Chapter 16: The Sorting Ceremony
The giant oak doors crept open in front of them.
Professor McGonagall stood waiting at the threshold, the stern witch with her hair scraped into its usual tight bun. Her sharp eyes swept over the first years as if she could already see every rule they were about to break.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats, you must first be Sorted into your houses."
She gave a brisk introduction to the four houses, then made them straighten their robes and fix their collars as if neatness could prevent disaster.
When Ron mentioned that Slytherin had produced many Dark witches and wizards, Harry's brows knitted so tightly it looked painful. The distaste on his face was so obvious it might as well have been written on his forehead.
Tamara let out a quiet, cold laugh.
Ignorant. The so called saviour had no taste at all.
Professor McGonagall led them across the entrance hall to a pair of tall double doors. From beyond came the constant rumble of hundreds of voices, like a sea pressing against the shore.
The doors swung open.
The Great Hall, loud a heartbeat ago, fell into a strange hush.
Thousands of candles floated in mid air above four long tables, bathing the hall in warm light. Golden plates and goblets sat neatly arranged, waiting for food that did not yet exist.
At the high table, the professors watched, a line of faces that ranged from amused to bored to openly predatory.
Tamara's gaze snapped to the golden chair in the centre.
Albus Dumbledore.
The old madman sat with his hands loosely folded, studying the incoming first years with bright curiosity, as if they were pieces on a board he already knew how to move.
Tamara pulled her eyes away at once.
Legilimency was a risk. Occlumency was not yet hers.
Instead, she looked up at the ceiling, bewitched to mirror the night sky outside. Stars glittered overhead, impossibly close and perfectly calm, as though the castle itself enjoyed mocking anyone who believed peace was permanent.
Professor McGonagall placed a four legged stool in front of the high table.
On it sat a pointed wizard's hat.
It was patched, frayed, and so filthy that Tamara's nose wrinkled on instinct.
Of all Hogwarts traditions, this was one of the most unbearable. A hat that had not been washed in centuries, passed from head to head like a shared curse.
The hat twitched. A rip opened like a mouth. It began to sing.
Tamara tuned out the familiar verses about the Founders, letting the noise slide off her thoughts while she calculated.
The Sorting Hat had a mind.
It had perception.
It could see into a person's heart.
Which meant that besides Dumbledore, it was the most likely thing in the entire castle to recognise what she truly was.
I must shut that wretched hat's mouth before it screams.
The song ended, and the hall thundered with applause.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a roll of parchment.
"Hannah Abbott!"
A rosy faced girl with two blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line and put the hat on. A moment later, it shouted, "Hufflepuff!"
Names continued, one after another, each student vanishing into one of four destinies with a single word.
Tamara watched with icy patience.
"Harry Potter!"
Whispers ignited across the hall like sparks catching dry grass.
"Potter? Did she say Potter?"
"The Harry Potter?"
Tamara followed him with her eyes as the small, black haired boy walked forward and sat on the stool.
The hat did not shout at once.
Seconds stretched.
Then half a minute.
Nearly a full minute.
Tamara narrowed her eyes. So the saviour, the boy carrying a fragment of her soul, was not as uncomplicated as Gryffindor would like to pretend. The hat was hesitating.
At last, it cried, "Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table erupted. The Weasley twins bellowed, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Harry looked visibly relieved as he hurried to his new house amid cheers and pounding hands.
More names followed. More children disappeared into their chosen corners of the hall.
And then, finally:
"Tamara Riddle."
Professor McGonagall paused, just for a moment, but it was enough. Her eyes flicked between the parchment and the girl stepping forward, and something old and unpleasant moved behind her stern expression.
The same surname.
Fifty years ago.
The hall went silent.
It was not only the name that did it, though that alone could have cut the air.
It was Tamara.
Her posture as she climbed the steps was too composed, too elegant. Her dark green robes swayed softly with each measured stride. In the candlelight, her face looked pale and striking, beautiful in a way that made people uneasy, as if they were admiring a blade without realising it was already pointed at them.
Professor McGonagall set the Sorting Hat on Tamara's head.
The brim slipped down and covered her eyes. Darkness swallowed the Great Hall, leaving only the stale scent of old leather.
The next second, the tiny voice that only the wearer could hear did not begin with gentle observation.
It screamed.
"AAAAAAHHHHH!"
If the hat had legs, it would have leapt off her head and sprinted straight into the Forbidden Forest.
"Merlin's beard, what is this?" it shrieked inside her mind, trembling as though it had seen something that should not exist. "This soul… that familiar, sickening stench of darkness…"
A horrified pause.
"It is you."
The Sorting Hat had recognised the signature of Tom Riddle's soul.
It had Sorted him into Slytherin, all those years ago.
"Shut up," Tamara ordered coldly, her thought as sharp as a wand tip. "If you shout that aloud, I will tear you to rags and throw you into the Black Lake to feed the squid."
"You are still alive? How did you end up like this?" the hat wailed, almost incoherent. "No. No, I must tell Dumbledore. This is too dangerous. Hogwarts cannot tolerate a Dark Lord…"
It gathered itself, ready to announce the truth to the entire school.
And then another force slammed into the moment like a door kicked open.
[Ding! Host identity exposure crisis detected.]
[Virtue system forced intervention: Soul Aura fully activated.]
[Activating Special Effect: Holy Light Illumination.]
Boom.
In the Sorting Hat's perception, beside the soul that was black as ink, full of tyranny and cold intent, a surge of pure golden brilliance erupted, holy and blinding.
It was the [Virtue Aura] the system had forcibly grafted onto her.
"My eyes!" the hat howled. "I do not have eyes, but my consciousness is going blind!"
What was it seeing?
On one side, a bottomless abyss.
On the other, the radiant light of something that belonged in sermons and fairy tales.
Half was the cruelty of Lord Voldemort.
Half was compassion so exaggerated it felt borrowed, like a saint's mask nailed to a monster's face.
The contradiction hit the thousand year old enchantment like a hammer.
"This cannot be," the hat muttered, shaking violently. "Extreme evil and extreme goodness… how can they exist in the same soul?"
"What are you?" it whispered, genuinely terrified. "A saint? Or a demon?"
"I am the student you are meant to Sort," Tamara snapped, forcing down the sudden throb behind her eyes. "Get on with it. Put me in Slytherin."
"Slytherin? No. No, no," the hat stammered, still reeling in the glare of that golden light. "You have ambition and cunning fit for Slytherin, but this light, this desire to save the world…"
Its voice rose with sudden certainty, as if it had found the only way to make sense of the madness.
"Hufflepuff. You should go to Hufflepuff. Only there could this spirit of self sacrifice for others be housed!"
"What did you just say?"
Tamara nearly stood up so fast the stool would have toppled.
Hufflepuff.
To a Dark Lord, it was not a house. It was an insult.
"If you dare shout Hufflepuff," Tamara threatened, her thoughts turning cold and vicious, "I will use Fiendfyre to burn you into ash. I swear it. Even with Dumbledore watching, I can destroy you in three seconds."
A pause.
Then she shifted, letting the system's hypocrisy lend her a tone of smooth reason.
"And think, Mr Hat. Only in Slytherin can I reform the ones with the darkest potential. That is the greatest good, is it not?"
The hat went quiet.
It trembled harder, trapped in its own war of instincts and ancient magic. Below, students craned their necks and whispered. Professors watched with narrowed eyes.
Tamara had been sitting there for nearly three minutes, longer than anyone except Harry Potter.
The hat twitched and writhed like it was being squeezed.
Finally, it cracked.
Whatever this was, it could not bear it any longer. It wanted off this head. It wanted distance. It wanted peace, and apparently Hogwarts did not offer refunds.
"Fine," it whispered weakly. "Fine."
A beat, almost like resignation.
"Since you insist… and you do possess Salazar's bloodline and some terrifying talent…"
Its voice turned faintly bitter.
"Then go and plague them."
With the last of its strength, the Sorting Hat opened its mouth to the hall and shouted, nearly hoarse:
"SLYTHERIN!"
.....
[Check Out My Patreon For Advance Chapters On All My Fanfics!]
[[email protected]/Eldryx]