Tom Riddle
Tom Riddle.
The name brought a chill to the Hat’s essence. Tom Riddle, the dark wizard who would grow into Lord Voldemort. The boy who had sat before the Hat all those years ago, with a mind as cold and calculating as ice.
“Ah, a thirst for knowledge,” the Hat had said as it tried to assess the boy’s character. “Ambition, yes. And a complicated soul.”
Riddle had been silent, a shadow of something far darker lurking just beneath the surface. He wasn’t like the others. There was no warmth to him, no light. Just ambition, and a desire to control. Slytherin was the obvious choice. The ambition, the cunning, the ability to manipulate and rise above the rest—it was all there. The Hat had placed him in Slytherin without hesitation.
And yet, the Hat had known something darker was at work in Riddle’s heart. It wasn’t just ambition. It was a thirst for power, for domination, for something far more dangerous than the Hat had ever sensed in another student.
Even as the Hat made its decision, it had felt a pang of regret. Could it have placed him somewhere else? Could the Hat have guided him to a different path? Ravenclaw might have tempered his need for power with wisdom. Hufflepuff might have shown him loyalty and compassion. But no, the Hat had seen his heart, and it knew that Slytherin was the only place where he would thrive. It wasn’t a decision made lightly, but it had been made.
And the Hat had been right, though it wished it hadn’t been. Tom Riddle had become the darkest wizard of all time, and the Hat could not help but feel responsible. Could it have done something different? Could it have seen something that might have changed the course of history?
But there was no time for regret now.