Post by Ashlyn Swallow G5 on May 20, 2020 12:13:25 GMT -5
“Slytherin,” the Hat muses, “or perhaps Ravenclaw. Either would suit you well. There's drive and ambition in you, a desire to learn, although perhaps that's because you've already begun to understand the importance of knowledge more than because of a true love of learning. You would find a place to call your own in either House, with people to smooth those rough edges of yours. Slytherin, I think; they’ll know best what to do with you and you could do very well there.”
Ashlyn is glad, then, that the Sorting Hat is so ridiculously large that it flops over her forehead and casts a shadow over her expression. She hasn’t long turned eleven, being one of the youngest students in her year, but she has waited patiently for her name to be called out - Swallow, Ashlyn falling far enough down the list that her feet had almost grown sore and tired from standing around so long - and it's bittersweet to hear the Hat confirm the things that she thinks she already knows about herself. She can picture herself in green and silver; she has the blood, the upbringing, and more importantly she has the mindset, but she had made a deal with her parents and so Slytherin isn't an option. Neither is Ravenclaw unfortunately, if only because Ashlyn hadn’t thought so far ahead as to put it on the table to see if it would be dismissed. She has never thought of herself as particularly studious - she will study what she enjoys and suffer through the things she doesn't, but she doesn’t have a particular love of learning beyond, as the Hat has said, the value of knowing things that others do not (which strikes her as rather Slytherin in and of itself).
“Gryffindor,” Ashlyn insists silently as she neatly packs away any thoughts of joining the House that would seem to suit her most. The Sorting Hat tries to protest and Ashlyn sighs, blonde lashes falling shut over blue eyes as she sits otherwise perfectly still on the stool at the front of the Great Hall, hands folded neatly in her lap and feet tucked primly to one side. She has been bounced from relative to relative, raised primarily by house-elves and tutors since her uncle passed away, but she is a child of pureblood society and her parents have shown her off at events as and when required before returning her to whatever relative she’s living with at the time, like a doll they no longer care to look at until she’s once again useful. There are two things in life that Ashlyn knows better than anything else: manners and music. “The wand may always choose the witch but there are times when the witch needs to choose her own House,” she tells the Hat firmly, because ancient magic or not, Ashlyn will not be ordered about by a piece of headwear when there's so much to be gained by getting her own way. She will live caged for seven years if there's the promise of freedom afterwards. Seven years is only slightly less than the total of her entire life so far but she has to trust that the sacrifice will be worth the eventual reward.
“This will not be an easy path for you to tread,” the Hat warns solemnly. “Your type of courage is not often appreciated by GRYFFINDOR.” The proclamation makes Ashlyn exhale shakily, bitter triumph welling in her chest as she reaches a hand to remove the Hat for the next person in line. “Slytherin may be poorer for the lack of you,” it murmurs in the seconds before her fingers make contact with the brim, which is, Ashlyn thinks for years afterwards, possibly the nicest sentiment that has ever been expressed to her. She’s never been told before that her absence could have a negative impact in any way. Usually it’s her presence that causes the issues.
Ashlyn is glad, then, that the Sorting Hat is so ridiculously large that it flops over her forehead and casts a shadow over her expression. She hasn’t long turned eleven, being one of the youngest students in her year, but she has waited patiently for her name to be called out - Swallow, Ashlyn falling far enough down the list that her feet had almost grown sore and tired from standing around so long - and it's bittersweet to hear the Hat confirm the things that she thinks she already knows about herself. She can picture herself in green and silver; she has the blood, the upbringing, and more importantly she has the mindset, but she had made a deal with her parents and so Slytherin isn't an option. Neither is Ravenclaw unfortunately, if only because Ashlyn hadn’t thought so far ahead as to put it on the table to see if it would be dismissed. She has never thought of herself as particularly studious - she will study what she enjoys and suffer through the things she doesn't, but she doesn’t have a particular love of learning beyond, as the Hat has said, the value of knowing things that others do not (which strikes her as rather Slytherin in and of itself).
“Gryffindor,” Ashlyn insists silently as she neatly packs away any thoughts of joining the House that would seem to suit her most. The Sorting Hat tries to protest and Ashlyn sighs, blonde lashes falling shut over blue eyes as she sits otherwise perfectly still on the stool at the front of the Great Hall, hands folded neatly in her lap and feet tucked primly to one side. She has been bounced from relative to relative, raised primarily by house-elves and tutors since her uncle passed away, but she is a child of pureblood society and her parents have shown her off at events as and when required before returning her to whatever relative she’s living with at the time, like a doll they no longer care to look at until she’s once again useful. There are two things in life that Ashlyn knows better than anything else: manners and music. “The wand may always choose the witch but there are times when the witch needs to choose her own House,” she tells the Hat firmly, because ancient magic or not, Ashlyn will not be ordered about by a piece of headwear when there's so much to be gained by getting her own way. She will live caged for seven years if there's the promise of freedom afterwards. Seven years is only slightly less than the total of her entire life so far but she has to trust that the sacrifice will be worth the eventual reward.
“This will not be an easy path for you to tread,” the Hat warns solemnly. “Your type of courage is not often appreciated by GRYFFINDOR.” The proclamation makes Ashlyn exhale shakily, bitter triumph welling in her chest as she reaches a hand to remove the Hat for the next person in line. “Slytherin may be poorer for the lack of you,” it murmurs in the seconds before her fingers make contact with the brim, which is, Ashlyn thinks for years afterwards, possibly the nicest sentiment that has ever been expressed to her. She’s never been told before that her absence could have a negative impact in any way. Usually it’s her presence that causes the issues.
