Chapter Text
The Sorting Hat has encountered many different types of children in its career of sorting. Some have such little personality that it's near impossible to choose where they should go because of their lack of desires. Others have incredibly polarized viewpoints instilled by their families which make it easy to place them. An even smaller subset always manage to wedge themselves between houses in such a way that the Hat has to pick one and pray. The Hat has been surprised many times in the past, and expects to be surprised for many years to come. There are so many surprising children that encountering them has become paradoxically mundane for the Hat.
The staff began calling the more difficult placements ‘Hatstall’ some hundred years back, or was it two hundred? What's a year or two to a hat anyway?
So when the Headmistress Niamh places the Hat upon the head of the most Slytherin appearing child it's ever laid eyes on, it comes with both much and little shock, when the young lad throws a wrench in its plan to shout ‘Slytherin!’ immediately.
‘Don't sort me yet! Please! Please hesitate! Can I make a request?!’
The young man is older than most new students at Hogwarts. A Transfer student old enough to be in Year 2. At least that's what the boy's enrolled as in the student register, there's no school listed where it would say he's transferred from. Most outside observers would assume he was homeschooled or had a personal tutor, but there's no record of the boy having a wizarding bloodline either. How curious.
The hat takes too long to respond so the boy snaps. ‘Damnation. I will do anything within reason! Just don't stick me in the House full of blood purists! I won't survive a week, let alone reach graduation.’
The Hat makes a show of mulling his decision over for the crowd of onlookers, flapping its brim and stirring up the boy's unkempt black hair in the process. ‘I see your trouble boy. Honestly, I do. I see the hallmarks of a hungry orphan in the foundation of your values. Such a creature wouldn't do well amongst those ignorant to struggle and starvation.’
The boy's pale fingers clench the ill-fitting student robes draped over his knees. ‘You don't sound very convinced.’
‘Very astute of you boy! I can't seem to pin down a place to put you instead, and I keep finding more reasons to place you amongst your cunning kin.’
The boy takes a deep, centering breath. ‘My name is Sunless, not boy.' Sunless, and what an ominous name for a mere boy to have, glances to the table to his far right. He stares intently at the red banners above. 'Gryffindor works as a catch-all doesn't it? Anyone can say they're brave when they want to be.’
The Hat almost laughs at the audacious claim, Godric would have many choice words for young Sunless were he alive to hear this. ‘Oh misguided child. A Gyffindor would sooner perish than compromise on their values, and we both know you'd drop yours for a slice of half mouldering bread.’
Sunless shifts his gaze over to the blue banners abruptly. ‘Then Ravenclaw! Knowledge is power! Pretending to be chivalrous would've been exhausting anyway.’
The Hat gives the boy a light flap on the cheek in reprimand. ‘You would also rather use knowledge as a tool to combat your enemies. Not very open minded of you is it?’
‘If I can't join a house because I don't fit in with these arbitrary descriptions, then I can't be a Slytherin either!’ Sunless is practically sweating out of sheer stress by now.
The Hat isn't sure what the boy means. It sees the child's core beliefs laid bare, if not in perfect detail, then at least close to it while still maintaining his privacy. ‘I see your treacherous machinations child. You value your own wits and the ability to reach your yet unattained goals above all other things. You find the idea of honor meaningless, and would rather end an altercation unscathed if in a dishonorable manner. Where is the flaw in my logic? All I can see is a cunning Slytherin, through and through.’
This is a slight lie, there is another quality that burns brightly within the boy. The Hat merely wishes to see if Sunless recognizes it in himself yet.
Something that sounds like doubt, but isn't, enters the boy's inner dialog. ‘A Slytherin is supposed to be Ambitious, right?’
The Hat traces the shape of Sunless’ dreams, for all that it can't actually read them. ‘Yes. You certainly value your goals as an ambitious person would.’ This isn't quite the avenue of thought the Hat was hoping for.
‘But Sir Sorting Hat, all I want in life is to live a peaceful life, free of worries. Such as where my next meal may come from, or if I'll have shelter for the coming winter.’ The boy's voice takes on an insidiously innocent quality. It's the type of diction that can turn even the honest truth into a blatant lie. Sadly, the Hat knows that the boy isn't lying. ‘I don't hold a single ambitious bone in my body.’
An unexpected counter! How unique, surprising, and completely average! ‘Seems I'll have to go with the second option then.’
‘Ravenclaw?’
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
In the midst of the Hufflepuff tables’ delayed and confused applause, the Hat explains itself to the boy. ‘I can already tell you're a curious young lad, ready to explore and understand your environment, even beyond what's necessary for survival. A great trait for a Hufflepuff finder.’
‘But aren't Hufflepuffs all about-?’
‘Loyalty? Yes. It's why this house was my second choice at first. You've only sworn allegiance to a single other person in your life at the moment. Great powers at work save any poor fool that places their hopes on you, it'd be a lifetime commitment.’
Even so, the Hat can see what young Sunless’ loyalty means to him. If the boy is willing to throw away his own principles for a scrap of food, then he's willing to give his whole life for those that place their honest faith in him.
It is the most fearsome loyalty it's ever seen.
Just as the Headmistress Niamh grabs the point of the Sorting Hat to pull it away, and continue the ceremony, it leaves one last nugget of wisdom with the boy. ‘A true Hufflepuff is loyal to their last breath, but that doesn't mean they give out that type of devotion to anyone that asks. It often needs to be earned first. Good luck young Sunless.’
The Hat is taken away and watches the young boy make a valiant but misguided attempt to sit away from his peers in a more vacant section of his new house's table. Only for a gregarious young lady in a walking chair to move over to sit beside him, and begin badgering him. The Hat thinks to itself, ‘I hope to sort that sister of his when she comes of age. Merlin save our staff who will try to stop him from going to her in the meantime.’
Helga should count her lucky stars in the great beyond. Having that boy in her house would've been her greatest privilege and nightmare. The dubious honor will have to go to Professor Rackham instead.