I'd hate for you to think I was evil. No really, I would. I know my habits of wearing long high collared cloaks, painting my nails black, and killing young girls might single me out as a "bad guy". I received my call up letter to Hogwarts while at home after I had slain all my family in a particularly evil moment. Not that I'm evil. Remember that.

You will know what happens from that well known account of the wizard with a facial disfiguration or 'scar' (not that that's much of a scar. I've known people with scars that run the length of an entire body and still ooze every now and then. I know those scars well, I made them. Not that I'm evil). We were shuttled through the hall with the moving sky and our bearded headmaster rambled on about something or other. I wasn't actually listening because I saw a lovely candelabra and was attempting to shove it into the pocket of my robes. I have a spot of kleptomania you understand. It's not an issue per se, more a...habit. I just like to take pretty things. However I should have taken the candles out of the candelabra first because while attempting to push it into my pocket, I set my robes on fire.

It turns out running up and down the length of the Great Hall screaming 'POUR WATER ON ME' isn't the best way to start your academic life as a wizard.

Anyway, we had the meal, someone or other attempted to speak to me. I stared them off unblinkingly, hoping that the fierce gaze would detract from the scent of burnt robe, and then Beardy Headmaster announced we were going to be sorted into houses by a hat. A hat. A choice of headwear was going to announce where we would live for the rest of our academic lives. I always knew the magic folk were a bit dotty, but this was truly beserk. Ah well. They called my name and I approached slowly, staring off the giggles from the pathetic girls who thought accidental fire-setting was a hoot.

The hat was lowered. I could hear a voice, that only I could hear. 'Alright mate?' said the hat. 'I thought you would be a bit grander than 'mate'', I said scathingly, concentrating on sending ice through my every syllable. 'You are supposed to be the herald of our destiny.'

'You alright mate?' the hat chirpily replied.

'I'm fine.'

'You sound a bit nasal is all. Could do with some of that olbas oil. Very good for snuffly noses.'

'I'm fine.'

'Sure?'

'YES.'

'Could get some Aloe Vera?'

'Please concentrate on the task of sorting me. I know it must be very difficult to place such a person as I, but I'm sure you are up to the job. Get on with it.' The hat sighed - can a hat sigh? But it did. It sighed.

'I've known where you're meant to be the second I touched your head' he (she?) said.

'I'm glad you agree. Send me on then. Send me to my rightful house.'

The hat took a second. It seemed almost to quiver.

'Are you alright?' I asked, slightly concerned that the hat would die on my head.

'It isn't easy doing this all the time you know. Projecting. I never trained for the theatre and every year they expect me to shout out a good twenty, thirty names. I'm worried I'll lose my voice.'

The hat paused.

'But you need to get on.'

'Please.' I said, in my iciest tone yet, trying hard to reduce the nasality.

'On we go champ!' the hat said, 'HUFFLEPUFF!'