"Abbott, Hannah!"
Hannah Abbott's first thought was why do I always have to go first, and then after that, I don't want to be first, Hat, I just want to be me.
Admirable sentiment, said the Hat, and Hannah would have squeaked if she weren't being prevented by the Hat's magic from speaking aloud. She hadn't really, actually been expecting it to talk to her. So then, child, what does it mean to be you?
Um, thought Hannah. She had never been asked anything so momentous before in her entire life, and she had no idea how to form proper words for it, to describe how she loved her mum and wanted to make friends and was sort of terrified that she'd accidentally make friends her mum wouldn't like and how she wanted to be a Healer because she wanted to help people but she didn't know if that was a proper answer or not, and what if it sent her to Slytherin because she didn't have a sensible answer, she'd try to be friends with them of course but her mother was Muggleborn and it would be so awkward -
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Bones, Susan!"
Susan approached the Hat rather more sedately than the first girl had, and sat down calmly, and donned the Hat, and thought, Excuse me, but do you know why people are so against cross-House friendships? The thing was, her parents had been from two different Houses (the House of Bones had been Hufflepuff for ages, but her mum had been a Ravenclaw), and she was just so very curious how it'd happened. The House separations were getting worse, her Auntie had said, and she really wanted to know if she could fix that ...
There was a pause.
Did you know, the Hat said, your father asked me the exact same question?
Huh? What d'you -
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Boot, Terry!"
Terry really wanted to look dignified and calm, but he was too consumed with curiosity; and so his attempt at a casual walk turned helplessly into a scramble for the battered artifact. It was hundreds and hundreds of years old and so of course he tried to be careful with it, but he just really really wanted to ask it -
How old are you, exactly? Who made you? How do you work? Don't you get bored? Were you a real person? How do you make it so that there's such an even number of students in each house? How do you stop people from talking out loud? Wh -
Stop, said the voice of the Hat, and Terry subsided in embarrassment.
Sorry.
I am exactly one thousand and sixty-eight years old, I was made by Godric's uncle Jory the Madder Hatter, I work by magic that Rowena never bothered to explain to me, and no, of course I don't get bored, I am a hat. The remaining questions you can find the answers to in the private library in your House, which is of course -
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"
Mandy had questions, too, but she managed much better at walking calmly and being gentle with the ancient Hat, which she settled very carefully on her head before she began asking them. Hello, Hat, I was wondering if there's any real connection between House and blood status? Like I know there's never Muggleborns in Slytherin but is that because the Slytherins don't want Muggleborns or because Muggleborns are actually less likely to be Slytherin-y? Or -
I do not consider blood status as relevant to my decisions, said the Hat firmly, though many of the students do. If you would like to know more on the subject, try consulting the library under the subject 'Historical Muggle Prejudice.' Do you think it is more important to have good friends or to have intelligent friends?
Mandy did not respond to this question immediately, because she had been so thoroughly thrown off-balance by its abruptness. What an odd thing to ask; wasn't the important thing to have friends at all? But, well, if she had to choose - I think that's an unfair distinction, she said, or tried to say, as it didn't actually leave her mouth. Being intelligent is being good, isn't it?
Some might disagree with you, the Hat replied rather wryly, such as, perhaps, around three-quarters of the school; but those who think similarly will likely join you in -
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Brown, Lavender!"
Lavender was frightened. She'd only found out a few months ago that her father (who had died before she was born) had been a wizard, that the strange things that sometimes happened in their house weren't just "oh, probably ghosts" but Lavender doing accidental magic. Her mother was what was apparently called a Muggle, and so had raised her normally ... Oh, it was going to be so hard not to think of magic as weird. Even though it was weird, it was impossibly weird, she was literally about to talk to a Hat and have it decide the course of her life -
Hello, it said, and Lavender took a deep breath.
I am not afraid, she told herself firmly. She'd heard Hermione Granger talking about how Headmaster Dumbledore had been in Gryffindor, and she wanted to be like that. I can do this.
Of course you are afraid, the Hat said, and Lavender winced. How was she supposed to convince it she was good enough to be Gryffindor if it could see her emotions better than she could? She was about to protest when it said, but that's quite alright. She paused in confusion, and the Hat explained, Godric always said, "To be brave is not to be unafraid; it is to face the world when you are afraid."
Er, thought Lavender, that didn't quite make sense.
It will, in time. You are, after all, a -
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Bulstrode, Millicent!"
I'm going to break that Corner boy's nose if he doesn't stop humming, Millicent was thinking as she stalked up to the stool in the wake of beaming Lavender Brown who had just run off to the Gryffindor table.
As the Hat settled on her head, it said in her mind, Why? He carries a perfectly good tune.
It's annoying. Annoying things should be hurt until they stop being annoying, she thought with a sort of mental shrug.
Hmm. I seem to recall that exact phrase being spoken by a certain green-eyed old wizard called Salazar -
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Corner, Michael!"
Michael was humming faintly to himself, drawing annoyed looks from several nervous-looking students in his vicinity and a faint smile from a blonde, rather Nordic girl, who he thought he might recall someone earlier calling 'Lisa.' She had started to hum along - apparently she knew the song - by the time Michael's name was called, and he skipped brightly up to the stool. Ignoring the annoyance of other students in your age-group was an art you had to learn when you kept being smarter than they were.
Hullo, Hat.
Ah, you are an interesting one! the Hat exclaimed. Full of excitement, not sure if you want to read the entire library or perhaps set fire to it -
What! exclaimed Michael, scandalized. Why on earth would I -
Ah, but you did think of it, laughed the Hat. You wondered, you did, when you were told there was a thousand-year-old library, whether your most entertaining route to fame might be to burn the library and see what everyone says! You are not the first to wonder, nor are you the first with the courage to try such a stunt, and I doubt you shall be the first to succeed. The Hat seemed to be teasing him, as if he were a child who'd suggested it was a good idea to put the fire out with butterbeer, to save water. But you should be glad; you would regret, I think, the lost knowledge.
Excuse me, said Michael, nettled, I would read the whole thing first, you know!
Ah, no more denials, no more "I would never do that"? You are unusually self-aware.
Michael rolled his eyes, under the darkness of the too-large Hat. I'm not stupid enough to do everything my subconscious suggests would be fun. I'm not gonna lie and say it wouldn't be fun, but it'd also be stupid and I'd regret it! I think about things before I do them, I'm not a Gryffindor.
Oh, aren't you? Well, I suppose you must then belong to -
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Cornfoot, Stephen!"
Stephen wasn't paying attention when the Deputy Headmistress called his name; he was busy wondering about the Hogwarts Express. He lived in Edinburgh, and his father had complained at length during the trip down to London that it would be monumentally easier to simply Floo or even fly to Hogsmeade. And yet everyone was required to get on the train in London and then spend eight hours coming back to Scotland.
(Stephen had spent most of the train ride commiserating with Ernie and Zacharias, although Morag had thankfully been elsewhere. Not that Morag wasn't good company, but she was somewhat more vocal than Ernie about her fondness for the Pride of Portree and they'd unexpectedly flattened Stephen's team the Magpies the previous weekend.)
"Cornfoot, Stephen!" repeated Professor McGonagall sharply, and Stephen startled visibly and shuffled apologetically up to the stool. A number of the other first-years were snickering at him - Zacharias was among them, although Ernie (eternally serious) wasn't.
Um, hello, Hat.
Hmm ... interesting. Usually a student too distracted by curiosities is one I must throw at once in Ravenclaw.
Usually? Stephen was nervous to hear that. Was he not smart enough for Ravenclaw? Ernie would never mock him for that, but it would still bother him ...
That is a misconception, the Hat told him sternly. To be Ravenclaw does not indicate intelligence; it indicates that the driving force is curiosity. Still, both you have in abundance; but you also eat and sleep and breathe familial loyalty, friendship, honor. You are more prone to doing the same thing over and over until you're sure you know it, than to run off to absorb new things as quickly as possible.
After a moment, Stephen thought cautiously, Er - thank you, I think? Should I be deciding which I think is more important, or -
I am only explaining this to you because you are wondering, not because it is a question yet unanswered, said the Hat. Stephen had the impression it was rolling its eyes at him. You are not a Ravenclaw, Stephen Cornfoot. You belong in -
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Crabbe, Vincent!"
He already knew the answer, so he was a little surprised when the Hat talked to him instead of just announcing it. Indeed, he might have startled rather visibly, had there not been magic in place to prevent people from doing that.
It is very interesting, said the Hat, in tones that reminded Vincent forcibly of the quiet lectures of Theodore's father who had tutored them all when they were young. Before he could ask what was interesting, the Hat continued. It is very interesting when students come to me already convinced of where they belong, and yet in so doing show themselves fitting for other homes.
What? thought Vincent, puzzled. I'm a Slytherin, aren't I? Why wouldn't I be?
You do not have ambition, the Hat told him calmly, not judging, simply as if it were a statement of fact. You have been taught from a young age to grasp opportunity, to try to make yourself better at the expense of others - but why?
Vincent had never had anyone ask him that. Not even old Mr. Nott, who was very fond of why questions (why do we use wands, not staves? why did the goblins rebel in 1612? why do we use livers in most potions instead of spleens?) and thus had made himself a young Vincent's least favorite person, since he never knew any of the answers. Um, he thought. That being better than other people was better than not being better than other people seemed sort of obvious.
I shall explain, said the Hat patiently. You, personally, do not have in you the drive to become great; only the desire to be like your friends. You conceive of yourself as a Slytherin, because everyone else you know is a Slytherin. This sort of group loyalty, dear child, is a defining trait not of Slytherins, but of Hufflepuffs ...
No! Vincent would have cried aloud, had he been able, in sheer panic. His father would disown him, Gregory would never speak to him again, he would be cut off from any advantage he might have gained by association with the Malfoys, it would ruin his life to be in Hufflepuff -
Ah, well, said the Hat. It sounded almost sad. Slytherin is a noble house, but you will not be happy there, Vincent Crabbe. In Hufflepuff you could be happy, you know.
No! he repeated as firmly as possible.
You will not be convinced otherwise, will you? And choices are important, Vincent. I hope it shall not haunt you, to think you might have gone somewhere else other than -
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Davis, Tracey!"
Tracey skittered nervously up to the stool and donned the Hat, trying not to look at the Slytherin table. Not Slytherin, she thought as soon as she donned the Hat, I know I'm a Slytherin, I know, Daddy says so, but ... Please, not Slytherin. She was scared of them, really, that was the reason. She was scared that if she went there they'd find out that her Mum was a Muggleborn, that she had Muggle cousins that she actually spoke to occasionally (they weren't half bad, really), and Draco Malfoy would probably have her crucified ...
Once she had stopped panicking, the Hat addressed her calmly. Ah, dear child, but you are a Slytherin. Clever and cunning and not all that attached to the rules - oh, come now, don't tell me you don't think it'd be a challenge worth your time.
Tracy was not stupid enough to try to lie to the Sorting Hat. It would be a challenge, keeping her blood status quiet in the den of snakes, but it would be a fun challenge, and sure she could run to Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff or (ugh) Gryffindor, but why? She might make friends, but so easily, and where was the fun in that?
Alright, she said, alright, you got me.
Good girl. If you'd argued I might have had to send you to Gryffindor. Off you go, then,
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Entwhistle, Kevin!"
Kevin was utterly awed by this entire thing, a magic platform and a train ride into Scotland and a giant castle and gosh, how were those candles floating without anything holding them up?, but he was at least paying enough attention to hear his name called, and without too much stumbling made it to the stool to put on the (singing!) Hat. He didn't really address it or anything because he wasn't sure how to talk to it and wasn't sure whether it talked at all, and in any case he was busy wondering how the school found magic kids that didn't have magic parents, and how Exploding Snap cards worked (he'd been taught to play on the train, by a blonde girl whose name he did not at all remember), and what kind of genes made up magic, and whether all of the teachers were properly human, and whether dragons were real, and if it was common for hats to sing, and -
(He never did find out what it sounded like to have a telepathic singing Hat talk to you, because it spent about three seconds on his head before making a decision and shouting it for everyone to hear.)
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"
Good evening, thought Justin politely as he put on the Hat. He wasn't totally sure if it would get that, but the girl he'd met on the train, Susan, had said Sorting involved a conversation of some sort (though she hadn't, admittedly, been at all sure what you were meant to be talking to, and that chattery Scottish girl, Morag, hadn't known either). So he thought it was worth a shot.
Good evening to you, too, said a voice in his head, and he was delighted. The Hat was indeed apparently sentient, and so he trusted it to make a good choice. None of the students yet Sorted had seemed unhappy with theirs, after all. Good manners and easy smiles - ah, you could be happy anywhere, I think. Justin had the distinct feeling that the Hat was smiling at him. But neither heroism nor curiosity nor ambition is truly your driving force; I think you will be happiest in -
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Finnegan, Seamus!"
Seamus was entirely unsure what to expect as he ambled over to the stool and donned the Hat. By now it was becoming obvious that it didn't take the same amount of time to Sort everyone, but he wasn't sure whether taking a long time was supposed to be a good thing or not.
He became sure of the answer, however, when the Hat seemed to make an instantaneous decision, and the knowledge was accompanied by a feeling of instantaneous relief. Full of fire, you are, Godric would like you -
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Goldstein, Anthony!"
Anthony was not all that confused, he thought. He was full of questions, but he'd organized them sensibly, and looked things up in the bookstore when he went there to buy textbooks, and he thought he basically understood what was going on. He was pretty sure he'd need only put on the Hat for a moment and it would tell him that his sensibly-organized brain belonged in Ravenclaw where all the intelligent people were.
Therefore he was extremely surprised when it said thoughtfully, Hmm, I think you could do well in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, and I shan't bother to list all their qualities, as I know perfectly well that was the first thing you researched. Gryffindor for your inner nature, Hufflepuff for your social nature ...
But I'm a Ravenclaw! protested Anthony in total confusion.
The Hat seemed almost to sigh. You could do well in Ravenclaw, it admitted. You would be welcomed there, as much as Ravenclaws can welcome anything. But in a warmer house, in red or yellow, you would find a comfort that respect alone will not bring you -
I'm a Ravenclaw, repeated Anthony stubbornly. You're supposed to Sort based on how we are, not what you think we'd like, I'm a Ravenclaw, don't be ridiculous.
On the contrary, the Hat objected, I Sort based on the students' well-being. It is not with idleness that I tell you that warm happiness comes more easily to Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs than Slytherins and Ravenclaws - but if you would rather coldness and respect, little scholar, I can only respect your choice. Enjoy -
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Goyle, Gregory!"
Draco had to give him a little shove, because Gregory wasn't quite paying attention when his name was called, he was looking at the ceiling, fascinated by the stars he could see through the clouds that apparently weren't real. But then he moved right quick (can't be disappointing the Malfoy, that's never a good idea, father says) and sat on the stool and put on the Hat, and hoped it wouldn't take it as long to send him to the right place as it had Vincent.
(It had taken almost an entire minute for Vincent to get Sorted, and if it took him any less, Gregory was going to hold it over his best friend for the rest of his natural life.)
He was quite disappointed.
The Hat somehow conveyed through telepathy or sound a mischievous smirk; and it said, You could be a Gryffindor, you know, you have the determination in you - and a minute and a half of the Hat's wheedling, spiked with the knowledge that it was stalling on purpose, ruined any hope Gregory had had of teasing Vincent about his Sorting.
(He didn't really need that extra aggravation to hate the House of Godric Gryffindor and his stupid bloody thousand-year-old immature child of a Hat, even if it helped, so when the Hat eventually gave up, its verdict wasn't really a surprise.)
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Granger, Hermione!"
I want to be a Gryffindor! was the first thing she thought, firmly, upon running to the stool in excitement and donning the thousand-year-old artifact which had belonged to the greatest of the Founders, Godric Gryffindor. Please, please, I want to be a Gryffindor, -
Why? inquired the Hat, sounding more curious than a Hat that could read her thoughts really ought to have been.
But she forged ahead and explained herself anyway. Dumbledore's a Gryffindor, I want to be like him, I can be brave, I promise, please -
But child, you are so very Ravenclaw, the Hat objected, sighing. You drink up knowledge like it is ambrosia, your most basic interaction with other people is to talk about things you've learned. You belong in Ravenclaw, with others of your own kind. Or if you really don't like the idea, you have a number of Hufflepuff traits as well - hard work nearly to a fault - you could belong there, as well, if you preferred.
Hermione was not the slightest bit happy with this judgment. I want to be a Gryffindor, she repeated stubbornly. Knowledge, books, studying, I want to do well, of course, everyone does - but there's no point in being smart if you can't be brave! She had to explain, she had to make it understand ... if you went to a House it would magnify those things about you that were most closely aligned to that House's philosophy. Just because she was more Ravenclaw now didn't mean that being in Gryffindor wouldn't make her braver, and she wanted that, more than anything else -
The Hat seemed to sigh. I did not mean to imply that you are not brave, child, it said. Indeed, I can hardly deny it when you have the classically Gryffindor audacity to argue with me.
Hermione beamed, under the Hat's dark brim. So send me to Gryffindor then! Please? I promise I'll do your House proud! Cross my heart!
You will not be at home there, it warned. Gryffindors are not used to having children such as you among them; they will not know what to do with you. You will be lonely, until you learn to be one of them, and that may take you a long time, Ravenclaw girl ...
I can do it, she said stubbornly, please, I can, I will -
On your head be it, little lioness.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Greengrass, Daphne!"
Daphne walked in measured steps, a sharp contrast to the excited scramble of the bushy-haired Gryffindor girl before her. She had spent her whole childhood learning how to be graceful, how to be a mask of calm, how to look untouchable. The War is over, her father had told her, but there are still some who resent us for our failure to participate. Be careful, dearest.
She was careful. She held her head high. She settled the Hat over her head and did not betray her anxiety. She was good at pretending to be like her father, but had she really succeeded at being like him? (There was very little Daphne wanted, except to do as much good for her House as her father had done, and to do that she figured she needed to be her father.)
Ah, yes, said the Hat, sounding amused, yes, little Greengrass, you are indeed your father in miniature, as you have tried to be. And just as she had hoped, too, the Hat spent very little time before it sent her to her father's home. You are the very picture of a young -
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Hopkins, Wayne!"
Wayne was quick to run to the Hat, to escape the irritated gaze of the dark-haired girl next to him, who had been glaring at him ever since she found out he was from Wales and didn't speak Welsh ("How dare you!"). Honestly, he had no idea why that annoyed her so much, it wasn't like he'd done it on purpose. He'd had primary school lessons in English, after all, and she hadn't, and anyway, oughtn't they to be friends?
Everyone ought to be friends.
(He did not talk to the Hat. It just smiled at him.)
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Jones, Megan!"
Hello, said the Hat, and then, be nice to your classmate, it is unlike you to be so judgmental. If you can find it in your heart to be nice to nearly everyone else you've ever met, why not one with whom you have much in common?
Why would I need to be near him, aren't I a Slytherin? (She did not at all want to admit that she was already feeling guilty. Wayne had run from her when his name was called, as if frightened, and she really didn't want to scare people the way her cousin Gwenog did ... )
The Hat sighed. I suppose you could be successful there, it admitted. Megan knew that was true; her mother had been telling her all her life she was probably a Slytherin. She was a skilled liar and a weaver of tales, she would have fun trying to trick her Slytherin classmates into doing what she wanted ... Then it added in an almost wheedling tone, but you would be happier in Hufflepuff, you know ...
Oh. Happiness was important, that was one of the things her dad said all the time, whenever her mother made comments about her Slytherinness. 'Don't let ambition get in the way of happiness.' Her dad was smart, and the Hat was probably pretty smart too, so she supposed she ought to take its advice. Well - alright.
Belatedly, it occurred to Megan that the Hat was speaking to her in Welsh (how strange), not English, but she didn't have time to inquire, because it had already made its shouted judgment.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Li, Su!"
She could see her cousin Cho waving at her from the Ravenclaw table as she stepped up to the stool and sat, and then let the Hat fall over her eyes. She had really missed Cho, whose mother was Su's father's sister and used to bring her over all the time so that they could do their homework together. Neither of their parents spoke especially good English, and they'd sent the girls to Muggle primary school expressly for the purpose of making sure they were absolutely fluent before they went to Hogwarts; but it had turned out to be a lot of fun. Cho was good at arithmetic and Su was better at spelling, and they'd bonded as children over helping each other, even though Cho was a year older.
She'd come back the previous summer full of enthusiasm for magical classes, especially for Professor Flitwick the Charms professor who was her Head of House, and Su had been just dying to learn all the fascinating things Cho had told her about and not been able to demonstrate ...
(Later, she would find friends in Hufflepuff as well, and wonder why she had not thought of going there; and she would suspect that the fact that she was dwelling on homework and Charms class and a relative dressed all in blue explained how quickly the Hat made its judgment.)
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Longbottom, Neville!"
Neville was not frightened of a hat.
He kept telling himself that, but somehow that didn't stop his legs wobbling or his palms sweating or his eyes getting all watery or his voice going squeaky when he spoke. So he didn't speak, and he blinked a lot, and he kept his hands in his pockets and held tight to Trevor and tried to pretend he wasn't terrified.
"Longbottom, Neville!"
He almost missed it, and then he realized that was his name, and he jumped and almost tripped as he ran over to the stool and then almost fell again trying to sit down and then he nearly dropped the hat, and by the time Neville had managed to sit and put the Sorting Hat over his head, his face was burning.
Hello there, said a voice, and he started.
Neville thought cautiously, Er, um, hi?
The sound of laughter rang in his head. You seem particularly frightened of me. I am just a hat.
I'm - I'm not scared! Neville insisted.
I can see inside your head, child, do not lie. Points for effort, however.
Neville fidgeted under the Hat's brim. Okay, alright, I'm scared, but you're NOT just a hat, he argued. I mean, whatever you tell me is going to decide basically my entire life and what if my Gran doesn't like it? What if -
The hat was laughing at him again, and Neville quailed and shut up. Don't worry, it said, and Neville thought a bit mutinously that laughing at someone was an awful way of trying to cheer them up, but it continued. Some are difficult, some require choices or even arguments - but you?
Me? he gulped.
You're easy, said the Hat with what Neville thought might have been properly interpreted as a smile. You are and will probably always be a true -
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"MacDougal, Morag!"
Morag had to wait a moment, for a red-faced Neville Longbottom to run back to the high table, for he had run to the Gryffindor table still wearing the hat. She gave him a measured, distasteful look as he handed her the Sorting Hat, and then settled imperiously upon the stool as if it were her own personal throne, and donned the Hat like a crown.
Oh, gracious, you are a fascinating one. All full of contradictions, the Hat observed. You want a spotlight, you do not care to share, and yet it frightens you deeply that you might not make friends; you yearn for approval and yet do not deign to be concerned with others' opinions; you want to know everything but nothing should be acceptable but that you learn it yourself ... ah, my, you might go anywhere.
Do I get to pick, then? inquired Morag, wondering absently why the Hat didn't have an English accent. It sounded just like her father, stern and Scottish, bringing to mind large beards and reddish hair.
I am speaking in Godric's voice, the Hat explained, ignoring her stated question in favor of the one she was thinking about. But since I borrow the student's own intelligence to speak to them, I sound the way they are most comfortable with - indeed, for Megan Jones I believe I was actually speaking in Welsh. And yes, you do get to choose. You do not need someone to tell you what to be, you need to be forced to make a decision you have thus far put off ... how do you want to identify yourself, Morag MacDougal?
She thought about that. The Hat was right, damnably so; she had been putting off forming a solid impression of herself. She liked to play chameleon, to be a different person for each situation, and that made it easy not to have to think about who she really was. But how did she act when all alone? She liked to catalogue things, she had endless notebooks full of carefully written lists ... she liked to argue with people ... she could learn to think of herself as a scholar easily enough, she thought. Did that count as a decision?
I think I'd like to be a Ravenclaw.
Yes, that counts as a decision. The first one you've ever made, really. You ought to be proud of yourself.
"RAVENCLAW!"
"MacMillan, Ernie!"
Good evening, Mr. Sorting Hat, said Ernie politely as he sat, trying to balance the Hat so that he could still see and failing utterly. No one ever managed that, it was simply too big for eleven-year-olds. Godric Gryffindor had been a rather large man. (Ernie tried anyway, and then shrugged and moved on when he failed.)
Ah, Ernest Ernie, said the Hat, brave and steadfast and ever so serious ... and you would like to be Ravenclaw? Why?
Well, his mother had been a Ravenclaw, and he always felt faintly inadequate whenever she said something he didn't understand, which was most of the time. I want to be smarter.
He had absolutely no idea how the Hat was managing to make a disapproving expression at him, since it didn't have a face for him to see. It is a misconception that all intelligent students are Ravenclaw, it pointed out. You are not unintelligent, Ernie Macmillan, do not let your mother tell you otherwise; but you are not a Ravenclaw, and I am not sending you there no matter how much you ask.
Ernie accepted this with aplomb, but he did have to ask, Why not?
Because you would not belong, said the Hat, and there is nothing in you that would allow you to adapt, there is no part of you that could make it pleasant. When students argue I will send them where they ask, if they have anything, anything that makes it a sensible choice, but you would be miserable in Ravenclaw. You do not like to argue, you do not like to ask questions for the sake of questions, you do not like to be alone with a book. You are a social creature, you are meant to have friends and to do things with your hands, you are a -
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Malfoy, Draco!"
Oh. Well, you're easy.
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Nott, Theodore!"
Theodore was expecting to be Sorted as quickly as Draco had been.
He was somewhat disappointed.
Ahh, said the Hat, what a fascinating conflict you have.
Conflict? he said, a bit affronted. I'm a Slytherin, my family's always been, what conflict could there be? (Or could the Hat see the way he was annoyed sometimes with his father, with the way he expected adulthood from Theo before he had even gone to Hogwarts? He tried, he tried so hard, and it was never good enough - )
You could do well in Ravenclaw, the Hat said. Books and quiet and giant windows, and classmates who are not watching your every move to see if you deserve the respect they give you - you could be happy in Ravenclaw, Theodore.
It was tempting. But his father would be disappointed, and that was important to him, maybe more important than silly abstracts like happiness. Would success not make him happy? ... He was less disappointed when he realized that he could tell his friend (was the Malfoy his friend?) that the Hat had been trying to send him to Ravenclaw "Because I'm smarter than you, Draco," and that thought made the decision for him.
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Parkinson, Pansy!"
She settled the Hat primly on her head after Theo handed it to her. He had an almost predatory grin on his face, which she suspected she would need to make Daphne explain to her; the social circles of the Noble Houses had all of these complicated rules that she didn't get, but which she really needed to learn to understand, if she was going to marry into one. Which she was going to, of course, because they didn't have money but she and her mother had all kinds of fascinating blackmail to make them do whatever she wanted ...
Oh, she heard the Hat say, you're not complicated, are you ...
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Patil, Padma!"
Padma desperately wished that they didn't have to do this in front of the entire school. As she walked up to the stool, she felt like everyone was staring at her, like they had nothing better to do than watch her fidget and hope not to embarrass herself horribly. Please get this over with quickly, she thought as she pulled the Hat onto her head, and wasn't totally sure if she was begging the Hat or Vishnu, but she supposed the Hat was likely to hear her either way.
Though she could not see anything but the inside of the Hat and it certainly hadn't made any actual noise, she felt as though she could hear it nodding. (Padma made a mental note to look up magical synaesthesia.) Ah, my dear, worry not, you are not difficult. You think in questions and would rather go to the library than appreciate the feast. You are the very picture of a -
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Patil, Parvati!"
I am not my sister, I am not my sister, I am not my sister, Parvati was thinking as she sat cautiously down on the bench. She loved Padma, of course she did, but - I don't want to spend all my time reading, I'm not a Ravenclaw, don't you dare send me there just because Padma is!
That the Hat did not immediately dismiss her was reassuring. That it laughed was less so. Did you just threaten me? it inquired.
I - um - Parvati was briefly thrown, and then she rallied. You're just a hat! I could set you on fire!
Good luck, dear, said the Hat, snorting, but don't worry, you're not a Ravenclaw. Stupidly courageous little girls who think they can set priceless magical artifacts on fire invariably belong in -
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Perks, Sally-Anne!"
Oh, they're twins, thought Sally-Anne in interest as the second of the Patils handed her the Hat and skipped off to Gryffindor, beaming so widely that it ought to have split her head open. I wish I had a twin.
Well, I can give you the next best thing, said the Hat.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Rivers, Jonathan!"
Jonathan had had a completely different reaction to the observation that two twins had just been Sorted (and into different Houses, no less). He was wondering, as he picked up the Sorting Hat, whether magical twins had any unusual properties, like being able to feel each others' pain and the like. He'd heard stories, of course, but he'd never actually met any, and so he wasn't sure if those stories were based in truth like Babbitty Rabbit (who was obviously an Animagus) or completely crazy like the Three Brothers (who had met Death, yeah, right).
He promptly asked the Hat this.
I am not a twin and so I wouldn't know, said the Hat. Then it suggested, with a rather wry tone to its imaginary voice, Perhaps you should ask Padma Patil. You will be having classes with her.
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Roper, Sophia!"
I wish everyone hadn't laughed at that Longbottom kid, it's not like this isn't terrifying, I don't blame him at all. Do you know how to make people stop doing that, Hat?
It laughed. I am only a Hat, and cannot force people to become different, the Sorting Hat said. I can only tell you what I know from reading countless minds, which is that people laugh at their peers because it does not occur to them that the same thing could happen to them. Not everyone has your empathy, dear child. But you will find those who do in -
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Runcorn, Allison!"
Daddy says I'm gonna be the best witch in my year, he'd better be right -
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Smith, Zacharias!"
Zacharias was practically radiating confidence by the time he sat; and it wasn't a confidence misplaced.
Ah, ah, a Smith, you have been taught as well as any of your family - no question what to do with you, you're a -
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Thomas, Dean!"
Thomas was starting to feel extremely nervous by the time his turn came around. He'd already felt like he stuck out, what with being the tallest first-year in the group, and having the group disappear around him did not make him feel less like everyone must be staring at him. Most of these kids were totally used to all this, he supposed, but he was still stuck on "I'm a what? I can do what?" to feel like he was properly equipped to handle any of this.
He also didn't feel like he belonged in any of those Houses the Hat had sung about. He didn't think he had daring and nerve, or patience, or wit or cunning, or any of those things, he was just Dean. What if it said he didn't belong here? His mum had been so excited, so proud ... what would she say if he was sent home in disgrace because he wasn't really a proper wizard?
By the time his name was called he'd worked himself into quite a state of nervousness, but the Hat spent only a very brief period of time on his head. Not all bravery looks the same, it said, but you will find yours in time, I think.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Turpin, Lisa!"
The boy who'd been humming, Michael Corner, had been sitting at the Ravenclaw table for most of the Sorting now, and there were only two people left besides Lisa, but she'd kept on with the same song. It was a good idea, she thought; music was a useful distraction. No wonder the sailors at the port were always singing when they had nothing better to do.
As she put on the Hat, it occurred to her that this explained why the Sorting Hat sang a song every year. That's how you entertain yourself between Sortings, isn't it? she inquired curiously, pretty sure she was right but inclined to be sure. Making up the songs. What a great idea!
Thank you, said the Hat, seeming to smile, though it wasn't my idea, I think Helga spelled it into me, she loved to sing. An astute deduction nevertheless, and it certainly supports the theory that you belong in -
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Weasley, Ronald!"
I'm a Gryffindor, right? was his first thought, a worried thought.
The Hat laughed at him.
Yet another Weasley? Ah, dear boy, you go where you belong, not where your family decides. Then at his rush of terrified horror, it chuckled again. Just making a point. There is bravery in you, boy, do not doubt it. But are you sure? You could do well in Slytherin, you know. They would not reject you; you are of purer wizarding blood than many that call Salazar's house home -
No! gasped Ron. No no no, absolutely not, no way.
Why not? inquired the Hat innocently. What better way to escape the wide shadows of your brothers, than to go where those shadows do not fall? In Slytherin, you could be the greatest of your family ...
He thought about it for a moment. Though he would never admit it to his brothers, he really, truly thought about it. People were always telling Percy he ought to be a Slytherin, but he wasn't ... in Gryffindor Ron would just be, as the Hat had said laughingly, just another Weasley. In Slytherin no one would expect him to be like his brothers. But - think of what Mum would say -
Ron shook his head stubbornly under the Hat. No.
The Hat seemed to sigh. Ah, well, it said, if you're sure, then, off you go to -
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Zabini, Blaise!"
Blaise had been counting. He'd guessed he'd be last; names beginning with Z weren't exactly common in the Isles. And he'd counted exactly ten Hufflepuffs, ten Ravenclaws, nine Slytherins, and only seven Gryffindors, including the Weasley who'd just been Sorted. For this to be a reasonably fair distribution, he would have to be a Gryffindor. Ha. Not bloody likely.
He explained his alternative suggestion to the Hat as he settled calmly with it on his head. More Gryffindor types died in the war than any other, he pointed out. If it hadn't been for that, there'd probably be plenty more of the idiots - say a Potter and a McKinnon and a Prewett, more than likely, I've done my homework - so obviously the only real hole is that tenth spot in Slytherin, eh? Had he been allowed to move, he would have spread his arms in artful helplessness. And who am I to argue with statistics?
A Ravenclaw, perhaps? suggested the Hat, sounding amused.
And consort with an entire house full of know-it-alls like that annoying Scottish swot Morag, and clueless Mudbloods besides? No, thank you.
The Hat seemed almost to smile mischievously. You are not really a blood purist, it said, a statement of fact that he didn't bother to deny to a mind-reading Hat. It was right, he'd only said that out of acquired habit, an insult he wore like a shield. You pretend because it suits you to have Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott consider you an acceptable associate. You want to wear green because they are already there, because your cousin Daphne is looking at you right now wondering why it is taking so long ...
So why don't you just send me there, then? complained Blaise in frustration. I have plenty of good reasons -
You have a great many bad reasons, corrected the Hat. We are talking about this because you are not a cut-and-dry case. You might be successful in Slytherin, yes, you would have wealthy companions and amusing enemies, you need not try very hard to earn social and material wealth ... but you would not be happy. Not you, whose closest friend is a cousin with whom you share little but blood and a mutual annoyance with your parents. You would be happier in Ravenclaw, you know, or better yet, Hufflepuff.
He thought about that, for a couple of moments. He considered accepting this suggestion.
And then he rejected it. I would be bored in Hufflepuff. That's not happiness.
If you say so, little viper.
"SLYTHERIN!"
And with that, the Sorting was concluded, and the Feast begun.