All things wear thin and grow stretched and weary over time, and for years Dumbledore had noticed that the Sorting Hat was changing. It had been threadbare and crumpled for decades, but lately it had seemed unfocused, and Dumbledore was starting to think it was getting senile. He called a special staff meeting in the summer after one particularly alarming episode in which the Hat seemed to think it had arthritis, and forgot that it no longer had a body.
"How can a hat be senile?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"It happens to all of us," Dumbledore said. He removed his own hat and pulled the Sorting snugly down over his head. The years had made it almost downy soft, and it smelled slightly of mildew.
He heard snoring.
"Mmm hmm," Dumbledore said, clearing his throat loudly.
"Huh? What is it? Where's my sword? Protect the castle!"
"You haven't carried a sword in ages, and you haven't had a body to carry one with for longer than I care to think about," Dumbledore said. "I don't think you're well."
"I'm just tired," the Hat said. "I suppose it might be time for retirement. I can't seem to see as much about the students as I used to, and I keep getting the sons confused with the fathers, especially with the Slytherins and Gryffindors."
"We were thinking the same thing," Dumbledore said, "but I don't know how we'll ever replace you."
"You didn't think I was the only magical hat did you?" The Hat asked.
"No need to be smug," Dumbledore said.
"Go to The Burrow," the Hat said. "Mrs. Weasley will know where he is. He's a bit
...eccentric though."
Says the talking hat, Dumbledore thought. "And you aren't?" he asked.
"I'm not eccentric; I'm brilliant," the Hat said. "There's a difference."
"Do you think the hat will want the job?" Dumbledore asked.
"What hat?" The Hat asked.
"Never mind, old friend," Dumbledore said. "Sleep well. You've earned it."
He took the hat off, brushed a bit of lint off it, and set it in his desk. The hat moved slightly as it settled in for a long nap.
Xxxxxxxx
The Burrow was exactly as Dumbledore remembered it. If anything it seemed even more chaotic, with Ron and Hermine's twins bouncing about. Even Percy had found someone who could put up with him, and his oldest boy of seven was seriously teaching his younger siblings their math.
The door was open to let in the fine spring air, and Dumbledore watched the children at play, ignoring the math lesson. Molly finally came in from the kitchen and saw him.
"Professor!"she said. She grabbed him by the elbow. "Come in! Oh, this is nice. I'll just get some tea on."
She summoned the fireplace poker and playfully struck a gangly ginger man that was sprawling on the couch on his side. "Charlie, budge over," she said. "Sit down Headmaster."
Charlie sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Headmaster? When did you get here?"
After Charlie moved over to make room for him Dumbledore sat on the ancient sofa, beloved by several generations. It was a large, beige couch that took up about half of a wall. It was clean, as was the rest of the house, but it had been so often patched and mended that it looked untidy. Charlie pushed aside a bright, multi-colored quilt.
"I just arrived, Charles." He looked at the bandage on Charlie's right arm and at the large bandage across the side of his face. He was missing a large chunk of hair that looked as if it had been burned away. "I take it you're still working with dragons?"
Dumbledore put a large bag down next to him carefully. It was an old leather bag with no identifying marks of any kind.
Charlie touched the bandage. "I got too close to a Horntail," he said. "Please don't say anything around Mother. It isn't as bad as it looks, and she's been worried over it."
Cobb, Percy's youngest was playing with a small plastic blue dragon. It breathed icy smoke in a tiny jet. He giggled. "I'm going to go with Uncle Charlie, but I won't get burned."
"You're going to have to ask your parents about that," Charlie said.
Dumbledore made sure to take note of Cobb. I'll have to introduce him to Hagrid personally, he thought. That's so very Gryffindor of him, and I would have expected Percy's children to be Slytherin.
"Do you like dragons then?" Dumbledore asked, to see what he said.
"I want to be one," Cobb said.
"And what would you do if you were a dragon?" Dumbledore asked.
The boy looked at his toy dragon very seriously, and Dumbledore leaned forward, entranced and fully focused on the child. Will he be a weapon or a resource? he wondered. "I would fly over the city and throw candy down on all the children, and then Uncle George wouldn't be so sad all the time."
Hufflepuff, Dumbledore thought. Good boy. Perhaps he'll be in Gryffindor, but we need all the loyal Hufflepuffs we can get.
Molly Weasely came back with a tray and several cups, which she sat on the small coffee table. She had to move textbooks and papers aside, and then she cast a small spell. The tea pot lifted and poured for them. Before he could tell it how he'd like his tea, tongs lifted several cubes of sugar and dropped them in sloppily, and a generous amount of milk poured itself from a chipped jug shaped like a cow.
"It knew how I take it!" he said. "You've advanced, Molly my dear. Do you ever stop learning?"
"Oh Professor," she said. "Go on with you, you old charmer."
Dumbledore looked around the Burrow, and he inhaled the clean, fresh smell of lemon. Every nook was filled with something from family, friends, or ancestors. It was a deceptive house, but not intentionally so. It was simply that it held so much history from layers of generations of Weaselys that there might have been more magical objects in any one room than in a museum display.
Molly's "simple" - as she called them - cleaning spells alone would have confounded many wizards. The amount of power involved - not in creating the spells but in containing and limiting them - was impressive. The items weren't simply animated, they were trained, like pets, and like pets they were occasionally moody or disruptive. The little cow milk jug whipped its tail and looked about as if searching for grass.
Does she put the personality in them? he wondered. Molly turned housework into art, and no one but a fellow student of the absurd would realize what she'd done.
He was tempted to think she had wasted her talents, but he knew better. She could have been one of the "greatest" wizards of her time, as well suited to a high-level ministry job as a classroom or hospital, but she had chosen to humbly use her talents to corral the Weaselys, and Dumbledore thought the job she'd chosen might be harder.
Charlie was one of his favorites in the Weasley clan. He didn't look especially unique. He had gotten the same ginger ruddiness and abundant scattering of freckles, and the same wide smile as all the other Weasleys - except for Percy - who had got the freckles but not the smile, unfortunately.
But there was something about Charlie that suggested the outdoors and a different type of adventure than his city-bound kindred. He wore an odd robe made of flameproof Wonder Rat hide. The rats lived near the Horntails, scavenging the remnants of the dragons' meals, and as a result of thousands of generations of natural selection the small rodents were almost impossible to burn. They had grown skin so immune to fire that Charlie had painstakingly killed, skinned, and created his own patchy robe with each fur no larger than his hand. Brown, black, and dark shades of gray mottled the robe.
"You didn't have that scar when I saw you before," Dumbledore said, pointing to a two inch scar just below Charlie's left eye.
"He didn't duck fast enough," Cobb said.
"I got to close to a nest that a female had hidden," Charlie said.
"Poor dear," Molly said, examining his forehead. "It was a magic creature, so we can't really get rid of the scar."
"I think it's cool," Cobb said. "He looks like a pirate."
Charlie laughed loudly, a gruff guffaw.
After their tea, which Cobb ignored to play with his dragon and eavesdrop shamelessly, Dumbledore decided to get down to the job at hand.
"I'm afraid there's more than a social reason for this call," he said. "I have some sad news. The Sorting Hat isn't well. He's getting on in years, and it might be time for him to retire."
"Oh no!" Molly said. "He's been here for so long. Who could ever replace him?"
"He said that there is another hat here that I should ask you about," Dumbledore said.
Molly tapped her fingers on the table. "We have so many things around here I can't remember right off. We have some haunted objects and clothes here. I think I know which hat you mean. I'll show you."
She took Dumbledore through the spotless kitchen, with Charlie following, and Cobb trailing behind, still carrying his dragon.
A back room served multi-duty. They stepped down into what had probably once been a den, but was now a children's play area, a place for Molly's garden tools, and a storeroom. A long-unused fireplace had been converted over time to serve as a sort of display area of magical items and trinkets.
A foot-tall ceramic unicorn sat on the heath with its horn glowing slightly, and a copy of David Copperfield sat next to it. Five small clay figures of cats watched him and moved in front of the book to guard it. The Siamese cat took up position and hissed at him.
"Naughty!" Molly said. "Behave!"
The cats stopped fussing, but they swished their tails in irritation. The picture of David on the cover smiled down at the cats.
"Cousin Delianina loved cats," Molly said, "and her husband loved books. They arranged this before they died, so they could haunt together."
"Very romantic," Dumbledore said.
None of the other objects moved immediately, so Dumbledore turned his attention to the clothing items at the far end of the hearth.
A pair of fur-lined gloves, one old work shoe, and a large and gaudy ring were all quickly dismissed. There was one hat, an old brown bush hat, a little the worse for wear.
Molly picked it up and pulled a bit of lint off the rim.
"Good morning cousin," she said. "You have a visitor."
The hat moved slightly, and a wrinkle formed a sort of mouth. "Hello Molly. I see you brought me someone new. Oh, and you like dragons then?" A thick Australian accent greeted them.
Dumbledore was off to the side, out of the hat's line of sight. The hat thought Molly had brought Cobb to see him. So it has some limitations, he thought. Magical objects sometimes had more human qualities than others. The Sorting hat had a 360° field of vision, but not all magical objects did.
"No dear," Molly started, glancing at Dumbledore. "I brought you..."
Dumbledore waved a hand at her and shook his head. He pointed to the hat and then to Cobb. Molly nodded, and Cobb hadn't stopped looking at the hat long enough to notice much else.
Cobb held his dragon figure up so the hat could see it. "Hi cousin Steve! His name is Rexamillion the Blaster, Son of Aaaaarrrrggg the Cruncher."
The hat chuckled. "Crickey, that's a mouthful. Name that one yourself did you?"
Cobb shook his head. "Uncle Ron named it for me. I call him Rexi Rodger."
"Ah now, that's a good name. I once knew a dragon named Granite Force of the Deadly Waters and Chewer of All He Surveyed, but we all called him Grant. Mean fellow. Liked to pretend he was a muggle crocodile and try to eat muggles. Almost took a piece out of me a few times."
"Rexi isn't mean," Cobb said. "He's a good dragon. He gives candy away, and he stops bullies from keeping kids from getting the candy, and he's my best friend. He hits them with blue breath, and they get goop all over them and can't move."
He has an imagination, Dumbledore thought. Must take after his Mother, although Molly has an active mind too, and Arthur.
"Molly my dear, could you introduce us?" Dumbledore asked.
The hat swiveled slightly. "Hello then! Didn't see you there. How are ya?"
"Good, good," Dumbledore said. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts. I brought an old friend that wants to meet you."
"Of course! Always happy to meet new people." The hat leaned forward, somehow conveying without limbs or face that it was curious.
Dumbledore opened the old bag and pulled the Sorting hat from it. It snored slightly. "Good morning Godric," Dumbledore said, and when the hat didn't wake he repeated himself louder.
The Sorting Hat mumbled, "I can hear you, Albus. There's no need to yell."
"I would like you to meet Steve," Dumbledore said. "Is this the hat you told me to find?"
"Might be. Might be. Put me closer. I can't see as well as I used to."
Dumbledore held the hat closer to the mantle, and both hats looked at each other.
"I am Godric Gryffindor. I saw your muggle show a few times," the Sorting Hat said. "I never did understand it though. It had something to do with dragons I believe?"
"The Thick-tail Dragon infests Australia," Steve's Hat said. "We had to keep the muggles from panicking when they saw us rounding them up, so we made it look like we were tracking and catching crocodiles. They look almost alike to muggles."
"And what is an al-i-ga-tor?" the Sorting Hat asked, rolling the unfamiliar name around.
"Well, they look like dragons, but they don't have any magical powers."
"Muggle dragons?" Cobb asked.
"Sort of," Steve's Hat said. "Mean things too. They're much smaller cousins of Horntails, and they're always angry because they can't breathe fire. They're touchy about it too. Their only powers are in their tails. When they move their tales they can send out a wave of power that will knock you off your feet, and then "pow!" they jump on you and eat you."
"Whoa," Cobb said. "I want to see one."
"Not anytime soon dear," Molly said. "They live too far away."
"I can take you to see something closer," Charlie said. The Hat turned toward him.
"Charlie! You still working with the Ridgebacks?"
"Yes, but I took some time off. Decided to come home for a holiday."
The Sorting Hat snored lightly as it fell asleep again. "Gryffindor," it mumbled. "Definitely Gryffindor."
"Godric?" Dumbledore asked. "Didn't you want to talk to Steve about a job?"
"Yes, yes," it said, a bit testily. "I didn't forget. How would you like to take over for me, my boy?"
"Err... take over what?"
"I am the Sorting Hat for Hogwarts," the Sorting Hat said proudly. It explained the sorting system.
"That's a lot different than we did back home," Steve's Hat said. "When I was in school we just jumbled them in there and let them sort it out for themselves, but I guess I could give it a go. I miss dealing with kids."
"Put me down next to him Albus," the Sorting Hat said. Molly moved the gloves, being careful to tell them beforehand so they wouldn't hex her. Albus sat the Hat down, and it leaned close to Steve's Hat.
"Albus, are you ready for the spell?"
The Headmaster drew his wand. "Empathico!" he said, touching the wand first to the Sorting Hat, and then to Steve's Hat. A glow of blue energy flowed between them.
"Crikey! That's something," Steve's Hat said when the glow faded. "What now?"
"Come here Cobb," Dumbledore said.
The boy stepped forward, and Dumbledore lifted Steve's Hat and put it on Cobb's head, dwarfing him and reached almost down to his shoulders. "Can you see his heart, Steve?"
"Mmmm," Steve said. "This is new to me, but yes, I see who he is, what he wants."
Dumbledore removed the hat. "Molly, could you send Cobb away for a bit so we can talk?"
Molly scooted Cobb out of the room.
"I don't know if he's ready to hear this or not," Dumbledore said, thinking that if the hat was too honest it might hurt the boy.
"What do you think of Cobb then?" Dumbledore asked.
"Got a bit of boar in there, and that's not good," Steve said, "but there's more Kingfisher; they're peacemakers. That's good. Boars are a nuisance."
Dumbledore felt out of his depth.
"What else?" he asked.
"There's a lot of good Cattle Dog in there, mostly Kingfisher though."
The Sorting Hat explained the houses to Steve's Hat.
"Oh he's definitely Hufflepuff then," Steve said. "He's the type to go on an adventure, but I think he'd be more likely to stay at home and think about them. And he's more concerned about helping other people than anything else. Good boy. I like him."
"Oh," Molly said. She sounded disappointed, but Dumbledore was just happy that Steve's Hat didn't say Slytherin, what with his father being Percy.
Dumbledore knew that Steve had probably been ignorant of politics in Britain, so he had a chance to see if he could correctly house a Slytherin. There was one estate he would always be allowed in, if not welcome. The house of Malfoy. After Draco's attempted assassination during the last war, and his subsequent forgiveness - which Dumbledore knew had more to do with money than justice - the Malfoys would grudgingly allow Dumbledore to play the social game of apparent friendship that was a necessary part of Slytherin life.
He bid goodbye to the Weasleys, watching with amused approval as Cobb petted his toy's head and followed Charlie like a faithful puppy, and Dumbledore headed toward Malfoy Manor.
It should have bothered him as a Gryffindor that he could manipulate people so well. Dumbledore had harbored a suspicion most of his life, and he finally gave in to the urge to confront it. Before he entered the estate he pulled the hat from its case and put it on to have a private chat.
"Hello old friend," he said.
"It isn't that time of year already is it?" the Sorting Hat asked.
"No. I just wanted to ask you a question. Do you remember my sorting?"
"Of course. I remember all the sortings."
Dumbledore wondered if this was still true in its old age. "Did you think about putting me in Slytherin?"
"Yes, of course," the Hat said.
Dumbledore had been hoping the hat would say no. "Why is that?" he asked.
"I knew you had the potential to be all that the Slytherins value: cunning, resourcefulness, and ambition. You would have done well there."
"Then why did you choose Gryffindor?" Dumbledore asked.
"Because you wanted Gryffindor," the Hat said. "I've done it for other students. You are more than the sum of your talents, and you wanted to use your power to fight injustice, even if you were a bit dense about it at the time."
Dumbledore grumbled a bit at the small dig.
"Why do you ask now, after so many years?" the Hat asked.
Because I may not have many chances to ask anything, Dumbledore thought, but he said,"just a whim. You know how I get."
"Hmmm... I think sometimes you might have been more Slytherin than I thought."
"Fine. We're getting old, and it seemed important."
The Hat had no reply, so Dumbledore put it back in its case, putting on his old wizard hat and rumpling it properly to suit his station.
He touched the Sorting Hat gently as he put it away, feeling that the fabric that had grown soft and almost velvety with age. How long until its magic fades away? he wondered. Haunted objects didn't die so much as slowly become quiet and lose power. He hated to think of his friend as an ornament in a museum somewhere, but it would happen, and he had to prepare himself as much emotionally as practically.
A house-elf opened the door and ran to find its Master. As Dumbledore waited in the formal parlor and ate a sherbet lemon he glanced around at the overly-formal area. Whoever had decorated the place had a severe sense of style, and Dumbledore - who loved colors and patterns - didn't understand why they had chosen dark earth tones and grays.
A Slytherin crest hung prominently over the fireplace, and large, dignified portraits of Draco and his parents graced the walls, along with many ancestors who all looked down at Dumbledore with obvious distaste. Silver candlesticks and gold candelabras were only two of the ways they had put their wealth to the forefront. The hardwood floor showcased a Turkish rug that rippled with magic occasionally, changing its pattern to suit the mood of whoever was standing on it. Dumbledore had been to the manor five times before on business, and he avoided the rug. It was a little too honest for his needs.
Draco met him - as always - with an aloof air and an affected dignity that spoke volumes. He walked with his father's knotted cane, as much for affectation as for the limp he'd earned when he had tried to kill Dumbledore in The War.
He hates me so much, Dumbledore thought sadly. Draco's wife was "indisposed", as she always was when Dumbledore called. Draco should have married a Slytherin instead of a Hufflepuff if he wanted to play these sorts of games. A real Slytherin would be out here like Draco, furthering his own interests.
For some reason it made him respect her a bit. He remembered her, an unexceptional Hufflepuff that seemed somewhat dim. The only thing unusual about her was her marriage. Lumina was her name, and if ever a child was misnamed it was her. Maybe their children will be Hufflepuffs. One can only hope.
"Headmaster," Draco said. "How nice to see you." He offered a small smile, just enough to please social conventions. "Do sit down." He pointed to a seat that would lead Dumbledore directly over the Turkish rug.
Dumbledore chose a route that lead him around the rug by pretending to walk to the fireplace and admire the Slytherin emblem, worked with embroidery made of actual silver, finely spun into thread. "Your family was always one of the most devoted to the Slytherin House, so I need to ask you a small favor. It will, of course, benefit your house, as well as the others."
"And why do you wish to benefit my house?" Draco asked. His mouth had twisted slightly in the beginning of what Dumbledore suspected was a sneer, but his smile returned almost immediately.
"It's in the best interest of the school and the students to see that they're housed properly. There are about to be some changes, and I would like your input as one of the major households involved with Slytherin house."
Draco couldn't hide a smug smile. "Thank you Headmaster. How can I serve my House?"
Dumbledore knew that Draco was seriously being considered as Head of Slytherin, but he had never let on that he knew. It should have been a secretive choice by the House, but Dumbledore had a few sources even there - very few, and not high up on the social or political ladder, but still useful. Unfortunately Snape had been unofficially treated like a traitor, so he wasn't allowed into the house portraits, on various made up technicalities, or Dumbledore might have more inside information.
The painter had forgotten the order for Snape's Slytherin house painting, and then after a portrait was made it was lost, and then accidentally broken. Snape had finally decided to simply abide in the Headmaster's office and deal with the annoying Gryffindors who seemed to see him as one of their own after his sacrifice became public knowledge.
And now for the show, Dumbledore thought. He had been working on his plan while he traveled. He didn't want Draco or his peers to know about the Sorting Hat's weakness. It was the hat of Godric Gryffindor after all, but he needed Slytherin's support. Without it the manipulative house could insinuate that sortings weren't being done properly, and they could cause all sorts of trouble with parents and with the upper echelons of the magical world.
He took the Sorting Hat from its case and caressed it. "Our old friend is choosing a replacement, and I wanted to know if you would let allow your son to test the new hat."
He allowed Draco to take the Sorting Hat. Draco studied it, and he smiled. It was an honest, open smile, something Dumbledore had never seen on Draco's face.
"This takes me back," he said. "Good times."
Good times? Dumbledore wondered. How can he think of those times as good? I suppose he had to make sense of his actions in some way, but how bad must his life seem if he was happier then?
Draco snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared.
"Lumpy, fetch Termagant, and be quick about it."
"Yes Master," Lumpy said, never taking his frightened eyes off Draco. Lumpy bowed and ran backwards from the room.
Young Termagant arrived shortly, and Dumbledore saw Draco's and his mother's features mixed about evenly in his face. He had put Steve's Hat in its container with the Sorting Hat, and he drew it out.
"You couldn't find something a little less... common?" Draco asked.
"The Sorting Hat suggested his own replacement," Dumbledore said. He motioned for Termagant to come forward, and the boy did. He looked slightly bored.
He should be about a year away from Hogwarts, Dumbledore thought. Maybe this one will do better than his forbearers. All children have potential.
He couldn't help but glance at the stern portraits of Draco's late parents. I'm not sure he could do much worse.
He had barely lowered Steve's Hat onto the boys head when it said, "Slytherin," decisively.
"Of course," Draco said. "What other house could he be in? You should probably choose another family that isn't so historically dependable."
He might be right at that, Dumbledore thought, but it bothered him that the Hat had decided so fast.
"He knows nothing of our politics," Dumbledore said. He smiled at Termagant. "We'll see you soon, Termagant. I hope you're a good addition to Hogwarts and Slytherin." I hope you don't take after your father, he thought, and then chided himself for the uncharitable nature of his feelings.
Draco was obviously pleased with the entire incident, but Dumbledore was reluctant to consider the experiment a success. He left the estate and went to a small alley where he could be alone and talk to Steve's Hat.
He put the hat on. It wasn't necessary for communication, but he preferred to deal with the Hat that way. "Why did you decide so suddenly?" he asked. "I expected you to take some time, feel about and ask him some questions. This is incredibly important you know."
"That one is almost all boar," Steve's Hat said. Dumbledore got the distinct mental impression of a shudder. "He was trying to read me. When I asked him what house he wanted to be in all I could feel was him trying to decide how to use me for his ends. That one is more dangerous than a half-mad boar."
"Did you feel any Hufflepuff in him?" Dumbledore asked.
"Not what you described Hufflepuff to be," Steve's Hat said. "He didn't express any loyalty for anyone. I could feel a need for power, and not much else. His mind felt oily."
"That sounds like the Malfoys," Dumbledore said.
"What now?" Steve's Hat asked.
"Hufflepuffs are the majority of the students, and we don't even need to do Ravenclaws. Where Gryffindor and Slytherin were concerned with the use of power, loyalty, and ambition, Ravenclaws only want to learn. The Sorting Hat once told me that every Ravenclaw he ever met started asking him questions about how he worked, what spell was used to create him, technical questions about his creation - that sort of thing. I think we're done with this part. The spell obviously worked, so all we have to do is break it to the staff."
Steve's Hat was silent for a moment. "This makes you sad." It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact that had been revealed to him after the empathy spell.
"It's the end of an era," Dumbledore said, "and a personal loss for me."
"I'll do my best to take on the job," Steve's Hat said, "but from what you've told me I have some big shoes to fill."
Most of the staff were sad, but McGonagall took it the worst. Later that day Dumbledore found himself in a seedy bar in Hogsmeade drinking Butterbeer while the Head of Gryffindor House held her third double shot of fire-whiskey. She downed it in one shot while Dumbledore sipped at his drink.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" he asked.
"We're getting old," McGonagall said, with just the slightest slur to her speech.
We? Dumbledore wondered. I've been old for a long time.
"It happens to the best of us," he said.
"And the worst," McGonagall said, signaling the bartender for another firewhiskey. "He's going to get it, you know, that damned Malfoy."
Dumbledore barely stifled a groan. Not this again. I wish we could assign their Head of House just to quit hearing about it.
"He might be the best suited for the job, and out of all the candidates he's the most stable."
McGonagall looked into her drink suspiciously, picked out a fly, and downed the drink anyway. "Draco has probably bribed everyone even remotely involved in choosing the Head of Houses. They should have left you alone and let you choose like the old days."
"The old days are gone," he said, thinking of the Sorting Hat.
"Aye," she said. "That they are. We should have someone honorable for head of Slytherin House, someone honest."
"Don't you mean someone more Gryffindor?" Dumbledore asked with a smile.
McGonagall's look of surprise was so comical Dumbledore had to take a piece of soft candy from his pocket and chew deliberately for a few seconds to collect himself.
"That's a great idea," McGonagall said. "You're brilliant."
"No, my dear. You're tipsy. Why don't we go home?"
He had expected to have to help her to the fireplace, but she barely stumbled. She can hold her drink, he thought, but he gripped her arm and used the floo powder before she could cast the spell, just in case she mispronounced their destination and ended up somewhere dangerous.
As they landed in his office he saw the hats chatting on his desk where he'd left them. They stopped and turned their way. "I've been learning about the school," Steve the new Sorting Hat said. "It's a right big place."
McGonagall touched the old Sorting Hat, stroking it gently. "Hello," she said softly. Tears began to flow, and Steve's Hat and Dumbledore both fell into an uncomfortable silence.
"Don't cry old girl," the Sorting Hat said. "I was thinking that it would be nice to stay on in Gryffindor House after I retire. Steve can take up my post here, and I can tell the young ones stories about the old days."
"That would be nice," McGonagall said."We would love to have you."
Dumbledore noticed that all of the paintings in his office were occupied except for Snape's. He's been so moody since he died, he thought. I guess he has it harder than the other pictures, but he was always moody anyway.
"Minerva, would you be so kind as to take them over to Gryffindor House while I do some work?" Dumbledore asked. As he expected, as soon as they left Snape stepped into his frame. He was hiding, Dumbledore thought. In any other Slytherin he would have expected a suspect motive, but with Snape it was probably just a need to escape - not that he didn't often have mixed motives.
"Could you all leave me alone with Professor Snape for a bit?" he asked the other paintings. They cleared out, leaving him with Snape's portrait.
"What do you think of the new Hat?" he asked, more to try to draw Snape out than to hear his reply, which would be stereotypical Slytherin blather. He was sure of it.
He wasn't disappointed. "They are both disgustingly idealistic," Snape said.
"Nothing wrong with that," Dumbledore said. You were too, he thought, but he kept it to himself. If Snape had been everything he'd pretended to be he never would have taken the hit meant for Harry, something that still confused Harry.
I wish Harry could understand that Slytherin doesn't mean evil, Dumbledore thought.
"Have you made any headway with the other portraits?" Dumbledore asked.
"I haven't tried," Snape said with a sneer. "It isn't necessary."
It saddened Dumbledore that not a single portrait in the school wanted to accept him as one of their own, except for a few Hufflepuff portraits that were too frightened of him to speak with him much.
Portraits of people who had been Ravenclaws in life found him dull and pedantic, Hufflepuffs found him intimidating, and the few portraits that had Slytherins actively accused him of being a blood-traitor.
I wish the Gryffindors would do better, he thought, but he'd been disappointed even in his own house. Every time Snape encountered one an argument would erupt, and Dumbledore wished just one of the paintings would befriend him.
"Have you spoken with the Fat Lady?" Dumbledore asked. "She's such a friendly painting."
"She hid in that unicorn picture in the dining hall," Snape said. He laughed. "She wouldn't come out for days."
Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle a bit himself. "Now Severus, don't scare the Hufflepuffs," he said.
"In my experience it's almost impossible for me to avoid scaring Hufflepuffs."
Snape sat in the overstuffed armchair in his portrait, by the fireplace that was always lit, even on the hottest days. Of course since he couldn't feel heat it didn't matter. Dumbledore thought he must have found it comforting. He pulled a book from a shelf and opened it. "You have provided for me more than adequately," Snape said. "I can do without other interaction, Headmaster."
Again Dumbledore saw a bit more into Snape's complicated mind. "You can call me Albus, you know," he said. "You are retired." He knows that, he thought.
"Thank you... Albus," Snape said hesitantly. He began to read, and as usual it was the end of their conversation.
Dumbledore made the rounds of the houses with the exception of Slytherin house, carrying the old hat with him.
"Why are we visiting the houses?" the Sorting Hat asked.
"I just thought it would be nice," Dumbledore said. "I don't get to just talk to people as much as I like to, and your company is welcome."
"I know what you're doing, Albus," the Hat said. "You don't have to pretend that this isn't a sort of goodbye tour."
Dumbledore was silent. He could think of nothing comforting to say that wouldn't sound trite.
"There's no need for grief," the Hat said. "I've had a good life, and I'm ready for some rest."
Dumbledore tried to fake good spirits, but he didn't think he could fool his shrewd friend.
He stopped outside the door to his office, listening to the voices inside. He immediately recognized the deep, rumbling tones of Snape's voice and the unfamiliar Australian accent of their newest staff member. He pulled out his wand and put his ear to the door, but before he could cast a spell the Sorting Hat made a noise as if it was politely clearing its non-existent throat.
"It's rude to eavesdrop, Albus," the Sorting Hat whispered.
"So it is," Dumbledore said. He swept open the door as if he'd been unaware of the conversation behind the door.
He didn't know what he expected, but he was surprised to find Snape in conversation with Steve's hat, standing at the front of his portrait, as close to the hat as possible. Snape leaned forward, with his arms clasped behind his back in an attitude of intense concentration.
"So I found the door on the bottom of the river after I pulled the beast down...," Steve said, stopping as Dumbledore stepped into the room.
Snape straightened with an embarrassed look. "It has been most interesting chatting with you, Steve. I'm sure you have business to attend to with the Headmaster, so I bid you goodbye."
Showoff, Dumbledore thought as Snape turned with a flourish of his cape and sat at his reading chair. I wonder what Steve said to impress Severus.
He looked at the portrait of Snape, who was doing his best to pretend that the world outside the portrait didn't exist.
Or is he just so alone that even the attention of a Weasley is welcome? Dumbledore felt a familiar pain of grief at the memory of Snape's well-earned but regrettable loneliness.
"Hello then," Steve's Hat said. "We were just talking about dragons, and Professor Snape had some right good stories."
Dumbledore glanced at Snape's painting, and saw no reaction, but in the very conscious way that shows a person knows exactly what is happening around him and chooses to pretend otherwise.
And Steve is more Weasley than any Weasley I ever met, Dumbledore thought. If he can even charm Snape there's no telling what he can do. I have to arrange a meeting between him and the Head of Slytherin House over there if it isn't Malfoy, but I need to make it seem like it's their idea.
That evening he took the Sorting Hat to Gryffindor House to get used to his new surroundings, leaving Steve behind in his office and hoping that he might have another chat with Snape.
When he went to his office he again heard Snape and Steve from inside. I need to soundproof the room, he thought, but there was little need. No one could approach without his knowledge when he was inside without setting off various alarms that no one knew existed.
He pulled out his wand and put his ear against the door. As he cast a spell and touched the wand to the spot where his ear touched the door it glowed slightly and then faded as he began to hear their words more distinctly.
"But why would you want to wrestle one when you could simply cast a spell on it?" Snape asked. "With your knowledge and expertise you could have been a good teacher."
"You have to have a good row with someone to understand them, and you don't really know a dragon until you've looked him in the eye as you put him in a submission hold. Nothing is as real as that."
Dumbledore choked back a laugh as he realized that Snape's fascination was that of a born-and-bred Londoner for an adventurous country man's stories.
Who would have imagined it? he thought. He left quietly, glad that at least something good was coming out of the situation.
By the time the school year started all the staff was excited about the next sorting. The hall was magnificent, as always, but the staff felt an extra sense of excitement. Dumbledore made a speech and sat the Sorting Hat in its usual place.
"I will not be sorting today," the Hat said, and when the older students raised a sound of exclamation, Dumbledore raised a hand.
"Silence," he said. "Show respect."
"I am turning over my duties to the new Sorting Hat. He prefers to be called simply Steve, but I expect you to give him the respect and love I've come to expect from all of you over the years."
Dumbledore relaxed a bit. He had been a bit afraid the Hat might launch into a long, rambling story.
Dumbledore lifted Steve's hat from the table where it had sat, patiently waiting. He sat Steve on the stand as he moved the old Sorting Hat off, holding it with a sinking feeling.
Dumbledore looked out over the sea of eager young faces. "I had a speech prepared," he said, "but for the life of me I can't remember it. Godrick Gryffindor left us this gift of himself to guide our children, and he will grace our halls forever. As we see him into a well-earned retirement we welcome to our staff Steve, who will carry on the fine traditions of this school. Steve, you may begin."
An embarrassed silence followed, brief but strongly felt. Finally, Steve said, "I don't know how I can fill the shoes...er Hat...of Godric Gryffindor, but I'll do my best. Three cheers for Godrick Gryffindor!"
A loud "Huzzah!" Sounded from the students – with the exception of the Slytherins - and then an impromptu toast was proposed by McGonagall.
The first child who stepped up was a scrawny, hawk nosed, sharp eyed little boy with a confident attitude.
As he slid onto the boy's head, Steve felt his mind, and he didn't like what he found. He had carefully studied the history of the school and the houses, and he knew immediately which house this boy belonged to.
His mind felt slightly oily, as if nothing would stick. Not that he was stupid, there was intelligence there, but Steve could already sense a crafty nature, ready its own childish way to twist the world into the shape it desired.
But there was something below the surface too, a desire to fit in, to lead and direct. Steve could feel nobility buried there, ready to blossom or drown as time and fate would dictate.
"Slytherin!" Steve said decisively.
He passed through students, some quickly and some requiring more time than others. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were easiest, as he'd suspected. Gryffindor minds felt like knives, dull knives because the children were still small. They were weak like all children's minds, but there was the possibility of strength in all of them, and there was a steak of earnest searching for more than an average child's need for attention, but overall there was a drive to right the world, even though they didn't know what was wrong with it yet.
Ravenclaws were easy as well. If they lacked the passions of the Gryffindors and Slytherins, they had minds like scalpels, sharp little things that probed the universe. After the third Ravenclaw Steve realized that they were searching his mind as much as he searched theirs. It was a childish prodding for information, something ingrained in them.
The Hufflepuffs weren't the "extras" or "leftovers". They were the steady ones, the children who would become the basis of magical society, the bricks of the world. They were sometimes more difficult to house.
When he finished he felt exhausted. Dumbledore sat him beside the old Sorting Hat, who insisted on being simply called "Godrick".
"That went well," Godrick said. "You'll do fine, boy."
A light snore from Steve made Godrick chuckle. "It's harder than it looks," Godrick said to Dumbledore.
Steve woke with a grunt. "Wresting with children's minds is almost as rough as trying to hold a dragon."
That night Dumbledore visited Gryffindor House alone, long after he knew the children would be sleeping. A large, thick, scarlet cushion with golden embroidery and tassels with real gold thread twisted throughout sat on the hearth, and Dumbledore put Godrick's Hat on it.
"Goodnight," he said.
He left and walked slowly around the campus, making his way to the dock and smelling the salt air in the breeze that came to him.
He retired to sleep, knowing that even if his heart was a little emptier, the school would carry on, and so would he.