Jameson Leo Potter had made it to Hogwarts, had waited with a mix of anxiety and enthusiasm for the moment before him now. His sorting fell before Gideon's, but long after Zackary's, somewhere towards the middle of the horde of young students. That was good, at least: no nerves about going first, no agony of going last.
Though he had been warned that the Hat would speak to him—within his very mind—knowing and experiencing were two different things altogether; the lad started slightly when the first words came through. Jameson was determined that his answers should be the correct ones, and was rather off-put that the questions posed by the Hat seemed not to have an immediate right answer. It couldn't send you home for horrible answers, could it?
"Describe yourself in three words."
My uncle says that I am reliable, Jameson began. How could one distill an entire human being down to a mere three words? And my aunt tells me often that I am kind. I would like to think that I am clever, though I suppose, he finished with a wry smile, that we'll see how true that is soon enough.
He had taken early to books, to academic pursuits, and his more... rambunctious decisions were often encouraged by those around him, rather than taken spontaneously.
"Would you rather be able to change into an animal, change your appearance, or see the future?"
I think it would be horrible, knowing what was going to happen, the boy decided quite emphatically. He thought of his mother, his father, both dead before they were three-and-twenty. Imagine knowing you were to live such a short life, and having that looming over you for years? Or seeing your future and not liking what you saw? No thank-you, foresight of the magical sort was not for Jameson.
I don't know if I would like to change into an animal either, he added, but it seems a much more pleasant way to live.
"If you could invent a potion, what would it do?"
The young wizard searched his mind for the relatively short list of potions of which he was already aware. After all, it would not do to present the Hat with an idea that someone else had already come up with! Inventors were supposed to be radical, creative, make real change in the world. That was why those that actually accomplished things were so often those with time on their hands: how else where they supposed to make such creations?
I know there are potions that bring sleep—what about a potion to replace sleep? Think of all the time you might have to do whatever interests you if you didn't have to sleep? Someone could become really good at quidditch as they'd have more hours to practice, or a healer could come up with cures for the diseases that still remain!
Imagine you see someone cheat in class. What do you do?
Not really my business, was the thought that came immediately to mind, but Jammy knew that that couldn't be the correct answer. He was supposed to answer that he would... stand up to injustice? Or at the very least, tell a professor.
I would, I think, he began carefully, "tell the professor—privately, though, so as not to embarrass anyone. Or make himself look like a tattle-tale.
"Who is your enemy and how will you defeat them?"
Somehow, this caused the longest consideration in the lad. He had to conclude, though, I don't have an enemy; I'm only eleven!
Though he had been warned that the Hat would speak to him—within his very mind—knowing and experiencing were two different things altogether; the lad started slightly when the first words came through. Jameson was determined that his answers should be the correct ones, and was rather off-put that the questions posed by the Hat seemed not to have an immediate right answer. It couldn't send you home for horrible answers, could it?
My uncle says that I am reliable, Jameson began. How could one distill an entire human being down to a mere three words? And my aunt tells me often that I am kind. I would like to think that I am clever, though I suppose, he finished with a wry smile, that we'll see how true that is soon enough.
He had taken early to books, to academic pursuits, and his more... rambunctious decisions were often encouraged by those around him, rather than taken spontaneously.
I think it would be horrible, knowing what was going to happen, the boy decided quite emphatically. He thought of his mother, his father, both dead before they were three-and-twenty. Imagine knowing you were to live such a short life, and having that looming over you for years? Or seeing your future and not liking what you saw? No thank-you, foresight of the magical sort was not for Jameson.
I don't know if I would like to change into an animal either, he added, but it seems a much more pleasant way to live.
The young wizard searched his mind for the relatively short list of potions of which he was already aware. After all, it would not do to present the Hat with an idea that someone else had already come up with! Inventors were supposed to be radical, creative, make real change in the world. That was why those that actually accomplished things were so often those with time on their hands: how else where they supposed to make such creations?
I know there are potions that bring sleep—what about a potion to replace sleep? Think of all the time you might have to do whatever interests you if you didn't have to sleep? Someone could become really good at quidditch as they'd have more hours to practice, or a healer could come up with cures for the diseases that still remain!
Not really my business, was the thought that came immediately to mind, but Jammy knew that that couldn't be the correct answer. He was supposed to answer that he would... stand up to injustice? Or at the very least, tell a professor.
I would, I think, he began carefully, "tell the professor—privately, though, so as not to embarrass anyone. Or make himself look like a tattle-tale.
Somehow, this caused the longest consideration in the lad. He had to conclude, though, I don't have an enemy; I'm only eleven!