(Revised Author Notes, 19th October, 2012 UK time, for updated status of Saint Potter)
(Minor corrections, 22nd December, 2013)
Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. I am not Leslie Charteris. I do not own The Saint.
Note: The following takes place in an alternate Harry Potter universe which was impacted by The Saint. In consequence, some of the situations which arise, and characters which exist, differ considerably from canon. This piece is supplemental to my 'Saint Potter' work, in which James Potter married a grand-daughter of Simon Templar, and Sophie Theresa Potter is known as 'The-Girl-Who-Lived'. This particular one-shot is narrated from the perspective of the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, in the few moments leading up to and commencing Sophie's sorting on the evening of the first of September, 1991.
"Potter, Sophie."
It had been an interesting night so far for the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, and now it came at last, one of the star turns of the evening: 'The-Girl-Who-Lived', as so many in wizarding Britain thought of her, widely anticipated, and no doubt part of the reason why the Minister for Magic himself was here to watch tonight's sorting.
The Sorting Hat hadn't found any information for certain as to whom she was in the minds of the first years it had sorted thus far, although given what it had come across whilst peering through the memories of the Longbottom boy before it had sent him to Slytherin (possessed of a well-spring of determination quite so fierce as that it was either Slytherin or Gryffindor for Neville, and the hat had erred on the side of the house of serpents) it certainly had its suspicions as to which of those as yet remaining unsorted she was.
The blonde girl in the pink shell-suit top and baseball cap got up from amongst the unsorted still waiting on the benches in response to the name being called, sure enough. Ah-ha! Not that the hat usually engaged in wagers (except when a particularly Gryffindorish mood was upon it) but had it done so, it would have definitely won one as to which of the remaining first years was Sophie Potter.
Mind you: It had had access to highly privileged information in the shape of knowing that Albus Dumbledore had figured it best to leave her with her muggle grandfather after Hallowe'en 1981.
Hmm. She looked nothing like her father, James, the hat considered as she came forward. It was a connoisseur of sortings and it could sense that this girl was as tense as they came – not that you'd know simply by looking at her. She looked perfectly calm and cool as she came forward, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth – although for some reason she did cast a brief backwards glance to check how one of those remaining to be sorted was taking this revelation of her identity. She looked at a redheaded boy whom the hat rather fancied must be a Weasley – it was due to sort yet another of that brood this year. The boy, for his part, was looking absolutely horrified at this development. Must have been something that happened on the train then, the hat decided, and the boy hadn't known who Miss Potter was. The probable Weasley currently looked as if he wished the bench would break beneath him, and a large crack would open in the floor and swallow him whole. Not that Miss Potter looked triumphant or anything in the glance she cast at him – she seemed simply curious to see how he was taking it – and it was only a momentary thing, over in an instant.
A murmur of surprise was going around the hall. They'd no doubt thought her from appearances to be just another muggle-born, most of them sitting there, and not a fabled heroine. Those with sharp eyes might have noticed the wand-sheath – so many witches and wizards simply stuck wands in pockets – but even so the hat doubted they would have put money on her being The-Girl-Who-Lived.
And yet she seemed absolutely fearless, and carried herself well, now she was in motion and the entire school was watching her.
She paused in front of the stool and, as she removed her cap and stuffed it into her pocket in preparation for having to wear the Sorting Hat, she spoke out loud, addressing everyone in the hall as clearly as she could. It was mere seconds since Minerva McGonagall had called her name, though it might have been an age as far as those who looked on were concerned.
"That's Sophie Theresa Potter. No unicorn today, but I did bring my middle name instead."
Oh-ho, that was telling them. Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom had been in the same compartment as her, the hat had picked up whilst sorting them, and she'd told them her name was Sophie Theresa. And it was. She'd just omitted to add on her surname. Assuming she'd told anyone else who asked the same story (and it would have looked odd to Granger and Longbottom if she hadn't) she was letting them know she'd played relatively fair in at least not lying about who she was. She'd just left some things out.
And the unicorn bit was to presumably leave them wondering over how much they could believe (or not believe) of all those stories floating around.
The hat anticipated a potential upset coming. She was The-Girl-Who-Lived. She was a heroine. She must be Gryffindor material, practically everyone whom it had overheard discussing the subject in recent weeks had been assuming. Her mother may have been a muggle, but her father had been a Gryffindor, from a long line of Gryffindors, and it had stood to reason that Miss Potter could thus end up as nothing but a Gryffindor.
Most forgot that heroes and heroines could come from any house. The Gryffindor heroes and heroines were partly to blame for that oversight, as they did tend to be the ones to grab the limelight and public attention – though that made them neither more nor less heroic than those from other backgrounds. They just happened to be the ones who were usually the most visibly heroic.
The hat didn't doubt that Miss Potter was possible heroine-in-the-making material. Or, if things went horribly in another direction, capable of great and terrible acts of villainy. Not that it would try and push such a destiny on her – Merlin help the girl, there were certainly more than enough others around who would be doing their level best to do so – but she had this air of Someone Whom Interesting Things Frequently Seem To Happen Around.
She had lifted the hat off the stool so recently vacated by the chatty and hopelessly ambitious Sally-Anne Perks whom the Sorting Hat had been amused to send into Slytherin. Another year and Miss Perks would have had to go into Hufflepuff, given how much she would have annoyed the prissy pure-bloods (and occasional like-minded half-bloods) who seemed to imagine that family history gave them a right to be in Slytherin, but this year the hat was putting those elements where it thought that they belonged for once, meaning it was free to put Miss Perks where she (in theory) ought to actually go. It would be interested to hear any news of how Miss Perks did.
And now Miss Potter had sat down upon the stool, and pulled the hat on, facing directly down the hall to the High Table, and the hat settled itself comfortably about her ears and burrowed into her thoughts.
Good evening Miss Potter, the hat chuckled. Quite the sensation you caused there. Your father would have approved, I feel sure. Why it seems like only yesterday, that I had him under my brim…
Her father had loved being the centre of attention and admired, of course, or at least he had during his school days. There was always an outside possibility he might have matured in the three and a bit years between his leaving Hogwarts and his demise. However Miss Potter was unlikely to have known much about her father, having lost him at such an early age and been raised since by her maternal grandfather. The hat was fishing for her reaction to such a comment, potentially insensitive though it might be taken to be.
Are you really a thousand years old? she simply brushed the comment aside, and didn't seem at all surprised that the hat was talking to her inside her head. Mind you, she had seen somewhat over half the year already sorted ahead of her and had had ample opportunity to form her own ideas about how exactly this was being done. Burrowing a bit more, the hat discovered she (and her grandfather) had been well-briefed on Hogwarts, including coming by the rare information that the agency of sorting was a 'mind-reading hat'.
Well, well, this promised the hat to be an even more interesting experience than it had expected. In the meantime polite to respond:
Hmm. What? Oh, yes, I was Godric Gryffindor's hat…
She was certainly bold, and cunning, was Miss Potter, the hat considered as it continued with the conversation. Gryffindor or Slytherin, perhaps? It was going to enjoy this sorting, it was sure. It was rare to come across an eleven year-old whose mind was quite so busy at this time of a September evening, alert and en garde for a verbal duel if need be, and obstinately determined not to be rushed in any direction she didn't want to go if she had any say at all in the matter. Wherever it put her – and the hat hadn't completely ruled out Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff either at this stage – it was sure she would have a noticeable impact on those immediately about her and perhaps the broader school.
Author Notes:
This is, as indicated in the story summary, a teaser piece for the 'Welcome to Hogwarts' chapter of Saint Potter. It's set in an alternate universe where some characters and events diverge from Harry Potter canon - Neville Longbottom being somewhat more driven (due to the tragedy resulting from his parents' lycanthropic status) and ending up being sorted into Slytherin, for example.
Albus Dumbledore (as noted in 'Gearing Up') gave the Sorting Hat in this particular alternate universe direction to basically ignore 'family traditions' as a reason for sorting a pupil into a particular house this year, and the hat has consequently been having fun.