Varun: The Sorting Hat Reminisces
I thought it would be interesting to explore the origins of the Sorting Hat—given that Sorting is pretty much the first Hogwarts experience any witch or wizard is exposed to, and also given the importance of the houses in the Harry Potter Universe. I thought about what I wanted to write for a few days—in the shower, while on the bus, and had a loose story in mind. I wrote the poem in one stretch—about one hour to write it, and another hour to tweak, check whether the rhyme scheme was consistent, and make small changes after reading it aloud.
So without further ado....
I sit on my throne, out of breath
As child after child, terrified as though death
Lines up for me to sort their fate
I sort and sort, the day grows late
But I toil on and on
Finally the last little runt is done,
And squeals, jumps, does run
Back with his lot to stuff his face
My my, these new ‘uns know not of pace
Now to rest, on and on
In His room, the chamber of power
I doze, hour upon dreamy hour
Everyone thinks I slumber for the rest of th’year
‘Tis not true, I see and quietly hear
Yes, I spy, on and on
I see and I learn, my choices evaluate
Even I make mistakes, even though I hate
To do so, I am but part man
Though this story I usually ban
But I’ll tell—so listen, on and on
Many years ago, I was but a poet
Not very good, but not did I know it
And I went to a battle, as often was held
Just in the next town, o’er valley and veldt
I walk’d unsuspecting, on and on
Battles of this sort were rather rare
Traveling wizards dueling, on a lark and a dare
To please the masses, the danger and the thrill
Of powerful magic, the sort that could kill
So I was keen, on and on
I was late, the crowd large, around a tent
Paid my fee, entered, stood behind a gent
With his wife, a witch, wearing an enormous hat
(I suppose you know where I’m going with that)
The wizards entered, on and on
First the usual: spells, potions, and tales
Of Fantastic places and creatures, all tough as nails
And then the finale, a dangerous fight
That would test their wits, quickness, and might
I watched transfixed, on and on
Like tigers they paced, round and round
Every now and then a clamorous sound
Of a spell blocked, then another hit true
The crowd gasped, clapped, in full view
Was great power, on and on
And then it happened, quick as a flash
All I heard was a tremendous crash
Fell on top of the witch with the enormous hat
Dizzy, strange, pain, but then that was that
The Sorting Hat was born, on and on
The wizards toiled and tried their best
To separate—the rest did jest
At how the wizards’ two spells had reflected
And me into the witch’s hat had deflected
Hat and I were one, on and on
He with the beard, wise, kind and fair
He with the piercing blue eyes and fuzzy hair
Picked me up and left, I too was keen
Grateful I was, the crowd grew mean
To Hogwarts, on and on
He poked and prodded, ran tests for hours
And soon realized that I had powers
Though reduced to the form of a hat
I was still part-poet, and far more than that
I could see into souls, on and on
So he used me to sort, as he used to himself
And far better was I—whether man, beast or elf
I could peer right within, into the spark
Deep in the psyche, where all else is dark
The spark of life, on and on
I like my work, ‘tis but in the year a day
Around me youth and joy, while my friends grow grey
I know not death, and change the fate
Of those I help—help make great
The Sorting Hat lives, on and on.
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