Sorting Blues - 476 words oneshot
-prompt: navy blue, Neville
-dedicated to: Tyler gave the prompt

Written quickly on an instant prompt. Excuse all mistakes as it is unbetaed. Con-crit is appreciated but may be taken lightly with this oneshot.


Neville always envied the blues of Ravenclaw.

The students of the so-called 'intelligent' house, prim in their navy-trimmed robes, was his favorite house right away, but he knew he'd never get in it.

He wasn't smart enough. He wasn't even smart, so he thought. He did poorly at everything, how would he join the clever? So Ravenclaw was out of the picture. It was light years out of the picture.

He wasn't brave enough. He was a coward. It repeated in his mind, taunts from his childhood, coward, coward, coward, how come you won't fight back? too scared? Gryffindor was out of the picture. They took the bold and and brave. He was far from it.

He wasn't cunning enough. Besides, he'd rather die than spend seven years in the house of his parent's torturers. Life would be utter hell there, he knew. Slytherin was far out of the picture, and fur that Neville was actually grateful.

Would he even make Hufflepuff? Was he loyal enough, or was he too much of a coward that he'd run away if his friends were in danger? Perhaps Hufflepuff was out of the picture.

Oh, no. Where would he go? Who would take him? His grandmother would be ashamed; she'd take back his father's wand and send him to some boarding school far away, where he'd learn to be a normal muggle. And before he headed back to his grandmother, he'd be embarrassed before all of Hogwarts.

When Professor McGonagall called "Longbottom, Neville," he almost didn't hear. He pushed through the thinning group of first years and almost tripped towards the stool. The Sorting Hat fell awkwardly on his head and he worried, fretted, that he wasn't going to be sorted, that it was all a mistake.

Hmm... boomed a voice in his ears, and it took him a moment before he realized it was the voice of the hat.

You are afraid, boy. Do not worry. Every head I sit upon has a right and true place.

Neville bit his lip and tried to sit still as the hat continued its hmm noises. You are worried there is no house for you. You think you are not smart, not brave, not cunning, not loyal. But you are a little of each, boy, more of bravery and loyalty. Hufflepuff would be a good house for you, but you would not grow as a person in its fair halls. Gryffindor was the house of your mother and father... yes... "GRYFFINDOR!"

The roar from the crimson-and-gold bedecked table was deafening; he moved over to the table as if he was floating, very much in disbelief.

The house of your mother and father.

Would he be able to live up to their names?