Thinking of the Hat, or of any magic that involved a seeming violation of the mind, filled Holmes with loathing. So great was his vehemence, in a man who held emotion itself prisoner, that I could not help but ponder the cause. What secrets does Holmes hold inside, carefully concealed within mental confines? What could cause such a reaction in the great detective?
Speculation is pointless, for I am certain the answers to these questions will follow my friend to the grave.
-Excerpt from A Study in Magic, by John Watson, MD
-oOo-
"What did I expect?" thought Harry, "A university campus?"
The first year students sat in groups, huddled together in small wooden boats. Drifting slowly through the current, one could hear excited words floating over the water. All eyes were on the castle ahead. It was a superb structure, bathed in moonlight, with stately spires of stone thrust high into the night sky. Far-off windows twinkled like jewels, lit from within by wavering torches.
Behind him was Neville and Hermione. The former held his pet close and wore a look that swirled between timid, resigned, expectant, and terrified. The latter was unbelievably and utterly silent.
-oOo-
After disembarkment, the first years were herded inside the school. As they wound to the top of a wide staircase, Harry was pleased to see Professor McGonagall, solemn as ever. She stood before enormous double doors, sternly watching the approaching group.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, "In a few moments, you will pass through these doors and be sorted into one of four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin. While you're here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn house points, and any rule breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup." She cracked a small smile. "Again, welcome. I'll be back soon, and the sorting ceremony will begin."
Without another word, McGonagall turned on her heel and left. The door shut softly behind her.
A few students milled about, but most clustered together in small, nervous groups. An excited atmosphere pressed down with an almost smothering intensity.
Hermione whispered to Neville. "Do you know how the sorting works?"
Neville gulped, looking a little green. "Sorry, I was about to ask you."
"Hogwarts: A History mentions a Sorting Hat, but it kind of glossed over the details." Hermione glanced around. "Where's Harry?"
Neville scanned the crowd, but Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen.
The boy in question had drifted away from the group and propped himself against the wall, not quite hidden in the shadows, but certainly not drawing attention. He relaxed, gathering his thoughts before the sorting. He also watched, with detached interest, a small conflict break out.
A white-haired kid, flanked by two children the approximate size of young gorillas, sneered at a red-headed boy. And said some pretty nasty things too, if Red Hair's face was any indication. Harry took in the scene with a stifled yawn. White-Hair had even nicer robes than Neville, and carried himself like a born aristocrat. In comparison, Red-Hair's robes were a few inches too long, and looked like they were starting to fray around the edges. Undoubtedly some kind of squabble over perceived social stations.
Harry smiled as the great door silently cracked open. Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed as she swept toward the bickering students. When she tapped White-Hair on the shoulder, the boy turned with a glare, only to pale and slink into the crowd. McGonagall frowned as he went.
"Follow me," she said.
-oOo-
Harry supposed he should be somewhat intimidated, Hermione and Neville certainly seemed to be, the way they kept shifting from one foot to the other. They stood at the front of a grand hall with the other first-years, with the entire student body looking on, about to undergo some mysterious "sorting". Harry couldn't bother with nervousness. He was too busy being absolutely mystified by the hat in front of them.
On a small dais, plopped on a stool, was an old, beat up hat with a tear in the middle. Professor McGonagall stood next to it, regarding the headpiece with reserved admiration.
Harry managed to turn his surprise into a quiet cough when the hat began to sing.
-oOo-
The song was...well, not the best of songs, at least in Harry's opinion. But is was informative. Apparently, all they had to do was put on the hat, and it would sort them into a house. Smart kids went to Ravenclaw, brave kids went to Gryffindor, sneaks went to Slytherin, and Hufflepuff got…hard workers?
Harry closed his eyes. Those didn't seem like the most quantifiable traits. How did the hat define "smart", anyway? His thoughts were starting to spiral out of control when McGonagall's loud voice filled the hall.
"HERMIONE GRANGER."
Harry turned just in time to see Hermione's deer-in-the-headlights look. The girl moved like molasses, dragging up the steps like she was facing the gallows. She sat on the stool with a look of utter determination.
McGonagall lowered the hat onto Hermione's head, and the oversized headpiece completely engulfed her cranium. A few moments silently passed before the hat bellowed.
"RAVENCLAW!"
Hermione skipped down the dais to the Ravenclaw table, beaming and shaking hands the whole way.
No surprise there, thought Harry. He watched the process proceed in fascination. Some kids took longer for the hat to place, while others, like the White-Haired kid from earlier, it barely had to touch.
Neville came out from under the hat decidedly dazed. By a small margin, the boy had been under the longest so far, nearly thirty seconds. He stumbled to the Ravenclaw table looking completely shell-shocked.
Finally, Harry stood alone. All the rest had been sorted, and Professor McGonagall gave him an odd look. Her face was a cocktail of apology, condolence, and guilt.
Harry grit his teeth. Anonymity had been nice while it lasted.
"HARRY POTTER."
Whispers and low conversation went off like fireworks as he mounted the steps. He sat down, and stared into a sea of faces before a musty hat lowered over his eyes.
-oOo-
Harry stared at nothing, and waited. And waited.
And waited.
Finally, he whispered into the dark. "Hello? You can sort me any time now."
It started with a faint tickle at the base of his skull. Harry felt a tingle, one he'd come to associate with magic, wind up his spine and settle at the base of his skull.
"No need to whisper, Mr. Potter. No one can hear you in here."
For the briefest of moments, Harry wondered if he'd gone insane. "Are you the Sorting Hat?"
"And he nails it in one. Not that I'm surprised. Quite the little genius, aren't we?"
The wheels in Harry's brain squealed, trying to gain traction. His jaw opened, and some words fell out. "Why won't you sort me?"
"Straight to the point. Sherlock would be proud."
Harry felt his mouth go dry, and tried to swallow. "And how do you know my father?"
The hat gave a mental chuckle, a humming Harry felt behind his left eye. "A better question would be: What don't I know? Here's what happened. You put me on. You activate the contingency spell, and I get carte blanche access to your brain. It's like a book to me, a rather gory one, at that."
The hat chuckled again. "Tell me, what possesses a grown man to drag little kids to murder scenes? After the fact, but still..."
Harry began to hyperventilate, and the closed space didn't help. This was beyond a breach of privacy. This was-
"Relax, kid. The rate you're going, you're gonna have a heart attack."
"Relax? All my memories were just stolen by a sentient hat and you want me to RELAX?"
"Stolen? Yes. Safe? Also yes."
"Eh?"
"I can't betray the students, kid. Not won't. Can't. That's just how they built me. So again, reeelaaax."
Harry felt his heart rate slow down by a small margin. "How can I trust you?"
Somehow, somehow, Harry just knew the hat was smirking. "Proof-wise," said the Hat, "I guess you can't. But think of it this way. I've been trusted with sorting kids for hundreds of years. Voldemort passed under me. And Grindelwald. Do you really think they would've left me alone if I could squeal?"
Harry cringed. He should have thought of that. Voldemort was a homicidal lunatic with a penchant for tying up loose ends. If the Sorting Hat could betray people, it wouldn't still be around, it would be ashes in the wind.
"Fine." said Harry. "I'll let it go. Just sort me already. I think the telepathy is giving me headache."
"And we finally come to the problem."
"Problem?"
"I don't chat with everyone, you know. The contingency spell you tripped gives me a form of sentience. That spell only activates when someone doesn't know what house he wants to go to. Wanna guess why?"
Harry had to admit it. He was impressed. "Because they sort themselves."
"He is good, isn't he? Nailed it, kid. People think I'm some infallible Founder's construct, but I'm just a glorified loudspeaker. Those kids put me on, and I spit out where they want to go, or at least where they believe they want to go."
The hat settled further onto Harry's head, getting comfortable. "That's the beauty of this setup. Kids don't have to be brave to go to Gryffindor. It's enough if they just want to be brave."
Harry frowned. "That's why you sing that song. That silly song about the house trait. You're influencing them."
"Exactly. Based on what they hear, everyone prefers a house over the others. Sometimes they're not even consciously aware of the preference, but I can tell. Unless they're like you.
"Me?"
"Yes, you. You don't care where you go. You don't even have a subconscious attraction to one. Lemme show you."
The hat took a deep "breath", a twinge Harry felt by his right ear. "Slytherin," said the hat, "Is for evil people."
Harry filed the statement away for future verification.
"You just did it again," said the hat.
"What?"
"That thing you just did! I'm telling you Slytherin's for scum! You should like the other houses better now!"
"My dad always told me it was a mistake to theorize before getting all the evidence. Just because I hear about these houses in a song, or someone tells me about them, doesn't mean I have all the evidence."
"Admirable." said the hat, rather dryly. "You realize that isn't normal?"
Harry bristled. "I'm not normal? You're a pseudo-sentient headdress! And this whole sorting procedure is ridiculous!"
"Just pick a house, kid, before I get a headache."
-oOo-
The great hall had been silent for five minutes. At first, whispers had filled the room like a quiet rain, hissing and echoing off the walls. Slowly, everyone had quieted, captivated by the Boy Who Lived.
After what seemed like a lifetime, the Sorting Hat gave a small rustle. Someone gasped, and everyone leaned forward.
"RAVENCLAW!"