The Sorting Ceremony was a grand occasion, as it always was, and the Great Hall of Hogwarts echoed with the voices of the first-years, a mixture of excitement, nervousness, and awe. The enchanted ceiling above them mirrored the night sky, glittering with stars, and the long tables were filled with students from each of the four Houses, their eyes trained on the new arrivals. At the far end of the hall, Headmaster Dippet stood, a stately figure in his robes, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as he prepared to call the names of the new students.
Tom Riddle stood with perfect composure in the line of first-years, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Beside him, Ernesh Balcom stood like a ghost. His pale skin seemed even more ethereal beneath the flickering candlelight, his dark hair falling like a curtain over his forehead. His wide, almost unblinking eyes were locked somewhere far off, lost in a world only he could see. Ernesh's presence, though quiet, was undeniable—a strange, unsettling energy radiated from him, an aura of coldness that seemed to repel, to disturb.
Ernesh didn't speak, not even to Tom. He never did unless necessary, and even then, his voice came out in a faint, almost inaudible whisper. But Tom didn't mind. In fact, he found the boy's silence comforting in a strange way, as if Ernesh were a perfect, fragile thing—something that Tom could mold, something that belonged to him. And now, standing together in the front of the room, they would be Sorted, together, into their rightful places.
Headmaster Dippet raised the Sorting Hat high, and the first name was called. The Sorting began, and each new student nervously approached the Hat, awaiting their fate. The murmurs of the gathered students buzzed through the air, the clinking of goblets and silverware underscoring the tension of the moment. But all that faded to the background for Tom as he watched Ernesh, his focus fixed on the boy beside him.
"Balcom, Ernesh," came the soft voice of the Headmaster.
Ernesh took a step forward, moving like a wraith, his limbs unnaturally graceful. He didn't look at anyone, not even at the Sorting Hat as it was placed atop his head. A ripple of unease washed through the crowd. Whispers began to stir. There was something wrong about him, something strange, and they could feel it.
Tom, despite his own confidence, felt a small flicker of excitement as the Hat sat for what seemed an eternity. Finally, after an agonizing pause, the Sorting Hat shouted in its booming, magical voice, "Slytherin!"
The Slytherin table erupted in applause, though it was half-hearted, as if the other students were unsure how to react. Ernesh didn't seem to notice. His face remained expressionless, but Tom could feel the shift in the atmosphere. He had known. Ernesh belonged with him. And now, the world would see it too.
The Sorting continued, and soon it was Tom's turn.
"Riddle, Tom."
Tom stood with the same unshakable composure, his chin slightly raised as he walked toward the Hat. He sat down, and the Hat was placed on his head. Almost immediately, the Hat's voice seemed to laugh, a low, knowing sound.
"Ah, yes. So much ambition, so much power. Slytherin, of course."
The cheers from the Slytherin table were louder this time, much more genuine. Tom stood and, with a flash of his charismatic smile, made his way toward the seat beside Ernesh. Their eyes met as he sat down. Ernesh, still lost in his quiet world, glanced up at Tom, and for the briefest moment, his lips parted in what might have been a smile—though it was too faint to be certain.
Tom could feel the subtle shift in the room as he settled into the seat next to Ernesh. Many students at the nearby tables were watching, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and unease. And as Tom took his seat, they watched him carefully, noting that the two boys—who were so different from the others—were now seated together, side by side.
Ernesh had already begun to retreat into his own space. He had not looked at the food before him, and his plate remained empty, untouched. Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. Ernesh might not have cared for food, but Tom wasn't going to let him starve, not when he was so... delicate.
With a small, almost imperceptible smirk, Tom reached for the dishes in front of them. He scooped roast beef onto Ernesh's plate, added a few spoonfuls of potatoes, and filled the goblet before him with water. The gesture was deliberate, each motion smooth and practiced. Tom made sure everything was arranged just the way he liked it: perfect, controlled. As his hand hovered over Ernesh's plate, he leaned in slightly, speaking in a soft, almost intimate tone.
"Eat, Ernesh," Tom whispered, though his words carried an authority that brooked no refusal. "You need to."
Ernesh's eyes flickered to Tom's face. For a moment, his gaze seemed to linger, before he slowly and wordlessly lifted his fork and began to eat. His movements were delicate, almost doll-like, as he carefully placed each piece of food in his mouth, chewing in silence, eyes never meeting anyone else's.
Tom smirked. He watched Ernesh as he ate, the pale boy's hands moving with an eerie, almost mechanical precision. There was something about him that made everyone around them uneasy. It wasn't just his silence. It was the way he seemed so perfectly composed, too still, too controlled—like a figure carved from porcelain.
Across the hall, students whispered, their words faint but audible over the clinking of silverware.
"Did you see that?" a girl from Gryffindor muttered to her friend, glancing nervously in their direction. "The pale one... he's so creepy..."
"I heard he doesn't even talk properly," the boy beside her replied, his voice laced with disgust. "I bet he's one of those strange bloods, you know? The ones that have... powers."
Another student from Ravenclaw chimed in, her voice low and sharp. "You think Riddle's bad? You should see the other one. He's—" She swallowed, as if reluctant to finish the thought. "He's like something out of a nightmare. Like he doesn't even belong here."
Tom's smirk deepened as he caught snippets of their conversation. He could sense the way people recoiled from Ernesh, the way they instinctively shifted away. The whispers were growing louder now, more intense. But it didn't matter to him. They were all beneath him, beneath them. They always had been.
Ernesh continued to eat, each motion as precise and eerie as before. His face remained pale and emotionless, his dark eyes flickering from his plate to the surroundings only when necessary. He never seemed to acknowledge the whispers, the stares, or the uneasy looks from the other students. He was used to it by now. They all were.
Tom leaned back in his seat slightly, watching Ernesh with an unreadable expression. He had been right. They were right where they needed to be. Slytherin. They were both destined for greatness, even if the world didn't understand them yet.
As the feast continued, the whispers in the hall grew more intense. The students at nearby tables exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of the two boys sitting together so comfortably, so unnervingly. Ernesh clung to Tom in a way that was unsettling, his hand resting lightly on Tom's arm, his gaze fixed on the plate in front of him, his movements too precise, too fluid.
Tom placed a hand on Ernesh's, feeling the coolness of his skin. He leaned close, his lips brushing Ernesh's ear as he whispered, "You'll never be alone. Not as long as I'm here."
And Ernesh's fingers tightened imperceptibly on Tom's arm, as if to say, without words, that he would never leave him. They were bound together, two halves of the same whole, and together, they would shape their futures at Hogwarts. Together, they would bend the world to their will.
And the whispers, the fear, the uneasy stares—they were nothing more than background noise in the grand scheme of things.
For they were Slytherins. And they were already unstoppable.
