1991: A Thirty-six Character Study
This is the Hat's point of view on a classlist for an AU I was thinking of writing. Not all canon character Sortings went canon. Many of the names on the list are my creation, fitting these criteria: less alliteration than canon, more alphabet use than canon, and more forename ending-sounds.
Roll film!
[o]
"Abbott, Hannah!"
The Sorting Hat's senses are not like a human's. Nor any other living creature's.
It sees all though not with eyes. It smells and tastes the warm broth of minds and souls, savoring the drink of memories. It hears the rhythm and flow of every witch or wizard's heart, and this is part of the reason for the welcoming songs it devises.
The Hat sees itself falling over the kind face of a blonde girl with twin hair braids. Her face is flushed.
A quick read shows the Hat little reason to delay.
You are a very nice girl, aren't you? Honest to a fault and loyal unto death … yes, you'll surely fit in …
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts, happy to send this witch to where she wanted to go even as it is unhappy to sort at all.
[o]
"Bones, Susan!"
The Hat sees itself falling over the face of a girl whose red hair hangs in a long plait down her back.
She is the first tragic case of this year, and will not be the last. This girl, the Hat knows, has lost more to the Death Eaters than almost anyone: her parents, both sets of grandparents, aunts and uncles and numerous cousins. Now she and one of her grandfather's sisters are all that is left of a once large, respected family. Amelia Bones, who this girl has always called "Auntie", has just become Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
The girl called Susan hopes to work in that department herself one day, fighting against the type of people who nearly ended her family forever. She has a good heart; her good nature is plain to see in her mind, although shyness and some degree of body-consciousness are beginning to be dominant in her mindset. A fierce boldness is latent, and in another life it might have caused the Hat to choose another direction for her. Here, it does not.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts, electing to voice none of its thoughts to the girl who has just removed it from her head. Two down, how many more, it does not know.
[o]
"Boot, Terrence!"
The Hat sees itself falling over the forehead of the year's first wizard to be sorted. The Hat felt the sweat on the forehead and on the brown hair. It feels the thick glasses that cover the boy's eyes. It knows immediately someday the glasses will not be sufficient, but that is not germane to a Sorting.
Clever boy! A morsel of bravery, and some ambition … but it is knowledge-thirst which drives you. You belong in …
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts, only saying the first sentence to the boy who has just left the stool on which the Hat annually sits.
[o]
"Brown, Lavender!"
The Hat sees itself falling over the forehead of the fourth person to be Sorted this night. This third girl is blonde like the first, but instead of her hair being straight and braided, it is wavy-curly and more of a honey-gold tone than sunshine.
The Hat feels the mind of a silly, giggly girl more interested in robes than spellwork … yet it also sees, shining ever so bright, a heart of bright brave gold.
It needs barely seconds to send Lavender to "GRYFFINDOR!"
[o]
"Corner, Michael!"
The Hat sees itself falling over the forehead of another wizard this time. He is dark-haired, tall, thin … a description which fits many boys the Hat has Sorted before and doubtless will describe many in the future.
The Hat's immediate impression is of a clever boy who seeks the essential truth of any subject which captures his interest. He also despairs when he sees rank stupidity anywhere in particular and everywhere in general.
He lacks the ambition or bravery to confront it though.
A scholar's mind, you have. Their beating heart? I think not. May you find one in …
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts, wondering what sort of subject will most invoke this boy's passion.
[o]
"Crabbe, Vincent!"
The Hat sees itself fall over the forehead of a tall, brutish-looking wizard wearing a pudding bowl haircut. The hair is thick and dark.
Such is the last attractive trait the Hat sees here. The mind of this boy is a thick, dark sludge. No loyalty except to a thug-leader and the concept thereof. No creativity, wit, or interest in anything not immediately useful for causing pain or exerting dominance. No bravery or chivalry. No concept of justice except in the harsh sense that everyone else has equal capacity to be punched down and stepped on … squashed, really. And his ambition … to be the one doing the squashing. Oh joy.
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat wastes no time before shouting, for Vincent Crabbe fits nowhere better.
Truly, the Hat is happy to see this one go, and finds itself depressed at how everything decays and rots with time.
[o]
"Davenport, Genevieve!"
The Hat sees itself sliding over the forehead and eyes of a witch even it can tell will possess heart-pounding beauty one day all too soon. Dark red hair almost black, eyes the exact color of the Hope Diamond and just as keen to sparkle, every feature of her face a perfect proportion …
She looks to be a fine permutation of the parents the Hat sorted thirty years before. Just as did her brother three years ago, and her sister now in seventh year.
Her mind is a feast. Sharply intelligent and knowing it, fully aware of her imminent beauty – and meaning to use it, along with every other weapon she can fill her arsenal with. And her ambition … top of the year every year, prefect, Head Girl, a professor by twenty-five, Headmistress before forty!
Either that path, or nothing less than Minister for Magic.
Dear child, you are a razor's blade … do be careful to cut cleanly.
Her parents made excellent Hufflepuffs, but their youngest simply does not fit that house.
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat shouts, feeling as though it has perhaps recovered from tasting Vincent Crabbe.
May this girl come to have far more influence in their house than he does.
[o]
"Ellsbury, Phillip!"
The Hat falls past the eyes of a timid-looking, small boy in second-hand robes and shoes.
For once it sees something completely new to it: someone not interested at all in learning how to use the magic he possesses.
Instead this boy wants to be … an officer in Her Majesty's Navy. Because it's family tradition, seven generations and counting … and he wants to see the world.
This boy has always loved the sea.
You're quite an odd case, child … I don't think I've ever Sorted someone who did not want to be here!
But your goal is an academic one, ultimately, I think – to find out what's out there in the greater world, beyond the shores you know. The experience is what drives you. You could fit Gryffindor, but your best fit is …
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts, wondering if the boy who has just removed it from his head will ever truly desire his place or not.
[o]
"Finnigan, Seamus!"
The hat falls past the eyes of a sandy-haired boy eager to experience anything and everything new.
The hat finds bravery and loyalty in abundance here. There is also no small desire to be the center of attention … someone putting on a performance.
Lastly but not least, a lifelong addiction to loud noises.
Difficult one, I see. You've got a heart full of courage, child. And you're loyal, and not shy about giving that loyalty. Hufflepuff would suit you well.
The desire for the spotlight would be appreciated in Slytherin, too.
The boy argues … that happens sometimes. But his heart is not set on one house and no other.
The Hat doesn't need much effort to convince this boy to go to …
"GRYFFINDOR!"
[o]
"Goldberg, Andrew!"
The Hat feels a strong hand place it on the hand-owner's own head. It falls past their forehead and covers their eyes. In so doing, it feels only a wisp of dark hair – for religious reasons, this wizard has his hair cut extremely short.
The eyes it shades are somewhere between brown and green, not an appealing color.
The Hat sees in the wizard's mind that he is a businessman's son. The wizard-child heretofore thought he would spend his life in the jewelry trade. Magic has interrupted that.
The boy is happy. The mother is reserving judgment. The father disapproves.
The boy is curious … overwhelmingly curious. Curious about what magic is really like, curious what it means that he has it, curious about the people and the creatures and the history and the world.
He desires knowledge not to hoard it, or use it, but simply to have it.
You desire to soar … yes, there is no better place for you than in …
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts, as this newest wizard doffs it from his head and gets off the stool, never to sit on it again.
[o]
"Granger, Hermione!"
The Hat feels itself being forcefully jammed onto a witch's head. It slides past what feels like about ten acres of hair, to cover the witch's brown eyes.
Bravery in abundance … an almost-too-sharp edge of a mind … frightfully intelligent, this child is … extremely loyal, extremely hard-working … powerfully ambitious …
But her fine traits hide a layer of brittleness too. And though she does not know it, this child fully believes the ends justify the means.
Difficult, very difficult. A heart full of courage, I see. One of the sharpest minds I've felt in a long time, too. There's talent, goodness yes. And you're brimming with ambition, apologies for the hat joke.
But your sharp edges could be fragile if you don't learn to bend.
Ravenclaw's all wrong for you; you love to read, but you're not interested in knowledge itself. You want it to get approval from others. And you're very clever, but you already understand you're neither creative nor flexible.
You want Gryffindor? Child, I'm not sure you fit. Your passion for justice, your boundless capacity for hard work – much harder work than you've ever actually needed to do, I reckon – and your loyalty, and your patience … no, you'd be a much better badger than lion.
Slytherin would challenge you … your blood would put you at great risk there, for all that the rest of the house requirements fit you perfectly.
Ah, it's Albus Dumbledore who you want to be like? A Gryffindor, yes, and an intellectual, but there is much more to that man than you have any idea of … there are more things between heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
You're determined for Gryffindor?
I should not let you do this.
Very well. Beware the jaws that descend for your neck in …
"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat shouts, as Hermione Granger removes it from her head and walks towards her new house table. It wonders if it should have sorted her to Hufflepuff despite her wishes.
[o]
"Hargrove, Franklin!"
The Hat slides past straw-colored hair and covers blue eyes in the face of a short boy who shows all signs of being stout like a barrel one day.
His mind is a pleasant place. He is goodnatured, not especially intelligent, but has a keen sense of who he is in the world – even if the addition of magic has thrown him for a loop.
Full of noble ideas, aren't you? Those with plenty have an obligation to help those with little, and you know that your family is one with plenty … very kind of you, though some might call it "naive".
But you're sincere about it, and everything else. Yes … I think you will fit well in …
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts, as the newest member of the House of Badgers heads towards that table.
[o]
"Harper, Maris!"
The hat slides past the forehead and eyes of a lanky witch with murky brown hair. The eyes the hat now covers are gray and cold.
Her mind is a bitter place: she is part of a family whose legacy is ruined by her father's actions as a Death Eater, she likes magic but prefers music, and she is quite sharp enough to know that she is not and never will be a beauty.
Her ambition is strong: to restore her family honor if at all possible, and to write music so beautiful it entrances the gods …
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat calls out, feeling no debate. The girl walks away, uncaring.
[o]
"Isaacs, Geoff!"
The Hat's first impression on meeting this wizard is of a magpie collecting shiny objects. The second impression is that the wizard it is currently tasting gets bored quickly with said objects, and so is always on the hunt for new ones.
He is the son of a housewitch and a struggling musician, and is their pride and joy despite not being exceptional in any way thus far.
Except that he has magic when his mother wasn't sure he would, being a first-generation witch herself who married a man without it, so there is that.
He wants, deep to the soul, to be a winner and be seen to be such.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouts, sending the wizard off to the lions without regret. It is not entirely confident of being right, but sure it is not wrong.
[o]
"Jones, Angharad!"
The Hat generally takes little notice of applause specifics. Gryffindors always applaud their own and generally deride Slytherins, and the reverse is mainly true though not unreliably. Hufflepuffs cheer for everyone; Ravenclaws generally only for their own house.
Still, it has heard among the faculty that this year is a bit special. A fair number of Death Eater's children or other close relatives now almost ten years since the end of the war, as well as The Boy Who Lived, will be Sorted tonight.
Already two DE children have been under it tonight. More will follow, as will the one heralded as the hero who defeated their parents' master.
The Hat is well aware that Harry Potter had little to do with the downfall of Lord Voldemort, save that he was the one Lily Potter nee Evans had sacrificed herself to save.
There are other kinds of fame, though, and a child with another kind of fame now sits under it.
Her elder sister is a Quidditch superstar – and very public about her sapphic lifestyle. Witches and wizards generally ignore such things if they are kept private, but Gwenog Jones hides nothing, refuses to. It makes the younger girl nervous about maybe having the same desires.
Angharad Jones now sits under the Hat, just the second child of their parents, and that after a gap of seventeen years.
An accident, or a miracle, she is not sure which. They have said both.
She loves her parents, but would rather live with her sister and her sister's girlfriend than them.
Bravery is not the lack of fear, child, the Hat says to her. Bravery is living and moving forward in spite of fear. You could be brave, you know, but your other qualities are strong … your loyalty, your belief in fair play.
Find your best place in …
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts out. The child walks away to loud cheers. Perhaps she was consoled, perhaps not.
[o]
"Knox, Janet!"
The Hat sees itself falling over a mop of dark hair curled into dreadlocks, to land just past dark eyes behind wire-frame glasses. The girl's face is flushed, and the Hat sees she is smiling.
She is a bright and cheerful girl, eager to learn everything about this world she has known of her whole life from her father's stories, but has little experience of herself. She has read all of her school books in preparation for this year, and thinks she will most enjoy Transfiguration.
The saddest aspect of her life, as she sees it, is that she has no siblings to share the school with. She does have two brothers, but they are twins only two years old – she will finish magic school before they start. Assuming they have magic, because her mother doesn't.
You're a good one, child. Make your parents proud by succeeding in …
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts, sending this girl off to her father's old house without much hesitation.
[o]
"Longbottom, Neville!"
The Hat sees itself sliding over the forehead of a round-faced boy with sad, bright eyes.
His life is another tragedy of the war, his parents will likely never leave one of the closed wards of Saint Mungo's. He is thrilled to be here, surprised to be here, and relieved to be here all at once. There is no sense at all in his mind either that he belongs, or that he can thrive here.
It makes the Hat sad, for it can see the potential in the boy that he himself does not, cannot.
The boy is preoccupied by thoughts of a person he met earlier this day, on the train ride.
Ah. The Hat sees it. An … interesting meeting, in truth.
But if the boy being Sorted right now really wants to prove that he belongs, then he needs a house that will force him to do so.
And for that, the Hat sees only one answer.
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat shouts, thinking this will prove either a hideous mistake, or a terrible success. It wonders how long before it learns which.
[o]
"MacGill, Broden!"
The Hat slides over a sweat-shiny forehead and past beady dark eyes; the curly black hair was sweat-shiny too. His eyes are beady and dark like small marbles.
The boy is nervous; he has a brother here, a Ravenclaw sixth year, and the two do not see eye-to-eye often if at all. Their parents also went here – but in Slytherin, which does not help.
Neither of those houses will do for this child, the Hat quickly decides.
The boy is loyal and honest by nature, and life has taught him the need for both hard work and patience.
Yes, his house is clear. Even if it does not match anyone in his immediate family's.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts, sending this one to the badgers without an ounce of reservation.
[o]
"Malfoy, Draco!"
The Hat slides past a head of almost-white blond hair, a pale-skin forehead, and cold gray eyes. The boy's facial expression loudly proclaims his superiority over all those lesser.
It is a facade. Inside, the boy is nervous, suppressing those nerves through will alone. He is another convicted Death Eater's child, and his family are not powerful, but pariahs.
But his ambition … to restore them, and reach true greatness … is almost thick enough to cut with a knife.
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat shouts. The boy removes the Hat from his head and walks to his house table, having very nearly not needed to sit down on the stool at all.
[o]
"Moon, Brigid!"
The Hat sees itself sliding past fiery red hair and bright green eyes, the classic signs of an Irish beauty. And this girl, Brigid Moon, is indeed Irish and will be beautiful one day, though the Hat sees in her mind it is not in her character to use it against others.
She is named for the goddess of fire and poetry, and loves both of those things; she can spend hours gazing into a crackling fire without regret, and she loves poetry of any description, even when the poems are violent or gross.
But it is dance that really lights up her heart. Fast dances to enthuse a crowd, slow dances to soft music, seductive dances to be performed only with, or for, a lover.
Her mother pretends not to notice that her daughter not a month shy of twelve reads bodice-rippers. Her father pretends not to notice how very close his daughter is to her female best friend.
There is a boldness to this witch that is like fire itself. Fire is life; consume or be consumed.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouts. Brigid Moon gets off the stool – spins! - and walks to a table of laughing lions clearly not at all embarrassed at her performance.
[o]
"Neilson, Brock!"
The Hat slides past a mop of thick, brown hair that covers the forehead and hangs almost past the brown eyes which perfectly complement the hair's color. The wizard under the Hat is tall and stout even for his age; he may end up the largest boy in his class.
He is tanned from always being out in whatever little sunshine he can get. An active and energetic boy always wanting a game. Magic has not changed that, though it was a shock when his mother told their family she was a witch all along.
He refuses to think badly of her; in truth does not contemplate doing so.
Previously his ambition had been to do the hard work of becoming a rugby or football star … now it has become doing the hard work of being a great Quidditch player … and a great wizard.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts, having enjoyed the taste of this boy very much.
[o]
"Nott, Theodore!"
The Hat slides past the muddy brown hair and honey-colored eyes of someone it knows is another convicted Death Eater's child.
Christian Nott had evaded capture for over six years after Lord Voldemort's fall; the Nott family owned a large network of small houses in out-of-the-way places that they used to obscure the location of the family seat. That had been an idea proposed by someone not heir back in the fourteenth century, but it had stuck and stuck well. Six hundred years and more later it had finally been of vital use.
In the end it proved insufficient: the Nott family head was cornered, defeated in a duel, and captured. He evaded a life sentence in Azkaban solely on the premise that he was already dying from whatever curse an Auror had fired to bring him down.
His son and heir, Theodore, has known since he was eight years old his father will not live to see him finish school, let alone live to see him marry or see his own heir born. It is already something of a miracle that the man has lived these years without medical treatment. Not that he could have afforded it: the family coffers were stripped almost to the bone and much of their property forcibly confiscated and sold off as "reparations" and "restitution".
The Hat remembers Christian Nott well; he had been a complex boy at eleven, one of the rare type the Hat has heard are called "Hatstalls". The Hat had considered all but Gryffindor for the Nott patriarch – then the heir – before finally settling on Slytherin.
Young Theodore seems to be much the same.
You resemble your father very much, the Hat says to the boy's mind.
The boy is bothered by this; he remembers his mother, now deceased herself. He looks nothing like his father and everything like her.
No, it is your mind, your psyche, that I see from your father in you. You are loyal, but you do not give it freely. You are hard-working, but it is because you do not believe in the value of anything granted freely. You are honest because you have no patience for lies, you do not like puzzling truth out of them, not because lying itself violates any sort of ethics.
Hufflepuff would suit you well and poorly at the same time. You are a dark mirror of everything Hufflepuffs value.
Ravenclaw would not hold your interest.
Gryffindor would reject you and you them. I am not sure which would be faster.
Yes, you do resemble your father. May you find something to believe in as a …
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat shouts. The Nott heir doffs the Hat and walks to the table of serpents, almost all of whom clap slowly … nearly slow enough for outsiders to wonder if they are cheering at all.
[o]
"O'Rourke, Niamh!"
The Hat slides past the shiny black hair and watery blue eyes of a rather plain girl wearing a featureless smile; featureless because it does not light up and draw attention to her features, but rather seems to erase them, as if it is a smile so fake the face rejects it by ceasing to exist.
The Hat would shudder if it could. The girl rejects identity in a way that the Hat has seen before and is never able to forget. Devoid of a core, she mimics, as the others like her have done.
Some of them succeeded. Most did not.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts, sending this unfortunate child there not because it is where she belongs but because giving her identity in a group might be the only chance she has to build any productive identity at all.
The Hat worries she is still a disaster waiting to happen.
[o]
"Parkinson, Pansy!"
The Hat sees itself sliding past the glossy black hair and jade eyes of a rather slight girl, maybe the shortest person in the year so far.
The Hat can see that she is conflicted. She loves her parents. She does not want to go entirely against her parents. On the other hand, her parents are monsters: her mother is where she belongs and her father would also be there if the evidence had been stronger. But she herself sees no reason to automatically accept Muggle-borns.
She has a legacy to protect. A ruined legacy, but a legacy all the same. And it has not escaped her notice, that between her own spellwork and watching the friends she can associate with … she is probably not a strong witch.
But there are other ways to win, aren't there?
You seem to see the game for what it truly is, child.
The Hat feels surprise … ah, she had not expected to be complimented, or really even talked to, in her Sorting. The Hat experiences an instant of sadness, but only an instant – it has seen much worse over the centuries.
She has the potential to be loyal, but she won't give it away without seeing substantial benefit back. She is honest, but in the sense that she has no desire to hide what she is: someone aspiring to be alpha bitch.
Justice and fairness aren't remotely priorities. Any concept of Hufflepuff for her goes out the window.
Ravenclaw and Gryffindor get dismissed easily.
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat shouts. It can tell what is in her future: years of plotting against and fighting with Genevieve Davenport, and probably Maris Harper … will any of the three ally, or will it be one versus one versus one? And will they have another in their territory, or two, or three?
The Hat wonders who is next.
[o]
"Patel, Madhuri!"
That Hat falls past dark hair and dark eyes. It knows the dark hair goes almost down to the girl's waist. Her skin resembles milky chocolate and her eyes more resemble bitter chocolate.
She is another beauty, albeit much different than the other attractive girls under the Hat this evening. The Hat sees in her mind that she cares deeply about others, particularly the twin sister she has always shared everything with. Being the older twin, she wants to protect the younger, but she is certain they will not be in the same house and that makes her both sad and fearful.
She is passionate, and conceals those passions from no one. This is a bold girl, one who would willingly face danger were she to know of it. Death is not something to fear.
The Hat approves of her wisdom. Hufflepuff is worth considering, but this girl is at heart really a …
"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouts. The girl removes the Hat from her head and dashes off to the lions' table. As is always the case with twins, the Hat now knows who will be Sorted next.
[o]
"Patel, Mati!"
The Hat sees itself falling past dark hair and dark eyes identical in colors to the girl who had just been under it.
But this girl is different. Where her sister's hair hangs loose and flows freely, this girl's hair is both shorter and tightly braided. Her sister's eyes, even with the dark color, were light and bright via her forceful personality. This girl's eyes are shadowy, fathomlessly deep.
This girl conceals everything about herself that she can and shows the world nothing that she does not want it to see. She is like a cold place waiting for a fire.
Her sister could be an adventurer or at need a warrior. This one is a scholar, a researcher, one who wants to create new magics, not simply absorb and venerate the old. If there is any adventure in this girl, it would be to seek out the places where forgotten magic hides, so as to bring it out and into the open for the world to use and remember again.
Unlike her sister, this one is ambitious: she wants to be prefect, she wants to be Head Girl, she wants to be top of the year seven years running.
Well … she will have stiff competition in that last one. There are multiple other girls already gunning both for the Head Girl position and to be top of the year. If this one is to win, she will have to be more capable than any of them.
The Hat thinks it is in her capacity, but in that she is not alone.
Like her sister, Hufflepuff is worth considering. There is loyalty here, a belief in fair play, a faith in justice.
Ultimately, though, that is just a support. Her best place is …
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts. The younger of the twins doffs the Hat and places it back on the stool respectfully before walking with no haste to the eagles' table. The last impression the Hat gets of her is that while she does love her sister, she will appreciate not being in the same house.
[o]
"Potter, Harry!"
The Hat slides past a small boy with inky black hair and bright green eyes covered by thick-framed glasses.
The Boy Who Lived. The Hat heard the whispers … "Is that him?" … "That's him!" … "That's him?" … "The Harry Potter?" … from all the student tables at once. Everyone in the room is now watching keenly.
This is the most hotly anticipated Sorting of the night. Some of the faculty taught his parents … they remember his parents as children and then as adults, all too short though that time was.
Even the Headmaster has been looking forward to this. It is even perhaps true that he has been looking forward to it most of all.
The Boy Who Lived.
The Hat wonders how many of them see what is real. It wonders how many see only what they want to see.
The Hat sees in his mind that everything about his appearance is a fraud. A calculation. A stab at sowing confusion.
Difficult. Very difficult. A very keen mind, like a maw of sharpened teeth. And you're full of lust to prove yourself.
A trough of patience, all to get what you want. And there's talent, oh my goodness yes.
You could be loyal, but you've never had anyone to show an ounce of loyalty to, other than yourself.
And you believe in justice, but it is that of the grave. Everyone is equal because everyone dies.
Were it that simple. Were anything so simple.
Ravenclaw does not suit you at all. You do seek knowledge, but it is all utility to you, it must have a use. You are creative and flexible, but Ravenclaw needs a curiosity you just don't have.
Gryffindor would challenge you, but not help you. I think the house would fail you in time.
You are Hufflepuff's dark reflection; all of their good qualities, but twisted like hard chains.
You might once have had the potential to unite, but you are more the type to seek their division. And they are already divided, oh so divided.
May you … find what you want, in …
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat shouts. The boy walks away. The world changes forever.
Silence is all the Hat hears.
[o]
"Roberts, Caleb!"
The Hat slides past tousled dirty-blond hair and pale blue eyes set in a face that will probably be regarded as handsome one day; but for now this boy of nearly twelve years is thought just to be cute.
He thought before this summer that he wanted to be an astronaut, to go to the Moon or even to Mars.
Then a strange letter came in July saying it was from a magic school, and it turns out his father was a wizard himself – had simply left the magical world at eighteen, returned to the non-magic world, and never told the girl he met, fell in love with, and eventually married about any of it – and this boy's life changed beyond any reckoning.
The Hat sees he has deduced magic may be a capricious thing, or perhaps a random one, because his father had it when his own parents had not, and despite his father having it, this boy's three elder siblings – twin brothers now nineteen, and a sister of fifteen – do not have it either.
And he has no younger siblings, so that potential data will forever be unknown.
The Hat knows only enough of NASA from Muggle-borns it sorted in the past to be aware that astronauts are highly capable people – scientific and military minded alike; often they are both. So the boy is ambitious. And brave, being willing to risk his life on the prospect of going to Mars. And hard-working, willing to put in many years to get the education needed.
Such goals he had had, and magic has casually brushed them aside – but he is not unhappy. He is ecstatic.
The Hat sees much it likes here.
You could fit in any house, child … but I believe the best place for you is …
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts. The boy doffs it from his head and heads off for the badger sett to a round of applause.
[o]
"Smythe, Irene!"
The Hat slides past the straight blonde hair and icy blue eyes of an otherwise plain-featured girl who it sees turned eleven only in early August.
She is from an old family, one of the oldest in the isles, though hers is a cadet branch, not the main.
The Hat sees that while this girl is honest, loyal, hard-working, and fair-minded, she is also abrasive and crude. This would not likely let her win many friends in the badger house.
She similarly lacks a certain something that would let her fit easily in each of the other three.
Sometimes these cases are a joy for the Hat. Other times they are just troublesome.
Her abrasiveness bleeds through and she starts getting snippy with the Hat when it starts telling her what it thinks.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts, giving in and sending her to the one house she doesn't object to.
The Hat wonders if there will be any more unpleasant encounters this evening.
[o]
"Talbot, Lex!"
The Hat slides past the sunshine-blonde hair and hazel green eyes of a smiling, cheerful girl who it sees … was an unhappy boy before this summer?
Ah. That potion. The Hat has seen this before, but doesn't often need to think about it, only a few times having had to Sort a student who has taken it.
Still, the girl is happy now, even if her parents aren't. She also understands that it is one-way only, at least as long as she is a student; the Hogwarts rules won't allow her to transition back.
The girl, formerly a boy called Alexander, is studious, both imaginative and creative, and loves birds more than any other creature type. She hopes to become a bird Animagus, and to be brilliant at Transfiguration generally.
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts, appreciating her love for academia but concerned she will be disappointed when she learns of her soul's animal shape.
There is no potion to alter that.
[o]
"Thomas, Dean!"
The Hat sees itself sliding past the dark curly hair and dark eyes of a very tall black boy, maybe the tallest in the year so far although that is close.
He's the son of a blended family, although the Hat sees he himself is unaware that his stepfather isn't his biological father, who left his mother for her protection some months before the end of the war … sadly, while she did survive the final months, the Hat knows he did not.
Everyone who has ever worn the Hat and been Sorted by the Hat is connected to it by a tendril of magic, which only breaks when they are gone.
Still, the boy under the Hat doesn't know any of this, and his stepfather has always treated him as if he were his own son. The boy now has a little brother and two little sisters; the family lives in eastern London, very near a football stadium. The Hat knows enough of football to be aware it is probably the most popular Muggle sport in the world.
He is artistically creative and studious, although not to the same degree of some who are already his yearmates. He is brave, and loyal, and honest. Ravenclaw holds some appeal for him. Hufflepuff holds more. Slytherin holds none.
That leaves one more house, which now seems the best overall choice.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouts. The boy takes off the Hat and walks to the table of cheering lions, happy enough at his Sorting and ready to join the pride. The Hat thinks he will do well there.
[o]
"Vane, Romilda!"
The Hat sees itself falling past long curly black hair and dark eyes set in the dusky skin of a girl it can see in her mind is mixed-race; her mother is very white while her father is a light-skinned Hindi. Her mother is someone the Hat remembers; her father is not.
This girl will be very pretty one day, and soon, the Hat is quite sure. And her personality … she is aggressively brave, the type that many call "bold as brass". She wants to be in the spotlight, seen by all, and doesn't particularly care for what reason so long as it gets her there.
She is particularly aghast at Harry Potter's Sorting, much more so than the other students who came under the Hat after Potter did. She has heard of Potter since she was a child and always thought he would be a Gryffindor … the same house she thought was best for herself.
The Hat would laugh if it were given to doing so. There are two houses now that fit her very well, but one is quite obviously better. She is ruthless and resourceful, but not cunning. At least she knows herself well, and does not pretend to be what she is not.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouts, sending the bold as brass girl off to the lions. Her name is befitting of a warrior, perhaps someday she will battle real lions. Or more likely, just other witches and wizards … in a duelling club, perhaps … or as an Auror.
Glorious battle maiden, indeed.
[o]
"Weasley, Ronald!"
The Hat sees itself fall past fiery red hair, and blue eyes set in a slightly long-nosed and freckled face.
Another Weasley, the Hat sees. The sixth son of Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewett, all five boys Sorted to Gryffindor just as the parents were. William left the school two years ago … Charles left a few months ago … Percy is now a fifth-year and a prefect … the twins Frederick and George are third-years. A sister, Ginevra, will be here next year; young Ronald is sure she too will be a Gryffindor.
The Hat makes a mental note to be ready for Ginevra; the first female Weasley born in however many generations, and after her parents already had six sons?
But it is not her turn, it is this boy's.
He is brave … very brave, though he doesn't know it. Mostly he knows being lost in the lot, or dominated by others in it. His loyalty is intense; he is honest and fair-minded and desperate to shine somehow.
Hufflepuff would suit him, but the Hat sees he would not want to go there, because he thinks it will disappoint his parents if he is not a Gryffindor, and because he is not sure how he would manage being the odd one out. The Hat feels pity at the limits in his worldview; this boy would shine if only he had the bravery to cut himself loose from what is familiar to him, and strike out into the unknown.
Still, that is hard to do at eleven, though the Hat has known some who were brave enough to do it.
It is also a pity that he underestimates his parents like that, the Hat reflects.
The Hat dismisses Ravenclaw quickly. The child is clever but not studious, nor knowing what direction to aim his attentions.
Slytherin is just as easy to dismiss. Not only would he be horrified, but he really does not fit. Percy might have … the twins Frederick and George even more might have. They all did not want it, of course.
You really could fit well in Hufflepuff, you know … I know you do not appreciate that house's virtues yet, but you fit almost all of them to a tee.
The Hat feels the boy's unsettledness and would sigh if it could.
You do not regard Hufflepuff as brave, but from my perspective it would be brave of you to break away from your family to join that house. And your loyalty, which is tremendous, is one of that house's truest strengths, more so than your family's house.
Almost everything about you fits that house. All you need is to see that you don't need to be just like your family. A pity that you don't see that's the best way for you to shine like you want to.
This takes Ronald aback. He wavers …
It doesn't last. He isn't ready, not now … perhaps not ever.
"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouts, feeling disappointment. The last of his parents' sons takes off the Hat and walks away from the stool to join three of his brothers in the house he wanted but does not need.
The Hat wonders if there is any chance the sister will be different. Only one year until it knows …
[o]
"Xu, Mei-Xing!"
The Hat falls past straight black hair cut short, to settle beyond dark eyes. The girl looks classically Chinese and very pretty for it even at eleven. She will be one of the year's glamour girls.
She is conscious of that beauty, but unlike some, she would consider it beneath her to use it as a weapon. She has too much pride in her own capabilities and in her family's legacy.
There has been no one without magic in her mother's ancestry for fifteen hundred years. In her father's family history, the number is much closer to three thousand.
The parents are no less accomplished for that legacy. Her father is high up in the International Confederation of Wizards. He will likely lead that organization one day, perhaps even soon. Her mother is one of the world's foremost Arithmancers, with one hundred sixty papers published.
They have high standards for their daughter, and she has never failed to meet any of them thus far. She too aims to be overall top of her year, and Head Girl in seventh year. It is Charms she thinks she will like best. She has already read the first Standard Book of Spells from cover to cover at least thrice.
Whatever obstacles are in her way to achieving her goals, she will overcome them efficiently.
The Hat would nod if it could. This one's proper place is clear.
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat shouts, feeling not an ounce of regret. It wonders how she will manage seven years in the same dorm with a witch who is just as clever as herself and no less ambitious … perhaps more so, in fact. For both metrics.
[o]
"Yaxley, Argo!"
The Hat falls past the short black hair and dark gray eyes of a rather brutal-faced boy. The Hat sees that he was scowling for most of the Sorting so far.
He is the nephew of an unrepentant Death Eater, whose brother only did not become one himself because he was (and remains) physically infirm. Corban Yaxley was an official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when it was theorized, and proved, that he had been a Death Eater agent in the Wizengamot office. He will be in Azkaban for the rest of his life.
His nephew's personality is no more pleasant than his facial expressions. He believes Muggle-borns should be removed from the world of their birth as soon after they are born as possible, ideally within days. The parents or other immediate caretakers should be Memory Charmed into thinking the child died. No magical child would be allowed to remain in Muggle hands beyond six months of age, and he would disallow Muggles having guardianship of any magical children older than that.
He is not the first to think any or all of those should be official policy, unpopular though all those measures are. They have been proposed in the past and will likely continue to be in the future.
Beyond those unlovely opinions, the boy is intellectually arrogant, thinking that he knows best for everyone and either is right at all times, or is always at least on the track towards being right.
At least, he is sincere in his pursuit of academic excellence. That is almost all he values apart from blood.
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts, thinking that house is probably closer to the only choice than the best choice for this youth. He walks away from the stool unaware of the Hat's thoughts – though the Hat does not think he would have been receptive to them if told of them.
[o]
"Ziegler, Elizabeth!"
The Hat sees itself sliding past glossy black hair and green-gold eyes set in an olive skin-toned face. She is tall and her hair is long, but otherwise she is rather plain in her features.
She is a dreamer, having known of magic and the magical world by her mother's descriptions since she was small. Her father is not magic, and is no longer in the picture either after her parents' very ugly separation and divorce. Her mother has not remarried, but her father since has, and the girl now has two half-sisters from her father's second marriage. She does not see them often … though that does not bother her much.
Her favorite hobbies are reading, and drawing magical animals of a sort that she imagines, and actual ones from her mother's vague descriptions. The Hat can see memories of her artworks: they are in general excellent, with vibrant colors and rich details that could only be conveyed by a skilled drawing hand.
If she were not magic, she would want to be an animator, making full-length animated films of the highest quality and broadest appeal. Even knowing she is magic has not completely pushed aside her dreams.
Rather, it has given her ideas for subjects she can simply pass off as some of her more exotic creations.
She intends to be a hard worker, and has the patience to wait out the long haul for success – assuming it ever comes – but those are all she really shares with Hufflepuff. She is not an open person and would not really fit well in the crowd.
Gryffindor does not suit her any better. She would probably be smothered there; not because of closeness, but because of the more bold personalities present. They would be in her face and her personal space and she would probably wilt away from it.
And although she can be sneaky at need, Slytherin does not feel right for her either. She has no real ruthlessness, and is not especially ambitious even though she is determined to accomplish what she dreams of.
So that leaves but one.
"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat shouts. The girl doffs the Hat from her head and rushes off to her new house table, most of whom are clapping loudly.
The Hat feels the stool it sits on being lifted, and it can sense Minerva McGonagall's tightly focused presence, She is carrying the stool away again. So another Sorting Ceremony has come and gone.
The Hat would sigh if it were given to doing so.
For now the Sorting Hat will hold its peace. If it ever desires to make its feelings known, it can do so in the welcoming song.
After all, it needs a new one of those every year.
The Hat counts the lot up. Just thirty-six. Eighteen boys and eighteen girls. Four lots of nine.
Huh. It quartered the year in truth. It has talked about that in welcoming songs, but rarely has it actually happened.
But the number itself is depressing. It is small, and the numbers have been small for a long time. Next year is not likely to be much larger.
The Hat wonders if the people will ever realize the damage they do to themselves by having it do this job. Then it decides they probably won't.
They never have before, after all.
=/0\=
AN: This concludes a project I had in the works forever. It started as a list of names … class lists for different stories using only the names of canon characters and names that Rowling created but never used in the books. Eventually I realized I disliked a lot of those names: too much alliteration, not enough use of the alphabet for surnames, and too much use of the same ending-sounds for forenames. Long story shortened,it was a list I didn't care for. So I sought to change it, to reduce what I saw as problems while still keeping the essential flavor of canon. I think I succeeded? Maybe, maybe not, but the names here were the output nonetheless.