The giant oak doors slowly opened before them.
Professor McGonagall—the stern Witch who always wore her hair in a tight bun—stood at the door to greet them.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats, you must first be sorted into your houses."
After briefly introducing the four houses, she had them straighten their clothes.
Upon hearing Ron mention that Slytherin produced many Dark Wizards, Harry's brows furrowed deeply; his expression clearly showed his repulsion toward the house.
Tamara let out a cold laugh. What an ignorant fellow; it seemed the savior had no taste.
Professor McGonagall led them through the entrance hall to a pair of double doors.
From within came the buzzing voices of hundreds of people.
The moment the doors swung open, the noisy Great Hall instantly fell somewhat silent.
Thousands of candles floated above four long tables, illuminating the entire hall. The tables were laid with golden plates and goblets.
And at the top table sat the school's Professors.
Tamara's gaze immediately locked onto the golden chair in the very center.
Albus Dumbledore.
That old madman sat there, hands crossed in front of him, observing the incoming first-years with great interest.
Tamara quickly withdrew her gaze to avoid having her memories read by Legilimency; she currently lacked the ability for Occlumency.
She looked up at the ceiling.
It was bewitched to look like the starry sky outside.
Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool before the high table.
Upon the stool sat a pointed Wizard's hat.
It was tattered, patched, and incredibly filthy.
Tamara wrinkled her nose in disgust.
This was one of the Hogwarts traditions she found most unbearable—putting a dirty hat that hadn't been washed for centuries on one's head.
The Sorting Hat twitched, a wide rip opened like a mouth, and it began to sing its unpleasant song.
Tamara automatically tuned out the clichés about the Four Founders, calculating her next move in her mind.
The Sorting Hat possessed thoughts; it could see into one's heart.
This meant it was the thing in all of Hogwarts, besides Dumbledore, most likely to see through her identity.
"I must shut that wretched hat's mouth before it screams."
The song ended, and the hall erupted in thunderous applause.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a roll of parchment.
"Hannah Abbott!"
A pink-faced girl with two blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line and put on the hat.
A moment later, the hat shouted, "Hufflepuff!"
Name after name was called.
Tamara watched coldly from the sidelines.
"Harry Potter!"
When the name was called, a sudden hiss of whispers, like small flames, broke out in the hall.
"Potter? Did she say Potter?"
"The Harry Potter?"
Tamara watched the small, black-haired boy walk up.
He sat on the stool for a long time.
A full minute.
Tamara narrowed her eyes; it seemed the savior, who held a piece of her soul, wasn't a pure Gryffindor either. The hat was hesitating.
Finally, the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table erupted in thunderous cheers, with the Weasley Twins shouting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
Harry looked relieved as he walked toward his seat amidst the cheering.
Several more insignificant people followed.
Finally.
"Tamara Riddle."
Professor McGonagall paused noticeably when she read the name.
Her gaze flickered between the parchment and the girl stepping forward; it seemed that in that instant, she remembered the Riddle with the same surname from fifty years ago.
The hall fell silent.
It wasn't just because of the surname, but because of Tamara herself.
Her posture as she climbed the steps was too elegant, her dark green robes swaying gently with her stride, and her breathtakingly exquisite face appeared exceptionally pale and mysterious in the candlelight.
Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head.
The oversized brim slipped down, covering Tamara's eyes, and the world plunged into darkness.
Only the smell of old leather drifted into her nostrils.
The next second.
The tiny voice that only the wearer could hear did not sound.
Instead, a scream filled with terror exploded in Tamara's mind.
"AAAAAAHHHHH—!!!"
If the Sorting Hat had feet, it would have surely jumped up and run away by now.
"Merlin's beard! What on earth is this?!"
The voice trembled as if it had seen a ghost. "This soul... this familiar, sickening scent of darkness..."
"It's... it's you?!"
The Sorting Hat had clearly recognized Tom Riddle's soul signature.
After all, it was the one who had sorted Tom into Slytherin all those years ago.
"Shut up."
Tamara commanded coldly in her mind, "If you dare shout that out, I will tear you to shreds and throw you into the Black Lake to feed the squid."
"You... you're still alive? How did you end up like this?!"
The Sorting Hat shrieked incoherently, "No! I must tell Dumbledore! This is too dangerous! Hogwarts cannot tolerate a Dark Lord..."
Just as the Sorting Hat was about to announce this shocking news to the entire school...
...another force intervened.
[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 that soul as black as ink and filled with evil and tyranny, a burst of holy, pure, and blindingly dazzling golden light suddenly erupted.
It was the [Virtue Aura] the system had forcibly shoved onto her.
"My eyes! Oh, I don't have eyes, but my consciousness is going blind!"
The Sorting Hat wailed.
What was it seeing?
On one side was a bottomless dark abyss, and on the other was the radiant holy light of heaven.
Half was the cruelty of Lord Voldemort, and half was a compassion like that of Mother Teresa.
This extreme sense of fragmentation left the thousand-year-old hat completely bewildered.
"This... this is impossible!"
The hat muttered to itself, trembling, "Extreme evil and extreme goodness... how can they coexist in a single soul?"
"What kind of monster are you? A saint? Or a demon?"
"I am the student you are supposed to sort."
Tamara suppressed a headache and said through gritted teeth in her mind.
"Hurry up and sort me into Slytherin."
"Slytherin? No, no, no..."
The hat hesitated, seemingly dazed by the holy light. "While you have the ambition and cunning of a Slytherin, this light... this desire to save the world..."
"Hufflepuff! You should go to Hufflepuff! Only there can such a spirit of self-sacrifice for others be accommodated!"
"What did you say?"
Tamara nearly jumped off the stool.
Hufflepuff?
That was the greatest insult to a Dark Lord!
"If you dare shout Hufflepuff," Tamara threatened sinisterly in her mind, "I will use Fiendfyre to burn you to ash. I swear, even with Dumbledore right there, I can destroy you in three seconds."
"And..."
She shifted her tone, using the power of hypocrisy granted by the system to persuade it.
"Think about it, Mr. Hat. Only in Slytherin can I better reform those potential Dark Wizards, can't I? That is the greatest good."
The hat fell silent.
It was trembling violently, seemingly locked in a fierce internal struggle.
The students and staff below watched the scene with curiosity.
Tamara had been sitting up there for nearly three minutes, the longest of anyone except for Harry Potter.
Moreover, the hat kept twitching, its expression extremely pained, as if it were constipated.
Finally, the Sorting Hat compromised.
It couldn't bear this schizophrenic-like torture any longer; it just wanted to get off this terrifying head as quickly as possible.
"Fine... fine..."
The hat said weakly, "Since you insist... and you do indeed possess Salazar's bloodline and... some sort of terrifying talent..."
"Then go and plague them..."
The Sorting Hat used the last of its strength to open its mouth toward the hall and shouted in a nearly hoarse voice:
"Slytherin!!!"