Rumplestiltskin is my Name : Tom Riddle fic

[lilacsigil]

Rumplestiltskin is my Name
by lilacsigil
for thetreacletart
saeva's HP gen ficathon
Thank you to st_aurafina for a full week of beta-reading AND cups of tea!
Summary: Tom Riddle should be careful as he makes friends on his journey from Diagon Alley to Hogwarts.

In a fit of boasting, a miller told everyone that his daughter could spin straw into gold.

Tom had always known he was special, even when no-one else had believed him, and he'd had to make them admit it. The little Benson girl would never be the same, they said, but Tom couldn't see how that would be a bad thing. Who would want to be Amy Benson, or even Tom Riddle, when they could change into something new, something unforeseeable? Tom loved mysteries.

As soon as the king heard of this, he sent for the girl and locked her in a chamber full of straw.

Albus Dumbledore wore purple when he first visited Tom, and filled the room as if he were ten times his actual size. Tom was not afraid, though, because the visit confirmed all of his suspicions. He was special. A moment's readjustment was needed when he realised that the existence of a magical school implied many children with his abilities, but, with a quick shake of his head, Tom discarded his concern. He could make children and adults fear him without access to his true power: there was no doubt that, as he learned more and more, he could make anyone fear him. Even Dumbledore, with his fiery wand and fearless laugh.

"Miller's daughter," he said, "If you do not spin this straw into gold by morning you will die."

The doubt seeped back in during Tom's first visit to Diagon Alley. Professor Dumbledore had written a note – in turquoise ink on pale pink marbled paper, but no-one seemed to think this strange – to the orphanage explaining that Tom needed to see a doctor before he came to school. Tom was thrilled to have a day of freedom, and had his school requirements list firmly in hand, even though he'd read it so many times he had it memorised.

The moment he went through the brick wall into the teeming, brightly coloured Diagon Alley, Tom's guts twisted inside him. Everyone here was so confident, and so aggressively flashy and exciting, that he felt like the tatterdemalion orphan that he, in fact, was. People walked by in long robes, gemstones twinkling on their fingers. A man in a pointed hat was tugging a huge orange lizard behind him on a leash. The lizard seemed more interested in the ice-cream that a small child had dropped in the gutter. The howling child was being consoled with some kind of shiny toy that was hovering in the air and playing music. No-one paid the slightest attention to Tom.

Left all alone, the miller's daughter cried, knowing that she could not perform this task.

Tom felt the customary sour rage rise inside him, as if he could spit poison onto the cobblestones and burn his name into them. A stout woman with sparkling purple hair glanced at him, concerned, and he ducked his head. It would be more difficult to be noticed than to be left alone, as angry as that made him. Tom dropped the cold mask over his face and let his rage burn on the inside, instead.

Out of nowhere appeared a tiny gnome, who offered to spin the straw into gold for the price of her necklace.

Tom leant back against the rough brick wall, hands in his pockets, crumpling his school requirements list into a ball. He refused to return to the mundane world, and yet could not bring himself to step forward to claim his birthright. His stance looked relaxed, but his teeth ground together in frustration as he stared into his shining, inaccessible future.

A quiet voice came from his left, smooth and inhuman.

"Listen! Hear me! Help me!"

Tom stuck his head around the corner, to see the plate glass window of a shop. On the grimy window, in ornate silver letters, were the words:

Alden and Walpurger
Finest Potion Supplies
Suppliers to the Wizengamot
Since 1181.

Tom used his sleeve to rub a clear spot into the dirt, and saw a tank full of tiny snakes, wriggling and slithering over each other to stay close to a faintly glowing stone.

"Did you call me?" Tom asked, lips brushing the glass so that the snake would feel the vibrations of his voice.

"They will grind us to paste! Help me!"

Rapidly feeding straw into the wheel, the gnome set the spinning wheel whirring and quickly spun the straw into gold.

Several of the tiny snakes moved away from the stone, the warmth of which Tom was beginning to feel through the glass. They flicked their tongues against the glass and Tom pressed his fingertips to the window.

"How can I help you?" Through the spot he had cleaned, Tom could see a few adults moving around in the shop. He didn't like his chances of getting out with a tank of snakes.

"Help us!"

As Tom watched, a squat man in indigo robes thrust a gloved hand into the tank and scooped up a wriggling handful of the snakes. Tom quickly pulled his sleeve over his hand and scrubbed at the glass in an effort to see what was happening, but the man had walked towards the back of the dimly-lit shop, and Tom couldn't see where he had gone.

A moment later, he heard the snakes shriek in pain. The snakes still in the tank writhed in distress for a moment, then, as the screaming stopped, return to their struggle for access to the warm stone. The few that had moved away from the rock to speak to Tom flicked their tongues in and out, silently.

Tom closed his eyes tightly and pushed his fingertips against the glass. He didn't know what might happen, but he knew that nothing and no-one could resist his will forever. Except wizards. Dumbledore had been unafraid and untouchable in the face of Tom's efforts to influence his behaviour. Tom's concentration wavered, then shrugged off the doubt. Glass was only glass, and wizards were only people. Soon he would be as strong as Dumbledore, then no-one would refuse him again.

The pane of glass vanished, and Tom stumbled forward, barely catching himself before putting his hand down on a snake.

"Quick, come with me," he hissed, glancing into the shop to see if anyone had noticed more light entering than usual, then looking behind him in case someone on the street was coming his way. Most of the snakes moved closer to their heating stone, but a few slithered up Tom's wrist and into his sleeve.

"Come on!" he spat, but the remaining snakes ignored him.

"Leave them," said one of the snakes in his cuff, "There's always going to be fools ready to sacrifice freedom for a warm rock."

Tom immediately turned and walked quickly away from the window, blending into the bustling crowd without a hint of his former hesitation. Not a soul had noticed.

Delighted, the king locked the miller's daughter in the chamber for a second night, and again the little man came to her aid, this time for the price of the ring on her finger.

In an oven-warmed warm alleyway behind a bakery, Tom let the little snakes go. They dispersed quickly, into cracks and gaps, leaving no sign of their passing. One snake remained, lying along Tom's palm like an extra finger.

"Why did you help us?" the snake asked, "We have been calling out to humans since our birth."

"I don't think they understand you. They certainly didn't care about killing you," Tom frowned.

"You understand both our speech and human speech?"

"Yes."

"Then I will stay with you. Humans are too strong for me."

"One day you'll be stronger than them," Tom replied, stroking the tiny snake with his finger. "But not now."

"You are special. I will stay." The snake curled back up his hand, and curled itself around the warm skin of his wrist, over his pulse.

Tom grinned, and pulled his school requirements list from his pocket.

"Well, we've got plenty to do."

His friend coiled safely at his wrist, Tom re-emerged into Diagon Alley. Chosen by a snake, he felt full of confidence. He was willing to bet Dumbledore didn't have a friend like this. Dumbledore was too arrogant to make alliances with anybody.

"Very good!" the king bellowed, "If you succeed in spinning one more room full of straw into gold, you will be my wife and queen!"

Two hours later, Tom had efficiently bought all but one of the items on his list, most of them second-hand. He still had nearly half the money he had started out with, and would have had more if the Transfiguration textbook hadn't been updated and only available in a new edition.

The last item on his list was a wand, something that he suspected would be expensive. Master Malkin, at the robes shop, had directed him to a shop named Ollivanders, hinting that without the correct wand, his skills would be unable to develop. Malkin had been perfectly happy to sell him second-hand robes, though. They were obviously not so essential for his development.

Ollivanders was a small shop, and apparently empty. Tom put his cauldron, full of books, potion ingredients, and robes, down on the floor with a heavy clank, and a small man scuttled out from the back room. He was a young man, with thick sandy hair, but his wide, pale eyes gave him an air of agelessness, as if he could see much more of Tom than Tom could of him.

"Mr Riddle?" the man asked, and Tom jumped.

"Yes, sir. Are you Mr Ollivander?"

"Indeed. Professor Dumbledore told me you would be paying me a visit soon."

Tom relaxed, then tensed again as a bright blue tape measure uncoiled from a shelf and rapidly laid itself against his arm, then across his back. Mr Ollivander nodded as if he was doing the measuring himself, then climbed up a ladder, reached up a hand, and, without looking, took a box down from the wall.

"Try this one."

Oaths were sworn: the miller's daughter promised her first born child to the gnome in return for spinning the final pile of straw into gold.

Tom reached out his hand and took the wand from the box. It almost leapt into his hand, and he grasped it firmly. It was a pale grey wood, with a smooth grain, and felt warm and heavy in his grip.

"Holly and phoenix feather," said Ollivander, almost sternly, his eyes following Tom's movements closely.

Tom moved the wand in an arc, and red hot sparks followed his movement. One fell on his bare hand, burning it, but he didn't flinch. Ollivander, however, did. So did the snake, who slithered off Tom's wrist and up his arm, away from the danger.

"Is it supposed to hurt you?" the snake snapped, cross at having its warm rest disturbed.

Tom repeated the question to Mr Ollivander, more interested in simply knowing than in avoiding pain. There had already been enough things today that he did not understand.

To Tom's surprise, Mr Ollivander blushed, and quickly lifted the wand out of Tom's hands, placing it back in the box.

"Yes, yes, not uncommon," he muttered, his eyes flicking to the side, then rapidly starting to wrap the box in brown paper. "This is certainly the wand for you."

Tom narrowed his eyes. Mr Ollivander was hiding something from him, and Tom was not going to put up with yet another adult knowing more than he did.

"Mr Ollivander," he inquired, composing his face, "Would you happen to know what kind of wand my father had? He had the same name as me."

Mr Ollivander relaxed a little. That wasn't it, then.

"I'm sorry, Mr Riddle, but I've only been running this shop for ten years. It was my grandmother's before that. I think he would have been before my time."

"Oh. Thank you, anyway. And, Mr Ollivander, how do you know which wand to give me?"

Ollivander tensed again, and he glanced to his left again.

"Really, the wand chooses the wizard. I simply, ah, I make the wands and have the widest possible variety available for customers like yourself."

"Might I try another wand, then? I'd like to see how it feels, if that's not too much trouble."

Mr Ollivander looked terribly reluctant, but politeness got the better of him and he turned – to his right, Tom noticed – to get another wand down.

"Now it's your turn to help me," Tom whispered into his sleeve. "Go up to that shelf and tell me what Ollivander was looking at. He's hiding something."

He rested his hand casually on the counter, and the snake, reluctant to leave the warmth of his sleeve, slid over his hand and twined around a ladder, slithering upwards to the shelf Tom had indicated.

Ollivander climbed back down his ladder and offered Tom another wand. Tom took it, but it felt dull and cold in his hand, completely different to the holly wand with the phoenix feather. He waved the new wand, but no sparks emerged.

"What's in this one?" he asked, trying to keep from looking at the snake, which had now found its way onto the correct shelf.

"It's mahogany with unicorn hair," Ollivander replied, getting another wand down, also from the shelves to his right.

"It's just another wand. Ask him for it." the snake hissed. Mr Ollivander didn't seem to hear, and Tom beckoned the snake back to him.

"What about those wands, over there?" Tom asked, his voice smooth and innocent.

"Oh, they're rather new wands, like the one you tried first. I'm sure the one we've chosen will be just perfect."

"I'd like to try that one, Mr Ollivander," said Tom, pointing at the box the snake had vacated.

Mr Ollivander went pale, and Tom barely hid his smile. Mr Ollivander was indeed hiding this wand from him, but he wouldn't refuse now.

Indeed, Ollivander retrieved the wand and placed it flat on the counter.

"Mr Riddle, this wand is the brother to the holly wand you have already tried. However, this wand is made of yew."

"What does that mean?" Tom asked, barely stopping himself grabbing for the wand.

"Yew is a powerful and dangerous wood. It can represent death, but can also mean reincarnation. Or immortality. It's good for divination and prophecy, but it's a very … a very strong choice for a young boy like yourself. I would recommend against it."

"I would like to try it, Mr Ollivander."

Tom put his hand on the wand, and Mr Ollivander let go. Tom kept his hand on the counter a moment longer, as the little snake wriggled back up his sleeve, then he picked up the wand. White hot sparks flew across the room, showering Tom and Mr Ollivander, but instead of pain, Tom felt a burst of joy, and of strength. It was his wand, without a doubt. Just holding it made him feel as tall as Dumbledore.

"One galleon." Ollivander said, in a resigned voice. He closed the box, but didn't wrap it. Tom pulled the last remaining galleon from the bag and gave it to Ollivander, and snatched back the box containing the wand in return.

"Use it wisely, Mr Riddle. My wands choose their owners, and this wand is a very rare one indeed. Very rare."

Tom couldn't bear to speak, but managed to wait until he had left the shop before tearing the box open and holding the wand again. He threw the box carelessly in his cauldron, and tucked the wand firmly up his other sleeve. He was ready to be a wizard.

Long months later, the new queen's son was born and the little man came to collect on the deal, but the queen shrieked and wept so much that the gnome pitied her, and offered her a chance.

On the first of September, 1938, Tom Riddle made his way to Kings Cross station, his cauldron concealed, with the rest of his possessions, in a firmly tied grey sack over his shoulder. No-one noticed him on his long walk, even when he had to stop to let the snake drink from a puddle. The snake, a female Tom named Nagini after the snake in The Jungle Book, was now nearly four inches long and an eager devourer of insects and birds' eggs.

It was nearly eleven when Tom arrived at Kings Cross station, and people were everywhere, some dragging large trunks. Tom had no difficulty picking the wizards from the normal people, though no-one else seemed to notice. Many of them were wearing outdated clothing – he saw one woman with a large bustle – and others were in long cloaks quite unsuitable for the warm day, though none of them looked hot.

Tom followed a large group of them towards the platforms, watching closely as one woman even pulled out her wand and mended a tear in her son's jumper. Her husband muttered something to her, and she rolled her eyes and put the wand away. Tom frowned. He had kept his wand on his person ever since it had come to him, and he couldn't see why the woman shouldn't do what she wanted. It wasn't as if the normal people could stop them.

Tom hefted his sack, which seemed to be getting heavier by the minute, but when he looked up, the large group of wizards were gone. He could see Platform 9 and Platform 10, but no Platform 9¾ was marked, presumably to keep unwanted attention away. That didn't do much good if he couldn't find it, though.

He approached the barrier between the platforms tentatively, and put his hand against the brick wall. It just felt like rough brick. He slipped his wand from his sleeve and tapped it against the ticket box, then against the wall. Again, nothing happened. Tom snorted in frustration. Was this a test of his skills? It didn't seem very fair if everyone else got to go through with their parents, and he had to do it alone.

Nagini slipped her head out of his sleeve, flicking the back of Tom's hand with her tongue. Tom stroked her head with his fingertip – she didn't like it when he touched her with the wand – then continued his futile probing.

"Don't cry, my dear: if you can guess my name in three days, you may keep the child."

Nagini tasted the air for a few moments, watching Tom poke at the bricks.

"Why are we waiting here?" she asked, grumpy from the long trek. "I can smell food. I'm hungry."

"I can't get through the barrier. It won't let me in."

"You're very silly, sometimes." Nagini's tongue flickered in and out.

"Nagini, I can't get through the barrier. I need to be on that platform."

"That's easy. Can't you taste it?"

Tom breathed slowly, trying to understand her and to sense whatever it was that the small snake knew. Nagini's impatience got the better of her before he succeeded.

"There's nothing there."

"You don't see a barrier?"

"There's nothing there at all. Put me down."

Tom crouched and let Nagini slither to the ground. She moved slowly forward, her tongue sensing vibration in the air, and slid straight into the brick wall.

"Follow!" Her voice was faint but clear, and Tom was ready to trust her. He closed his eyes and stepped resolutely straight into the wall.

Instead of the grazed nose he expected, he found himself on a platform, and Nagini wrapped herself lovingly around his ankle. Tom picked her up and let her slide back into his sleeve.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "Now I am in your debt," and strode resolutely towards the train.

Every messenger in the kingdom was sent searching for clues as to the gnome's name, but the queen's guesses were futile.

Tom walked through each carriage on the train, but every compartment seemed filled with either older students, chatting with each other in a way that did not invite newcomers, or a mix of older and younger students, many of whom looked alike and were probably siblings. Tom didn't want to have to ingratiate himself with bigger students, as he didn't know what spells they might have learned over their years at Hogwarts, and their current advantage over him was potentially too great.

Finally, he found a carriage with students who looked about his age, and a number of empty seats. He slid the door back, walked in and sat down near the group of three boys and a girl. They stared at him blankly for a moment, then one of the boys spoke.

"Who are you?"

"Tom Riddle."

"Riddle? Never heard of you. Where are you from?" All three boys were leaning forward now, though the girl didn't seem particularly interested.

"London. Who are you?

"Hildred Nott. Of the Bede's Square Notts."

"I see," Tom said, without inflection.

"Most of our family is in Slytherin, of course. They're the best house by far. Which house is your family in?"

"Nott's sister is in Hufflepuff," another boy interjected, with a sneer in his voice. Nott shoved him, and after a brief tussle, attention turned back to Tom.

"Why do you want to be in Slytherin, then? Aren't you going to be with your sister?" Tom replied, trying not to give anything away.

"No!" Nott looked shocked. "I think I'd rather die than be in Hufflepuff. They're all so dull. My sister was sorted there," he blushed, "And ever since, all she talks about is her Hufflepuff friends. But they never do anything."

"Or, at least, she never tells you about it," the girl muttered.

"Oh, as if there's anything to tell. No-one cares about Hufflepuffs, it's Slytherins who are respected. Who'd be a badger when you can be a snake?"

"I like snakes," Tom said. It seemed like an island of commonality in the bewildering sea of incomprehensible chatter.

The other students stared at him.

Messengers came and went with no useful information, until one told the queen of a strange little man he had seen in the forest, at the foot of a huge mountain, cackling and dancing with joy.

"It's nothing to do with real snakes," said the girl, coldly, "And which house did you say your family was in?"

They all waited for Tom's reply.

"I don't know much about my father," he muttered, "Just that he was a wizard, with the same name as me. My mother died, so she couldn't tell me."

"So who raised you?" the girl asked. She seemed the most incisive of the group, and Tom turned his attention to her.

"It certainly wasn't wizards."

"You're not a mudblood, are you? You're never going to make it into Slytherin if you're a mudblood."

Tom didn't need to know what a mudblood was to catch her inference. He stood up to his full height – which was not great, but certainly greater than hers – and glared into her insolent face. With a twist of his arm, he let Nagini slide out of his sleeve and onto his hand. Sleepy and cross, she reared up her head, and bared her fangs.

The students screamed with satisfyingly genuine fear, and the girl climbed up on her seat in panic, her elegant pale blue robes spreading in disarray.

"Does this look like something a mudblood would do?" Tom snarled, bringing his hand forward, near the boys' faces. Nagini sparkled like a jewel in his hand, and swayed menacingly as the boys cringed back.

"Answer me!"

"N-no, of course not! Tressa was just being silly." Nott spread his hands placatingly.

Tom let Nagini slide back up his arm, where she grumpily tried to go back to sleep. The other students relaxed again, and even managed to pretend they weren't watching Tom's every move.

"Now," Tom said, smiling and settling back in his seat, "Tell me all about Slytherin."

On the last day, the little man came back to the queen, and asked, "Well, your Majesty, who am I?"

Upon their arrival at the Hogwarts platform, Tom was less than impressed to see a sprawling castle and a huge dark lake. His new friends seemed thrilled, but Tom had been rather hoping for a warm and comfortable school, not a ramshackle old building with open windows. It didn't seem very sensible so far north. Tom frowned, annoyed with himself for so quickly forgetting that he was among his own kind, among wizards. They probably had perfectly good spells to keep them warm.

Nott grabbed Tom's arm, then quickly let go at the sour look on Tom's face. He didn't lose his enthusiasm, though.

"Come on, the boats are waiting. My sister told me about this. There's a giant squid in the lake, you know."

Tom followed Nott down a steep track to the boats, unconcerned by the rumour of a giant squid, though other students were discussing it avidly. In Tom's experience, adults tried to keep children away from anything dangerous, magical or mysterious. They would hardly lead a whole class of eleven-year-olds straight into the tentacles of a squid. Even adults like Dumbledore – who would set a wardrobe aflame – never seemed to allow any real danger. Tom was fairly sure of it.

Tom climbed into a boat with Nott and two other boys who were introduced as Nott's relatives of some sort. A short, stout man who had introduced himself as Mr Ogg set the boats going, with no obvious form of propulsion. Everyone went quiet as the boats sailed closer and closer to the castle, and they all realised quite how large it was. Tom, after a quick glance up at the castle, kept his eyes on where they were going. He wasn't going to commit himself to this strange world without an escape route.

They sailed into a little cave with a pebbly beach, and Mr Ogg counted them all off the boats and into an orderly queue.

"Alphabetically by surname, please!" he called, and there was much shuffling and pushing, as most students didn't know the others' names. Tom ended up about three-quarters of the way down the line, which seemed like a good place from which to see exactly what was going on to the first – or last – members of the line.

Then he saw Dumbledore. He was wearing black robes rather than a purple suit, but his tall hat made him even more imposing than before. His red beard shone in the candlelight as he made his way down the queue, greeting the students by name and giving them sweets.

"Here you are, Mr Nott, how nice to see you, have a lemon sherbet. And Miss Pucey, I don't believe we've met."

Dumbledore reached Tom, and shook his hand firmly.

"Hello again, Mr Riddle. Humbug?"

"No, thank you. I don't care for them. Nor does Nagini."

The other students who had been in the train carriage with him craned their necks to see what would happen, wondering if Dumbledore would confiscate Tom's pet.

"You've brought a friend, I see! Good lad. The friends you choose help you become who you are. The same is true for Nagini, of course. You'll pass that on, won't you?"

Tom was about to protest that this didn't make sense, but Dumbledore had flitted on to the next student and was pressing something called an Acid Pop into their hand.

"I don't like him," Nagini hissed, "Why did you tell him about me?"

"He would have known soon enough. And I'm not afraid of him."

"Only because your pride is greater than your caution. What does that make you, Tom Riddle?"

"Rumplestiltskin. Could that be your name?"

Tom scowled and poked Nagini further up his sleeve, then shuffled along with the others as Dumbledore led them into what he called the Great Hall. This chamber was much more like Tom's idea of wizard life than the trains and boats he had seen so far. The sky sparkled majestically overhead, as if there was no roof at all, and candles floated around the walls and above the tables, illuminating everything with their soft light.

The hall was filled with students and teachers in formal robes, and, more excitingly, ghosts were drifting about overhead. Tom had first thought to ignore them, in case they were some kind of trick, but the older students seated at the long tables called out to them fondly, and a group of girls even seemed to be having a friendly chat with a fat, transparent monk.

Dumbledore walked back past the line of students carrying what looked like an old sack under one arm, and a wooden stool under the others. He put the stool down, then propped the sack up on the chair. A whisper went through the students,

"The Sorting Hat!"

Tom squinted at it, and, indeed, it was a dirty old hat, with a wide brim and several rips. Suddenly, as the hall fell quiet, one of the rips opened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.

This was such a surprise to Tom that he didn't catch the first part of the song, but when the hat mentioned Hufflepuff, Tom realised that it was singing about the four houses. He listened closely, trying to assess their merits. It seemed to be very important to the other students which house they were in, and Tom didn't want to be with inferior students. Hufflepuff seemed to be about hard work and loyalty. That seemed useful, but Nott had already dismissed them, and the other students from the train had agreed. Ravenclaw was about learning, which also sounded appealing; so did Gryffindor's brave deeds, though Tom was concerned that he hadn't had much opportunity to prove himself so far. Slytherin seemed to hold students of great ancestry and great ambition, and this immediately worried Tom. His mother had obviously not been of great ancestry or ambition, or she wouldn't have died and left him. His father must be of wizarding ancestry, but was that enough distinction in a hall full of other wizards? He didn't want to be seen as a mudblood, however, and Slytherin, according to Tressa, didn't take mudbloods. If he made it into Slytherin, no-one would even think call him that.

The queue of students snaked forward, each student placing the hat on their head and being sorted into one of the houses, to great applause from the students of that house. Tressa and Nott were both sorted into Slytherin and seemed delighted to be sitting under the big green and silver serpent banner. Miss Pucey, in front of Tom, was sorted into Ravenclaw, after a long time sitting perfectly still under the hat, then it was Tom's turn.

He strode forward, sat on the chair, and gingerly put the hat on his head. Nagini suddenly began to writhe in alarm, and Tom muttered a soothing word to her, though he didn't know the cause of her fright.

"Easy!" The hat was speaking inside his head, but its next word was bellowed for all to hear. "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table burst into cheers, as Tom removed the hat and dropped it back on the stool for the next student. He wasn't a mudblood after all. He was Tom Marvolo Riddle, of great ancestry and great ambition.

The tiny man shrieked with rage, grabbed his own left foot and tore himself in pieces.

He walked over to sit at the Slytherin table, and, under the cover of all the noise, whispered to Nagini.

"What are you so upset about?"

"That thing you put on your head. It sees exactly who you are."

"So? Everyone has to wear the Sorting Hat."

"Never let it be known who you are!"

"I know who you are."

Nagini slid from under Tom's arm up to rest her small head on the pulse at his throat.

"Never think that, my human. We are friends. That is all."

Tom put his hand to his throat, where Nagini lay, then looked at the smiling faces welcoming him to the Slytherin table.

"Welcome, Tom Riddle!" shouted a tall boy with a shiny badge on his blazer.

"Yes, Tom Riddle. That's me," Tom replied.

Dumbledore was right: the friends he chose would help him become who he was meant to be. Tom smiled back at the other Slytherins, then carefully broadened his smile to form an unmissable mask of joy.