The Fear in The Child

7

Tom really had no care for the children being sorted before him.He knew none of them, and in the end it did not matter to him as he had no knowledge of who they were, or what purpose they would serve. Although, he will admit, he did keep a certain...cautious eye on the few that were sorted into Slytherin. They could be of some use in the future. He knew that he would be the last sorting, considering he was in 5th year and although Dumbledore had not specified that he had suspected, but he also knew that he could get quite a bit of information from just watching those around him. Even now, information could be gleaned by merely watching the first years get sorted.

It was obvious that the Slytherins were as well-conducted as ever from what he had watched as of now, which made Tom glad that, although much may have changed, the Slytherins remain able to keep themselves shrouded in self control, for the most part. It would also seem that, just as it was in his time, he would be the only Half-Blood to enter Slytherin. He knew that Slytherins were not commonly anything but Purebloods. He also knew that this would cause contention between the students, though less than before when he had been assumed to be muggle born. Knowing that his mother was a pure blood had its perks, he supposed. As it was within his years during Wold War 2, the Slytherin house had the least amount of new students. It was not such a surprise, he supposed. With the stringent expectations of the great Salazar, it was no shocker that very few witches and wizards met his expectations. Those who did commonly inhabited most but not necessarily all of them. 

He would have to play it somewhat safe, considering the current state of things, but he also knew that he would not allow himself to simply be pushed around either. He at the very minimum had a better foothold of things this time...which was better than the last time. Even still, he found himself slightly tinged with nerves. In no time, however, it was his turn to be sorted.

"Unlike most years," the dingy old woman spoke, Tom had no idea who she was, he figured probably transfiguration teacher. It was a post given to many Gryffindor teachers and she had the scent of a Gryffindor all over her. Tom disliked her, immensely. Not as much as he did Dumbledore, though nobody could take the peak of his hatred of Dumbledore, not even Morfin, which was definitely saying something given Tom's lackluster meetings with his Uncle. 

"Now, this semester we have an Exchange student, who is transferring to Hogwarts, and is in his 5th year currently. As is the way with all students he will be sorted." Tom rolled his eyes. Was it really necessary to explain he was going to be sorted when it was fairly obvious to anyone with any common sense that he would need to be sorted?

"Tom Riddle, if you would please come to the stool." Tom closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He walked up to the stool, capturing eyes, as he was wont to do in his days during hogwarts. Though, he may be malnourished (not to mention injuries which were easily hidden by his robes which had not yet fully healed) he had this gift of Presence. It was that which led Abraxas to him I the first place. All decent Slytherins had Presence. The ability to captivate a full room. It would be shameful if they did not. The amount of social interaction which happened within the Pureblood, and especially Slytherin societies. 

"The hat will not hurt you." Tom barely stopped from rolling his eyes as the old lady spoke to him, frustration already welling through him, and sat on the bloody stool, just as the professor placed the raggedy hat on his head.

He felt the familiar presence immediately. The first time he had freaked out inwardly at the fact that this hat could read into his mind, though he had suspected Dumbledore of doing something similar to what he had done it had been terrifying to have a confirmation...now, the hat would need permission.

I cannot sort you if you do not lower your shields, young one. Tom sighed heavily, which all would be able to see.

Fine, but only because you cannot report what you see to that pathetic excuse for a Headmaster. Tom really needed to work on not allowing his hatred of Dumbledore to move through his tone of voice when he spoke of him. It was difficult to do though, and it would be a long while before he managed that. With that sentence he reluctantly lowered his shields around his mind.
The hat nearly recoiled. There was horror in this one's memories. Hurt, betrayal, and a strong, strong streak for vengence. 

At first glance, your vengeance makes you worthy of Gryffindor. Tom nearly ripped the hat off his head, if it were not for the next thing which quickly exited the hat. But your desire to seek revenge, to gain your vengence through any means possible, that...that Mark's you as a Slytherin, young Tom, and most certainly quite opposite to a Gryffindor, though your sense of desire for vengeance too, is far stronger then most Gryffindors.. Not to mention your desire to make reperations against all that have wronged you, that...that is quite the definitive Slytherin quality. Yours is quite strong, I do not see it often. Tom seethed, he could not help it.

DO. Not. Call. Me. Tom. That pathetic excuse for a father deserves to rot. I do not care what my mother saw in him, he is no father to me. Tom hissed to the hat in his mind.

Young Marvolo then, better?

Much,  Tom admitted, though with slight reluctance. He could not believe that he had allowed himself to get so emotionally heated over something such as that. It would do well to be far more careful with that.

Looking deep, your slytherin values are as strong now as they were back then. When I first sorted you. If anything, they have grown stronger. Your ambition tis still as strong as it was during Grindelwald's time. Your sense of vengence, stronger, your cunning....oh such a vicious streak as you had when you were eleven has only grown stronger and more powerful. Your self preservation, however, marks you perfect. It has grown, since last we met. I have no delusions it will not grow more. 

Wonderful, Tom said sarcastically. You know what house I am to be placed, as though there was ever a real doubt. Tom scoffed.

You have yet to find out who your mother's family truly is. Dumbledore is keeping vital information from you, but to seek it straight from him is suicide at best. Trust your friends and your allies, for if any may know your legacy, if any could possibly mark who you are before them, it would be the house you were destined for long before your birth. It would be the house whose blood runs so thick and deep within your veins it matters not that your are a half-blood or puureblood. It would be those you are destined to rule over, the ever so cunning house of SLYTHERIN!!!

The last word was yelled for all to hear. Tom tore the hat off his head, breathing heavily. He handed the hat to the professor whose name he had failed to care enough to catch, and headed towards the Slytherin house, his mind racing a mile a minute. He had a clue. He just needed to be capable of tracing his mother's family. He would need to visit Morfin's house, or rather....technically it was his now he supposed, with Morfin dead.

The Slytherins, barring Draco, were giving him side looks. He knew those looks and he did not care. He sat towards the end of the table, ignoring Draco's eye. He reigned in his emotions.

It would be a long dinner.