Bab 2: The Drunken Sorting Hat
"Remember, students," McGonagall continued. She wore dark-green robes, black shoes, and a perfectly pointed hat. "The sorting hat will do the 'sorting' for you. Please don't call out your favorite house names on the stage. Once the hat has 'chosen', the decision is final. And finally, you are to proceed to the respective table immediately after. No dilly dallying and no taking bows of pageantry."
The Deputy Headmistress eyed the Gryffindor table. The year before last, Fred Weasley had taken the liberty to perform a quick dance routine once he was sorted into Gryffindor. George had to undergo the ceremony under the watch of McGonagall's wand.
The twins snickered under their breaths only to be chastised by Percy's stern glance.
"Your house is your home," the Deputy Headmistress continued. "Points awarded for merit and deducted for failures. Therefore, be mindful, children. If you are not careful, you may bring down your house by the end of the term."
McGonagall went on and on about the hat's history and how it often prophesied future troubles occasionally. It was a monotonous talk that Tom filtered out.
He turned his gaze to the other tables and saw a pale blonde boy staring at him from a distance. It was Draco Malfoy. When their eyes met, the Slytherin first-year gave him a curt nod. Tom nodded back. They seemed to have an understanding.
The sorting ceremony began, and the hat allotted students to their respective houses faster than usual. It seemed to have realized the delay and tried to compensate for the lost time.
"Harry Potter!" There was a hush in the hall as McGonagall called out his name. Harry got up from his seat, slightly nervous.
"Good luck," Hermione and Ron wished him. Tom smiled weakly at him. He already knew into which house the chosen one would be sorted.
"Gryffindor!" the hat declared as soon as it touched the boy's head. Harry came back to the Gryffindor table to mild applause.
Tom raised an eyebrow. Wasn't the sorting hat supposed to take longer than usual for the chosen one, struggling to choose between Gryffindor and Slytherin?
Ron and Hermione were allotted into the same house as Harry.
"Tom Riddle!" His was the last name announced. After his sorting, Dumbledore would declare the ceremony concluded.
Tom quietly left his seat and approached the stage. He perched on the stool, and McGonagall placed the sorting hat on his head.
The hat immediately began to mumble things into his mind. "Eh, you don't belong here, do you, kid? At least not in this timeline... Even so… I must send you to a house… If you go to Slytherin… well, we both know how it turns out… a path of darkness there… You are smart and hence, would do well in Ravenclaw… but… Gryffindor… hmm… no way… I think I'll go with Sly-"
Tom's hand casually slipped under his robe and grabbed his wand. Almost subconsciously, he muttered a nonverbal spell. It was a tricky one, very advanced even for a fully grown wizard, and wouldn't last more than a minute.
The sorting hat spoke aloud. But it was garbled speech as if it was drunk. "House... Hogwarts... don't... know... where..."
"You belong to no house!" the sorting hat declared, falling off Tom Riddle's head.
The entire staff rushed to their feet, shuffling to see what had happened.
"What seems to be the problem, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked with concern.
McGonagall looked more confused than the rest. She had no idea why the hat had not completed the ceremony and had instead fallen off the student's head. "This has never happened before, Headmaster..." She rushed to the spot and picked up the magical hat. It was crumpled as if a fist had knocked the wind out of it.
"This is strange," she declared.
"Curious," was all Dumbledore said.
"I keep telling you, Headmaster," Snape interjected. "We should dispose of the old hat and install a new sorting method. It's been ages since this dogmatic custom has plagued our students."
Dumbledore was not listening. "Curious," he repeated, his eyes boring into the back of Tom Riddle's head.
"What do we do about Mr. Riddle's living arrangements then, headmaster?" McGonagall urged.
Dumbledore seemed to have been jerked out of deep thought. "Uh… er… you may take charge of Mr. Riddle… until we find another way to… sort him."
The deputy headmistress looked blankly at Tom, processing what the Headmaster's order was.
"Mr. Riddle, you'll stay with the Gryffindor freshers tonight."
There was applause as Tom walked towards the house table.
Harry welcomed him with a firm handshake. Ron gave him an uncomfortable nod. Hermione winked cheerfully while Percy Weasley came over to pat his back.
Malfoy scowled from a distance and muttered obscenities to Crabbe and Goyle. He had been very confident that the charming boy would be sorted into Slytherin.
Tom smiled to himself. The plan had worked. But the boy had no recollection of hatching it before.
An advanced spell had just popped into his mind, as if by.... magic.
Tom had just followed through. His gut feeling was: he needed to stay close to Harry Potter.
In the midst of the Gryffindor celebration, Tom turned back towards the staff table. Dumbledore had already announced the end of the welcoming feast and was nursing a drink. His ancient forehead was crinkled, and his old wizard eyes were trained on the first houseless student of Hogwarts, Tom Riddle.
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