The Sorting 

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A hundred years, a thousand more
Reach far and further back
I had no name to speak of
For I was just a hat! 

In those days things were different
Though they’ve mostly stayed the same
I sat upon a head and watched
As dire times swept the land

“Black, Sirius!” 

His heart was pounding. 

Sirius’s cousins were sitting at the Slytherin table all in a row, one after the other like a stamp running out of ink. First was Bella the dark star, who would be the toast of society at her coming-out this year. Next was Andy, whose hair had been transfigured back to waist-length since he’d last seen her. And quiet Cissy, blonde and pale, who somehow never failed to end up with the last cake at dinner. 

They were surrounded by their friends, or lackeys, or allies, or admirers -- whatever -- but all three of their gazes were fixed upon Sirius: Bella bored and impatient, Andy encouraging, Cissy expectant. 

And something it the pit of his belly was shouting NO!  

Was it so wrong to not be like the rest of his family? Or to not even want to be? Sometimes he thought he wanted to want it, or maybe that he wanted to want to want it, which was basically the same thing if you really thought about it. Because if he did his mother would bestow a faint smile and his father would place a hand on the top of his head or his shoulder, giving an approving nod over his glasses, and all would be right with the world… 

…until the next time Sirius slipped up, and did something to out himself as anything less than a pureblood paragon in every conceivable way and a few more besides, because what “Toujours pur” really meant was that there was no room for anything else. No, in the Black family there was no such thing as good enough: excellence was unacceptable, and perfection a baseline expectation. 

It didn’t matter what he wanted, in the end. Slytherin was his destiny -- had been for hundreds of years. Who was he to buck the weight of tradition? 

War and strife spread everywhere,
Destruction to amuse
Kings gambled lives without a care
And magic stood to lose.

But then -- a spark! A fire! A path
To keep our flames alive
By combining to teach our children
In hope that together they might all survive

The Sorting Hat fell down over Remus’s eyes. That was all right, though -- it smelled a little like home: peat ash and black iron and starry skies, with a sawed-off edge he was growing to associate with church magic.  

“Hmmmm, what have we… oh?” said a little voice in his head. “Oh, I see. For you, Remus Lupin, it may be easiest if we…” 

…pop! 

He was standing -- or sitting -- or floating? In a nyfed-grove of oak and ash and thorn, and before him were an eagle and a lion and a badger and a snake, all enormous and otherworldly, and above all their heads flew a gigantic winged boar.  

Right. One of these, then. 

your heart is as honest earth, wolf pup,and your loyalty to your clan does you great credit, said the badger. It trundled over to poke its nose into his side. i would offer you a place in my house, and stand for you in their stead. 

“Thank you, wise one, except, um -- I’m not?” said Remus. It was impossible to be anything but plain-spoken here, in this space between light and thought with his entire self laid bare -- though he could still be polite to another clan’s numen. “Meaning no disrespect, but -- how can I be honest and loyal, if I’m a -- you know.”

thy curiosity runs deep and true, child of Bleiddwn, cried the eagle, alighting on his shoulder with sharp talons. seek’st thou knowledge beneath my wings, and i will gladly shelter thee. 

“But I don’t belong here!” He couldn’t help it: the words just kept spilling out, unspoken certainties held deep in his heart. “You can’t want me, nobody does -- I’m lying to them all, they’d hate me if they knew!” 

there is no shame in masking for survival, mageling, whispered the snake, curling around his wrist. your life is worth more than a single cruel irony, and in living it you may yet play the greatest trick of all. 

Oh. 

“Oh,” said Remus, on a quavery note.

Oh, indeed. He really didn’t understand what was so bad about Slytherin.  

and above all else, little one, purred the lion, the last to speak. to have come so far even to be here, you have been very, very --  

It seemed an uphill battle
Against insurmountable odds
But four wizards emerged victorious
Having founded this school of ours

Ravenclaw, whose brilliant mind
Did count all knowledge dear. 
And Gryffindor, whose bold vision 
Dispelled all doubts and fears! 

The Hat had been on Peter’s head for a long time. Why was it taking so long? And what was wrong with him, that he couldn’t be Sorted? And was it his imagination, or had the Hat’s voice in his ear started to sound more and more like his mother’s as the minutes passed?  

“No, no, love, the problem isn't you, not you at all! You’ve magic and potential enough, it’s all here -- but it’s a bit of a still pool, isn’t it? Not running in one direction or the other, I mean. But you know what they say about those and depths, eh?”

How long had it been? It’d been a very long time, that’s how long it’d been. It hadn’t taken this long with anybody else. Why was it taking so long? Peter’s cheeks were very hot, and his palms were very sweaty. 

“So, is it better to make you a grounded Ravenclaw or a flighty Slytherin, hmmmm? A timid Gryffindor, or a reckless Hufflepuff? Times like these, we tend to think old Chrys had the right of it after all -- want to set you up for success, see, but it’s difficult when it all balances out like this. Ah well, neither here nor there, but we’ve got to tip the scale with something, really. I suppose it’s best you go with those you’ve already cleaved to: people find one another on the train for a reason, you know. Unless you’d rather be placed somewhere else?” 

No, Peter very much wanted to be Sorted into the same house as his friends ( were they his friends? They’d shared sweets and played cards and Remus had even given him a byname, so maybe they were friends?) and two of them had already been Sorted together. But then if James was in a different House Peter would maybe want to go there, too, because then it’d be just the two of them and he might have a best friend, and Sirius and Remus would still have each other. So he wanted to go wherever James was, except James wasn’t going to be Sorted until after him… 

“Decisions, decisions, eh? Been long enough as it is, though, and we don’t want you making choices based on others’ hypotheticals, do we? It’s your life after all, so why don’t we go with --” 

Slytherin, whose drive ensured
They might achieve their end;
And Hufflepuff, whose open arms
Did bind them all as friends.  

And when they chose their students
Each took those of like mind
To brighten their House’s future
And leave the dark days behind

This was going to be brilliant. James’s dad had told him all about the Sorting Hat -- how it would look into your mind and see things -- and then it would talk to you, tell you things about yourself, things you didn’t even know were there, like a real proper horoscope done by a thousand-year-old magical hat with brains, and then you’d find out who you really were because it’d just told you what it found inside your head or your heart or your guts or wherever, and then it would give you advice or warnings or words of encouragement, and then -- 

The Hat brushed the ends of his hair. 

I remember it all like yesterday,
Though my makers be dead and gone
In your Sorting Hat and our beloved school
The founders four live on

And if you put me on your head
I’ll do you one thing better
I’ll seek to find where you belong
And read you to the letter! 

“... GRYFFINDOR!”

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