AN: So like, some characters will be Harry and Tom's students instead of fellow adults. Because why not. Yolo. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback :)

Teaching History (is Old News)

4 - Sorting Feast

When Potter bursts through the doors of the Great Hall, five minutes before the First Years' arrival, Tom hisses, "Where have you been?!"

"Aw." Leaves fall off from Potter's hair. The ever present paper cranes follow him and circle around his head, poking the leaves off. The platypus sweater is also back. Tom hates that sweater. "Did you miss me?"

"No. You missed the staff meeting earlier. Dumbledore expressed his concerns."

More specifically, Dumbledore had questioned Tom about Potter's whereabouts with a stern expression. Probably thinking that Tom stabbed Potter and hidden his body in the Forbidden Forest (frankly insulting. Tom is clever enough to leave no traces of the body if that were the case.) The old coot is always suspiciously protective of his favourite former pupil, usually jumping to conclusions when Tom happens to interact with Potter.

"Oh, shoot. I forgot to tell him that I decided to ride the train here."

"…The train."

"Yup."

"…As in the Hogwarts Express."

"That's the one!"

The cranes flapping around Potter's head nod in agreement.

"…Why." Potter already lives at Hogwarts. Tom would know. He's been trapped with this imbecile in the same office for two weeks. Fortunately, Potter let Tom have the bedroom upstairs, deciding that a hammock in the office would be more 'comfy.'

"Well, it's a great way to get to know the students! Plus, I told them all that I was a seventh year and they believed me! So young. So innocent. At least the first years are. The older students, I had to bribe with chocolate to keep their mouths shut."

As if on cue, Tom hears the Weasley twins crow from the Gryffindor table, "Fancy seeing you there, Professor Harrykins!"

"That's Potter to you, cretchins!" If Potter starts scheming with his former schoolmates, Tom will report him to McGonagall and hopefully get Potter fired. "Anyways, did you like the macaroons I made this morning? That's where most of my chocolate went."

Potter, on his eternal quest to drive Tom to murder, has baked a different pastry every morning (likely manipulating his influence over the Hogwarts house elves) in attempt to 'sweeten Tom's attitude.' So far Tom has touched none of Potter's concoctions.

"…I don't like sweets."

"Sure, sure… I'll find something you like to eat, don't worry, Riddle."

Before Tom can reply, Potter takes the seat next to his (…as usual) just as the first years march into the hall.

Tom's first impression of this batch of first years is… mild disgust. They're… small. Very small. Some look around at the ceiling in awe while others shyly hold hands with their friends and twitch at every sound (much like Longbottom did during Tom's first sorting. Come to think of it, Potter was there too. Potter was different back then. Quieter.)

"I'm kind of envious of them, actually," Potter muses, "I'd love to see the Hogwarts again for the first time."

Tom… doesn't disagree. He may not feel things like sentimentality but Hogwarts has always felt stable. Constant. The thirst to learn, know more, at first sight of the castle, has never been the same.

When the first years reach the teacher's table, several of them stop and point at Potter in horror and surprise. Potter only wiggles his eyebrows and winks back at them. The weakest of the first years start to tremble while others pale or scowl.

Potter snickers. "I told the scared ones that the hat will put them into Slytherin."

Tom scoffs. As if those frightened children have the qualities to succeed in Slytherin. "Unnecessary, seeing as your predictions are always wrong."

"No, no, watch!"

McGonagall starts to call out names. "Abbot, Hannah."

"She's a Ravenclaw," Potter whispers.

"Hufflepuff," the hat shouts.

Tom sighs.

"Creevy, Colin."

"Oh, that's the Slytherin!"

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouts.

"Potter, will you stop—"

"Dao, Soo-Lin."

"She's a Gryffindor."

"Slytherin!" the hat shouts.

"None of your predictions come true!"

But Potter continues to whisper out predictions until Tom spots a pattern. For every student that Potter claims as Slytherin, the hat sorts them into Gryffindor and vice versa. The same holds true for the Ravenclaws Potter predicts, they get sorted into Hufflepuff, and vice versa again.

Tom narrows his eyes. Either Potter is an expert at reading people or he might be hiding true see—

"Oh and that's a Hufflepuff!" Potter nods at Blaise Zambini.

The hat calls out, "Slytherin."

—or not. Tom scowls at himself for being caught up in yet another paranoid thought loop over Potter of all people. He's known Potter since first year. If Potter hasn't shown any potential by now then he must be the idiot he seems. Occam's razor. Tom should stop looking for conspiracies. No one in Hogwarts is on his level of intellect except perhaps Dumbledore.

Even so… Something about Potter…

"Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore gives his speech with the usual, trivial pleasantries. "As you may have noticed, we have two new additions to our staff. You may recognize them as former upper-year students but rest assured, I'm confident Professor Riddle and Professor Potter will provide you with the best education in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Divination, respectively."

The great hall explodes into applause. The Weasley twins, accompanied by the latest Weasley (a girl, for once) wolf whistle and cheer out Potter's name. The Slytherins clink their cups in respect towards Tom while some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs look at him with mixtures of calculation and awe.

"Speech! Speech!"

Dumbledore twinkles at them both, "I wouldn't want to upset an eager audience. Boys? Would you like to say a few words?"

"Of course," Tom says smoothly. This could be a great opportunity to appeal to the students, sow some seeds of trust.

He and Potter walk towards the podium.

"Greetings. As many of you may know, I am Tom Marvolo Riddle and I will be teaching DADA this year. With the growing tension from various factions around the world, a thorough background in defensive spells and their theoretical components is essential. I will teach you how to conquer all aspects of yourself and unlock your deepest potential in magic. If you stay steadfast, you should have no problems passing my course. Thank you."

Tom bows his head, pleased with the loud applause he receives. His former reputation among the students as head boy and a whispered leader-to-be should give him more authority than the other teachers. His speech was also vague enough to entice curious individuals that might look for—

"Wow, that was a fancy speech. Mine's not going to be nearly as important. Or cool," Potter says, prompting scattered chuckles among the students. "Honestly, I teach Divination. It's kind of useful. Kind of not. But free pastries in my classes on Mondays," several cheers break out, "and, oh! I'll be sharing my office with Professor Riddle here until repairs on the Divination office are done, so don't be afraid to drop in any time before six o'clock! I promise I won't bite!"

Tom fights back a scowl.

"Aaand before I forget… I must warn you. I see a forecast of flamingoes on the horizon."

At this point, most of the younger students blink in confusion.

Potter nods seriously. "They attack at night, you see. They crave young flesh."

"Um…" a young first year pipes up, with a trembling hand, "Professor, flamingos are herbivores…"

Actually, Tom thinks, flamingos are omnivores. Their diet consists of fish, bugs and—damn it, Potter!

"Not this kind," Potter continues, "they've been experimented on and will come to Hogwarts later to gather up strength from their prey, before rising up against the ones who wronged them. I would sleep with a jar of pickled eggplants until October; that should protect you, ah, and—"

"Forgive me," Tom cuts in, pulling Potter away from the podium, "Professor Potter is feeling ill. He's delusional—"

"—Remember my office hours are open until 6'o clock in the evening! Professor Riddle will be happy to supply any defenseless students with their own pickled eggplants!"

"Shut up, Potter," he hisses, dragging Potter to their seats, since a wandless silencing spell would be stepping out of decorum and Dumbledore is watching.

"What? I'm getting you more fans!"

"Shut up and eat a treacle tart."

That does the trick. At least the ridiculous image of Potter shoving treacle tarts in his mouth is enough to convince the students that their Divination professor is an idiot. Dumbledore unhelpfully shrugs while Snape glowers at them both because Snape is an irrational bastard.

"Oh my god, my favourite!" Potter moans indignantly.

Tom knows. Potter used to hoard those things in his book-bag before Transfiguration class.

"Someday, I'll steal Dippy's recipe for these!"

"Please don't." Knowing Potter, he'll try to force-feed them to Tom just because they're Potter's favourite food.

"Fine. More for me. See if I be generous again. You'll have to find eggplants to give to the students on your own."

"There are no eggplants, Potter."

The students sitting near him and Potter giggle. Tom glares at them too. Rather than cower in fear, they giggle louder.

When Tom takes over Wizarding Britain, he will ban eggplants and treacle tarts. And giggling.

Potter only smiles at him in that annoying way, as if he sees Tom's every thought.

:

"So do you want to know the address of a good eggplant supplier because you'll need it when the flamingoes come—"

"Go to sleep, Potter."

"But really, you'll need—"

Tom shoots a silencio downstairs.

Ah, sweet silence.

EDITED CHAPTER - Nov 15, 2019