Harry Potter
Harry Potter.
The name echoed in the Sorting Hat’s mind. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.
The child with the scar, the boy who had already experienced so much hardship before he even set foot in Hogwarts. The Hat had seen him the moment he put it on, a child full of courage, but also confusion, fear, and uncertainty. Harry wasn’t sure of himself—he wasn’t sure where he belonged.
The Hat had sensed his bravery immediately, yes. Harry had the heart of a Gryffindor—courage to face challenges, to stand up for what he believed was right, even when it seemed impossible. But the Hat had also sensed something else. A part of Harry that yearned to prove himself, to rise above what others expected of him. A desire for something more than what his past had given him.
And then there was that other part. A part that whispered, faintly, that perhaps Slytherin would be the right place. Harry had ambition, yes. The drive to prove himself, to stand tall, to fight. The Hat could see it—he had the qualities of Slytherin. Ambition, cunning, and the will to rise above the rest. But there was more to Harry than that. He was not just driven by ambition. He was driven by something deeper—by a desire to protect, to defend, to fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves.
‘Not Slytherin, not Slytherin’, Harry’s thoughts had whispered, almost as if he already knew what the Hat was considering.
And in that moment, the Sorting Hat understood. Harry’s choice had already been made, even if he hadn’t fully realized it himself.
“Better be… GRYFFINDOR!” the Hat had declared, knowing it was the right choice.