The Sorting

The brim of the hat settled over my eyes and I fidgeted as the hat seemed to ponder.

Hmm . . . very good, very good. Plenty of courage here. Better be in GRYFF –

What? The hat eagerly examined the memory that had floated to the surface of my mind.

Not bad. A thirst for knowledge, eh? You'd happily spend a day in the library. So I'll place you in RAVEN –

There was a muffled noise sounding suspiciously like clomph. The hat squeezed its rip together until it seemed like a thin line. Although I couldn't see it, I could definitely feel less space for my head. After a moment, it pursed its rip in a frown and mulled over the stew in my head.

Uh . . .  hat? I ventured hesitantly.

It seemed to be mumbling HUFF – no wait, can't put her there . . . then RAVEN – argh, how about GRYFF . . . The hat trailed off. It sulked as it continued to mutter to itself, unaware of its random shouts.

Frankly, I was getting a headache from the echo – the voice I'd christened the out-loud voice and the one in my head – and it was rapidly approaching titanic-like migraine proportions as the hat dug through my memories with hapless abandon.

Could hats snap? I've never heard of something like this happening spontaneously but my sister had informed me (in a matter-of-fact tone) that anyone who stayed too long in my 'weird-o-radius' would go crazy. Come to think of it, there was that first grade teacher who one day ran out of the room, screaming about ewoks dancing to 'the chibi things that kill'(1). . .  Heck, I'd be pretty disturbed if I heard that all day long too. Still, Star Wars is old now. I drooled slightly and reminded myself to breath. Legolas . . .

My precious . . .  The hat was still muttering to itself. Yesss .  . . must place precious. Hide, yes. RAVENCWA, HUFFIEPUFFIE, GRYFFINDOR-Y, the hat sang off-key. Yes, yes! My precious . . .  we place you in a house where no one seeks you . . . SLYTHERIN!

. . . what the hell? That's supposed to be my recommendation?

The hat expelled me and I stumbled away. Dazed, I made my way to the table and behind me, the hat shook itself violently. As I passed by the line of new students, one first-year burst into tears, another fainted, and the one next to go up was white-faced and trembling.

"Well, it's not all bad," I heard someone say. "Hey! If the hat eats you, can I have your room?"

"MISTER WEASLEY!" Professor McGonagall shrieked.

I gingerly sat down at the end of the Slytherin table and glanced around. A boy with a pointed sneer and meaty fists glared at me, and the rest of the table gave me frosty looks. Ulp. This was going to be a long year.

Written: 1.5.03