The sorting ceremony was supposed to be predictable—name, Hat, House, done. But when the doors to the Great Hall opened again, long after the last first-year had been sorted, the room fell silent.

You stood at the entrance, bathed in candlelight. Not a first-year. Familiar to some.

At the Slytherin table, Tom’s fingers, resting idly against his cup, went still.

"No way." The hushed murmur cut through the silence.

"That’s her, innit?" Another voice, lower, intrigued. "The Beauxbaton girl. Riddle’s ex."

"Didn’t she leave him?"

"Other way around, I heard. Proper messy, too."

"So what’s she doin’ here then?"

The hat was placed on your head. The silence stretched on, tense and expectant. Then—

"Slytherin"

A ripple of reactions swept through the hall—some surprised, others clearly entertained.

Tom didn’t move. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. But as she stepped down from the platform, making her way toward the Slytherin table, his gaze followed her, dark and unreadable. She wasn’t here for peace.

"Unlucky, Riddle," One of his peers drawled, smirking. "Hope you left things on good terms."

"Maybe she’s back for him," The other teased. "Bit romantic, that."

Tom simply hummed, lifting his goblet to his lips as you passed. His grip on the cup was steady—too steady. If she noticed the sharpness in his stare, the tightness in his jaw, she didn’t say a word.