The Sorting Hat was exhausted. Really, when were people going to realize it wasn't meant for this kind of work? Retrieving swords out of thin air, now that was real magic. Not just choosing (often arbitrarily) what house first years belonged in. It was beneath him. It really was.

Nonetheless, year after year it was carted out, dusted off, and sat on an honorary stool. Really. A stool. In all this time you'd think somebody would have realized that the great Sorting Hat deserved a throne, but nope. Just a stool. And did anybody check those mangy kids before they walked up and rudely stuck the Hat on their heads? No, of course not. Nobody cared if the Sorting Hat contracted lice.

Still, it realized, looking out at the new crop of 1st years. There were less of them than usual. The ridiculous Baby Boom that had occurred right after Voldemort's defeat must finally be slowing down. Thank goodness. Last year had been dreadful. Almost an hour straight of being stuck on peoples heads.

"Finnigan, Lavender!" was the first name called out. A short, somewhat pudgy blond girl with bulging blue eyes skipped up and gleefully plopped the hat on her head.

It had been many years since the Sorting Hat had encountered a brain like hers. Many peaceful, wonderful years. . .

Wrackspurt! Hippogriffs don't really exist, do they? How are the candles floating? Candles are so pretty. Their wax can be used just like a bingerton's venom to help with wounds. Not many people know that.

The Sorting Hat couldn't think. What was a Wrackspurt? Or a hippogriff? Or a bingerton????

It's okay. The girl thought. My mum was in Ravenclaw and my father was in Gryffindor. You can just pick one of those.

The truth was, Gryffindor was all filled up, and though the Sorting Hat would love to get back at that most obnoxious of all houses with a little crazy, it could already spot two more red-heads among the 1st years, and knew it would have to give yet more spots to the Weasley Brood.

"Ravenclaw!" It announced, and the girl happily skipped off --- still wearing him on her head! Disgraceful! Headmistress McGonagall had to step in and rescue him. No respect, really, none at all. . .

"Malfoy, Scorpius!"

"Slytherin!" the hat screamed. The boy paused, only halfway down the aisle.

"Don't I have to. . .try it on?" he asked. McGonagall gave the Sorting Hat a very irate look.

Fine. Let the kid try him on. Last name was Malfoy, it wasn't like there was much doubt where he was going.

But this boy was different. There was a shyness and goodness to him. . .he really wasn't ambitious at all. . .nor sneaky. . .

"Why," the Sorting Hat whispered, "you seem to be a Hufflepuff."

Oh, no. . . the boy thought. Dad's going to kill me.

"Would you rather be in Slytherin?"

It's not that. . .it's just. . .Father would disown me. Where would I go during the breaks?

"Very well, then, for your own well-being.. .and because they're sorely lacking in numbers . . .SLYTERHIN!!!!"

A few more names were called until finally

"Potter, Albus!"

The Sorting Hat perked up. Potters were always interesting, at least. He'd had a fondness for them since that Harry chap had engaged in interesting conversation with him. Of course, the eldest son was a bit of a fop – even now the hat could see him flirting with about seven different girls at the Gryffindor table.

Hmm, the Hat mused. A very gentle soul. . .perhaps Hufflepuff? But that thirst for knowledge is so Ravenclaw. A determination worthy of Slytherin, but courage belonging only to a Gryffindor. You are a puzzle, boy.

"If you please," Albus whispered. "I'd rather not be in Gryffindor. I mean, my whole family is there. . ."

True enough, of the forty-two students currently in Gryffindor, twenty were Weasley's, and one was a Potter-Weasley. And, what horror the Hat could not imagine, but it had heard that two more Weasley's were on the way.

It does get a bit incestuous over there. Well, then, if you don't mind. . .it's not a very popular House nowadays, and could really use a few more students. . .

"Slytherin!"

Albus' shoulders sank as he trudged away from the hat. "I'd hoped it would say Ravenclaw," he confided to his cousin, Rose.

The names were winding down, finally, and the Hat was looking forward to a much-needed rest.

"Weasley, Rose,"

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat screamed. "For the love of God, she's a Weasley!"

"Well, honestly," Rose stuck her nose up in the air. "It's fine, Headmistress," she said, as McGonagall looked about ready to throttle the hat. "I understand. After all, of the two hundred and twelve Weasley's who have attended this fine institution, only one wasn't a Gryffindor, and that was because he was secretly a Squib."

With those words, she marched, back held high, to the Gryffindor table, where she was promptly squashed by a sea of red hair and freckles.

The Sorting Hat thought it was done. Of course it did. What, after all, could come after the Weasley?

"Zabini, Shawn!"

A being of perfect beauty walked toward the Sorting Hat, and placed it on its beautiful head.

You're pretty, the Sorting Hat thought, rather stupidly.

"I am aware of that."

Are you part veela?

"Not a bit."

Well, you're arrogant enough for SLytherin. . .

"That's fine with me."

But you would be overshadowed there by Malfoy and Potter.

"Are you serious?" Zabini asked.

So I will put you in. .

"HUFFLEPUFF! So your beauty shines through."

"Rubbish!" Zabini said, throwing the Sorting Hat on the floor. "Hufflepuffs are for losers!"

"Cedric Diggory, the biggest hunk Hogwarts has ever known was in Hufflepuff," McGonagall said gently. Zabini didn't look much comforted while heading toward the Hufflepuff Table. The students already seated, for their parts, didn't look too enthused at the new arrival.

The Sorting Hat sighed as the last students took their place, and it was forgotten yet again.