TWO: The Sorting Hat’s Swan Song
Harry couldn’t help but be a bit
satisfied with himself. He had nearly finished all of
his Potions work, and had gone through every supplemental reading. The only
things missing were the article on the use of magical creatures in potions,
which he figured he could talk to Hagrid about, and
the three one-page articles from Alchemy Today which each talked about
different Potions used for magical maladies. A vicious satisfaction was
building in him as he pictured the look on Snape’s
face when he handed everything in on the first day of class. He’d sent a
thank-you to Hermione for her notes, but hadn’t had to ask her
the answer to a single question.
The day he was to meet Hermione and Ron in Hogsmeade dawned bright and cool for early September.
Although it wasn’t the fashion, he’d brought a Muggle
schoolbag with him, because the list of books this year was somewhat
exhaustive. He was certain Hermione wouldn’t consider the same thing; she’d
blushingly informed him last year that there was something in touching
the books she enjoyed. He’d called her mental.
“Harry!”
Hermione ran up to embrace him, then drew back to
look him over, while he did the same to her.
Hermione had grown, Harry noted with a
small grimace; she was now tall as he was, or nearly. She’d done something to
her hair, which had lightened to a golden brown and was less frizzy than he
remembered. Her cheeks were flushed with the excitement of shopping for school
supplies, and she was carrying four books in her arms already. For some reason,
she looked a whole lot older than he recalled.
Hermione finished her appraisal and grinned at
him. “Harry James Potter,” she announced. “What’s happened to you?”
“Look who’s talking,” he shot back, flushing at
her blatant admiration.
“I’ll have to tell Ginny,” Hermione added, “so she
can prepare herself.”
“Enough of that,” Harry protested. “How are you?
Where’s Ron?”
“I’m well, thanks, and Ron is in a certain new
joke shop. As if you couldn’t guess.” She eyed his
bag. “What have you got there?”
Harry began describing the Muggle
Botany and Chemistry books he’d gotten and was just getting around to
explaining why he had them when Ron burst out of a nearby doorway, laden with
packages. “Harry!”
They settled down in the Leaky Cauldron and chattered
away for awhile. “Mum’s with Ginny, getting some new robes and things,” Ron
explained. “Dad – you know how he is – he wants to see the, er...”
“Photocopies,” Hermione supplied with a small,
amused smile. “I expect he’ll go on about them for some time. Back to what we
were saying...” she prompted, nudging Harry. “Why have you brought Muggle books?”
Harry grinned. “I’m thinking of my Potions essay–”
“Potions essay? But you’ve done all of them, you
only just finished saying–”
“No, no, the one that’s the year-long project.”
Hermione looked horrified. “There’s a what?!
Why didn’t you tell me! I’ve been idling about all summer, I could have...”
“Idling about, she says,” Ron laughed amicably. “When she spent most of it with her nose in Potions and Charms texts.”
“Don’t worry, Hermione, you’ve got the whole year
left,” Harry soothed, exchanging an amused glance with Ron.
Hermione eyed him. “And you’ve started on it?”
“Well, no,” Harry admitted. “Not yet. Just
thinking of topics, is all...”
Hermione relaxed. “Well, I suppose I’ll forgive
you for not mentioning it, then.”
“Can’t we talk about something less incredibly
dull?” Ron moaned.
“Now you know how I feel when you and Harry
talk Quidditch,” Hermione irritably replied, but she
subsided directly thereafter, even when Ron began to do just that. For the next
hour or so, they moved between inconsequentials, from
Quidditch to Ron’s joke shop items, to their final
purchases before they boarded the train. Harry found himself telling tales of
his summer, but avoiding almost any mention of his cousin. He didn’t find the
fact that a Muggle had a spark of magic to be all
that big a deal, and he didn’t want them to make a big deal of it, either.
Besides, considering the summer he’d had, the last
thing he needed was a closer examination of his home-life. He hoped
“Harry!”
Harry turned to view Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley standing in the door. Ginny, as Hermione had
predicted, looked him over and flushed slightly. Ginny, Harry noted, had also
grown up a great deal, especially in height; she was every bit as tall as
Hermione, though still recognizably younger. Hermione exclaimed politely over
Ginny’s new robes; Mr. Weasley descended into a long,
drawn-out discussion considering photocopiers, but since Harry neither knew how
they worked nor had even made the copies himself, the
conversation ended more abruptly than it might have.
Harry’s thoughts were still on Potions, and he
found himself desperately wanting to ask Hermione for her opinion on which
direction he should take his paper, but he didn’t want to be rude to Ginny or
Ron. His mind also kept traveling back to his cousin, but he didn’t really want
to talk about that either. Neither Hermione nor Ron had mentioned Sirius at
all, for which he was glad... now what was left to talk about?
Luckily for him, Ginny was filling up the empty
space with bright chatter, telling Hermione and Ron a funny story from her
Charms class, how one of the more talented students had levitated Professor Flitwick himself, rather than the feather. Harry laughed
loudly, grateful for the reprieve, then drew out
schedules with Ron and Hermione to find out when they had classes together.
Once safely on the train to Hogwarts, Harry could
no longer help himself. He withdrew his work and began again. When Ron raised
his eyebrows, Harry shrugged. “It’s all I’ve been doing for the past week,
waking and sleeping,” he replied. “I can’t help it if my mind keeps going back
to it. Besides, I’m not quite finished. I just sort of told Hermione I
was.”
Ron laughed. “Anyone’d
do the same.” After a moment or two of silence – Hermione was still with the
prefects – Ron cleared his throat. “Er... what’s it
about?”
Harry lifted his head. “Oh, well... it’s about the
use of certain potions in medicine,” Harry said, shifting the papers in his
hands. “The author seems to be concerned that the magical flux of each plant,
depending on, you know, when it’s picked and how it’s dried and processed, is
going to affect the efficacy of the potion–” Harry blinked, looking at Ron’s gobsmacked expression. “What?”
“Nothing, mate. You just sounded like Hermione for a second.”
Hermione slipped into the car, handing Harry a tea
and Ron a pumpkin juice. Harry felt oddly embarrassed, and didn’t say anything
more until Neville, Ginny and Luna entered en masse. Luckily, he still didn’t
have to say much, other than the round of greetings along with a retelling of
some funny stories from his summer, stories safe enough to tell in broad
company. The last thing he needed was Malfoy, or, for
that matter, Snape, finding out about his stellar
homelike and using that to taunt him as well.
“...so Daddy was wondering,” Luna was saying in
her least-dreamy voice, “if you’d be willing to give
him another interview sometime. A sort of follow-up.
What do you think, Harry?”
Harry nodded. “Sure, no
problem.”
“And, about the D.A.,” Luna went on. “We’d
certainly love it, if you’d be willing.”
“Certainly love... what?” Harry inquired, not
certain he was following her.
“Well, you do intend to carry it on,” Ginny
said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Harry didn’t know what to say. His actions last
term had nearly gotten them all killed. He’d been surprised and warmed to see
that they didn’t seem to hold any grudge, neither Ron nor Ginny nor Luna and
Neville, but he certainly didn’t expect them to put him in any sort of position
of leadership again. “I’ll... I’ll have to think about it,” he said, feeling a
bit lost.
Ron and Ginny exchanged a knowing glance, which
Harry allowed to sail past him, burying himself once more in his work. He had
been waiting so long to get back to school, but oddly, now that he was on the
train, he found himself fervently wishing he were alone again. Some of his
irritation must’ve carried through his words, because soon the others were
talking over and around him, seemingly without rancour.
The tension in Harry’s chest eased, and he found himself warmed by the company
even while he didn’t participate in the conversation.
“Time to put on school robes,” Ron said gloomily,
reaching into the bag he’d stuffed his inside. Hermione nodded smartly and
began to rummage through her trunk.
As the train came to a halt, Luna peered outside
at the thestrals awaiting them. “They are
pretty,” she noted absently, “in a macabre sort of way.”
Harry, looking at their skeletal bodies shimmering
in the moonlight, couldn’t help but agree.
Ron elbowed Harry. “I swear, they get tinier every year.”
A group of first-years, smaller in number than any
Harry remembered, filed in. Each child looked small, lost, and frighteningly
young. Harry had to wonder if his robes had hung off of him like that, making
him look like he was drowning, back when he was eleven...
One boy in particular caught his eye. This child
had a cap of shiny black hair that waved around his face in a riot of curls,
and sharp, attentive blue eyes. Other than being singularly pretty for a boy,
he was unremarkable, except that he reminded Harry of someone. He couldn’t
place who.
The Sorting Hat was placed reverentially upon the
low stool, and, after a moment, a long rip resolved into a mouth and it began
its song:
I am for a purpose, as are every one of you:
I sort and place each child here,
To one dream, one goal, one truth.
At this, the hat paused, and there was a small
silence, followed quickly by a low murmur. The hat had neither explained the
houses, nor voiced an objection to them, as it had the year before...
Just as suddenly as it had faltered, the hat took
up its song again:
It may be you are clever,
You are worthy of renown.
In that case, it is Slytherin
That will become your home.
It may be you have bravery,
And more than a bit of pride.
Of course, then it is Gryffindor,
In which you must abide.
It may be you are true at heart,
Beyond all other qualities –
In that case, you are Hufflepuff,
And strongest in your
loyalties.
It may be that you are possessed
Of a talented intellect, an inquiring mind;
In that case, it is Ravenclaw,
To which you are assigned.
Another pause, this one slightly
longer than the last. Harry noted each
table in turn preening slightly as it was mentioned,
especially the Slytherin and Ravenclaw
tables, but then their descriptions had probably been the most flattering.
“What’s the matter?” he wondered, but Hermione silently shook her head, waiting
until the hat finished.
And it makes sense at first, it seems,
To rely upon my intuition,
A convenient way to classify -
If nothing else, it is tradition.
And yet, can any wizard place
More value on, say loyalty,
Than maneuvering with clever grace,
Or intelligence, or bravery?
All of these are crucial tools
For living, and, when lacking one
A wizard suffers. It is cruel,
This Sorting, and must not be done.
Thus I tip my hat to you
And disappear forever,
But before I do, I tell you true
One more of my endeavors:
I have sorted no less
Than one of five in alternative station
Than that which I did first suggest,
A sort of
House-contamination.
There are Slytherins
in Gryffindor,
And Gryffindors in Slytherin,
Hufflepuffs in Ravenclaw,
And on and on again.
It was their choice, not mine or yours,
To go to one House or to another,
So I let them go, but first
I told them the House they should be under.
There! The Houses, they are mixed,
And so shall I take my leave.
And if you wish the Houses fixed
I beg of you a kind reprieve;
For I, not you, have watched each year
From the unique perch of this stool,
The hatred that comes from the fear
Of the first-years in this
school.
Now the time has come, dear children all,
When I must meet my fate.
I must adjure you: join the Houses!
Tomorrow may be too late.
And with a burst of flame like a phoenix dying,
the Sorting Hat was gone. For a moment, there was complete and utter silence in
the Great Hall; then, as the smoke cleared and it became apparent that there
was no longer any such object seated at the stool...
The entire Great Hall erupted in a roar.
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