sfftmom: floor 2--the lustful

As the door opened to the second floor hallway, Albus and Snape were met with the sight of a familiar old and worn hat set atop a wooden stool.

“The Sorting Hat?”

“Potter, do not be ridiculous; the Sorting Hat is at Hogwarts, and will remain so indefinitely.  This is the brother of that Sorting Hat, cut from the same material, but ordained for a different purpose.”  Albus had a retort ready on his tongue, but thought better of it at the last second.  If getting through this--whatever it was--was the only way to get home, he would be hopelessly lost without Snape’s guidance, no matter how unpleasant.  As if he had understood Albus’ thoughts, Snape quickly glanced over and then looked away again, the corner of his mouth curling slightly.  As they stepped forward, the Sorting Hat began to sing:

I am the Sorting Hat of Magical Hell

Singing the tunes you know all too well

Transposed into a dissonant key--

Get used to knowing this version of me.

Take care and heed, o reckless stranger

For you’re well past the point of danger

Watch your thoughts, and take no bait

Or you may be sealing your own fate.

For I will search you through and through

Discovering the depths of you

Until a judgment I can find

Condemning a level for your mind.

   

“What does it mean?”

“Weren’t you listening, Potter?  To put it in abundantly simple terms for you, it searches each person’s mind in order to determine the floor to which they need to be sent for their crimes.”  Turning to the Sorting Hat, Snape commanded, “You will allow us to pass.  Mr. Potter needs to see the full depth of the darkness of this Ministry.”  With that, he strode past the Sorting Hat and through the next doorway.

As soon as Albus stepped into the room, his knees began to quiver and his palms began to sweat profusely.  For in the opposite corner of the room stood the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.  She had whitish-gold hair and a face that shone like starlight.  He had to do something spectacular, something daring.  What could possibly be good enough?  Perhaps if he were to grab her and break out of this place, then--

“Potter!  Don’t be such an idiot!  You’re falling for her veela charms--I can see it in your mind!”

With a snap, Albus realized that there were, in fact, other people in the room.  He flushed an admirable shade of crimson.  The starlight lady strutted up to him.

“Ahh, and what eez your name?  You must be a relative of ‘arry Potter!”

“Um, well . . . er . . . he’s my father,” stammered Albus, still very warm.

“Ah, so zat makes you my nephew!  I am Fleur Delacour; in my lifetime, I was married to your uncle, Bill Weasley.”
    Vaguely, Albus began to recall some of the stories told by his Weasley relatives--many happy memories to be sure, but also many of exasperation.  Feeling exceedingly awkward, he mustered, “Why are you here?”

“Zis eez ze circle of ze lustful.  I was never unfaithful to Bill, but unfortunately, I did cause ze lust of many others.  Eet seems to ‘ave been a talent of mine.  ‘Ence, I am ‘ere, where all ze delicious food in ze world turns sour or bitter een my mouth, all ze joys of normal life are turned to sorrows, and all of my dreams turn to nightmares.  For zat eez ‘ow lust eez for ze lustful--all ze anticipation, only to lead to disappointment.”

As Albus nodded, another girl, probably a few years his senior, ran up to him.  “Harry?  Is it really you?  Oh how I’ve longed to see you.”

Albus stepped back as he explained, “Oh, no--you must be confusing me with my father.”

With an odd expression, the girl drew closer.  “Oh, is that so?  How strange.  Well I’m Romilda Vane.  You see, we knew each other at Hogwarts, your father and I.  Once I even slipped him a love potion in his chocolates because I was so enamored with him.”  She giggled annoyingly.  “I was sure it would work, and then he would be all mine.  But the prat gave them to old Ron Weasley instead.”  As Romilda looked off into the distance nostalgically, giggling every so often, Albus backed away, anxious to leave as quickly as possible.