The Broken Victory

Chapter 05: Riddle-rific Wands and Slytherin Sortings

Diagon Alley was a festival for the senses. On the streets, vendors were selling all sorts of decorative ornaments and exotic foods that caught all of my senses by storm. Everywhere, there were people bustling about, excitedly clenching boxes and bags of assorted shapes. I was so entranced that I was able to set aside my earlier delusion as just that - a figment of my imagination - and observe the swirling activity surrounding me.

Dumbledore soon stopped, explaining that he had to go on some official business alone, but he first gave me clear directions as to where to head. I nodded impatiently, rolling my eyes as he offered to repeat himself. When I proved able to quote him verbatim, he finally left. My eyes followed his straight back as it disappeared into the crowds before I turned on my heel and headed in the opposite direction. I walked with Snicks down the winding streets, pausing to glance at the Pet Emporium's window display, but I knew I would never be able to afford anything in there. In truth, I never really cared for animals anyway, but my newfound powers naturally drew my attention to the dejected serpents laying in dirty straw before me now. After glancing at them I left quickly, not desiring to listen to the snakes cry out to me any longer and be utterly useless. Besides, I had Snicks to keep me company, and other things to focus on.

My first stop was Flourish and Blotts. I made this decision for a very good and well thought-out intellectual reason. I came upon it first.

Brushing any dust off my shirtfront, I then proceeded to enter and ask a frizzy-haired woman if she might help me. She nodded hastily, but was clearly frazzled by all the customers and barely acknowledged my existence. I looked around, noticing that several people had lists appearing similar to mine. They all seemed to know each other, and uncertainly I stood for a moment just watching them before determinedly turning to a bookshelf. I scanned the titles, picking out several history books, unable to push aside the nagging concern over how far behind I must be. This would mean I'd have to go cheap on everything else, but learning would be my most important tool for survival. It was a simple, cold fact I had already cemented inside my mind; if I couldn't make it at Hogwarts, I had nowhere else to go.

A heavy weight settled itself inside my chest, and I sternly told myself to stop thinking so dejectedly, for it did no good. Still, my thoughts rebelled, the worries resurfacing all through the duration of my stay at Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Prudently, I bought only the cheapest robes in basic black, but made a single exception of one dark green set that was on sale. Truth be told, I childishly might have splurged on them had I needed to, since I rather liked them. The material was soft, and they appealingly seemed brand new, though not finely tailored. Snicks told me that he had heard it was the color of the snake House at Hogwarts, which he fervently hoped I would get into since other snakes might be there. I didn't really know anything about the other Houses yet, but it was as cheap as the black dress ones on sale, so I agreed. At the Apothecary I spent little time, the man there being completely businesslike and efficient. He had all ten costumers waiting done in roughly that same amount of time, which I found vaguely impressive.

On my way to Ollivander's, I passed what appeared to be a sporting goods store, where a crowd of kids roughly my age was gathered excitedly around something that appeared to be a broom. I frowned a bit in puzzlement at them, my mind wandering back to the stares I'd received in the bar, slightly miffed that they would find me an odd one here considering the sight before me.

Finally I reached the sign that stated Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C. Darkness was already beginning to fall as I stepped up to the door. Fervently I hoped that it would still be open, as much to get out of the rain that had stared as to get a wand. For some reason, the thought of possessing a wand filled me with a giddy excitement I was wholly unfamiliar with, as if then I would truly be a real wizard. I knew it sounded ridiculous or childish, even in my head, but whatever actually managed to make me happy I was wholeheartedly in favor of. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside to find the place open but dark, seemingly empty.

Breaking and entering was not a new concept for me, and neither was stealing. However, I hadn't even a clear idea of what I should be searching for. As such, I dearly hoped I was not alone, even if it meant I would have to end up paying. Crossing to the desk, I called out nervously, "Hello?" No one answered, so I tried again, louder, "Hello? Mr. Ollivander? I -"

All of a sudden a wild man flew out from behind a back door, his hair a crazy mess of gray, mirroring silvery eyes that glistened in the moonlight. I let out a gasp and involuntarily stepped backwards, but the man strode forward and said, "Yes, boy, may I help you?"

I stared up at him, finding my voice. I tried to make it soft, so that he wouldn't ask me about my accent. Lord I stood out enough in those wretchedly dirty Muggle clothes. I didn't know how far the news of an escaped thief/orphan would reach, but to protect myself I had taken to trying to hide any connections.

"My name is Thomas Riddle. I need to buy a wand, sir."

Ollivander's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Riddle," he said, musing. "I don't recall that name, and I always remember every wand I sell. Who are your parents?"

I forced my face to maintain its neutral position. "I don't know. I'm an orphan."

Ollivander stared back, just as uncomfortable. "Well, never mind. I know I've never sold one to a Riddle before. You get to be my first! Where are you going to school, Tom?"

"Hogwarts."

The man eyes brightened. "Going to Hogwarts, eh? Well, good for you! Alby, I got another one of yours here!" He waved erratically at me, but was staring over my shoulder.

I spun to see Dumbledore sinking into one of the chairs lining the dark walls. Apparently he was done with whatever errand he had been on, and the worried look in his eyes had only increased from the last time I saw him. I frowned. I was nervous enough, and the last thing I needed was Dumbledore breathing disapproval down my neck. But for once, Dumbledore didn't focus on me. Rather, he looked at Ollivander and said back mildly, "Don't call me that, Ollie."

Ollivander cackled, nudging me with one of his cold, bent hands. "It's a treat to tease him, so easy," he told me loudly. I nodded, smiling flatly as I turned with impatience to examine the wands. I felt Ollivander's gaze continue to bear down on me, and then heard him call over to Dumbledore. "Doesn't say much, does he?"

At that Dumbledore cast an amused glance at me. "I do believe it depends upon what mood you get him in. He can say quite a lot, even without words. I think he's saying to you now what he told me earlier when I patted him."

My face flamed red with embarrassment as Ollivander looked at us peculiarly before taking my measurements, asking me next which hand I used. When I responded with, "left," he just nodded, but Dumbledore gave me another strange look. I could only imagine what it was about--I had been told that the left hand was a sign of sinister and demonic behavior. Many children were forced to write with their right hands, but I, being a demon, hadn't been made to change. Ollivander soon went in the back and fetched a box. In a moment he returned, presenting me with its contents. Overlapping his movement I heard a rustling in the back, and curiously tried to steal a glimpse behind the case to no avail.

"This," he told me as he handed over the wand, "is one of my newer finds. It's a young holly mixed with the hair of an elderly unicorn. Very good for charms, I'd reckon." I held it in my hand dumbly until Ollivander waved at me and exclaimed, "Well, give it a whirl. Don't look at Alby, he won't go marking you down for incorrect arm movements."

I tried to shake it, andof a sudden the wand burst into a thousand pieces, sending them spewing all over the room and causing us to duck for shelter. When I rose, I shakily asked, "Wrong combination?"

But Dumbledore and Ollivander merely stared at me in a stupor. "Incredible!" Ollivander marveled, stroking his cheek. "I've never seen a reaction like that! Never!"

Dumbledore agreed. "It was my understanding that a wand without affinity for the holder would simply fail. I've never known it to detonate as -"

"Excuse me," I said, feeling uncomfortably overlooked. They both turned, and I bit my lip before saying, "I'm sorry. I'll pay for the wand, sir. I--I don't have much money, but I didn't mean to break it."

But Ollivander merely waved a hand dismissively at me. "Not at all, my boy. I am merely stunned, not angry."

"Stunned at what?" I couldn't help asking.

Ollivander looked at Dumbledore, and then responded, "You see, it is very rare to find a wizard who is left-handed - it is usually a sign of great power, and they often have some unusual reactions... or, so I am told; I myself have rarely served a left-hander. I've heard on occasion of the wand overpowering a wizard, physically attacking he who is testing it. Other times, the wand is a perfect fit, but the connection between wizard and wand is so strong that its first interaction causes some form of destruction--there have only been two recorded cases in history of this, so we are not sure exactly what caused the occurrences. There is merely speculation to go by. And now," he said, smiling awkwardly, "We have a new story to put down."

Fabulous, I thought. More destructive powers. Out loud I said, "So I caused this?"

Ollivander looked torn. "Well, yes and no, I am supposing. The wand, obviously, was not for you. It might have wanted to be, because it sensed your great potential, but I believe your magic overpowered it. It couldn't handle what you gave to it."

"But I just waved it!" I protested.

Ollivander smiled mysteriously. " The wand knows to whom it belongs, and will not overextend itself to bond with another. I have never heard of a wand desiring to be with someone if they were not its perfect fit. You must have some magic to have drawn it to you, or fooled it in that way."

The room was then silent, as none of us could think of a thing to say. The rustling I had heard before grew louder, and suddenly another pair of boxes was hurtling straight at my face. The one on the left quickly and craftily dodged under its competitor and slammed upward, sending it soaring to the ceiling. Meanwhile, the left box sprang open as I stood rock still, unable to do more than watch as it thrust itself into my hand with such force that I fell backwards. Out of the wand, sparks of every color flooded the room, lighting all the candles with a green flame. All the boxes seemed to shudder, and I watched, mesmerized, until the muted havoc died down a moment later. I blinked, dazed, unsure how much of that episode had actually been real.

Sitting up, I curled the wand in my thin fingers. Beside me was the other box that, having lost the fight, flew disgruntled back to its place. Turning my head, I realized it hadn't actually flown back. Ollivander was sending it there, holding his wand out, a bemused expression on his face. Standing over me with Dumbledore at his side, he said, "Yew-wood and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches. I think it's a match." Stepping back, he let me stand up, trying to ignore Dumbledore's watchful gaze. Even I could tell what had happened had been unusual. Still, I forced a smile onto my face, said my thanks to Ollivander, and left, ignoring his parting calls of, "Please don't come back for awhile, I can't afford it!"

The streets were completely dark when Dumbledore and I at last stepped outside. He strode at the same brisk pace, and I struggled to keep up, rolling the carrying cart I had purchased. Snicks had found his way into my pillowcase, no doubt fast asleep. I felt ready to drop by the time we reached the station again, and was glad that Dumbledore seemed too lost in thought to converse . We paused before the platform, where Dumbledore finally turned to me.

"Tom," he said. "I can't simply leave you here unattended. It's far too dangerous, even for someone who managed to make his way here alone." He said this without accusation, but I still burned, feeling him turn my act of running away from a great show of independence to some foolish child's act.

"I'm not alone. I have Snicks." I raised the pillowcase to prove the point.

Dumbledore reassumed his neutral smile. I wondered where the sparkle in his eyes had gone. "I doubt he is much protection." He then sighed; I looked at him curiously, as this was the first time I had seen him unsure of how to act. He stared at me thoughtfully for a long moment, and then said, "but I don't know if I should bring you back with me -"

I felt my eyes roll, and did nothing to stop them. Impatiently I explained, "Look, there is an inn right over there. I'll go to it and get a room. It's only for one night."

Dumbledore didn't seem convinced. "It's not that I don't trust you, Tom," he began, and then abruptly changed gears. "I'll have Marie at the Leaky Cauldron check in on you. I'll send an owl when I get back, it won't be long."

"Fine. I shall curl up in a fetal position and cry until she comes. Or just go the bloody hell to sleep not caring less that she didn't. You suppose." The words slipped from my mouth before I could remind it that this was my teacher.

Surprisingly, the twinkle came back into Dumbledore's eyes at that. "You are a feisty one, aren't you, Tom? Well, we need some of all kinds in this world, I suppose." Then he turned stern again. "Promise me you will march right to the inn after I leave."

I crossed my heart, and with that Dumbledore bade me farewell and good luck, and then crossed into the brick wall. Again I glanced around, shocked that no one noticed this. I looked down the runway. The inn seemed awfully far, and I barely had any money left. I sat down to think, and just stayed there. It felt so good, to have a plan now, with a way to carry it out. I smiled with pride. This morning I had been crying and sniveling without a clue, and now I was on my way to become a real master of magic.

I sighed. I should have gone to the inn now, but I was too tired, the relief adding weariness to me. I decided that the odds of the woman Dumbledore would send probably wouldn't even really go. Maybe he would even forget to ask her; he didn't seem overly fond of me. Well, maybe he was concerned. But I would have bet the woman would prefer it if I wasn't there, she wouldn't have to go up the stairs looking for my room. My head drifted downwards, accepting this weak reasoning. I barely remember asking Snicks to watch the bags before I drifted off right there on the bench between platforms 9 and 10.

The next morning I awoke with a start, dread filling me at the thought that I must have overslept. I quickly sat up, looking all around me. I checked the clock, which read only 7:53 am. I breathed a sigh of relief, then gagged as a whiff of myself came back. I looked down and almost laughed, for the dirt and grime from living outdoors for days had taken its toll. I looked like the homeless person I was. Pushing myself up, I made my way to the dank public washroom. Amazingly, even having with my own unwashed body for days, the odors in the small, stifling room were worse enough to make me take notice and gag. I dared not even look in the toilet, just feeling relief that the faucet worked, if in sputtering dribbles. I quickly did as good a job as possible on my face, neck, and hands. There was nothing I could do about my clothes, but I figured I would be putting robes on soon enough. Once I got to Hogwarts I would find some way of washing these---and maybe replicating some.

Hurrying back to my seat, I waited with my nerves growing steadily wracked as the time went by. I read most of the extra titles I had purchased at the bookstore, trying to learn as much about Hogwarts and magic as I could. Finally I noticed some oddly dressed individuals coming my way. I stood up and lingered behind them, so that I could watch precisely what they did. Well, there didn't seem to be much to it; they all just ran head on. I waited till no one was looking, just in case I ran into the wall, took a deep breath, and went for it.

Before I knew it I was being sucked through, and came out to find a black and gold sign loudly announcing Platform 9 ¾ Hogwarts Express. Turning, I gazed at the hundreds of students and families milling about, crowding the small space. Everyone was jostling and laughing, and I let myself be pulled along with the crowd, feeling very out of place. I hurried onto the train, fumbling with my bags. Snicks had woken up and was demanding answers, but after the experience with Dumbledore I knew better than to answer him in public. I shuffled along, looking in every compartment. They all seemed crammed, and I desired nothing but solitude.

Finally I came to one that appeared empty, and flung myself inside it, closing the door behind. I leaned back, placing my cargo underneath, only to be startled by a drawling voice.

"What do you think you are doing?"

I turned and answered immediately. "Sitting here trying to mind my own business, but being forced to state the obvious. You?"

The boy across from me drew up at that, and actually smiled. "Listening to the first person to come up with a good response to that question all day. I suppose that means you're staying here. I'm Damien Malfoy. You?"

I responded, glad that there was no handshaking. "Tom Riddle." We both eyed each other, neither backing down. Damien was as tall as me, and also had a pale face. His hair was light blond and perfectly cut, and he was already dressed in expensive robes. His gray eyes were also sharp, and betrayed nothing.

He casually drawled, "I haven't heard of that family before. What do your parents do?"

I forced myself to smile. "I wouldn't know. I'm an orphan."

At that, Damien seemed a little embarrassed. "Oh," he said. Then brightened, as if trying to make up for his mistake. "I've read some excellent things about some of the magical orphanages in London. They have good programs for the kids there---did you study any magic before coming here?"

"I'm a first year," I explained. "But I have tried some magic." I had practiced some small spells at the bench earlier. Damien seemed interested, so I willingly levitated several of my books, and even managed to open our window with one flick.

Damien seemed impressed. "That's pretty good, I must admit. I can do that, of course, but I am in my second year." He looked at me curiously. "My dad taught me magic years ago, but you--what magic orphanage did you say you went to?"

I paused, and then tried to joke. "I didn't say."

Damien persisted. "No, really, you should try to get into Slytherin. You can't have had much training, but we could use someone like you. Raw, natural talent, your parents must have been very powerful indeed."

I was getting sick of thinking about my parents. I tried to change the conversation. "Yes, I'm really interested in Slytherin, it seems to be the best. At least, that's what I've read."

Apparently I said the wrong thing, for Damien pounced on me. "You hadn't heard of Slytherin before? Didn't you talk about it at school? You'll definitely get in, you remind me of myself."

I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, and finally admitted. "I didn't go to a magic school."

Damien looked perplexed, so I continued. "I was in a Muggle orphanage. I just found out about Hogwarts and everything this summer."

Damien stuttered, turning red. "B-b-but, you couldn't! How could your relatives allow you to be in the Muggle world! They're beasts!"

My voiced hardened. "Yes, some of them might have been. But my father was still alive, and he placed me there. He was a Muggle, so I'm told. I think my Mum tried to keep me here, in this world, but he took me and put me in the orphanage..." my voice trailed off and I didn't add that I had also been informed that my father had done so after my mother had died in childbirth, not really giving her any say in the matter. Still, I wished to believe that she would have acted so, however unlikely it was. I was torn over it, part of me intellectually reasoning that she should have done whatever was best for her, and another part of me hoping that what was best for her was also in my interests. And none of these parts inside wished to be shared, least of all with the thing sitting opposite me.

"So you're a Mudblood?" Damien's expression, which had been open, closed in distaste. I stared at him, not fully understanding the term. He kindly informed me. "I should have known after seeing how you were dressed. I thought you had been making fun of Muggles by wearing such shoddy clothes, or more likely trying to blend in at that station, but now I see they really are you. I'm amazed a half-blood had enough gall to talk back to me."

"Everyone has their moments," was all I could think to say. I was busy building up anger, storing it while waiting for an appropriate area to strike.

Damien, mindlessly, kept providing me with fuel. "I don't know how you did those tricks, Mudblood, but don't think you'll ever amount to a real wizard. And forget about Slytherin, we only accept real magic folk there. Purebloods." The smile on his face was that of a tiger having just cornered and quartered his prey. With a false shrug of sympathy he said, "Sorry, Mudblood."

I felt a cold smile form on my lips. "We'll see," I said quietly. Meanwhile Damien, seeming disturbed by something, had fallen silent. I furrowed my brow as I followed his gaze to see where it had fallen. It trailed down my thin chest and arm, ending on my hand, which was still wrapped tightly around my wand. The entire thing trembling, small sparks shaped like teardrops in colors of ivy green and a sort of metallic-blue erupting out the end. I fought back my own curiosity over that, not desiring to appear unknowledgeable of whatever was occurring. Turning back, I gave a mock-innocent shrug to Damien, saying, "It's protective of me." Then I turned my attention to my books, looking up suddenly only to startle Damien, who finally fled the compartment in anger.

When he left, I resumed reading, trying to push down the angry lump in my throat while struggling not to acknowledge that a lump of panic accompanied it. If I couldn't become friends with Damien, who seemed to share - or at least tolerate - my sense of humor, what chance did I stand with the rest of the Hogwarts body? There wasn't a single fiber of my being that would think of leaving to return to the orphanage. At least here I had impressed people with my talent, which hadn't happened at all in my past. No, I would simply have to find some way of surviving in this world. Surviving...and thriving. I would settle for figuring out how to survive, first.

I stared down at the pages in front of me, my mind ceaselessly wandering. I wondered what caused Malfoy to hate the Muggle side of me, apparently as much as those at the orphanage hated the magic side. I couldn't exactly fault him on his opinion, even though it also burned that he directed that disgust at me. I fervently hoped that not all of my peers would be like Malfoy, having been avoided enough in my past life. Most of all, I hoped that neither side was right in their reasoning...but surely they weren't, I thought with a stubborn jut of my chin, forcing my chest to not constrict. No, I would, as always, prove everyone else wrong, if necessary, until everything eventually fit as I desired. I kept telling myself this over and over, trying to believe it.

The train pulled to a stop without any further incidences, and we all filed out. A loud voice projected over the incessant chattering, calling for the first year students to head toward the nearby boats. The voice, which belonged to a tall man with rangy hair who was the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, said his name was Mr. Wynn. He told us to head onto the boats, not flinching as the rain pelted his head. I also had become used to the rain, and walked over without much notice. Some of the others were already shivering and complaining. I sat in a boat filled with two girls and one male. The girls' names were Sandra and Bess, and both had sweet smiles and long brown hair. They talked excitedly about how both of their families had been in Ravenclaw, and how they simply had to be there. I nodded politely, not really sharing their enthusiasm, but they didn't seem to notice the difference.

The other male seated with us was named William Weasley - a family name, he explained - and the most notable thing about him was that his hair still flamed red in the night. He seemed nice enough, a bit of a goof-off who kept trying to tip the boat and send the girls screaming. Their racket was giving me a headache, but at least they didn't seem to care who my family was, which was a nice relief.

Before I knew it, we had pulled up in front of a huge castle, still looking magnificent in the rain. I had never seen anything so large, and the others and I sat looking agape at its splendor right up through the front doors. The entrance room was just as imposing, but thankfully warmer. We were told to wait there quietly before an enormous red door that lead to the dining hall and the Sorting. My hands wrenched a little as I thought about the ceremony. I had read about all the Houses, and the one that stood out the most to me was Slytherin. Perhaps it was because of Snicks, or that I could converse with snakes. More importantly, of all the Houses' characteristics, Slytherin's seemed to appeal to me the most. After all, real ambition and cunning, which the House prized most, called for a keen intellect like that of Ravenclaw, another House. And one had to be brave, as Gryffindor desired, to succeed in realizing one's ambitions. As for the last House, Hufflepuff, the only worthwhile characteristic I saw there was perhaps the virtue of patience.

So Slytherin seemed the closest to encompassing my ideals... but it was also something else, something deeper, which drove me to it. Though it seemed foolish of me, I could not help but feel as if I were already a part of that House, and what Malfoy said be damned.

We waited forever, shivering and dripping until finally Dumbledore opened the doors wide, telling us to follow him. As we hurried after him, we tried to take in the long elegant wooden tables, the glorious ceiling that was a replica of the sky, and the odd faces everywhere beaming at us. We all ended up crowded around before the raised platform where the teachers sat. In the front center was a stool with a weathered old magician's hat sitting on it. Dumbledore said that as soon as the hat looked inside us and found out which house we belonged to, we should go and join that table, becoming like family with them. He also said these words--which I found chilling, for he seemed to be looking right at me--"The hat does not lie; it merely sees what is inside you, good and bad, and sorts you accordingly."

With that, he turned it over to the hat, which startled all by springing to life and opening a tear in its fabric to sing. I stared at it, awed as everyone else. My mind turned to keenly wondering what enabled the hat to do this feat, and whether I would soon be able to do something similar. That thread of thought was immediately followed by the realization that making a hat sing was hardly a worthwhile pursuit of magic. Sternly I made myself focus, picking out the important bits of information on the Houses from the hat's rather annoying ditties

There was a round of nervous laughter and clapping, and I joined in to give my hands something to do. But the second the names began being called I held my breath, fingering my chain, waiting forever. I tried to pay attention. One of the girls on the boat got into Ravenclaw, the other didn't, and she was close to tears as she went to sit at the Gryffindor table. The Weasley boy got into Gryffindor too, and he breathed a happy sigh. Malfoy, over in Slytherin, also seemed happy that William had not been sorted into his House.

Finally, when I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my stomach, I heard my name called. It seemed to come from far away. Dumbledore was standing there, looking at me expectantly. I climbed up and slid onto the stool, my hands nervously clenched on my lap. I tried to ignore the hushed whispers around me asking who I was and the like.

All of a sudden a voice popped up in my head. "Well, this is certainly exciting! Haven't had one of you for a long time."

"One what?" I asked, feeling a little silly talking to a hat.

The hat didn't seem to care in the least. It said elatedly, "A challenge! How exciting - all right, lets see here - oh, what great fun!"

I gritted my teeth. People were already beginning to stir. "Just get on with it."

"Oh, you've got a bit of a temper, don't you? Well that counts Hufflepuff out - like it was ever in for you, right? Ravenclaw is definitely in the running, you're a clever little bugger, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" I protested loudly, but the hat ignored me.

"But that's the problem, isn't it? You're a little too clever, a bit too hard to deal with to truly get along with them. They would become jealous of your intellect, and your superior attitude wouldn't help anything. Still, you could have some wonderful intellectual discussions with them."

"Wonderful, I'll take them out for dinner and dancing if I'm still alive by the time you're through!"

The hat laughed, taking no offense. "Oh, I enjoy you Mister Riddle, I enjoy you immensely. You have some nerves, you know that? Gryffindor would certainly appreciate that. And a strong will, too. You don't let anything stand in your way, do you?"

"I suppose," I said cautiously.

"Oh, don't try to be modest. I can see you for what you are."

"And what am I?" The words came out as a low, automatic response that held only part of my real question I desired to ask.

The hat didn't respond to that. "Oh, you're asking about Slytherin, are you? Well, let's check this out. Ambitious, that was clear from the start. And you've got a good handle of people as well, when you want to. Not much for rules either, eh? No, don't worry, Dumbledore can't hear. Well, yes, now that I think about it, perhaps you're a bit too - unconventional - for Gryffindor. I don't think they'd understand you. No, no... I can see it now, I don't know how I missed it - you belong in SLYTHERIN!"

I let out a breath of relief and slide off the stool, only to find the entire congregation staring at me. I heard a voice behind me, and Dippet, the old man who had been introduced briefly as the Headmaster, was clapping and saying lightly, "Congratulations, Mr. Riddle, that has to be the longest Sorting I've experienced!"

I tried to smile, but it didn't really make it. Meanwhile I heard someone at the Gryffindor table sneer loudly, "Yeah, no surprise a Slytherin would be the one to ruin the Sorting!" A brief round of agreement went around, loudly opposed by the Slytherins, which was only silenced by Dumbledore's glare. He turned from staring at me to the Gryffindor, who tried to sink into the floor. "That will be quite enough. The ceremony has hardly been ruined." He then turned back to me, his gaze thoughtful as always, but still putting me on edge. "Indeed, I have found that sometimes the greatest things take the most time to sort out."

There was a pause where our eyes locked, each questioning the other in our gazes. Then Dumbledore broke it off, saying, "Well, Mr. Riddle, what are you waiting for? Go join your House. Your time in the spotlight is over - for now."