It was Neville's fault really. Tom fumed in the aftermath for nearly the rest of the train ride to himself. He had been focusing on the bloody toad, but Neville's mind had wandered.

And of course, to satisfy his insatiable curiosity (he just had to know things!), Tom couldn't help it. From the very corners of the boy's mind, he noticed recurring patterns. Visits to St. Mungo's. The same two patients with the haunted look.

He could understand better now the value of privacy and why it wasn't a good idea to poke into people's minds, even if he wouldn't admit it to Hermione. It was scarcely possible that this sad-looking boy could be hiding a secret of such enormity and tragedy. He almost wished he hadn't known because the scenes were too depressing to be believed. Death was preferable or at least he understood now why some people might think that way.

The way the boy turned out was to be expected given the circumstances. And he had also seen the boy's grandmother constantly belittle him as being unworthy of his father. And having been shown his childhood talking to non-responsive parents who didn't recognise him, Tom also learned the perpetrators: Bellatrix, Rabastan, Rodolphus Lestrange and Bartemius Crouch Jr. They committed the act on behalf of Lord Voldemort.

Tom had researched the Dark Lord. Voldemort had come close to taking control of the country, only to be stopped by Albus Dumbledore. Then he was mysteriously defeated the night he attacked the Potters. The very same Harry Potter apparently whose hand he had shaken at the zoo this summer.

This troubling connection in Tom's mind had finally led him to a singular conclusion: was the Dark Lord his future self? He didn't have the definitive answer to that question. But inside he rejected and recoiled at the idea that he would have been some kind of outlaw and murderer of infants, detested and disdained by most of magical society. In his own thoughts, he had always imagined himself as great, but it was greatness acknowledged by all.

These doubts plagued him and he now wasn't sure if he should apply the brakes to some of his ambitions or whether his thoughts were completely unwarranted: because he just couldn't have grown up to be this Voldemort persona.

Beyond the train compartment where they sat, in the hallways and corridors he could hear the ringing voices shouting about the Boy-Who-Lived and Hermione eventually went to investigate but Tom refused to join her. About half an hour later, Hermione returned and with darkness falling rapidly outside, they neared their destination.

The chill of the night air broke his reverie of introspection as he stepped out and was caught by surprise and barely saw the shadow of an enormous figure striding towards them out of the dark fog. His every step was massive and he sported a great mane of unkempt hair with a thundering voice that was at once both gruff and booming.

"Firs' years, all firs' years this way!"

Waving his gigantic calloused hands, no one could fail to hear or see him and Tom felt pretty sure he wasn't fully human. Nearly too startled to speak, he and Hermione followed the queue of first year students dumbly before he noticed a pattern. There were groups walking silently in the village while others were chattering loudly as if they knew the giant who was leading them. Two quite distinct groups.

He nudged Hermione.

"How do you think they'll be testing us for the sorting into houses?"

She crossed her arms. "We've discussed this before on the train, no one apparently has any idea."

"It's just, it doesn't make any sense. I distinctly remember reading something somewhere on it, about the method of selection. But I can't seem to recall, not even where I might have read it. I think it must be magic."

"How is it possible that there's so much information about Hogwarts available on bookshelves, but not the method of sorting, anyways?"

When they finally approached the shores of the great lake, they could see the the great castle sitting on a lonely cliff that overlooked the huge expanse of water with soaring turrets lit up by torches of magical fire that cast a faint glow on the lake's mirrored reflection. The waters were perfectly still until the boat oars dipped and rowed themselves, then the ripple made it all impressionistic light in the midst of watery pitch blackness.

The gas lamps leading the boats guided the way forward while Hagrid's boat, larger than the rest, stood out in front as he occasionally bellowed out encouragements. The faint lights of Hogwarts grew bolder as they approached the boat house where they disembarked at the foot of a steep cliff that was wrapped around by a winding rock-cut staircase.

As their eyes adjusted to the glare of the castle lights from the entrance hall, Tom made out the same stern and steely witch that he had seen in Diagon Alley accompanying the Grangers. Most of what she said as they were led to the Great Hall, Tom already knew and judging from Hermione's expression, she did as well. The only new thing he learned was the practice of sorting students through the use of an ancient magical hat.

He wasn't focusing on what she was saying however. He could simply feel all the magic swirling in the castle and it was the most wondrous sensation he had ever experienced; it elevated his very senses and the airiness and lightness that he experienced when opening up to it for the first time endowed his faculties with greater clarity. It lifted the cloud of confusion that had been coiling inside the pit of his stomach for weeks.

The Great Hall was like music from a heavenly choir, a symphony of magic. The Founders who had built this… had created the greatest masterpiece. Tom wasn't focused on the visual spectacle of enchanted ceilings that opened up to starry skies with a cascade of floating candles, but the feel of the magic itself was like ecstasy.

Closing his eyes as if in meditation to the secret harmonies, he barely noticed, in the midst of rapture, the four long tables with hundreds of seated students staring at them. Nor the sorting hat's song or the stream of students beginning to be sorted until McGonagoll announced:

"Granger, Hermione."

"GRYFFINDOR!", the hat shouted after only ten seconds and he watched as Hermione took her place at the table of scarlet and gold as she had promised back on the train amidst the customary applause.

He began to pay attention to the names, the surnames in particular as they were called out by Professor McGonagoll so he would know what he'd have to deal with. There were pureblood names like "Greengrass", "Lestrange", "Longbottom", whom he had terrorised on the train was sorted into Hufflepuff, "Macmillan", "Malfoy", "Nott", and "Parkinson". Between them, these pureblood families regularly controlled either directly or indirectly over half the seats in the Wizengamot.

That wizarding legislative body and supreme court was unelected (Tom had been surprised to learn) unlike the muggle world, with appointed lifelong members mostly from purebloods.

By far the most important name, was Malfoy due to the family's extraordinary wealth which ironically was created from their connections to the muggle world in the first place. The Malfoys controlled the Board of Governors and they essentially had veto power over Dumbledore and could even dismiss him from his post.

The Minister for Magic, although elected, represented the unchecked power of the Ministry: accountable to only the Wizengamot and apart from that holding theoretically unlimited power whilst in office. The current one Fudge, was deemed by the pureblood families as weak-willed enough to be controlled as a virtual puppet. Since Dumbledore was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot (by popular acclaim), none of them dared make a direct play for the Ministry position and Tom couldn't blame them. Who wanted to rule and be the object of direct criticism if you could pull strings instead?

He paid special attention to Harry Potter who was sorted into Gryffindor but found him only to be seemingly unremarkable, naive and easy to read.

And then it was his turn. As soon as "Riddle, Thomas" was called, he thought he imagined a shiver run throughout the hall but it was nothing. There might have been some nervous rustling amongst the teachers seated at the high table, did they know who he was? Who he might have grown up to be?

Soon his thoughts were drowned out by the interior of that black hat that he dropped onto his own drooping head over the stool. He clenched his teeth and waited.

Well, well… What can I say? Talent such as yours certainly doesn't arrive… not even once every generation. Now when was the last time… that I remember? How many years? Thirty, forty, no fifty years. Half a century and still counting.

Do you remember sorting someone like me?

Indeed, the soul is the same, but the mind is different. I sort minds, if you'll remember from my song that you failed to pay any attention to. Forgive me while I amuse myself… but Ravenclaw could certainly use a mind like yours-

RAVENCLAW, Tom thought to himself furiously, outrage filling him. He could just imagine Hermione snickering at him if he went there. Was the hat suggesting that he lacked the ambitiousness, the callousness that was required…

It was just a suggestion, mind you. An extremely amusing scenario to contemplate but of course, it's not in your blood after all and your mind is most definitely made up; therefore To SLYTHERIN you go!

"Riddle?" Malfoy said loudly, repeating his surname again and giving Tom a considered look. Tom had nearly flinched before being forced to give his surname to Malfoy, scowling.

"I don't think I remember that name. Was your father a half-blood?"

"I don't know who my parents are," Tom replied only half-truthfully. "I'm an orphan." Short and to the point.

"Yeah?" Draco said looking completely disinterested and turning away back to Crabbe. Five minutes later, he remembered.

"Ah yes, Neville Longbottom said that a certain Tom Riddle - well you put him in a state after he lost his toad. He was sitting with us. He came back and was snivelling like a three year old over something."

"Did he just lose his toad again?"

Draco found that to be quite funny. "No, but he was looking even worse than when he'd initially lost it. So, I just wondered what on earth you must have done to him-"

His first impressions of the Slytherin common room ended up being… disappointing. Despite Malfoy's boasts, Tom was left with an idea of faded grandeur, pretensions of high nobility, and a desperate clinging to tradition (or whatever was left of it). He did not object to the gloom or the sinister aura of intrigue that pervaded, but there was seemingly something out of place with the unquestioning worship of history highlighted by the rich tapestries and sculpted carvings highlighting every significant Slytherin pureblood wizard or witch who ever lived.

"So who is Riddle anyways," Zabini said poking Tom with his wand who effortlessly dodged his effort. "Is your name, like a riddle? A mystery that is too difficult to solve?" He laughed and most of the other five first year Slytherin boys joined him.

Tom paused a moment to listen to the gentle sounds of the lake lapping at the windows before deciding his course of action.

For dramatic effect, he suddenly flicked his wand out and all the silver lamps in their dormitory died. None of the other boys suspected him and they scrambled to try and relight them, complaining endlessly.

"That's enough," Tom said seriously. "You won't be able to light them, not until I've had my say on the matter."

"SERPENSORTIA," he swished his wand downwards and although it was a relatively easy spell to master, Tom had practiced until he could summon the largest and most venomous of snakes for his amusement.

Nobody dared say a word in response to the low hiss that was coming from the cold dungeon stone floor.

"COLLOPORTUS," Tom said again locking the door. "LUMOS."

Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, even Nott screamed at the sight. Tom pointed his wand at each of them silencing them in turn until they could no longer make a sound. Malfoy, Nott, Zabini made futile gestures waving and pointing their own wands at Tom but he merely snickered and disregarded that threat.

As Crabbe and Goyle lunged forward with their massive knuckles, he petrified them both and was quick enough to summon both armchairs that stood in the dormitory so they didn't hit the hard dungeon floor.

The King Cobra lay coiling comfortably in the midst of Slytherin's carpet, in the exact place where the serpent badge was.

Now, he could talk without being constantly interrupted. It was a liberating feeling.

"Firstly, my name is Riddle to hide the secret that I am Salazar's last direct descendent and therefore his heir. Now that I have revealed this to you ALONE, I expect… cooperation, encouragement from my peers, shall we say." He spat out the words as he was loathed to consider them his peers.

Before this evening had even concluded, he'd already finalised his assessments. There were two mongrels, one spoiled brat, one jerk, and one loner. This was getting promising.

The sorting hat had also confirmed it to him. Tom wasn't exactly sure, but that didn't matter at all when it could be of some use to him immediately.

Do I have permission to stroke you? As the deadly snake nodded, and Tom saw nothing but truth in her beady eyes, he gently stroked its curved head with two of his fingers. Scare, but don't bite them. They are annoying me.

Conjured snakes didn't have the full venom potential as real ones, but they didn't know that yet.

The Cobra rose high, standing majestically taller than any of them, its head swaying forth dangerously and hissing with its fork tongue backed the remaining three boys hastily towards the wall.

In a flash, Tom undid all his magic. First, vanishing the snake in front of the awestruck boys, he lifted the body binds and the silencing charms and the locked door sprang open again to let in the full noise from the common room while the lamps were lit up one by one with bluebell fire from Tom's wand tip. It was like nothing had happened at all.

Before he went to bed, Tom retrieved his copy of Hogwarts, A History from his multiple compartment trunk and confirmed really that it did contain a section about the sorting hat, which he could not remember reading even though he knew he'd read that chapter. He'd have to check with Hermione to see if he had somehow overlooked the passage.