Author's Note: I am crazy. It's a known fact now. What drove me to write this, I do not know. But oh well. This fic was supposed to be about the Sorting Hat — his thoughts and stuff. But, as you can see from the abrupt subject change, that it turned out to be the Sorting Hat's thoughts on the current Headmaster — which should be pretty obvious as Albus Dumbledore. Don't ask. I don't even know if there is an answer.
"Zepher, Coryn" was sorted into Hufflypuff. And, as quickly as I had been let out, I was put back in. Back inside the little cupboard in the Headmaster's office. Tucked away for use another year. To sing my song and sort the lot.
Which reminded me. I should get started on the new song. Ah, but it gets harder and harder with every year. My songs were getting repetitive. And I don't like to bore my audience. Granted, the first years would hang on my every word, but I can catch the older students growing uninterested.
But not now. I'll get to the song later.
If I had a head, it would be throbbing. So many thoughts were racing around that I was tempted to use the Headmaster's Pensieve. But no. I would not move unless moved. Speak unless spoken to. The only rays of light would come from the cracks in the cupboard's doors.
Every now and then the Headmaster would open it, cast me a kind smile and speak to me. As if I were an equal. As if I were human. Not some ratty old Sorting Hat. He'd ask me how I was. Make small talk and there. I had to hand it to the old man. It was not easy to make conversation with a hat, but he did it everyday. Sometimes he'd leave the doors open so I can glance around the office.
I was really rather fond of this Headmaster. No other had treated me like an equal — or any other living objects here at Hogwarts, for that matter. He was amusing. He filled his office with all sorts of curious-looking knickknacks that spun and twirled and made loads of noise. I would look around at them all, asking questions here and there. He didn't seem bothered to answer them at all. He looked quite pleased to see my interest in them, really. He would go on about how he had acquired a certain piece, share some of the jokes he had heard, or even tell the old war stories back when he was in his prime.
He was a wise one, I thought. Knowledge far beyond his years. Quirky and crazy, yes, but wise all the same. I had known it from the very start, when he was hired as a Transfiguration Professor, that he would make a great Headmaster. He gave chances to those others would've shunned. He had let a werewolf attend, and later given him a job as a Professor. He had given a half-giant the role of the Groundskeeper and a Professor as well. Even those who were clearly in the path of wrong he had allowed into the castle walls. He could see the good in everyone. Even those who seem completely void of it.
He was different. People were afraid of those different. Countless times I had seen him extinguish a Howler on his table, all from parents and citizens going on and on about how he chose to run the school. They didn't understand. But he didn't pay them any mind. He went on about his business.
And I knew, as he began to talk animatedly to his pet pheonix, that he would be the one to make the difference.
"Zepher, Coryn" was sorted into Hufflypuff. And, as quickly as I had been let out, I was put back in. Back inside the little cupboard in the Headmaster's office. Tucked away for use another year. To sing my song and sort the lot.
Which reminded me. I should get started on the new song. Ah, but it gets harder and harder with every year. My songs were getting repetitive. And I don't like to bore my audience. Granted, the first years would hang on my every word, but I can catch the older students growing uninterested.
But not now. I'll get to the song later.
If I had a head, it would be throbbing. So many thoughts were racing around that I was tempted to use the Headmaster's Pensieve. But no. I would not move unless moved. Speak unless spoken to. The only rays of light would come from the cracks in the cupboard's doors.
Every now and then the Headmaster would open it, cast me a kind smile and speak to me. As if I were an equal. As if I were human. Not some ratty old Sorting Hat. He'd ask me how I was. Make small talk and there. I had to hand it to the old man. It was not easy to make conversation with a hat, but he did it everyday. Sometimes he'd leave the doors open so I can glance around the office.
I was really rather fond of this Headmaster. No other had treated me like an equal — or any other living objects here at Hogwarts, for that matter. He was amusing. He filled his office with all sorts of curious-looking knickknacks that spun and twirled and made loads of noise. I would look around at them all, asking questions here and there. He didn't seem bothered to answer them at all. He looked quite pleased to see my interest in them, really. He would go on about how he had acquired a certain piece, share some of the jokes he had heard, or even tell the old war stories back when he was in his prime.
He was a wise one, I thought. Knowledge far beyond his years. Quirky and crazy, yes, but wise all the same. I had known it from the very start, when he was hired as a Transfiguration Professor, that he would make a great Headmaster. He gave chances to those others would've shunned. He had let a werewolf attend, and later given him a job as a Professor. He had given a half-giant the role of the Groundskeeper and a Professor as well. Even those who were clearly in the path of wrong he had allowed into the castle walls. He could see the good in everyone. Even those who seem completely void of it.
He was different. People were afraid of those different. Countless times I had seen him extinguish a Howler on his table, all from parents and citizens going on and on about how he chose to run the school. They didn't understand. But he didn't pay them any mind. He went on about his business.
And I knew, as he began to talk animatedly to his pet pheonix, that he would be the one to make the difference.