Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.
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Ambition. Cunning. Slytherin.
Those words tumbled together in my brain over and over again as I listened to the old beaten up hat's song. That house defintely wasn't for me, I thought.
Every since I was a little girl, and my mummy and daddy first told me about Hogwarts, I'd wanted to be in Gryffindor. "That's the house where the brave were sorted" they told me.
All my family was in Gryffindor. As far back as anyone could remember. They were all brave. The ones that most people remembered fought in the great wars, were the leaders of that pack.
Gryffindor was the epitome of good and righteousness, so I had been told all my life. My bedtimes stories often consisted of tales of my ancestors who had been in Gryffindor.
I can remember when I was younger, my older brothers and sisters coming home from school on break, always telling me how wonderful the Gryff house was.
It had never occured to anyone that I would be any different.
But then I suppose I have a way of suprising people.
Even myself.
So I suppose it didn't suprise me as much as it should have that the Sorting Hat, when placed on my head, quickly dismissed the idea of placing me with my siblings.
And while I was loyal, it felt me too intelligent for Huflepuff.
And while intelligent, I wasn't intelligent enough for the house which contained many members of Mensa, AKA Ravenclaw.
Now at this point, the hat knew where I was going.
I knew where I was going.
But I'll be damned if I wasn't going to fight it.
I begged, pleaded with the hat. "Please," I sliently begged. "Gryffindor. If I'm not there, my family won't talk to me."
The hat chuckled at me, and called out the one word I'd been dreading hearing. The one word I'm sure my family wouldn't have expected to hear from the hat, given that it was on my head. The one word that I'm sure had generations of Gryffindors rolling in their graves.
"SLYTHERIN!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ambition. Cunning. Slytherin.
Those words tumbled together in my brain over and over again as I listened to the old beaten up hat's song. That house defintely wasn't for me, I thought.
Every since I was a little girl, and my mummy and daddy first told me about Hogwarts, I'd wanted to be in Gryffindor. "That's the house where the brave were sorted" they told me.
All my family was in Gryffindor. As far back as anyone could remember. They were all brave. The ones that most people remembered fought in the great wars, were the leaders of that pack.
Gryffindor was the epitome of good and righteousness, so I had been told all my life. My bedtimes stories often consisted of tales of my ancestors who had been in Gryffindor.
I can remember when I was younger, my older brothers and sisters coming home from school on break, always telling me how wonderful the Gryff house was.
It had never occured to anyone that I would be any different.
But then I suppose I have a way of suprising people.
Even myself.
So I suppose it didn't suprise me as much as it should have that the Sorting Hat, when placed on my head, quickly dismissed the idea of placing me with my siblings.
And while I was loyal, it felt me too intelligent for Huflepuff.
And while intelligent, I wasn't intelligent enough for the house which contained many members of Mensa, AKA Ravenclaw.
Now at this point, the hat knew where I was going.
I knew where I was going.
But I'll be damned if I wasn't going to fight it.
I begged, pleaded with the hat. "Please," I sliently begged. "Gryffindor. If I'm not there, my family won't talk to me."
The hat chuckled at me, and called out the one word I'd been dreading hearing. The one word I'm sure my family wouldn't have expected to hear from the hat, given that it was on my head. The one word that I'm sure had generations of Gryffindors rolling in their graves.
"SLYTHERIN!"
