Decisions, Letters, & a Sorting
A top of a small, unsorted boy sits an old, tattered hat, of which is going through everything and anything that made up the child beneath it. So many decisions, so many opportunities, so many outcomes, all relying on the artifact’s decision. The hat wanted nothing more than to tear itself at the seams in pure overwhelming frustration. It. Was. Brilliant. The artifact hadn’t had a challenge like this in… in… Well, it struggled to remember!
So much, so much, so much!
Shall the child be nurtured? He sure seemed to need it; his home life might have been good compared to what it once was, what it could have been, but it still could have been better, much better.
Shall the child be cowered before and judged? Strength in many is good, strength in one is feared, but he could learn, adapt to the challenges it would bring and learn to rely on others.
Shall the child be combatting for the attention he needs and his voice to be heard? He is rather quiet, but this could draw him out of his shell some.
Shall the child be placed with the like-minded? It might be worth it; having connections of those kinds in some form or another is a great way to create and hold solid bonds.
But that didn’t point him to just one house; all those things could have him put in any of the houses. Maybe the negatives? What are the negatives of each house affecting him…
The Badgers: the quickest to suspect the worst in someone in the right circumstances, able to get information from others who’d wished not to share or that they shouldn’t know. Slipping into the background helped with that, out of sight out of mind. False smiles. His knowledge alone would not have him in their good graces, and he’s likely already under suspicion for his appearance compared to what they’ve been told; they would question his every decision, and probably even his allegiance more than once.
Not to mention the Bones Heiress the artifact had just sorted; while the family was known as fair, the contents of his trunk alone brought too many questions, ones he might not have answers for or just flat out refuse to give them. Ones that could have him ending up in a cell next to an innocent man. Any housemate would likely have a broken nose by the end of the third day.
No, while a shame, maybe it’s for the best not to place him there…
But they were loyal almost to a fault if you had their favour, easily allowing them to be overprotective of their own. They were hard-working, a few having almost been placed in another house, and wouldn’t go down or lose easy. Patient and modest… Most of them. When they were in their right mind, they could be fair. Just. And they were more than a little observant, especially all those fresh eyes this year. The boy could and would understand all that because it is something familiar, something he’s grown up with.
The Snakes: an ambitious group, prideful. Self-preservation is often one of their top presidents before all else. Playing games of the political kind, most at the commands of their guardians, and while he might have fit in once upon a time, might still be able to, he will struggle to tell the difference between friend, acquaintance, and foe. Especially once his houses and heritage are found out.
The boy would be secluded from the start, left on his own in the common room, barely acknowledged in general if they decided to ‘put up with him’. While unity outside of the pit is a basic rule, a rule of survival, it will be obvious their thoughts on the boy in their actions alone. On some occasions, they might even leave him behind, forcing him to protect himself. Forcing him to be alone.
No, while another shame, a great one as they might have given him the bonds he longs for once the waves had settled, the hat did not think it would be a good fit on a permanent basis…
It might also have to do with the fact that the boy would likely set fire to the common room on the first night, second if they were lucky, from all the political talk and game alone that usually took place as the new students got their feet under them.
But they were ambitious and determined to reach any goal they wanted. Resourceful too, pulling tricks and bending rules to suit their needs. Many are quick-witted enough to not get caught doing something they shouldn’t or have a quick alibi in place if they are, an alibi that anyone in their house would be just as quick to provide or agree to, even if the other is unliked.
And while self-preservation was a huge factor, they were quick to defend their own in other ways aside from alibis. Not to mention, while they may hate it, they had enough self-awareness to know when they went too far, often admitting, sometimes reluctantly apologizing, and, on the rare occasions, making amends with whichever housemate that’d been taken a shot at.
The Lions: a rather loud and rambunctious lot. Too brave and headstrong. Too set in their ways. Stubborn. Reckless. Brash. Many unaccepting of change that goes against what they know. While one doesn’t outweigh the few, far too many fights of various intensities will still break out for any reasons at all, far too many to list. Not to mention if they make the boy jump or say anything against the so-called “Dark”, something a few of them seem set on. They would likely be the first people to be held at wand point.
No, probably best not to put him in that house…
But they were known to be courageous and daring, had the nerve to stand up and fight for what they believed in before any other, determined in a good way. He could fit in with others with some of those traits, not all but a few provided he met the right people, and he’d likely be brought out of his shell. They were all stubborn enough, if anyone could do it first, it’d be them.
That leaves one more house…
The Ravens (because there was no way the magical artifact would call them Eagles, knowing full well how worked up it got their founder and enjoying the knowledge that, if she were here, she’d be losing her mind about it): They would likely get on his nerves, maybe faster than most, as they can be quite the nosy bunch.
They will likely also end up at wand point at one stage or another, likely a few physical injuries too. They can be a harsh group and often don’t know when to stop. Not knowing when enough was enough until the consequences were hitting them straight on. Especially in their quest for knowledge not in their repertoire. Many are far too curious for their own good at times, the downside of having an open mind. They would likely try and pull information and knowledge they don't know, especially after finding out how he was raised, and by who; there wasn’t a lot of knowledge about Castors after all…
However…
While they won’t all completely understand his jumpy nature, especially if they do end up at the end of his wand, the hat did not believe many of them will take it too bad. They are a fast bunch, it will click into place, second only to a snake, what might be causing it. Even going as far as trying to accommodate him to the best of their skill, even those limited in it. The hat would go as far as saying they would tear up the library in their quest to help.
Dare it say, very few would be likely to push him for why, rather just try and do what they could for him.
They also strive for knowledge, one of the reasons they can be so nosy, and because of that many sit in the grey or don’t hold an opinion until they know more, not all but many. More than enough. He’d definitely have at least one housemate as a friend within this week alone, if not more and far sooner.
Many would likely accept him, appearance be damned, regardless of the relationship status between them and him. The boy’s type of creativity and smarts would play a good role in the house, no doubt easily allowing him a place among them. Though, the hat had a feeling that it wouldn’t take long for them to realise he was… How should the artifact put it?
Ah, yes, stupid smart, and not in the ‘he is stupidly smart’ way, rather utterly oblivious to things, to many things, around him. The hat did not doubt that they would be teaching him as much as he would be teaching them, albeit on clearly different matters, and most likely more difficult for them to teach him opposed to the other way around.
The question, though, is does he really belong?
Oh, how hard this child is making it!
The magical artifact scrunched in on itself before freezing, and if it had eyes, they would have grown wide at the sudden thought it had; nothing of the present had it accounted for. It was looking at the future with a house, it was looking at the past with his family, but it had yet to look at the recent events. The hat felt like a fool.
In the present, the little child was playing a game, pulling the wool over an old man’s eyes. He had plans, many already in motion. But he lacked friends his age. There was only so much one could offer him outside of his age range. Even the Goblins were careful with how they handled him, understanding just as the artifact had that the boy was odd, and needed careful handling to ensure his safety.
And that was another thing, was it not? The Goblins. The boy had the allegiance, the backing, of the British Clan Gringotts. That was hard enough, another thought to be an impossible task that he’d accomplished. And that was a game changer in itself, wasn’t it? With the Goblins at his side, with their backing, he had access to skills and tasks not meant to be had by a Wizard. Not to mention, with that union, it wouldn’t be surprising if he later got relations with other clans and creatures of all kinds.
But that relationship would also need to be close in continuous contact, something a member of staff would need to assist in, but not many could stand up to the goat’s mind games… Except…
The hat scrunched itself up once more, this time in dissatisfaction; was this what it had come to? Sorting a child for connection reasons, for him to have closer contact with a singular person? Do not miss understand, the artifact had nothing against Filius, far from it, but being the reason for a sort, he should not.
So, the hat huffed, settled in a bit more and continued to ponder what to do, trying to weigh it all out. Past, present, future. The hat can put a pro to each con listed, and all the house traits could also apply to another… Decisions, decisions.
At least the artifact could feel that what was once tarnished and manipulated for unjust actions and delusions was now being mended and healed within itself.
It made thoughts so much clearer, and while that brought its own hardships, like being stuck sorting the small child the artifact sat upon, like having more thoughts and feelings than the hat had words, it was like breathing fresh air for the first time and left behind utter peace in its wake.
As the hat worked its magic, the boy it sat upon worked his own, twisting and moulding not only Sorting Hat Alden’s magic but his, using it to patch and heal as much of the hat as he could for the time being; there was no doubt in his, or the artifact’s, mind that the pair would have to meet up later for further, more in debt, sessions in this regard alone.
It was coming along nicely, the tendrils held back to one point of the wall under a clear iridescent bubble and shrinking by the second. The thick ooze was also being negated and forced to another small section of the wall, the thickness thinning out, and the walls were oh so slowly taking on their previous colour of clean blue with no blemish in sight.
And while a good majority of his focus was on healing the broken that had taken place with Sorting Hat Alden, a tiny, smaller part of him couldn’t help but think of how he got here in the first place.
30th July 1981
In the doorway to a back room of an aged building, walls lined with lockers, cubbies and hooks, with benches scattered around the place, stands a burly bear of a man with his beady black eyes locked on the tiny figure sitting on one of the far benches. The figure’s eyes are closed, ice pressed to one side of his face, predominantly over his eye, with slowly drying blood that still manages to dribble a few drops of red down his front. Huffing to, successfully, have the figure’s sole attention, he tilts his head.
“You good, pipsqueak?”
A shrug is his response, though it’s quickly followed by a nasally voice when he just stares. “Broke my nose.”
And that would be the reason for how he sounded. Without moving further from the doorway, he raises a hand and shows a letter pinched between his thumb and pointer finger. “It’s a day late, but the letter came.”
“Just one?”
The bear of a man hums, moving out the way of another man that looked just as bad, if not worse, as the kid, before holding up his other hand where at least three, possibly five as the boy couldn’t tell from where he sat, other letters sat spread from his fingers. “We were right; you got yourself a selective mail ward. The others were returned to their schools, each attached with its own letter saying you had already accepted a place. Had a few of them resent to me in response.”
The man that had just entered frowns, gaze snapping up to look between the two, the conversation of letters having caught his attention. “Wait, what? I thought you just changed your mind and picked one of the others. A lot of us put recommendations in with our old schools for you. I know for a fact Pierre even pulled a few favours to have you invited to his alma mater, with a few bonuses.”
“Nope.” The boy said, popping the ‘p’, a sound that sounded ridiculous at the current moment with his busted nose. “Didn’t even get any other letters till now.”
“We’ll figure it out. See if the Goblins will lend a hand with the ward, they’ve probably already started to owl you… If they hadn’t beforehand. We should have checked before, sorry, that’s on me.” The boy hums in acknowledgement and forgiveness, though it wasn’t needed, before huffing and muttering for assistance.
The bear-like man moves from the doorway to sit next to the boy, pulling a pen out of one of the lockers on the way, before his hands are reaching up. Carefully placing the pen inside one side of the kid’s nostrils, he grabbed the bridge before – CRACK!
“SON OF A BITCH!” The boy pulls away as the man pulls the pen out, ice dropping to his lap before he leans forward, hands cupping his nose. It’s only a second before glowing green eyes look at the man through thick lashes. If looks could kill.
The bear of a man laughs heartedly, a snort coming from the other side of the room earning a quick ‘Fuck you, Christian.’ at the other man, and drags a reluctant twitch at the corner of his mouth as the boy fights off a smile. The large man gently cuffs the back of the boy’s head, grinning widely from the remnants of his laugh. “Language. And don’t look at me like that. You wanted the help.”
Huffing the boy just gestures to the letters now sitting beside them, silently asking the man to go through them. As they do, the boy gets more and more frustrated at the loss of opportunity; he could have had the option of any school, or any of the ones before him, but the decision was taken from him before he could even see it before he could even know about it.
If he wasn’t nursing the ice pack on the side of his face or having his hand bandaged by the large man, he probably would have kicked one of the benches clear across the room, reprimand be damn. If his magic wasn’t being held back by the bear like man and other means, it would have destroyed the room.
Each letter was one of condolences, disappointment not to have him attend, and support for him and the school of his choice.
Surprisingly, a few even offered him a spot if anything were to go… awry in whichever establishment he’d be attending, effective at any point in time. That did cheer him up some, that he at least still had some say in the matter.
However, when he was handed a slip of paper from the final envelope he scowled deeply; it seemed that too had a downfall given that it was mandated that he, and any other students in the establishment, would need to attend at least two full years there before being pulled out by a guardian. ‘To grasp the necessary building stones in the early stages of their education’ was what the institution claimed.
He’d have to deal with it for the time being and hope that that little tidbit wasn’t picked up on and changed to longer.
“Hey, you might come to like the place.” Huffing, the boy shoots Christian a look, who just snorts and raises his hands in a placating gesture from his place across the room. “Easy, easy. I meant you might make friends your age.”
“He has a point.” The boy looked at the bear-like man in betrayal, but it was ignored as his hair was ruffled. “No, he does. For once.”
“HEY!”
The kid hums, somewhat amused at the indignant shout, before shaking his head at the thought. “I don’t need friends… Besides, we checked the rankings; this school has dropped so far down in quality that it’s barely holding onto the international education ranks listing, and even then, I think it’s only because of its once-standing status and who runs it.”
The two men share a quick glance over the kid's head but both know that there will be nothing they can say to change his mind, to convince him that he does need friends his age. They could only hope that it’ll happen, either on its own, by some higher entity, or by sheer will of other children, because they doubted their little Castor was going to go down willingly. Deciding to move on, the bear-like man pulls out the rest of the parchment for the school their kid would be attending and reads it aloud.
“
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
”
“How many titles does he want to throw in there?” Christian, who had moved closer during the reading, narrows his eyes at the piece of parchment, head tilted, and overall looking like he could set the whole thing on fire from look alone. He probably could, and would, if the other wasn’t holding it. “Also, Sky, the fuck is up with his name? I thought you changed it?”
The bear-like man, Sky, shakes his head before raising his hand and making a so-so gesture. “We did but didn’t. We could not legally change his name, not completely. The Goblins accepted it, Harlow was there to request it, cleared for any sign of manipulation on our part, and he is their client. The British Ministry is a different case; we were not able to change it until yesterday, thankfully via the Goblins, and if this letter was already sent out it could explain the lack of name change.”
“Also,” The boy looked up from flexing his bandaged fingers, a frown clear on his face. “All those titles? Order of Merlin, First Class, basically makes him a war hero, right? Chief Warlock leads the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump too but with the International Confederation of Wizards. Throw in the, probably self-imposed, honorific of Grand Sorcerer. If he’s throwing his titles around like that, especially in letters stating he’s Headmaster, to kids and their guardians who have no idea who he is, in cases of non-magical raised…”
“He’s making himself appear more powerful than he truly is.”
Sky hummed with a frown. “That’s how the school hasn’t completely lost ground yet. With all his titles and the… so-called respect he holds, he’s managed to keep it running, if just.”
The three stare at each other, thoughts silently flowing between them, all of them knowing each other well and long enough for such a feat to happen. It wasn’t an impossible feat when truly thought about; Castors might be chaotic in nature, but their chaos worked too well together to not understand one another’s thought process or the art of silent communication. Harlow, Christian, and Sky were peak examples, having a strong bond between them.
How is he able to keep up with all those titles? How does he not have enough funds to stop the school from failing? What exactly was he playing at? Why force Harlow there by taking all other options away? Because there was no other way or reason behind it. At least not one they could see as of yet, and so early, without time to fully sit down and process it all.
The silence is broken when Christian snorts, running a hand through his hair.
“A letter, a singular letter, and already so many questions. How many wanna bet that nobody else has taken notice?”
“Probably none or very few who don’t care or don’t have a strong enough presence of voice or standing.” Sky sighs and stretches before flipping to the second page, his face scrunching up and eyes darkening with each word he reads aloud.
“
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
- Three sets of plain work robes (black)
- One plain pointed hat (black) for daywear
- One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
- One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)
by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic
by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory
by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions
by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
Yours sincerely,
Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions
”
“No.” The younger occupants jump and look at the bear-like man as he practically snarls. Looking up, black eyes full of burning anger, stare at the boy and, if it were anyone else, the boy might have been worried, but not by Sky. Never Sky. “You’ll be getting a deep dive trunk. We’ll be filling it with more books than these measly pathetic eight. Am I understood?”
Despite only addressing one of them, both Christian and Harlow agree without a second thought; joys of practically being raised by the bear of a man, you learn quickly and when he says something, really says something, you listen without questions because it’s always, always, in your best interest. And neither were going to disagree, nor start any time soon.
It was a good thing he also took their thoughts into account if it were truly a large decision, though if he followed or agreed was never a set guarantee.
The older man nods, his next words muttered and barely audible. “Regardless of skill level, this is completely laughable.”
“We’ll also be getting you more than-” Christian jumps in, gesturing to the parchment with a wrinkled nose. “-that. Screw getting just school robes, you’ll need other stuff… preferably without bloodstains.”
“Definitely without bloodstains.”
“Do you even have anything without blood on it?” The boy raised his bandaged-free hand and makes a so-so motion; he knew some items of his clothing were free of the staining plasma, but he knew more than enough had some on them, having been unable to remove them. “Damn. We’re going to have to get him a new wardrobe.”
The boy snorts and shakes his head, Sky also shaking his head with a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. They were Castors, and Castors weren’t known for their wealth, regardless of whether they had it or not. “We’ll figure it out. Until then… You ready to get back out there? You still need to win dinner after that last round.”
The shouts and cries from beyond the locker room finally reach the young boy’s ears, causing a huff of laughter to escape before he stands up with a wince. With a stretch, the boy shoots the pair a grin.
With his face on full display, it’s more than easy to see the damage of the last round; two black eyes he sports from when his nose was broken, mostly dried blood from said nose trailing down his face, one eye specifically swelling slowly, a split lip, the inside of his mouth cut up somewhere if the blood on his teeth are a giveaway, a bruise blossoming on his cheek, and bumps that are starting to be seen on one side of his forehead.
In other words, he looked like absolute shit. And that’s not accounting for the damage anywhere else. But… He looked determined to continue, especially after the last round where he’d lost his rations, if not because of. The boy trots over to the door, giving a two-finger salute, all the while looking back at them. “I’m not jinxing it… but I’ll be leaving with my meal tickets back! Oh, and conscious this time!”
A bark of laughter escapes Christian while Sky just shakes his head with a sigh, a fond but almost sad smile on his face, though only the laugh is noticed as the boy had already left the room.
“He’s going to be the death of us.”
“I’d say something like ‘if he doesn’t die first’ except I think we’re well past that,” Christian says with a chuckle before sobering up at the look on the older man’s face, his eyes still trained on the door.
“No.” Silence sat in the air for a moment. “We are far from past it. He’s just made it one hell of a fight for whoever tries.”
More silence, before a soft whisper fills the space between the pair. “And if it’s himself?”
“…There’s only so much we can do.” A truth that pained them, the large bear-like man especially. Castors were family, always were and always would be, unless something unforgivable were to occur. They were always there for one another, so the truth this truth caused tremors in their bone marrow and ached down to their very core. “He’ll make friends, or at least have others that care about him… Hopefully, they can help lift his burden and carry the pieces we can’t.”
“By Mother Magic…”
“And Father Death… Help Harlow through this.”
The cheers and victorious cries are loud from the adjacent room, even reaching inside the locker room as if it were just one whole space. Completely different from how they usually hear it, even from just minutes prior.
They knew who won.
Please… Please help him… Protect him... To any and every greater being…please…
Ah, yes.
This could work.
It’d take work, much so, but…
It would work.
The artifact just knew it would.
Finally, after 30 long minutes upon the child’s head, everyone in the room jumped at the Hats call of…
“RAVENCLAW!”
And if that wasn’t shocking enough, before it was placed away to sit once more in the headmaster’s office on a dusty shelf for the rest of the year, the hat summoned a meeting of the four heads of houses later that night, and them alone.
“The child might be a Ravenclaw, but he’d ‘somehow’managed to connect to Hogwarts’ own magic,” the artifact had said, refusing to clarify how or why.
“What does that mean?” one interrupted, and Alden had cackled; after all, the boy was a Castor, and a Castor was chaotic, this boy seeming to be the epitome of it.
“It’s quite simple really. His house placement is merely a… formality if you will.” If the artifact had a face its grin would be cheshire and quite twisted, but it doesn’t so instead the seams stretch and pull as its mouth made of folds spread wide. “He has full access to Hogwarts.”
The ‘and all its houses’ went unsaid.
Filus Flitwick found a note slid under the door to his chambers upon his return from the meeting.
He had a sinking feeling that the next few years to come were going to be long, tiring, ones.
The small piece of parchment now crinkled between his hands, might as well have been a confirmation of it.
To The Head of House,
1:00 am
Your floo WILL be open.
Regards,
S. Caegere
Guardian of Potter-Black