Sorted
---
The Great Hall buzzed with anticipation as students filled their seats, the enchanted ceiling reflecting the deep hues of twilight. Candles floated lazily in the air, flickering golden light across the eager faces of first years clustered near the front.
Then, the heavy doors creaked open, and Dumbledore entered with James Potter and Professor McGonagall at his side.
The students fell into a hushed murmur as their headmaster strode forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. As he reached the staff table, he clapped his hands together and beamed.
"Ah! Such eagerness! How wonderful it is to see such enthusiasm for the new school year. Everyone has arrived early—how delightful!"
James, walking beside him, snorted. "Not everyone," he corrected, grinning. "I, for one, am always perfectly on time."
Dumbledore let out a warm, booming laugh. "Ah, my dear boy, time is a most subjective thing. For instance, I too am precisely on time… according to my own calculations."
Before James could respond, a loud, outraged voice echoed across the Hall.
"JAMES, YOU BLOODY PRAT! WHERE WERE YOU?!"
The Gryffindor table erupted into laughter as Sirius Black shot to his feet, wild black hair falling into his face as he scowled at his best friend.
James turned dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as if wounded. "Padfoot, apple of my eye, light of my life, I thought you’d be happy to see me."
Sirius groaned loudly. "DON’T ‘PADFOOT’ ME! YOU LEFT ME ALL ALONE TO DEAL WITH REMUS’ PREFECT SPEECH AND PETER’S PANIC ATTACK OVER THE FEAST MENU!"
James burst out laughing as Remus, seated a few spots down, sighed heavily, rubbing his temples.
McGonagall clapped her hands sharply. "Enough, Black! The Sorting is about to begin."
Sirius huffed but flopped back into his seat, arms crossed. "You owe me."
James shot him a wink. "Drinks on me next Hogsmeade weekend."
Sirius perked up immediately. "Well. That’s acceptable."
McGonagall looked like she was actively restraining herself from sighing.
Dumbledore, still twinkling with amusement, spread his hands. "Well then! Let the Sorting begin!"
---
The small waiting room off the Great Hall was dimly lit, the only source of light a flickering enchanted lantern on the wall. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and aged stone, and though the room wasn’t cramped, the silence made it feel smaller than it was. Harry sat on the edge of an old wooden desk, fingers absently tracing the deep scratches and dents in its surface, while Tom leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Dumbledore had instructed them to wait here until the first years had been sorted. Afterward, he would call them in, introduce them, and let the Sorting Hat decide their fates.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The distant hum of excited voices filtered through the walls, and every now and then, a faint cheer erupted from the Great Hall.
Harry finally broke the silence.
"So… how was your chat with Dumbledore?"
Tom didn’t answer immediately. He tapped a finger against his arm, eyes narrowing slightly, as if weighing his words.
"Different than expected."
Harry glanced at him. "Different how?"
Tom exhaled slowly, turning his gaze toward the old tapestry hanging on the far wall, its woven threads depicting a duel between two wizards locked in combat.
"He wasn’t suspicious. Or, rather, he was… intrigued."
Harry frowned. "Intrigued?"
Tom hummed in quiet agreement. "He didn’t look at me the way he used to. Before, he always watched me like a puzzle he had already solved. But now…" He hesitated, then smirked slightly. "Now, he looks at me like I’m an opportunity."
Harry raised a brow. "An opportunity for what?"
Tom finally turned to face him fully, tilting his head slightly. "To prove that people can change. Aren't always what they seem."
Harry studied him, trying to read between the lines. "Can they?"
Tom’s smirk widened. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"
Harry let out a short, amused breath, shaking his head. He knew better than to trust Tom *too* much.
"And you?" Tom asked smoothly, shifting the conversation. "What did he ask you?"
Harry leaned back on his hands, looking up at the ceiling. "The usual."
Tom raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"Background, expectations, whether or not I had any deep, dark secrets I’d like to confess."
Tom huffed a quiet laugh. "And did you?"
Harry grinned. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"
For a moment, the tension between them eased, their usual dance of caution and rivalry giving way to something almost… comfortable. Almost.
---
The sounds of the Sorting Ceremony continued beyond the door, growing louder as each name was called.
Tom tapped his fingers against his arm, looking contemplative. "What are you thinking about your Sorting?"
Harry hesitated for a moment before answering. "Not too sure. Though… Gryffindor would be nice."
Tom smirked. "Obviously."
Harry ignored the jab, looking down at his hands. "It's just… everyone I knew was in Gryffindor. Sirius, Remus, my dad." His throat tightened slightly, and he swallowed hard. "I know they don’t know me here, but—" He exhaled sharply, forcing a small smile. "It’d be nice to be near them. Even if they don’t realise why."
Tom studied him, his sharp eyes catching the flicker of longing Harry didn’t quite manage to hide. "You want familiarity," he observed. "A safety net."
Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. "Something like that."
Tom hummed in understanding but said nothing. He could see why Harry would want Gryffindor—he craved connection, even if it was one-sided.
"And you?" Harry asked, shaking off the melancholy before it could take root.
Tom tilted his head, considering. "Slytherin is the most obvious choice. It would be easier to slip in, keep my head down, work from the shadows while I figure out our next steps."
Harry nodded slowly, letting that sink in. "Then we won’t be in the same House."
The words hung between them, heavier than either of them had expected.
The weight of that realization settled between them. For weeks, it had been just the two of them, navigating this together, relying on each other. The thought of being separated, even by something as simple as House affiliation, felt... off.
Harry smirked suddenly. "Suppose this just means we’ll have to cause problems whenever we see each other."
Tom let out a quiet laugh. "Oh, absolutely."
"We’re in this together, after all."
Harry hesitated for a moment before adding, "You know… I could've been in Slytherin."
Tom's gaze snapped to him, interest sparking in his eyes. "What?"
Harry leaned forward slightly, shrugging. "Back in my first year, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. It said I had the talent and cunning for it."
Tom frowned, confused. "Then why didn’t you?"
Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Well… I met Draco Malfoy before the Sorting. He was a right prat, going on about how Slytherin was the only House worth being in and how he’d befriend only the ‘right sort’ of people." He rolled his eyes. "Then Hagrid told me that Voldemort was in Slytherin, so—"
Tom cut him off with a sharp scoff, looking genuinely incredulous. "You based your entire House choice on a few snide comments from Malfoy and something Hagrid said?"
Harry bristled slightly. "I was eleven!"
Tom stared at him like he had grown an extra head. "Eleven and yet you let a half-giant’s offhanded remark dictate the next seven years of your life?"
Harry crossed his arms. "Oh, like you made better choices when you were eleven?"
Tom narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Harry smirked. "Exactly."
Tom shook his head, muttering something under his breath before fixing Harry with a look of grudging amusement. "You’re an idiot."
Harry grinned. "And yet, here we are."
Tom exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.
Tom shifted slightly, glancing toward the door.
---
"Think they’ll let us sit together at meals?" Harry asked idly.
Tom scoffed. "Not a chance."
Harry’s grin turned mischievous. "Wanna bet? We're friends now, you bloody prat, unfortunately for the both of us."
Tom rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in them. "You think they'll separate us just because we're in different Houses?"
"Wouldn't put it past them," Harry said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Tom leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "Doesn't matter, really. We’ll just find other ways to interact." He paused, then added, "The Room of Requirement, for instance."
Harry's grin widened. "Of course. You know, I was starting to wonder how we'd manage. But yeah, the Room will work."
Tom smirked. "Exactly. And after the feast, we'll head there. It’s our space, just for us. We’ll have all the privacy we need to talk, plan... whatever we need to do."
Harry nodded, a spark of excitement lighting up his expression. "Right. It’ll be perfect. No one can stop us there, even if we’re in different Houses."
Tom’s gaze softened slightly, the usual sharpness replaced with a quiet confidence. "We’re in this together, Harry. Sorting won’t change that. No matter where they put us, we’ll always find a way to stay connected."
Harry smiled, feeling reassured. "Yeah. We will."
Tom gave a short nod, his usual smirk back in place. "Exactly. And if anyone tries to separate us too much, well, we’ll just cause a bit of trouble."
Harry chuckled. "That sounds like a plan."
The door creaked open, and the bustling noise from the Great Hall filtered through, snapping them both back to the present.
It was time.
---
Sirius could feel the murmurs ripple through the Great Hall, like a wave gathering strength just before it crashed. Dumbledore’s voice had barely faded when he announced the arrival of two new students, and whispers immediately followed. The curious eyes of every student in the room, from the first years to the oldest seventh years, were now on the two mysterious figures who had suddenly arrived in their midst.
"We have two new transfers," Dumbledore said, his voice full of warmth and welcome. "I ask that you treat them with the same respect as any other student. Let Hogwarts be their home."
Sirius could see students craning their necks, eager to catch a glimpse of the two new boys. They'd already been making waves in the papers, and now here they were, about to be sorted. He’d seen the article in The Daily Prophet —two boys who had defied Voldemort, who were now refugees from a war-torn world, their names as strange and foreign to him as their sudden appearance at Hogwarts. The name Thomas Avery stood out, a name that had been whispered in pureblood circles like an omen. The other, Harrison Evans, hadn’t carried the same weight—no significant lineage attached, not one that could be readily named, anyway.
The two boys entered the hall, stepping out from behind a column where they had been waiting in the shadows. Sirius scanned them quickly, his eyes narrowing as they walked forward.
Thomas Avery was tall—significantly taller than Harry—but not by much. He was still fairly average height if anything just barely on the shorter side, though with his dark features and sharp, angular face, there was a striking handsomeness about him that commanded attention. His perfectly tousled black hair and piercing dark eyes made him stand out without even trying. The way he moved was calm and controlled, each step deliberate. Sirius could see the way the girls in the room were watching him, some already blushing or giggling quietly behind their hands. But it wasn’t just the girls—there were a few boys casting glances his way too, the sort of attention that usually found its way to Sirius. And it irritated him. Normally, he would’ve been the one to steal the spotlight in a room, the one who caught everyone’s attention. And here was this bloody new kid, looking effortlessly cool, and drawing all the eyes of the room.
Then there was Harrison Evans. And, well... bloody hell, he was different. Short—ridiculously so—easily one of the smallest in the hall, but somehow, that only added to the effect. His dark hair was a mess, deliberately so, cut in that intentionally shaggy, tousled wolf cut that shouldn’t have worked but absolutely did. His eyes—bright, sharp green—stood out even from across the hall, practically glowing under the candlelight. And the worst part? The cooing.
Sirius stiffened as he heard it. Actual, genuine cooing from the girls at the Gryffindor table. It wasn’t the kind of reaction Thomas Avery was getting, where people swooned and stared like he’d just walked out of a bleeding romance novel. No, Evans had a different kind of pull—the sort that made people want to pinch his cheeks or ruffle his hair like some adorable little thing they needed to protect. It was ridiculous. It was infuriating. Even the girls who had been fawning over Avery were now sneaking glances at Evans, whispering to each other, intrigued.
Sirius felt something sharp twist in his chest, something annoying. He was Sirius bloody Black—the school’s reigning heartthrob, the one who made people trip over their own feet when he so much as winked at them. And yet, in walked these two, and suddenly, the entire bloody hall was acting like they were the most interesting thing to ever happen.
It wasn’t even that he wanted people cooing at him—Merlin, no—but still. There was something deeply unfair about all of it.
As they moved toward the front, their gaze focused on Dumbledore, Sirius couldn’t help but feel a little resentment building in his stomach. Why was everything about these two? Why weren’t they just normal students, ones he could ignore? Instead, his parents had made it clear they were fascinated by Thomas Avery, wanting to claim him as part of their circle. They’d even mentioned how they'd like to ‘groom’ him, seeing his potential as someone who could represent their values—pureblood, ambitious, potentially dark.
Sirius clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing at the thought. His parents had barely even mentioned Harrison Evans, writing him off with disdain as if he didn’t matter. He was nothing. He was just some orphan, a kid who’d been dragged along to the event like an afterthought. And yet, they were here, both of them, standing in front of him at Hogwarts. They were about to be sorted, and suddenly, the focus was entirely on them.
"Where do you think they’ll go?" Sirius asked, his voice a little sharp as he leaned in to James.
James didn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the boys, thoughtful.
The Sorting Hat’s decision was not made quickly.
Thomas Avery was called up first, and as he took his seat, an eerie hush settled over the Great Hall. The Hat was placed on his head, and seconds stretched into minutes. Murmurs rippled through the students as the silence dragged on. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Even the professors exchanged curious glances.
Sirius huffed, arms crossed. "What’s taking so long?" he muttered under his breath.
Twelve minutes. Fifteen. The previous record for the longest Sorting had been around eleven minutes, set decades ago. Whispers spread like wildfire.
"Is he setting a record?" someone at the Gryffindor table asked.
At the Slytherin table, Lucius Malfoy leaned forward with keen interest. No one had ever taken this long before.
Finally, after nearly sixteen agonizing minutes, the Hat gave a final, decisive cry—
"SLYTHERIN!"
The Slytherin table erupted into applause, their cheers nearly drowning out the stunned silence of the rest of the Hall. Tom removed the Hat with measured ease, as if the absurdly long Sorting had been nothing more than an amusing inconvenience. He strolled toward the Slytherin table, slipping gracefully into a seat beside Malfoy, unfazed by the spectacle he had just created.
Sirius’ lips curled into a sneer. He couldn’t help it. The smug satisfaction radiating from the Slytherin table only made his irritation burn hotter. Avery—because that’s who he was, wasn’t he?—would fit in just fine with them. The name alone was proof enough.
Sirius was already planning how to make Thomas Avery’s welcome less than pleasant. A prank, something that would remind the rest of the school just who Avery was—a reminder that dark was not welcome here. He would make sure of it.
But then something unexpected happened. James was standing, clapping, his eyes hard and intense. He turned sharply toward Sirius, and with a firm, almost icy tone, he spoke, “No. You will not. You won’t hurt him, Sirius. He’s my friend. Have a pick at anyone else there's the whole of Slytherin just not him.”
Sirius blinked, taken aback. His stomach churned with confusion. James, defending a Slytherin? Since when? “What the hell, James?” he started, but James just shot him a look—one that stopped Sirius dead in his tracks. James’ eyes were like steel. Don’t argue with me about this.
And then, to Sirius’ further surprise, James began clapping louder, with enthusiasm, for Thomas Avery—right alongside the Slytherins. The rest of the Gryffindors, including Sirius, were still silent, unsure how to react. James was cheering for a Slytherin.
Sirius couldn’t fathom it. What was happening? Why was James so determined to side with this... with him?
Before he could process the shift, the Sorting Hat called out, "Harrison Evans."
---
The name sounded strange, like it belonged to someone else. It wasn’t him, not really, but it had to be. He forced his legs to move, stepping toward the stool, aware of every single eye fixed on him. He caught Sirius Black’s gaze for a split second and felt something tighten in his chest. There was something there, a flicker of familiarity, but he didn’t have time to unpack it before the Hat was lowered onto his head.
And then—
"Ah… how peculiar. We meet again."
Harry tensed. The voice curled around his mind like an old friend.
"Not quite the same, though. No, you have changed. Grown. Your soul feels… settled in a way it wasn’t before."
Harry didn’t know what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
"I remember you well," the Hat mused. "I remember choosing bravery over cunning. But now… you are different. Sharper. You think before you act. You have seen too much, lost too much, *lived* too much for someone so young."
A pause.
"You have walked with death."
Harry’s hands curled into fists in his lap.
"You are not afraid of it. You understand it. And yet, you fight against it, time and time again. It clings to you, boy, like an old companion."
Harry’s throat was dry. He wasn’t sure what to say to that.
"Not many could claim to have truly mastered such things."
He flinched. "I didn’t—"
"But you did," the Hat interrupted, almost gently. "And you let it go. That, I think, makes all the difference."
Silence stretched between them. Harry forced his breathing to steady. "I’m still a Gryffindor," he said finally, firmly.
"Are you?" The Hat’s voice was knowing. "You have the patience for Slytherin now. The discipline for Ravenclaw. Even the kindness for Hufflepuff, buried beneath your scars. You could thrive anywhere, you know."
Harry didn’t doubt that. He’d changed. He knew he had. But the thought of Slytherin twisted something deep inside him.
He thought of Tom. Of being alone in this timeline, the only one aware of what they had lost.
A flicker of hesitation. The Hat caught it instantly.
"Ah, loyalty. Strong in you. Stronger than before. But not quite enough to pull you where you do not want to go."
Harry exhaled slowly.
"Maybe," he admitted, "but I don’t want to be anywhere else."
The Hat chuckled, something warm and knowing. "And perhaps that is why you belong where you have always been."
"Very well, then. GRYFFINDOR!!"
The weight lifted from his head, and the cheers from the Gryffindor table washed over him. Harry let out a slow breath as he stepped off the stool, his hands steady despite the racing of his heart.
It hadn’t been as long as Tom’s Sorting. But it had been long enough.
He took his seat among the Gryffindors, but his eyes flickered briefly to the Slytherin table.
Tom met his gaze across the Great Hall.
And smirked.
---
With a small sigh, Harry slid into a seat at the table next to James who had eagerly beckoned him over, already feeling the weight of a hundred curious eyes upon him. The Gryffindor house was welcoming, certainly, but there was also a tension in the air that reminded him that he wasn’t just a new student—he was a new student in the middle of a war.
Harry had barely sat down before the questions started.
Remus Lupin was the first to introduce himself, offering a polite nod.
"Welcome to Gryffindor," he said. "I’m Remus Lupin, prefect for our year." He gestured toward the red-haired girl beside him. "And this is Lily Evans, our other prefect."
Lily smiled. “Nice to meet you, Harrison—” She hesitated. “Evans, huh? Any relation?”
Harry forced himself to act normal.
He shook his head. "No, I don’t think so. Just a coincidence."
Lily tilted her head slightly, studying him, but before she could say anything, another voice cut through the conversation.
“Oh my Merlin’s beard! You look exactly like Evans! - Lily Evans!! And you are an Evans!”
Startled, Harry looked up to find a girl with wild brown curls and wide, fascinated eyes staring at him as if he were a puzzle she’d just solved. She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “No, seriously! This is wild. You two are spitting images of each other. Are you sure you’re not long-lost twins or something? I mean its only the hair that's different but loaddds of twins have different hair colours i'm sure.” She rambled on even looking towards a pair of red headed twins as if looking for there confirmation.
Harry blinked, unsure how to respond. “I… doubt it.”
As she continued to study him, he felt his chest tighten just a little. His mother, sitting across from him, was staring at him with the same wide-eyed expression. Her gaze shifted between his face and her own reflection in a nearby goblet as if trying to find something she’d missed. There was a long moment of silence before she chuckled softly.
“…Okay, I see it properly now,” Lily Evans said, her voice filled with wonder. “That’s really strange.”
The girl beside Harry beamed. “I told you! I mean, look at you! Same face shape, same nose, same ridiculous green eyes—”
Harry incredulous replied "They're not ridiculous." but before he could say anything further, Lily’s laughter filled the air.
“Oh, I like him.”
Harry, somewhat relieved by the lack of immediate judgment, half-smiled. “Yeah. I guess I like me too.”
The girl nudged him with her elbow, still grinning. “I’m Rina, by the way. Sixth-year, Gryffindor, excellent judge of character.” She winked, the warmth in her smile contagious. “Which is why I’m kidnapping you.”
Before Harry could respond, James’ voice interrupted from next to him.
“Oi, Rina,” he called, half-joking. “I found him first. He’s mine now—back off.”
Rina gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Excuse me, Potter, but I don’t see your name on him.”
James folded his arms, an exaggerated scowl on his face. “I claimed him first.” His grin softened as he turned toward Harry. “Right, Harrison?”
Harry, despite himself, smirked. “Right.”
Rina groaned in mock outrage. “Fine, we’ll share him then.”
James gave her a theatrical sigh. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”
Harry settled into the conversation easily enough, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. He hadn’t expected such a warm reception, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the whispers when people first looked at him. He’s the boy who faced Voldemort. That kind of legacy wasn’t easy to shake off.
However, Harry’s growing sense of unease was interrupted by a familiar voice—one that, despite everything, made his stomach churn.
“Harrison, right?”
Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Peter Pettigrew was looking at him with those too-wide eyes, staring at him. Harry had seen that look before. He had felt the sting of anger when he’d learned the truth about Peter—when he’d realized that the rat was the reason everything had crumbled.
Peter’s gaze lingered a little too long, and Harry felt his heart pound uncomfortably in his chest.
Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t let him see you feel anything.
“Yeah,” Harry said flatly, forcing himself to meet Peter’s gaze.
Peter’s smile was warm, almost too friendly. “Nice to meet you, I am Peter. Where are you from?”
“Nice to meet you too. And Poland,” Harry answered, his voice carefully neutral. He didn’t want to tell him anything. Didn’t want to share a single scrap of his past with the rat. But what choice did he have? “Originally. Moved around a lot. Though ethnicity wise am British ”
Peter hummed as though that explanation was enough, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that the rat —or whatever Peter was now—was still looking for something. Harry gritted his teeth, holding his composure despite the way his stomach twisted with disgust. He had to be careful.
“Well, sounds rough,” Peter said, his voice too soft. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah,” Harry replied shortly. “It is what it is.”
It was at that moment that Sirius spoke up, his voice breaking through the tension.
“So, Evans,” he said, his sharp eyes focused on Harry, unreadable. “What’s your deal?”
Harry looked up at him, surprised by the sharpness in Sirius’ tone. This wasn’t the easy going, warm-eyed Sirius Harry had adored all his life. This was something else.
Sirius leaned back, his arms crossed as he studied Harry. “You and that other bloke—Avery,” he said slowly. “Bit odd, don’t you think? Show up out of nowhere, all mysterious, straight into the Daily Prophet with the Dark Lord and everything? Sounds suspicious to me.”
Harry’s chest tightened at the mention of Tom’s name, but he forced himself to remain calm. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, meeting Sirius’ gaze head-on. “We were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Sirius’ eyes narrowed. “And Avery?”
Harry’s heart pounded in his ears. He could feel the weight of every word hanging between them, the silent challenge in the air. “He’s my friend,” Harry said firmly. His voice came out steady, despite how much it hurt to hear Sirius question him. “And I won’t stand for anyone bad-mouthing him.”
Sirius scoffed, turning his head away, but Harry could see the flash of surprise in his eyes. It stung, more than he would have admitted. But Harry would stand up for Tom, no matter what. He wasn’t about to let his anyone even if it was Sirius turn his back on the person who had been by his side—who needed him just as much as he needed Tom.
-----
The Slytherin table did not cheer loudly.
They did not celebrate the way the Gryffindors had when Harry sat down.
No, the true Slytherins simply watched. Measured. Calculated.
And Tom could feel it.
Even as he took his seat, they did not immediately acknowledge him—not like Gryffindors, who would have clapped him on the back and started demanding personal details.
No.
This was a test.
The air hummed with quiet observation as he reached for his goblet, pouring himself a drink.
It was Lucius Malfoy who broke the silence first.
“You’ve been quite the topic of discussion, Avery,” he said smoothly, swirling his goblet. “Your name has been on the lips of quite a few people. The right people.”
Tom did not react, merely taking a sip of his drink, giving nothing away.
Across from him, Avery—the one whose name he had stolen—let out a dry chuckle. "My parents were quite interested in you, you know."
He tilted his head, watching Tom with something unreadable.
“They thought about taking you in. A stray, plucked from nowhere, but still… salvageable.” Avery smirked. “Unfortunately, it seems Dorea Potter got to you first.”
Tom placed his goblet down. “How tragic,” he murmured.
Malfoy hummed. “Indeed.”
There was a slight pause, the conversation hanging in the air like a blade, waiting for Tom to fumble.
But he wouldn’t.
Tom had dealt with men like these before. Ambitious. Dangerous. Always looking for an angle.
They would pick him apart, searching for weaknesses, for tells.
But Tom Riddle did not have tells.
He had spent years perfecting his masks. This was no different.
Another voice entered the conversation—deeper, slower, more calculating.
Severus Snape.
“You took sixteen minutes under the Sorting Hat.” Snape’s black eyes were unreadable. “That’s… unprecedented.”
There it was.
Tom allowed a slow smile. "What can I say?" He took another sip of wine. "I like to weigh my options."
Malfoy chuckled. "Or perhaps… you were being weighed."
The implication was clear.
Snape did not laugh. He merely watched.
Tom could feel his gaze, analysing, dissecting.
“Dumbledore spoke to you before your Sorting.” Snape’s voice was soft, yet it carried weight. “What did he say?”
Tom hummed. “Oh, you know Dumbledore. Ever the idealist.” He gave a careless shrug. “I suspect he wants to parade me around like a showpiece.”
Malfoy smirked. "How very Gryffindor of him."
That word—Gryffindor—was like poison here.
Tom smirked back.
"Yes," he said, voice perfectly dry. "I find their… enthusiasm endearing."
That earned a few chuckles.
Good.
He was passing.
They were testing him, and so far, he was playing the game flawlessly.
But then—
A mistake.
From someone else. Because Tom made no mistakes.
A boy further down the table, one Tom hadn’t cared to acknowledge, leaned forward, sneering.
“And what about that Gryffindor—Evans?”
Tom didn’t move.
The boy smirked. “Looks like a little mudblood pet.”
The entire mood shifted.
The air turned cold.
The boy didn’t even have time to react before—
His voice was gone.
Silence.
Dead silence.
Tom didn’t look up from his goblet. Didn’t move.
He let the weight of his wandless Silencio settle into the moment, let the quiet stretch uncomfortably long.
The boy’s eyes went wide. His hands shot up to his throat in panic.
The Slytherins stilled.
Tom finally, slowly, turned his gaze toward the boy, and when he spoke, his voice was lethal.
“If you have a problem with Harry,” Tom said, softly, “you don’t.”
The boy nodded furiously.
Tom tilted his head, mockingly. “Oh? No clever remarks now?”
The boy shook his head rapidly.
The Silencio lifted.
The moment stretched a second longer—then Tom turned back to his water as if nothing had happened.
Lucius Malfoy was watching him carefully.
Avery had gone quiet, his lips pursed.
Snape’s eyes had narrowed.
But it wasn’t suspicion.
No.
For the first time that night, there was something else in Snape’s expression.
Something like respect.
Tom smirked to himself.
That’s right.
He had control.
And he was going to keep it.
Across the hall, Harry caught his gaze.
Tom lifted his goblet in a mock toast.
Harry rolled his eyes.
Tom smirked.
They are in this together, after all.
---
James was buzzing with excitement as he spoke about the Gryffindor Tower, his words spilling out in an eager torrent. "The dorms are great, you’ll love it! The layout’s a bit tricky at first, but you get used to it. You’ll get your own bed, but there’s this huge common room with a fire so warm, it’ll make you forget the cold. The portrait of the Fat Lady can be a bit demanding, but you’ll figure it out." Harry tried to follow the enthusiastic stream of details, but his focus kept slipping. He wanted to be present, wanted to enjoy this new chapter of his life, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Tom, and the growing knot in his stomach about their separation. The idea of being in different Houses felt like an obstacle that could pull them apart, even if it was only physical.
The words blurred into a hum in the background, and Harry tried to push them aside, his heart still unsettled. But before he could sink too deep into his thoughts, James leaned in, lowering his voice, pulling Harry’s attention back to the conversation. "Listen, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but if you need anything—anything at all—just let me know. The others might be a bit wary, but Tom’s not like the rest of them. He’s different. I’ve got your back, alright?"
Harry blinked, surprised by the offer, but managed a faint smile. "Thanks, James. I’ll keep that in mind."
James gave him a light hearted pat on the back, before turning back to the meal in front of him, his attention already diverted. Harry, however, found it hard to shake the thoughts swirling in his mind. James’s reassurance was comforting, but it didn’t quiet the unease. The division between him and Tom—their separation in Houses—wasn’t something he could easily ignore. Their connection was so much more than a physical proximity; it was a bond, a shared purpose, and Harry knew that being apart could easily fracture it.
Dinner passed in a haze, the chatter and clattering of plates blurring into background noise. When the Gryffindor prefects led the first-years to their dormitory, Harry fell into step behind them, his feet heavy with an odd sense of discomfort. As they passed the Slytherin table, where Tom sat with his new Housemates, a pang of uncertainty twisted in Harry’s chest. Tom didn’t look up, didn’t meet his gaze, and that sent a strange wave of loneliness through Harry. It should’ve been more disconcerting, this new divide, but all Harry could focus on was the mission—nothing could change their plan. Not now, not ever.
Once in the Gryffindor dormitory, Harry’s dorm mates were already settling into their beds. There was a flurry of excitement, the kind that came with a new start, but Harry barely noticed. His thoughts were elsewhere. As the room settled into the quiet hum of the night, Harry pretended to settle into bed. His heart was beating faster now, a restless energy driving him. He waited until the soft rhythm of his dorm mates' breathing signaled that the room was truly asleep. Then, without making a sound, he slid out of bed.
The weight of the castle hung heavy around him, its ancient walls pressing in, yet Harry’s steps were resolute. He didn’t need to check the map; he knew exactly where he was going. The Room of Requirement. The one place that would always be there for them. His footsteps echoed softly, and despite the eerie emptiness of the corridors, his mind was set. He needed to see Tom—needed to make sure their plans stayed on track.
When the door to the Room of Requirement appeared before him, just as he had expected, he stepped inside, his breath catching as he took in the familiar sight. Tom was already there, leaning casually against a stone pillar, his posture relaxed, as if he had been waiting for hours. He gave Harry a sharp look when he entered, his brow quirking in silent question.
"Didn’t take you long," Tom said, the hint of amusement in his voice.
Harry’s shoulders dropped with relief, the tension of the night finally seeping away. He couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that slipped past his lips. "I couldn’t wait," he replied, his voice low but certain. "We need to keep our plans moving forward."
Tom’s gaze softened, just for a moment, and Harry caught the glimmer of something deeper in his eyes—a sense of understanding, maybe even shared purpose. He gave a slight nod. "Exactly. No one’s going to stop us."