THE SORTING HAT
Hermione whisper, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I
read about it in Hogwarts, A History.”
It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the
Great Hall didn’t simply open on to the heavens.
Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall
silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top
of the stool she put a pointed wizard’s hat. This hat was patched
and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t have let it in
the house.
Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought
wildly, that seemed the sort of thing — noticing that everyone in
the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few
seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip
near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to
sing:
“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,
But don’t judge on what you see,
I’ll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There’s nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can’t see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
117