As a girl who had two Sorting Hat toys, Emalthya had expected something different. This sorting hat looked like it smelled and that it was falling apart. She wondered why no-one had thought to take to it with a needle and thread. She would have offered to herself if her sewing kit hadn’t been in her trunk.
It wobbled on its stool and let out, in a great man’s voice, its unique yearly song. Emalthya was mesmerised by how it stayed together throughout its performance. She was wondering how she might start mending it when the first student’s name was called up to the stool.
Half of the line passed into the main body of students and then;
“Lovell, Emalthya.”
Emalthya froze and then staggered forwards two steps before taking a breath and getting her feet untangled. Suddenly she was at the stool with no memory of walking the intervening space. There was someone in front of her holding the Hat. It was much scummier close up. Emalthya suddenly wondered how clean the hair was of everyone else who had worn it and if they fumigated the Hat to kill the odd head louse. Then the lights went out as the hat slid over her head and the brim fell across her eyes.
The Hat felt as though it twitched a little bit like a person tilting their head to their shoulder as they considered something. “Potential here,” it muttered. “Brave, trustworthy, yes. Gryffindor looks like the place for you-“
“Excuse me,” interrupted Emalthya unsteadily. “I really would prefer not to be in Gryffindor. I think I would prefer Slytherin.”
“Now what makes you say that?” chortled the hat. “Red not your colour?”
“I like red as much as the next person,” replied Emalthya. “It’s gold I am not fond of. But it’s got nothing to do with colour. I just think I am more of a Slytherin girl.”
The hat was curious, now. “You like snakes or something?” It honestly could not see this girl in Slytherin, but it was open to hear her out.
Emalthya shuddered a little. “Not really. Where I come from we have the deadliest snakes in the world. I don’t like snakes. I don’t like lions, either. But, I don’t like people much. And Gryffindors are just so… happy.”
“What about Nearly Headless Nick?” asked the Hat pointedly.
“Isn’t he the happiest ghost here, not counting the fat Friar? People upset me, Hat, and in Slytherin I think I’ll fit in better. I don’t want to spend seven years here alone.”
The hat twitched again, this time like someone shaking their head angrily. “Since when is this about fitting in, girlie? If I wanted to fit in, I would ask for a wash!”
Emalthya shifted awkwardly on the stool, remembering her first impression of the Hat.
“Trust me,” said the hat emphatically, “I have seen my fair share of worried students, more than anyone’s fair share, actually. If you go into Slytherin, they will use you up. You’re good-hearted. You should let someone else protect you, for once. Gryffindor is the place to find good allies.”
Emalthya couldn’t speak; her throat was closed with emotion. The Hat saw into her head and it didn’t mind what it saw there. It even thought she was worth protecting. Everyone always told her to change and that she wasn’t good enough. She wanted to cry.
The Hat must have sensed her approval, because it cried out, “GRYFFINDOR!”
The Hat was lifted off her head and Emalthya was startled to find herself in a room full of people. She had forgotten they were there and suddenly was worried that they had all heard what she and the Hat had said to each other. The teacher holding the hat nudged her towards the table clapping the loudest and she got to her feet stiffly and walked like a lead-limbed soldier doll to a spare space at the Gryffindor table.
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