An audible hush falls over the hall as his name is called. Blushing furiously, he ducks his head and darts across to the stool. The hat falls over his eyes, and he's relieved that he doesn't have to look at everyone anymore.
He's heard the hat talks to you sometimes, talks about what it sees in your head. He thinks about that, what it would be like to see into someone's head, see everything, and shudders the idea away immediately.
He thinks about his family, about Dad almost going to Slytherin and Aunt Hermione almost going to Ravenclaw. He can't see him but he knows James is at the Gryffindor table, can almost feel the stare prickling at the back of his neck. Next year when she sits here, he knows Lily is going to be a Ravenclaw. Hugo has his sights set on Hufflepuff. From below the brim of the hat, Albus catches a glimpse of Rose's shocking pink trainers shifting beneath the hem of her robes as she stands in line; she'll be in Gryffindor, if only to make Uncle Ron happy.
Maybe Gryffindor wouldn't be so bad, Albus considers. He already knows Professor Longbottom, who's Head of House, and he and Rose could take their classes together. But he remembers the hat's song, and he doesn't feel very brave.
It's nice inside the hat. It's dark and quiet, and though he knows the whole hall is still staring at him, he doesn't feel nearly so exposed.
"No, you can't keep me on," a voice chuckles into his ear. Albus jumps and nearly falls off the stool. "Though it might make the year a spectacularly less lonely experience." Righting himself, Albus eyes Professor Longbottom's feet suspiciously, wondering if the voice is perhaps a trick.
"You know," says the hat (or not), "most people already have some idea of where they're going when they put me on. Even those who don't know about the Houses get some idea of them on the train. But not you."
I don't know where you could put me, thinks Albus, feeling rather stupid. I'm not brave, or intelligent, or hardworking, or cunning.
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," says the hat. "You are, in fact, all of those things, in equal measure. Do you know, I don't think I've had a sorting this difficult since Merlin himself. I decided on Slytherin in the end, of course, but oh, the Ravenclaw he'd have made."
Eleven is too early, Albus insists. I don't know who I am yet.
The hat says nothing.
. . . Oh. Is that the point? To tell me who I am?
Albus thinks if the hat could smile, it would have. "Very good, Albus, but not full marks, I'm afraid. I don't tell you who you are; there's no charm in the world that can make a hat do that. I merely give you a push in the right direction. I am still only a hat, after all."
So where do I go? Albus asks, suddenly aware of the whispers that have broken out up and down the hall. He wonders how long he's been sitting under the hat.
"I wonder," the hat says thoughtfully. "The place you're worried to go will teach you the most, I think."
He's heard the hat talks to you sometimes, talks about what it sees in your head. He thinks about that, what it would be like to see into someone's head, see everything, and shudders the idea away immediately.
He thinks about his family, about Dad almost going to Slytherin and Aunt Hermione almost going to Ravenclaw. He can't see him but he knows James is at the Gryffindor table, can almost feel the stare prickling at the back of his neck. Next year when she sits here, he knows Lily is going to be a Ravenclaw. Hugo has his sights set on Hufflepuff. From below the brim of the hat, Albus catches a glimpse of Rose's shocking pink trainers shifting beneath the hem of her robes as she stands in line; she'll be in Gryffindor, if only to make Uncle Ron happy.
Maybe Gryffindor wouldn't be so bad, Albus considers. He already knows Professor Longbottom, who's Head of House, and he and Rose could take their classes together. But he remembers the hat's song, and he doesn't feel very brave.
It's nice inside the hat. It's dark and quiet, and though he knows the whole hall is still staring at him, he doesn't feel nearly so exposed.
"No, you can't keep me on," a voice chuckles into his ear. Albus jumps and nearly falls off the stool. "Though it might make the year a spectacularly less lonely experience." Righting himself, Albus eyes Professor Longbottom's feet suspiciously, wondering if the voice is perhaps a trick.
"You know," says the hat (or not), "most people already have some idea of where they're going when they put me on. Even those who don't know about the Houses get some idea of them on the train. But not you."
I don't know where you could put me, thinks Albus, feeling rather stupid. I'm not brave, or intelligent, or hardworking, or cunning.
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," says the hat. "You are, in fact, all of those things, in equal measure. Do you know, I don't think I've had a sorting this difficult since Merlin himself. I decided on Slytherin in the end, of course, but oh, the Ravenclaw he'd have made."
Eleven is too early, Albus insists. I don't know who I am yet.
The hat says nothing.
. . . Oh. Is that the point? To tell me who I am?
Albus thinks if the hat could smile, it would have. "Very good, Albus, but not full marks, I'm afraid. I don't tell you who you are; there's no charm in the world that can make a hat do that. I merely give you a push in the right direction. I am still only a hat, after all."
So where do I go? Albus asks, suddenly aware of the whispers that have broken out up and down the hall. He wonders how long he's been sitting under the hat.
"I wonder," the hat says thoughtfully. "The place you're worried to go will teach you the most, I think."
Wait, I--
"So I think I've got it now: SLYTHERIN!"
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