"Look, it's the Sorting Hat!" Blaise said.
The Sorting Hat did not seem too impressive at first. It was simply a pointed cap, like the stereotypical witch hat from fairy tales, sitting on a rickety stool at the front of the Great Hall. Artemis looked at it, trying to determine how it worked.
Obviously, one would have to put it on, but how was the hat going to determine what the best House was when all it had was a nervous eleven-year-old sitting underneath it?
Before Artemis could ponder further, however, a large slit opened up in the Sorting Hat's mouth (wizards could come up with such creative names) and the ratty, dusty piece of cloth began croaking out a song:
Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!
The hat must have spent the entire year thinking up the song, Artemis thought. It was not the best poem, but for a hat, that was decent rhyming.
"Abbott, Hannah!"
The first girl was called up to the stage. Nervously, she sat down upon the rickety stool, and Professor McGonagall, as she had introduced herself, dropped the ratty, old hat upon her head. Artemis noticed that she was trying to hide her nervousness – she was wringing her hands, crossing her feet, biting her lip, and then realized what she was doing before stopping, only to pick up the cycle again.
Her eyes twitched upward, and Artemis realized that the hat was talking to her – inside her head, maybe? She could obviously hear something, but no one else could, and the hat certainly wasn't moving.
Finally, the slit opened again, and the Sorting Hat yelled, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
And down the list, by alphabetical order of last name, it went. "Bones, Susan" was sentenced to wear black and yellow for the next seven years, "Boot, Terry," and "Brocklehurst, Mandy" were dispatched to Ravenclaw, "Brown, Lavender" went to Gryffindor, and a girl that looked like the female version of Malfoy's goons ("Bulstrode, Millicent!") was banished to the Slytherin table at the far end.
"Corner, Michael!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Cornfoot, Stephen!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Crabbe, Vincent!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
Artemis groaned. Malfoy and his goons were going to Slytherin…considering the reputation of his family and that house, he probably would end up there too. Then again, Blaise seemed like a Slytherin himself, so it wouldn't be too bad. Or perhaps he could go to Ravenclaw, for the intellect. He laughed at the mental image of Juliet and Mother, fussing over how the blue colors of the house would match his eyes.
"Davis, Tracey!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Dunbar, Fay!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Entwhistle, Kevin!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Finnigan, Seamus!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Fowl, Artemis!"
All of a sudden Artemis felt rather self-conscious as everyone in the Great Hall seemed to look at him. Actually, that was not far from the truth, as many people, Muggle-born and pureblood alike, were familiar with the name. Straightening his back, he strode calmly up to the stool, and sat down, folding his hands politely, his eyes fixed in a challenging, calculating stare.
"Interesting…I have not seen such a great mind in over fifty years…" a hoarse voice whispered. (A/N: Guess who the other great mind fifty years ago was?) "Such knowledge and wisdom…you know your strategy…quite a logical being for someone so young, though you have much to learn…" Which is why I am here. "But perhaps Ravenclaw is not right for you…true, you desire knowledge, but so much more than that…" Well, that was true.
"But there is bravery in your heart as well, more so than you think. Perhaps not now, but you are willing to defend what and who you care for…" Strange, he had never considered himself brave, unless the air of confidence and bravado that accompanied him counted.
"Loyalty and kindness would do you well. Then again, you are only loyal and kind to yourself, your family, and those who do you benefit…maybe not there…" Artemis' heart lurched at the thought of his father.
"And you are quite ruthless and cunning, clever beyond your age, experienced and worldly…not to mention your gift would do Salazar Slytherin proud…" Gift? What gift?
"For someone so aware and intellectual you have a rather naïve understanding of yourself. I hope that you shall retain at the very least this bit of innocence for as long as possible, compared to what you have lost…" Now, that was ridiculous. He was seriously considering setting the Sorting Hat on fire, but doing so while it was still on his head was idiotic –
Artemis went to the Slytherin table.
The Sorting Ceremony finally closed, as he watched the bushy haired girl, ("Granger, Hermione!") and the round-faced Neville Longbottom join the Gryffindors, while Malfoy was sorted into "SLYTHERIN!" a nanosecond after the Hat had touched his head.
The ceremony must have been boring for the seventh years, who had to endure this for six years (it was only ever exciting for the few minutes that one first-year was up there), had it not been for a certain "Potter, Harry!"
The effect was immediate, as the crowd grew silent, and Artemis remembered that this was the child who vanquished Lord Voldemort, with the scar to prove it. He didn't seem so special – a scrawny, undersized child with a black mop of hair on his head and round, scratched-looking glasses. Whispers passed through the crowd ("The Harry Potter?") and Artemis could tell that the kid was nervous. He obviously was not used to the fame, and for a moment, Artemis pitied the kid. Losing his parents, and then having people stare at you like some celebrity, piling expectation after expectation on your shoulders. No, Artemis preferred to sit in the shadows, observing people go by like a hawk, and making his profits behind the curtain.
The silence was deafening, as the Hat decided, and Harry was mumbling something under his breath. Reading his lips, Artemis realized that he was saying, "Not Slytherin, please, not Slytherin." Well, he could understand why the kid would say something like that, given the reputation of the house and the wizard (and minions) that came from it. Or maybe he had met Malfoy on the train as well.
Better be, "GRYFFINDOR!" then. Artemis stilled himself against the deafening cheers that were sure to come – the Gryffindor table was already loud and raucous enough as it was. Sure enough, the entire table exploded into whoops and celebration, with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw table applauding politely, and the Slytherins, Artemis noticed with amusement, tapping their fingers together morosely.
Now that "Potter, Harry!" was sorted, no one seemed to pay attention much to any kid who came after him in the alphabet. "Zabini, Blaise!" was finally ordered to the Slytherin table, wrapping up the entire process. The headmaster of Hogwarts, an ancient, Merlin-esque figure, stood, gave a ridiculously short speech ("Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"), and food appeared for the welcoming feast.
"Welcome to Slytherin, home of Hogwarts' finest!" A large boy clapped him on the back in a "friendly" manner, nearly causing Artemis to drop his piece of roast pheasant. Annoyed, he snapped, "Then why are you here?"
The table howled with laughter, catcalls and jeers of "He got you there, Flint!", resounding. Flint looked quite disgruntled.
Blaise, eager to change the topic, said, "Headmaster Dumbledore is a bit of an oddball, isn't he?"
"If his opening speech was anything to base my evidence on, yes. Yes he is," Artemis responded, casually ignoring the still offended Marcus Flint.
"Father thinks he is mad. Personally…" Artemis drowned out the rest of Malfoy's speech. He did not particularly care what Malfoy or his father had to say. From the way Blaise's dark eyes slowly went blank and focused somewhere else, Artemis could tell that Blaise was not impressed with anything Malfoy had to say, either. It was a different story for some other newly Sorted Slytherins, though, especially the goons and the girls, who seemed extremely interested.
" – Professor Snape should become the headmaster instead. God knows he'd do better than that Muggle-lover excuse for a headmaster."
Blaise rolled his eyes and directed his gaze toward a nervous looking fellow in a turban. "That must be our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he said. "Apparently, the position is cursed – we've never been able to keep a teacher longer than a year. Something always happens, and they have to leave."
Next to him was an severe looking man with a hooked nose and long, stringy, black hair. That must be Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin House. Artemis hoped that he would be as organized in authority as in his appearance. He was sallow and cold looking, with sunken eyes, and a no-nonsense frown plastered to his face. Professor Turban next to him was practically shaking in his chair.
It was late when the feast ended. Professor Dumbledore stood, and this time, he actually gave a serious speech. Artemis was quite entertained with the way he could switch between a friendly grandfather and a serious mother so quickly. He warned the school about the Forbidden Forest and the third-floor corridor, which was a stupid thing to do, in Artemis' opinion, because it meant that there would now be a bunch of curious wanderers trying to sneak into places they were not supposed to sneak into. The table of teachers especially eyed a pair of red-headed twins at the Gryffindor table, both of whom sported identical, mischievous grins.
The benches creaked as they were pushed back, and the students filed out of the Great Hall in groups to their dormitories.
The first day of class loomed upon them like a dark tomorrow.
A/N: By the way, thank you to ForgottenStory for being my lovely beta for this series. You've been a great help; I really appreciate it :)
