Tom Stark-Malfoy

Draco P.O.V.

The tread into the Great Hall was as tedious as always. We went up two flights of stairs where we met up with Mcgonagal who said some words, who then guided us into the Great Hall. Dumbledore said some words as well. Then Mcgonagal said some words… I think.

Which words? I have no idea.

"Abbott, Hannah"

I wasn't listening. I was too busy ruminating on my plan.

"HUFFLEPUFF"

I had come up with plans to get sorted into all of the four houses, but had decided which plan I would follow in the train.

"Brown, Lavender"

For my house I must be in Griffindor. It is the only way I can fool that barmy old man into thinking I am one of his people. Afterall, the only wizard who stands a realistic chance of defeating Voldemort is the one man Voldemort fears, Dumbledore.

"GRYFFINDOR"

"Granger, Hermione"

*internal struggle*

"GRYFFINDOR"

Very well, FINE- I won't sugarcoat things to myself. I'm using the elderly anthropomorphic test device (ATD) (commonly known as a crash test dummy).

*internal struggle dissipates to negligible levels*

"Lovegood, Luna"

For some reason, that demented old coot seemed to initially have a bad opinion of me then left with an unreasonable "good" opinion of me. The reason to which, I would still need to ascertain, but I am not one to stare a gift horse in the mouth.

"RAVENCLAW"

"Potter, Harry"

"GRYFFINDOR"

I believe I've tempered enough amiability that they would offer me enough 'doubt', around which affiliations may be established.

"Smith, Sally"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

A blonde-haired slightly pudgy kid, the Smith girl, nervously trotted to her table through the applause of her new house-mates. Strange, I didn't recall someone like her being in my year. But then again, she could have been one of those who died early in the war.

"Stark, Tom"

Taking a deep breath, I swaggered to the chair and sat down. Emptying my mind with occlumency, I brought on my best Gryffindor mindset to prepare for the oncoming onslaught once the hat lands on my head.

'Oh my god, it's Harry Potter! Hurray to our savior! I'm going to risk my life and my entire future to fight a Troll with him! Hur-durr-durr~...*inhale* *exhale* Courage is the strong dėsɨrė to live in the form of readiness to die. We are to war. To win is to live, to lose is to die. To keep my life, I must be ready to die. [1]

The hat bȧrėly touched my hair when my mind had been fully concealed behind a make-shift mind filled with nothing but chivalry, bravery, nerve, and courage.

"SLYTHERIN"

"What?! Why?" I bȧrėly managed to keep my exclamation under a whisper.

"Boy, your bravery is determination, not courage. It is self-serving and fluctuates to circumstance. Your resourcefulness is only smart, not wise. There isn't an ounce of justice nor patience in you. And though parallel as your situation has led - your intentions are ambitious, not chivalrous. I've finished sorting you a room away!"

Humph. The nerve.

I stood up and swept my way towards the Slytherin table that was ill in applause save Theodore and Pansey who had calculative gears turning through their eyes.

Feeling a strangely penetrative gaze, I glazed back at the head table where Dumbledore had for some reason or another, reclaimed a 'bad impression' of me. I swear, not even Merlin himself could understand the circuits in that old man's brain words.

I have done nothing 'cept get sorted… honestly…

The rest of the kids in my year were sorted, then Mcgonagal called everyone to attention for Dumbledore to speak.

Standing up, the old fat grandeously spread his arms out to declare the start of the feast. And the bloody baron decided it was a smart idea to surf through our food… Well… It's not like he's getting anything on them anyway - perhaps a light breeze that faintly chilled the steaming food?

I let Theodore and the others grab their portions first while observing the level of table etiquette we were expected to have on this table. I could bȧrėly remember what eating back in Hogwarts was like. I could only vaguely remember disdaining the lower years who disregarded their dining savoir vivre along with other higher years in my last years of Hogwarts, but we never did bother to correct them...

I observed the higher years for a quick moment to see that the table etiquette was quite lax. As always, serviettes on ŀȧps, fork prongs always down with the knife for support, utensils generally matched to the type of food, and food only travels towards the right (well… excluding the younger-year's side of the table where food seems multi-directional). But one needn't eat food in their proper order (hors d'oeuvre, soup, appetizer, salad, main course, dessert, and mignardise), nor use both dessert fork and spoon for dessert, and the noise of the fork hitting the plate is tolerated to a degree.

Hence, I confidently took the dishes that looked appetizing, regardless of their proper order, and decorated them into orderly divisions on my plate.

I spent the rest of the feast drifting off, re-adjusting my plans on how to bag the kooky Headmaster.

Other than the two commoner slytherins, Sophie Roper and Tracey Davis - who tried to 'chat' with those around them over dinner (hence, delaying the meal for both parties as one has to put their utensils down on their plate before speaking) but quickly learned the proper manners of not talking over your food, nothing much happened within the Slytherin table.

Everyone, especially the higher years, knew to give their prompt greetings before the meal and wait till after their meals to discuss other subjects. There is afterall, nothing more improper than a piece of chicken flying from your or your companion's mouth onto the dessert tray.

A scene that I think I just saw happen right now at the Gryffindor table.

yech! Gross...

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Dumbledore P.O.V.

I believed I had proved myself wrong when the boy showed emotion in my last visit. However, the overlap between the two revived my concerns. I was hoping that the boy would be placed in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, perhaps even in Gryffindor.

The first feast had bȧrėly begun, yet I could already see three young-ones enraptured with him; and one child - I dare say - fearful of him. A feat that another Tom had only accomplished by the first morning.

It was as though I was viewing my past once more. Sitting some few chairs to the side of where I sit now, yet similarly viewing upon a seemingly muggle-born child who was quickly sorted into a house that ostracized him. A few months down, I could see more of those gazes change from disdain to admiration. A few years more, and they would transform into worship and fear.

But perhaps I have indeed gotten too old. There were, afterall, a few others whose hair never touched the hat before they were sorted. And there was nothing particularly worrisome about any of them - excluding of course, the young Tom.

The words of a 7 year young Tom Stark in the memory of an American Auror that Quirrell had gifted me, struck me in an eerie sense of deja vu. And though this deja vu continued to happen in my last visit with the boy, there were key differences that led me to believe that this 'Tom' and the other 'Tom' were inherently different souls.

I had inwardly still hoped that these coincidences were merely just that, or had been puppeteered by an external influence. And yet, the nearly identical scene in the Slytherin table begs otherwise. One may copy the words and actions of a charismatic man, but one cannot copy his charisma.

I watched the black-haired personable young lad observe those around him before tucking into his food with table etiquette mirroring those of the 6th and 7th year slytherin students.

'Had he observed the eating manners of the higher years before copying it?'

*old man sigh* There are far too many coincidences between the two Toms. Some of them are as minute as a hair's width. Rather than an old Tom who has come back in a younger form to torment me with scenes of deja vu, he seems more like the true young sapling himself - one without any memories that he has already done the same thing once, yet his behavior leads him to perform the same actions. [2]

Perhaps a lemon-drop would soothe my worries.

Digging my hand into my right robe pocket, I plucked out a lemon-drop and popped it into my mouth.

Mm! This one's slightly more zesty!

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Third Person P.O.V.

In the Gryffindor table sits one very confused boy with unruly hair. Confused as to why Quirrell doesn't have a turban. Confused as to why his scar doesn't hurt. Confused as to why Draco has black hair and goes by 'Tom'. Confused as to why Theodore seemed to have replaced Draco in leading the bullies in the train… Also confused as to why death followed him into this 'past' yet only whispers to his forehead.

It did not help that a piece of chicken meat from Ron's drumsticks went flying through the air and landed on the treacle tart tray.

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[1] Gilbert K Chesterton: "Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong dėsɨrė to live taking the form of readiness to die."

Gilbert K Chesterton: "The paradox of courage is that a man must be a little careless of his life even in order to keep it."

[2] Easter egg.. No memories of the events themselves, but his behavior is driven to re-enact them. I wonder what this could be? Any guesses?