Work Text:
Tom would be vibrating in anticipation if he wasn't an extremely powerful and level-headed Dark Lord and didn't have impeccable self-control. Thankfully for his reputation and image, he was not actually eleven years old, and could reign in his emotions, no matter how long he had been waiting for this. Ten whole years, and it was finally happening. Tom was ready to take the magical world by storm.
Harry, behind him, rustled as he shifted on his feet, clinging to Tom's sleeve. He turned his head to look at him. Harry was biting his lip as he watched more and more silly children his age get called up to sit on a chair to have an old hat put on their head and decide their future.
"Remember," he murmured to the boy, "it's Slytherin. Ask for Slytherin. That's important."
Harry continued chewing his lip, but nodded. He went back to watching the proceedings, suddenly clutching Tom's sleeve harder. Ah. Hermione Granger, another irritating child who over the course of the last few years had wormed her way into his life and, unfortunately, his care, had just been called. Tom focused on her, wondering if he could curse the Sorting Hat to place her in the same house as he and Harry would be going. Not because it mattered to him. Obviously. But Harry might be sad if they separated, and Harry got whingy when he was sad.
Surely it wouldn't be too hard to Imperius a stupid old hat?
Tom couldn't see Hermione's expression under the wide brim of the oversized Hat, but he could see her wriggling on the stool, a sign she was working up an argument. Indeed, it was taking the Hat quite some time to decide where to put her. Well, Tom really hated to say it but he trusted her to come up with a decent argument. She was sensible enough.
Or so he thought.
“HUFFLEPUFF!” called out the Hat, and Tom sighed in disappointment, rubbing a thumb over Harry’s tight knuckles so the boy wouldn’t hurt himself. It was a shame the girl wouldn’t share their common room, but they would be sure to have some lessons with her, and there were no rules that Hufflepuffs couldn’t sit at the Slytherin table for mealtimes. Hermione skipped over to the clapping yellow table, shooting an excited smile and a thumbs up at Harry once she was sat. Tom rolled his eyes.
“It’ll be okay. Just remember—” But Tom cut himself off when Harry detached himself from Tom’s robes to sign at him.
“Can’t we just join her there?” He gave Tom his horrible, disgusting, deplorable puppy eyes that were almost definitely some kind of dark magic for the way they turned his brain functions to mush. “I don’t understand why you want to go to the other house so much anyway.”
But the puppy eyes would not defeat Tom, no matter how adorable and scheming they were. He was a master occlumens already, and had spent decades subjugating all manner of people to his whims. No underhanded tactics could crack his icy resolve.
“Please, Tom?”
Tom closed his eyes. Harry was getting too powerful. He had learned from the best, but Tom was now questioning the wisdom of allowing Harry to gain such mastery over the art of manipulation. “No, Harry. It’s important, trust me.” It was his best chance to keep the both of them safe. It definitely wasn’t because it was the House he was most familiar with. Or because he missed the green lighting. Or the comfy sofas. No. That had nothing to do with why he needed to go back to Slytherin House. It was to ingratiate—no, insinuate himself into the high esteem of his peers, whose connections would be invaluable to them in the future. That wingback hearth-side armchair with the crushed velvet cushion had absolutely nothing to do with it. Still, it was the memory of sinking into this chair on a cold winter’s morning, green light trickling through the watery windows, that he used to defend himself against the onslaught of Harry’s beseeching expression. “You’ll still see her plenty, don’t worry. And you’ll have me.”
Harry looked at his shoes, but he nodded again as he reached once more for Tom’s sleeve. Tom absolutely didn’t sigh in relief now that his will was no longer threatening to fold like one of those silly lawn chairs the Grangers got out in summer time. He just awkwardly patted the boy’s head.
In no time at all, Minerva McGonagall was calling out for a, “Potter, Harry!” Tom nudged him forward with a final whisper of Slytherin, Harry, make sure to get Slytherin! and then Harry was walking out alone in front of the crowd. There were murmurs from people who clearly hadn’t read the newspaper since their group visit to Diagon Alley.
“Who?”
“Never heard of him.”
“What?”
“There’s another Potter?”
"The Boy-Who-Lived has a sibling?"
Harry’s shoulders curled in on themselves and Tom warred with the urge to kill everyone in the room for making him uncomfortable. He clenched his hands into fists. That would come later. First came setting a clear foundation, in Slytherin, and making sure no one even thought about looking at Harry in a less than pleasant way would come next.
The Sorting Hat almost dropped right to Harry’s chin, and Tom was struck with the inexplicable urge to coo. Harry’s knuckles were white on the edge of the stool.
After about a minute and no result, the students were restless with murmurs, and Tom, too, forced himself not to shift on his feet. What could be taking so long? Harry was definitely cunning and sneaky enough to go to Slytherin, not to mention his relation to Tom, who was the Heir himself (helpfully forgetting the difference of universe and body he currently occupied,) there should be no issue. Harry was lacking in ambition, but if he asked for Slytherin, that should surely outweigh—
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
What.
Tom clenched his jaw, giving the sheepish Harry replacing the Hat on the stool a stern look. He almost ground his teeth, but Doctors Granger had warned him against that. Well. That was most definitely… not ideal.
Tom wasted a moment considering leaving Harry alone with Hermione in Hufflepuff, and going to Slytherin on his own which the Hat would undoubtedly advise him for before dismissing the thought. He couldn’t leave Harry on his own, that would be unconscionable. Letting out a deep sigh as “Potter, Thomas!” was called, he said goodbye to his dreams of the lovely armchair. His plans were scrambled. Harry would get a Talking To later.
He strode to the stool among various whispers Tom didn’t care to listen to. Yes, yes, he was supposedly the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry’s twin, whatever. Discussions about Gryffindor, as if that was ever an option for him, how asinine. That didn’t matter. He had to think of a way to convince the Hat to let him into Hufflepuff. He could only imagine the fight it would put up. For a mind so clearly cunning and ambitious as his, Slytherin was the only option. But that cunning would only aid him in deceiving the Hat in the end, and he would not allow himself to be separated from Harry for seven whole years. That boy would probably find away to impale himself with a toothbrush if Tom wasn't there to look after him. He let a smirk curl his lips as he slipped the hat onto his head (ignoring the humiliation of it falling past his ears) already mentally demanding, send me to Hufflepuff or I’ll burn you to a crisp.
But to his surprise, he felt the Hat laugh in his head. Deary me, it thought, did you really think you would be placed anywhere else?
Tom only had a moment to feel bewildered before the cry rang through the Hall, “HUFFLEPUFF!”
Then he remained on the stool for a moment more, shocked to the core.
Him, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, considered for Hufflepuff indisputably?
Had there been some kind of a mistake?
The sound of clapping, at first slow as if confused and then a crescendo to almost a roar shook him from his state, and he put the hat back, making a beeline for where Harry was sitting with Hermione, ignoring the fallen faces of the Gryffindors on the next table over.
Harry greeted him with a blinding smile, clapping so hard his glasses were almost falling off his nose. “You,” said Tom, pushing Harry’s glasses up for him, “have a lot of explaining to do, young man.”
Harry’s smile didn’t falter for a second. Instead, he signed, “I knew this was the best one for you.”
For the second time that night, Tom was struck with shock. “My,” he said, almost breathless. “You really should have been in Slytherin.”
Harry just shifted himself under Tom’s arm, signing, “I’m so glad we’re still together,” and Tom despaired at what his life had become. Hermione giggled on Tom’s other side, until Tom glared at her, and then she giggled harder.
Tom resigned himself to having to charm some of the torches in the Hufflepuff common room green, and protecting the family he had acquired with means other than manipulation.
And, was Harry avoiding broccoli again? The foolish boy would never grow if he didn't get the right nutrients. He was glad that at least Hermione knew the importance of tooth health, and he only had one child to coerce into good eating habits. He found that it wasn't so bad to start this chapter of his new life shovelling greenery onto Harry's plate. It certainly was different to how his life in the last universe had gone, but Tom couldn't find it in himself to regret who he had become.
Now he just had to plan how to permanently get rid of this universe's Voldemort, from Hufflepuff. Annoying, but doable. And if it meant Harry and Hermione would be happy and safe, there were no levels to which he would not stoop. He did still have that chemistry explosions book somewhere...