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Chapter 8: Hatstall
🕑 Added 2025-10-31 01:31:44 +0000 UTCChapter 8: Hatstall
In the vast, candle-lit Great Hall, every eye in the room turned to him.
Sean could see students from all four long tables craning their necks. At the staff table, amidst the gleaming golden plates and goblets, he saw the keen, interested gaze of Albus Dumbledore.
Trying his best to look as if he knew nothing at all, Sean walked to the stool and, with a gentle nod from Professor McGonagall, placed the Sorting Hat on his head.
I will teach the lot, and treat them just the same, he thought, silently reciting the words of Helga Hufflepuff, hoping the Hat would get the message.
"A commendable sentiment, young wizard," a small voice whispered in his ear. "Very few remember the words to the old Hat's songs. You wish to go to Hufflepuff? That is, of course… not an option."
Sean's mind went blank. …You could have just not answered.
Why not? Sean asked silently.
"Let the old Hat sing it again for you," the voice chirped. "Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind…" The Hat began to wiggle on his head as it sang.
"Mr. Sorting Hat?" Sean asked, clutching his head in confusion.
"Where those of wit and learning, will always find their kind…" the Hat continued, its singing punctuated by more wiggling.
"I want to go to Hufflepuff," Sean insisted, a dawning suspicion forming in his mind.
"For Ravenclaw, the cleverest would always be the best…"
"I want to go to Hufflepuff!" he repeated, a last, desperate attempt.
"Stubborn little wizard," the Hat sighed. "Why are you so set on Hufflepuff?"
"Why are you so set on Ravenclaw, Mr. Hat?" Sean countered.
"Hmph. Practicing magic for thirteen hours a day until you can barely move. Barely knowing your letters, yet you memorized every book you bought in the span of two months… Not since Rowena herself has the old Hat seen such a thirst for knowledge. Slytherin could help you realize your ambition. Gryffindor would admire your courage. Hufflepuff would welcome your kind heart."
The Hat's voice was filled with a sense of ancient gravity. "But only Ravenclaw can grant a wizard of your intellect the path to true understanding!"
"I want to go to Hufflepuff," Sean mumbled, his resolve crumbling.
"Alright, then," the Hat said unexpectedly.
Sean's emerald eyes lit up with hope.
"Just kidding," the voice boomed, suddenly becoming loud enough for the entire Hall to hear.
"RAVENCLAW!!!"
As a wave of disappointment washed over him, Sean took the Hat off and gave its brim a sharp, frustrated squeeze.
"Ouch! Ow-ow-ow-ow…" the Hat yelped, though only he could hear it. The sound made him feel slightly better.
He didn't hear the Hat's final, private thoughts as he walked away.
"…Heh. Just like her, right to the end. Rowena, you always used to squeeze the old Hat just as hard when you were annoyed… Twelve centuries… The old Hat has finally fulfilled its promise to Godric. An heir for Ravenclaw has been found at last. Just you watch. Great power lies dormant in that small, frail body. The old Hat is never wrong."
Ravenclaw is fine, Sean told himself numbly. At least it's not Slytherin.
Before he had even handed the Sorting Hat back to Professor McGonagall, a wave of enthusiastic applause erupted from the Ravenclaw table. He saw applause coming from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables as well. Looking over, he saw Justin standing on the bench, leading a large contingent of Hufflepuffs in a thunderous ovation just for him.
The sight somehow made him feel even worse.
Such wonderful, supportive Hufflepuffs! Such a wicked, wicked Sorting Hat!
In the center of the Hall, Professor McGonagall looked at Sean with a gentle expression. The pilling, second-hand robes were gone, replaced by the crisp, black robes of Hogwarts. The ill-fitting shoes had been swapped for smart leather boots. The cautious, wary look in his emerald eyes was now replaced by a spark of hope for the future.
She took the Hat from him. "Are you ready, Mr. Green? To begin your new life."
Sean stood frozen for a second before Professor McGonagall gave him a soft, guiding push toward the Ravenclaw table.
"Welcome!"
As he found a seat, a slightly chubby boy next to him waved excitedly. "I can't believe it! You're a Hatstall!"
A pair of curious eyes peered at him from behind large, bronze-rimmed glasses. The boy started to extend a hand in greeting, but his glasses began to slip down his nose. His hand shot up to adjust them, and he ended up fumbling awkwardly and apologizing profusely to Sean.
"A Hatstall?" Sean asked, his own large eyes full of confusion.
"Oh, Merlin! You don't know!" the boy gasped.
"Terry, not everyone spends their time researching that tatty old hat," a voice said from behind him. A boy with long, dark hair was looking on with an exasperated but friendly expression.
"Don't mind him," the dark-haired boy said to Sean. "Terry is obsessed with obscure trivia. When I sat down, the first thing he asked me was how many windows there are in Hogwarts. Merlin, who cares about something like that? Unless they all fell out at once and landed on Terry while he was trying to count them, of course."
"Hey! Windows are important!" the boy named Terry protested, his face turning red.
"Alright, alright," the other boy said placatingly, before turning back to Sean with interest. "A Hatstall. It means a student who is a difficult case for the Sorting Hat. It's for anyone whose Sorting takes longer than five minutes. It's incredibly rare. They say it only happens once every fifty years or so. I'm Michael Corner, by the way. Welcome to Ravenclaw."
He held out his hand.
Sean was even more confused. Longer than five minutes? But I'm sure it was only a moment… It was as if something had stolen the time.
"Sean Green," he said, shaking Michael's hand.
After the last student was Sorted into Slytherin, Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all gathered together.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you."
As he spoke, Terry was furiously scribbling in a notebook, while Michael wore an expression that clearly said, "I knew he'd say something like that."
Sean paid them no mind. Because before him, the empty golden plates had magically filled with food.
Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, apple pies, treacle tart, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding…
It was all there, exactly as he had read.
Operation: Refuel begins, Sean said to himself.
He immediately activated what could only be described as "full-clearing mode."
"How," Michael asked the student on his other side, his mouth agape, "is it possible for someone to eat that fast and still be so elegant?"
