellyn."
Avery winked at Tom as he strode past. "Just watch – Slytherin for sure."
Avery was right, Tom had to give him that. The hat called out a booming 'SLYTHERIN' not a few seconds after dropping onto Avery's head, and Tom watched as the boy swaggered over to the far table. Would that be where Tom was going? Or would he end up in Ravenclaw, like he had told Cygnus. Tom began to wonder if it really mattered about personality in the end – maybe they could just choose where they went.
A brown-haired girl was sorted into Gryffindor, and then it was Orion's turn. Orion had announced on the train that he would be going to Slytherin, and half a minute later he was proved right. Tom followed the curly-haired boy as he happily sat down at the table, and started conversing with Avery. Tom was about to avert his gaze back to the sorting, when he accidentally locked eyes with Cygnus Black who was sitting not too far away from his younger cousin.
The older boy was smirking at him, again. What was his deal? Was he trying to intimidate Tom? Well, he'd have nothing to show for it – Tom wasn't easily scared. Tom broke eye contact dismissively, trying not to make it seem too submissive. Tom could feel that Cygnus was worming his way into becoming an irritable itch for Tom, and he supposed it was just power-plays. He reckoned that the 'ambition' the professor had associated with Slytherins in his earlier talk was just another way of saying 'power-hungry'.
At some point Nott had re-joined Tom after Orion was sorted, and started to comment on the sortings – Tom didn't know if he was trying to be helpful, showing off, or just wanted to talk to someone. Tom didn't particularly mind – as Nott ran his mouth, he was picking up useful titbits of information about his classmates.
"Lestrange's not going to be happy he went to Ravenclaw. He's always wanted to be in Slytherin – too bookish I guess."
Tom nodded, Clarence Lestrange had been sorted into Ravenclaw just after Euros Holmes had been, and he was beginning to suspect that Ravenclaw was seen as the most acceptable house after Slytherin. Well, at least with the boys he had talked to so far. A redhead boy standing a few feet away from him was boisterously declaring to a gaggle of friends how Gryffindor was 'obviously the best'. From what Tom could hear, if that were the sort of student that Gryffindor admitted then he was determined to stay clear of that house, thank-you-very-much.
Soon after it was Nott's turn, and Tom watched with interest as the boy was sorted into Slytherin after a few minutes. He had noticed that all the sortings seemed to be taking different amounts of time – some very quick and some dragging on for a good few minutes. The longest so far had been six minutes, and all the students had been muttering and complaining as those final seconds ticked by.
The next student was called up, who was promptly sorted into Ravenclaw, and then to Tom's surprise his name was called next. He had been so engrossed in his ponderings that he'd forgotten that he was meant to be sorted too, and it was with careful trepidation that he made his way over to the hat – refusing to meet the professor's eyes. He still kept his gaze level and walked upright nonetheless, sitting down on the stool confidently as if he had no other cares.
The musty leather brow of the hat blacked out his vision and Tom felt somewhat unnerved to be in the dark, vulnerable, but stilled himself as he knew all the students would still be able to see him, even if he could not see anything at all.
'Well, what have we here?'
Tom almost jumped from shock, but stopped himself just in time. The voice was low but jolly, and sly while still seeming amiable.
'Who are you?' Tom questioned, in his head, for that was surely where the voice had come from. He knew the answer to his question before the voice replied.
'Why, I am the sorting hat! But you already know that, don't you Mr Riddle?'
Tom nodded, before catching himself and hoping that no one was paying too close attention to his sorting. The hat laughed, a weird gravelly chuckle that was loud but not at the same time, in the same way that the inner voice in Tom's head always remained at the same volume.
'Well, let's get you sorted then. I see you've thought about Ravenclaw, and you certainly have a mind sharp enough for it.'
Tom, while inwardly pleased, pressed onto other matters. 'What exactly are you looking through in my head? Are you able to access memories, or are you able to gauge a base personality-'
'If you're worried about me revealing secrets, then you shouldn't. The founder's enchanted me for the purpose of sorting students, not passing around idle gossip in the staffroom.'
Tom was slightly relieved, but still uneasy at the thought of the hat rummaging through his head.
'I can see why you're nervous, boy – parseltongue is not a common skill, and you've been wise to hide it. That's a Slytherin trait both ways – and Slytherin certainly suits you.'
'So, Slytherin, then? Is that the best place for me?'
'Best? Perhaps. You would be great in Slytherin – in due time, of course. Ravenclaw would help nurse your intellect – and you may find it…less hostile.'
'Because I was muggle-raised?'
'More than that, Mr Riddle, but you'll find out the prejudices in due time, I have no doubt. I can already see you have formed some yourself.'
Tom stopped himself from arguing with the hat, knowing that it would get him nowhere. The hat continued on.
'Hufflepuff isn't for you – you'd eat them alive.'
Tom almost smiled at that but then immediately rejected the notion of going to that house – the other boys had assured him that it was full of duffers when the professor had been detailing the houses.
'Gryffindor isn't a fit for you either. You may be brave at times, Mr Riddle, but it is not the sort of bravery that fits with the lion house. No, I am sure of it, better be SLYTHERIN!'
Tom heard the name of his new house reverberating outside of the hat, the only part of their conversation that had been spoken aloud to the hall. The hat came loose from Tom's head and Tom caught a brief flash of concern from the professor as he trooped down the Slytherin table.
Only, no one was clapping. Tom was sure that the table had applauded for the other Slytherin first years, but none of it was coming his way. Tom sat down stiffly on the bench beside Nott, ignoring the lip-curls and disgusted looks the majority of his house was sending him.
Nott was looking at him with something akin to pity in his eyes, which Tom pretended not to see – no one pitied him.
"So, Riddle, what sort of name is that?" Avery had leant over from across the table to him as wave of mutters picked up around the table, which Tom obstinately ignored.
"It's foreign." He replied, no emotion evident in his tone. This was the answer he had to stick to, if he was to make any headway with these people.
Avery smirked. "That's what you said on the boat. I thought that you might belong to one of those families fleeing Europe due to the unease around Grindelwald, but that's not a foreign name. And you have no accent. So, try again, mudblood."
Tom didn't know what or who Grindelwald was, but he understood the slur at the end of Avery's speech. The others in hearing distance had nodded in agreement with Avery, and Tom caught the tail-end of some not so subtle language. The sorting was nearing the end now, but the accusing looks of his housemates refused to die down.
"I don't care what you believe, Avery, I have spoken the truth. If you can't recognise my name, then I think it speaks more for your background than mine."
Let them stew on that for a while.
"Your background, Riddle, is not something I'd wish to pollute my mind thinking about."
Tom had nothing to say to that.
Tom lay silent underneath his sheets, troubled and thinking about what sort of act he must pull off tomorrow. The rest of the night had continued in a similar vein, with the general consensus in Slytherin house that Tom Riddle was indeed a mudblood, neverminding that they had no proof for it. Tom ignored the voice in his head that told him he had no proof for not being either, discounting Nagini's parseltongue excuse.
Tom was reluctant to share that skill with his housemates, as he didn't know if that proved he wasn't a mudblood and he didn't want to risk Nagini if news of Tom's talent made it's way back to the professor, who'd surely check for the snake and take her away.
Tom had chosen a bed on the far side of the room when they had entered, and promptly shut his hangings. From the outside, he could hear his roommates talking in hushed tones – undoubtedly about him.
:Nagini.: He hissed, and allowed the serpent to unwind herself from around his neck and onto the bed.
:Unshrink me now, boy.: Nagini replied, somewhat grumpy. Tom acquiesced, and focused his magic on undoing the charm set onto Nagini.
Nagini hissed contently as she expanded to her full size, thankfully no part of her protruding out of the bed's curtains.
:Make sure you don't leave this bed, Nagini. Or the others will see you and you may be taken away.:
Nagini said nothing, but instead chose to bury the bulk of herself under Tom's pillow.
:I'm serious.: Tom insisted, growing worried that Nagini may take no heed of his instruction and slither off into the common room, or worse.
Nagini grumbled. :What do you want me to do, stay here all year?:
Tom frowned. :No, I'll think of something. Maybe I can make the others promise not to rat us out.:
But that sounded weak to Tom's ears; he didn't want to have to owe anyone anything.
:Rats… I'm hungry.:
Tom sighed. :All you think about is food, Nagini. I can't summon you anything now – maybe in the morning, if I get up early.:
:Spoilsport.:
Tom rolled onto his back, looking up at the dark green velvet material stretched over the top of his bed.
:I'm in Slytherin, Nagini. It's said to be the house of snakes – imagine that, me, the anathema of the house I should hold command over.:
:Let's see how commanding you are when I strangle you in your sleep.:
Tom playfully swatted the snake, before growing serious again. :I mean it. I can tell that they all despise me. I don't know how to fix this.: He admitted to himself, for once in his life unsure of how to proceed. Things weren't going to plan, and Tom didn't know how to set things right.
:Ummm. I think giving me some rabbits will greatly help your thought process.:
Tom barked a short and bitter laugh.:Maybe, Nagini. Maybe I'll feed Slytherin house to you instead.:
:I wouldn't be too opposed to the idea…:
:Nor would I, dear serpent. I find myself lacking in options…: Tom trailed off. Maybe if he ignored the problem, everything would right itself. No…that's not the way the world worked. Tom would have to solve this, and solve it soon, before it grew into something big and uglier. He'd just have to show everyone that he was worthy of being in Slytherin, that he was worthy of their attention – he knew he was the best at magic, and starting tomorrow he'd make sure the others would know it too.
And if they still didn't…well, he didn't practice on Dennis and Amy for nothing.
