To Revive a Soul || Tom Riddle

1. The Archer's Watchful Eye

Eleanor Tippin sauntered into the Great Hall, surrounded by the bubbly, excited faces of first years, all a head shorter than her. She somehow knew by the curious looks on the older students' faces as they sat proudly at their house tables that she'd be picked on for being such a dreadfully tall first year.

But no matter.

Headmaster Dippet was a grey-haired man with a round face and inquisitive gleam in his eyes. He stood presently at a large podium at the end of the hall, clapping his hands together to pull the attention of the students towards him. "Welcome back to Hogwarts," he said, his voice beginning to weaken from old age. "It is time for what is one of my personal favorite traditions that we do here at Hogwarts." Eleanor tried her best to look interested in the Sorting Ceremony but was failing miserably. It had merely been five years since she stepped on the Gordian Knot back in America, but it felt like an eternity ago.

Eleven-year-old Eleanor Tippin shied her way through the immense crowd of young witches and wizards who were waiting anxiously to be sorted into their houses. She was particularly afraid of this moment; it had always been said that the four large wooden statues erected around her had a certain intelligence to them, a certain foresight. She dared not ask what that meant.

As her foot touched the large golden three-sided knot on the floor, her head spun. Voices, everywhere. She couldn't tell whose was whose, but judging from the expressionless looks on the other students' faces, they were all in her head.

"I sense a warrior in her," barked one of them.

"No, Wampus, you dim-witted walnut," hissed another. "She has a mind rivaling the greatest wizards of her time." Wampus growled in return.

"I believe you are both wrong," another said. This voice was gentle, calming to Eleanor's ear. "I see her destiny. She will heal."

"Let's allow the young witch to choose, then, since none of you can come to a conclusion," the final voice replied with finality—Thunderbird, Eleanor knew, from the way the statue's wings instantly lit up and flapped mercilessly, coming to life. It was followed soon by the bright flash of the serpent's gem, the intense roar of the cat, and the movement of the archer's arrow.

A hush fell over the crowd. Eleanor's heart beat madly—is this what she would come to be known as? The freak who was sorted into all four houses? "Choose," she murmured under her breath. "I can't."

"Oh, but you can," hissed the second voice from earlier. "You'd be a perfect fit in my house. I see those calculated, manipulative eyes of yours," the Horned Serpent said into her head.

"On the contrary," Wampus laughed, the sound ringing unpleasantly in her ears. "Miss Tippin, you have the heart of a soldier. You were made to destroy, in all of the best ways."

"I don't believe killing is what you seek, Miss Tippin," Thunderbird spoke smoothly. "You merely seek discovery. You want to know so much, and yet you can only find it if you have the courage to seek it out. I can give you that courage."

"Stop," she whispered, feeling her hands ball into fists. "Just stop, all of you." They were vicious. Every single one.

Except for Pukwudgie.

He had been quiet for most of the bickering, likely eyeing her with a knowing expression, though she couldn't see him emote behind the wooden carving. He had called her a healer, had claimed to have seen her destiny.

After all... if you know the truth, what's the point in arguing? Perhaps silence held a greater power than she knew.

Eleanor stepped off of the Gordian Knot, making her way towards the large statue of the archer and resting her hand upon it, almost as if in a trance. "What do you know?" she asked him, ignoring the cautious glances from students and professors alike. No one had ever conversed with the statues like this.