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From the Diaries of Minerva McGonagall, September 17, 1952

Dear Diary—

There’s a new student who I want to help. Her name is Pomona Sprout.

My role as a prefect requires that I greet and assist first-year students when they arrive at Hogwarts. This is the second year I’ve been a prefect, and it is one of my favourite parts of the job. I love watching all of those delighted and giddy faces as the young students walk into the Great Hall for the first time. They look so young! I never felt like I looked that young, when I was eleven. I felt very grown up, and I suppose they must as well.

They all got Sorted, of course, but there was one girl who, after she was sorted into Hufflepuff, looked like she was going to cry. She started to walk towards the Hufflepuff table, and then she paused and walked towards me instead.

She asked me how to find the lavatory. She was quite sniffly at this point, so I led her out of the Great Hall and walked with her, to make sure she found it. I learned that her name was Pomona Sprout, and then I asked if she wanted to talk about why she was crying.

“I don’t want to be a Hufflepuff,” she said. “I want to be clever and brave.”

“You can be clever and brave,” I told her. “Plenty of Hufflepuffs are.”

“Sure they are,” she said. “But the cleverest go to Ravenclaw and the bravest go to Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff takes what’s left over.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “Hufflepuffs are loyal friends and hard workers.”

“They have to work twice as hard because they can’t get it right the first time,” Pomona cried. “That’s what my dad says.”

I hadn’t thought until then about how lucky I was to have a Muggle father, and to have grown up in the Muggle world. To me, everything about Hogwarts was magic. I didn’t know what Hufflepuff or Gryffindor meant. I could just as easily have grown up in a family that told me what to expect and who they wanted me to become.

“I’m going to tell you something,” I said. “I’m a Gryffindor. But I’m also one of the cleverest witches of my year. I’m the only registered Animagus in my year, and I won the Transfiguration Today Most Promising Newcomer award.”

“Why’d you get sorted into Gryffindor, then?” Pomona asked.

“Sorting isn’t about what you’re not,” I explained. “It’s about what you are. I didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor because I wasn’t clever enough to be in Ravenclaw. I got sorted into Gryffindor because I was clever—and maybe because I was the only witch in my year brave enough to hold a mandrake leaf in my mouth for an entire month.”

“Oh, I love mandrakes,” Pomona said. “They’re so cute when they smile.”

“I’ve never seen a mandrake smile,” I said. “Only scream.”

“You have to talk to them the right way,” she said. “Like calming a baby.”

“If you can calm a mandrake you’re the cleverest and bravest witch in your year already,” I said.

Then I told Pomona that if she had any trouble with her schoolwork, she could ask me for help. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to work twice as hard, not when there could be an easier way to learn the material. 

Pomona agreed, and after she dried her eyes and washed her face, I led her back to the Great Hall and she joined the Hufflepuff table. I’m going to watch out for her, this year. I hope she knows that she can come to me at any time—and that she sees me not only as a tutor, but also as a friend.

Yours faithfully,

Minerva

Previously in The Diaries of Minerva McGonagall

FINALLY SOME SANE COMMENTARY ON SORTING. DID YOU LIKE THIS?