The sorting hat was bored. 'What is the point,' It thought, 'of being a hat? That's the real question here.' Sure, its poetic skills were great. That was worth living for, except for the day he was placed upon the head of that boy, Snape. In the world of hats, Snape was known as a disgrace. The boy's head was far too greasy. But what do you know; the sorting hat was forced (with trouble, of course,) to perch on his hair. And for a while too! Snape had so much going on in his head; that the hat had sat there for five whole minutes until deciding upon Slytherin. But the greasy head of Severus Snape was another story. The story now is the one which tells of the sorting hats poetic skills. 'Why am I referred to as the sorting hat? I mean, sure, I do the sorting, but still, I need a proper name.' And with that, it decided. Its new name would be O'Bryan.

And so, we may begin again. O'Bryan was bored, until Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore walked in. It was important to say his whole name, as to the fact that if you don't, who knows what Albus you're talking about? Percival? Wulfric? Brian? Dumbledore?

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore picked up O'Bryan. "What have you been doing, my dear sorting hat? Have you thought about a new song to sing to me as I fall asleep?" "Please, refer to me as O'Bryan from now on. Sir, may I call you Alby?" Alby looked flattered. "Why yes O'Bryan, you may. Now, about that song? It is getting late, and I would rather appreciate a lullaby." "Of course, Alby. May I sing it to you now?" Alby considered it for a moment, in which the Sorting hat cursed his mouth, and tried desperately to come up with a song that currently didn't exist. Finally, Alby spoke. "My apologies, but I would like to try out the new Bubble bath Professor McGonagall gave me earlier. O'Bryan quietly sighed with relief as Alby left to the room of requirement. Now, to think of a song.

After what seemed like hours, Alby finally came out of the room, smelling suspiciously of lemons. O'Bryan was angry. For some reason, lemons always made him feel that way. "Sir, what was the bubble bath scented like?" Alby grinned. "Why, it was my very favourite scent. He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a bottle. "Lemon drops." Now please, I want my song." He tossed the bottle aside, (which Fawkes caught,) and lay down in his bed. O'Bryan took a deep breath, (or as deep as a hat can take,) and started singing.

Twinkle, twinkle, little lemon

Lemons live in place called Emon.

Up above the night sky,

There is a satellite in the sky.

Tracking Emon's every move,

That is why they live in doom.

O'Bryan finished dramatically, with a little bow from the top of his head, then looked over. Alby was asleep.