Chapter Text
The dirty, battered hat was pulled from his head and thunderous cheers reached his ears. Slytherin. Just like he’d hoped. Tom Riddle hopped off the stool and moved to join the table covered in gleaming green and silver banners. He snagged an empty seat near the end of the table and nodded his head politely at his fellow first years. The sorting ceremony wrapped up soon after that. Mountains of food appeared on the table – more food than Tom had ever seen in his life. Creamy mashed potatoes, oodles of vegetables: carrots, broccoli, parsnips. Sausages and bread and butter. Roast chicken, turkey, and even beef. The thickest gravy which smelled amazing.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. Tom’s stomach rumbled and he clenched his hand into a fist. He couldn’t look too eager, even if his hollow cheeks spoke for themselves. If he wanted to be taken seriously in this school then he had to play the part well. Fortunately, young Tom was very good at playing people.
His facial expression remained blank. Tom gave nothing away. He glanced up at the teachers table and made eye contact with a familiar figure. Albus Dumbledore raised his goblet in acknowledgement, a little smile on his lips. Tom mimicked him. Only Dumbledore knew the truth about his humble beginnings and hopefully he would keep them to himself. This was a fresh start for Tom and he would not squander it.
None of these new prospective students knew he was a muggleborn raised in an orphanage. For all they knew he was a pureblood, just like them. Tom intended to keep it that way. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
And he was no stranger to telling lies.
With that thought in mind, Tom began helping himself to some food. He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and took a sip. Hm. It wasn’t half bad. The chatter of students rose and fell in the Great Hall. His eyes swept over the three other tables. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. He’d read about them all in Hogwarts: A History. Bravery, Loyalty and Wit. Had Tom not been in Slytherin, Ravenclaw would have been his second choice. He did value intelligence beyond anything else. He speared some vegetables up with his fork and popped them into his mouth.
“Hello!” A high voice said. “Riddle, yes?”
Tom focused in on the young girl in front of him. She had long black hair and heavily lidded grey eyes. She was pale with sharp cheekbones and an upturned nose. She was wearing a set of Slytherin robes in comparison to his plain black, so not a first year. Second, perhaps?
“Yes.” He forced a smile. She looked aristocratic so she must have been a pureblood. This was his chance. He needed to get them on side. “Tom Riddle. And you are?”
“Walburga Black.” She had a Received Pronunciation accent. Polished vowels like the sea lapping gently against the shore. Tom immediately felt dirty. His own accent was east end cockney, sharp and harsh like jagged rocks. He would need to smooth that out, too. No one would believe he was a pureblood if he sounded like an unintelligent idiot.
Tom shook her hand. “A pleasure, Miss Black.”
She smiled back at him, but her eyes were sharp. For someone so young, she was fully switched on. She seemed a lot older than her twelve years, but then again so did Tom. Walburga turned to the boy on her left.
“Orion, meet Tom.”
The boy known as ‘Orion’ turned and offered Tom his hand. He had dark hair styled in elegant curls and sharp cheekbones like Walburga. “Orion Black. Nice to meet you, Tom.”
Tom glanced between the two of them. He could see the resemblance now. “Siblings?” He questioned, taking a sip of his drink.
“Cousins,” Orion said.
There were a few Slytherin’s looking in their direction now, and Tom felt like a gazelle amongst the lions. Are you predator or prey, Tom Riddle? His fellow snakes were sizing him up and he was beginning to realise there would be no room for weakness in this house. He had guessed that already, but to see it in action was a little … intimidating.
He refused to be cowed.
He straightened his spine, raised his chin. Tom had managed to keep every child in the orphanage under his thumb and Hogwarts would be no different. He just had to use the same tactics.
Fear.
Tom’s grey eyes turned icy as he swept his gaze slowly across his fellow Slytherin’s. Some students looked away; others stared boldly back. That was good. Those were the type of people he’d want in his corner. He was better than all of them and he refused to be subdued. They’d learn that soon enough. He scrutinised his fellow first years. One boy had immaculate white-blond hair and a haughty expression on his face. Another was redheaded – the rest brunettes. Tom tried to recall their names from the sorting ceremony but he had been so nervous he hadn’t listened. A freckled boy who sat on his left elbowed him gently.
“He’s Abraxas Malfoy,” the child said in a conspiratorial manner, nodding at the blond. “Then beside him is Theodore Avery … Then we’ve got Lestrange on his right. He’s French. Dunno why his parents didn’t send him to Beaubaxtons but here he is anyway. And that’s Mulciber—” He pointed to another, who looked up and nodded his head coolly at Tom.
“Oh, and that’s Cassius Nott—” This was the redhead. “Apparently his father wrote the Pure-blood Directory. You read it?”
Tom nodded, even though he had no idea what the Pure-Blood Directory was. He turned to face the speaker, taking note of the intelligent brown eyes, the smirk on his face. He was black. His posture was impeccable. He looked both confident and completely at ease. The other boys were now giving Tom and this stranger their full attention.
“And you are?” Tom asked.
“Jack Rosier.”
Tom glanced at each boy, noting the gleam in their eyes. They all reeked of wealth and opportunity and privilege and he wanted that. He wanted that so badly it hurt. They were young, impressionable. Even now they were waiting with bated breath for him to speak.
He was the shepherd and he’d finally found his flock.
A pleasant smile swept across Tom’s face. “Nice to meet you all. I’m Tom Riddle.”