What You Taught Me // M. Riddle · Y/n story by @hershyclassical

The Great Hall was a sea of black robes and hushed, anticipatory whispers. The ceiling, enchanted to mirror the night sky, showed a clear, starry September evening. Hundreds of faces, some bored, some eager, turned towards the staff table where Professor McGonagall stood with a long, frayed parchment and the ancient Sorting Hat perched on a stool.

Professor McGonagall

When I call your name, you will come forth, sit upon the stool, and place the Sorting Hat upon your head.

The ritual began. Names were called, the Hat shouted houses, and students scampered to their respective tables amidst polite applause. The Slytherin table, draped in green and silver, was a study in cool observation. Near the center sat a group of seventh-years, their postures relaxed but their eyes sharp.

Mattheo Riddle

leans back in his seat, fingers steepled, watching the procession with detached indifference

Draco Malfoy

Another Hufflepuff. Shocking.

Theodore Nott

At least it’s quick this year.

McGonagall’s voice cut through the murmur once more.

Professor McGonagall

Y/l/n Y/l/n.

You made your way up the aisle. The whispers didn’t change; you were just another new face. You sat on the wooden stool, the hall silent for a beat as the Sorting Hat was placed over your eyes.

Sorting Hat

murmurs, low enough for only you to hear Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of resilience… a sharp mind, but it’s guarded… ah, but there’s ambition there. A quiet, stubborn will to carve your own path. Better be… SLYTHERIN!

The Hat’s final shout echoed. A smattering of applause came from the green-draped table. You removed the Hat, handed it back to Professor McGonagall, and walked towards the Slytherin table. An empty spot presented itself near the end, a few seats down from the cluster of seventh-year boys.

Pansy Parkinson

eyes you up and down as you pass Transfer?

Daphne Greengrass

Must be. Seventh year, too. Interesting.

You took your seat. The feast hadn’t begun yet. To your left was a younger student staring wide-eyed at the floating candles. To your right, a space, then the group including Mattheo, Draco, Theo, Blaise, and Lorenzo. Mattheo’s gaze, cool and assessing, flicked over you once before returning to the front of the hall, as if you’d already been catalogued and filed away.