This is what I say.” “That’s made up.” “It was not like that at all.” Remus never did that.” “I don’t care what the newspaper says. “Because I didn’t want to come here.” “I just didn’t.” “No, I don’t think being a wizard is that great.” “And how would you know?” “Well, that’s stupid.” “No, I didn’t say you are stupid but I could say it now.” “No, that’s not true.” “No.” “No.” “No. He had done all that, but all he had got was a lecture and more patronizing comments about his supposed confusion. If things got too bad, you were supposed to scream “Help! Help! He is not my dad!” and kick the stranger in the ankles and run. Harry had seen a video in school about adults invading personal space and what not.
He had lost all semblance of personal space as people kept taking his hand to shake and the adults brushed his hair away to look at the scar. He was not Harry anymore, he was Harry Potter The Boy Who Lived or Harry Potter the Boy Who Was Lost and Now Found. It would have been easier if people just left him alone. Harry had been so sure that someone would see it was all a mistake and he would be sent back. The whole school and its division in houses was stupid too, and the teachers. The stupid hat was stupid and refused to help Harry.
The embers would vanish but the diamond would remain. A tiny thing, the size of a tear, inside some embers and ashes that were about to blow out, in the soft mound of earth surrounded by a lone and limp Slytherin silver ring. And in its core, a diamond, sharp and hard and unbreakable. Perhaps Hufflepuff would be a good choice. The Sorting Hat could see the shadows of the flames, and it could see that it has been doused off recently. It saw that the soft earth used to be warm, used to be protected by something like a fire. So of course the Sorting Hat took a closer look. But the isolated parts, that it had seen. Perhaps not a Hufflepuff core with a Slytherin ring asking to go back, no. Usually muggle kids and usually during stormy periods of time. This was also not new for the Sorting Hat. Can’t you just send me back? Please.”Īll right. Inside, something soft and earth-like told of a kindness often seen in Hufflepuff. There was that silver circle of funny ideas that screamed Slytherin loud and clear. Galloping Gargoyles, that poor kid’s mind! Even though the Sorting Hat spent the whole year quietly sleeping on a shelf in the Headmaster’s office, it knew that name when he was called to the stool. The mind had a border of solid steel that would protect it from any attempt to make it small.Īnd now came The Boy. The other had a mind so open you could fill it with a hundred worlds and still have room for a thousand more. A couple more Gryffindors, one sparky and smelling of gunpowder and blood and feet planted solidly between the people running away and the ones that came forward. The solid warmth of Hufflepuffs, made of iron and wood. The taste of ether in Ravenclaw minds and a faint smell of ozone. The turmoil of Slytherin minds, always veering left, always looking for a different path, and that compulsion to poke at things and look underneath. The boy actually fought his decision and refused to see how that, precisely, was a very Gryffindor trait.Īgain, nothing the Sorting Hat hasn’t seen before. But there was something about him (starting with the fact that he made a request instead of waiting quietly like everyone else) that made the Sorting Hat wonder if he wouldn’t be better in Gryffindor where he could let that spark grow in to a fire.Īnd the boy said no, no, Hufflepuff please. Nothing wrong with the house, of course, and the lad looked comfortable with work. Then there was the boy who shyly requested Hufflepuff. But still, it was an interesting combination this one. The Sorting Hat was good at unravelling these kinds of puzzles when a child had so many traits. Here was a girl who wouldn’t be afraid to uncover secrets and so the Sorting Hat sent her to Gryffindor. But it would say that this year stood out, nevertheless, if only for the sheer number of oddities.įirst there was the Ravenclaw girl who somehow had a Gryffindor spirit under all that thirst for knowledge. The Sorting Hat had seen pretty much everything. Thus, it wouldn’t say that this was unheard of. If there is something that time gives, other than a certain polish to leather, is perspective. The Sorting Hat had enjoyed self-awareness for hundreds of years now.
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