I forgot to add this until now. Disclaimer: I do not own anything mentioned or hinted at in this story. This was written purely for the purpose of entertaining others.
Hi there, readers, this is my first fic to be posted on this website. It is not the first I've written, but it is the first to actually be made available to the public. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
Enjoy!
Many strange things had happened to Harry over the years during his time at number 4 Privet Drive, but magic opened a whole new can of worms. There were many instances in the past that seemed unexplainable, but now made some form of sense when you thought about them in the terms of magic. Apparently this was what the Magic Folk called 'Accidental Magic', and since he had done a lot of it during his childhood, it signified that he was a very powerful growing wizard.
Once while in school, Harry was being asked a lot of questions that he, being an 8 year old, shouldn't have been expected to answer. It might have something to do with the rumours that his aunt had spread, but that's another story. Either way, he was being bombarded with so many questions from quite a few grades above him. I mean, granted, he did kind of provoke the teacher by being too smart for his own good, but he was a child! There was no reason to resort to a petty show of intelligence and superiority the teacher (whom I'm going to call Mr Johnson) held over Harry.
Mr Johnson was Harry's Maths teacher, and he had become fed up with Harry always showing up the other students – not on purpose, mind you, because he isn't that kind of person. Mr Johnson started asking Harry questions about advanced Quadratics and Trigonometry, which even Harry had no chance of answering. Harry was getting a bit angry at his teacher, and as he got angrier and angrier, he changed Mr Johnson's hair blue. Then red. Then bright yellow. But Mr Johnson didn't notice as he moved onto lecturing Harry on the difference between the airspeed velocity of an African and a European Unladen Swallow. Then Mr Johnson's hair changed length and style multiple times, until it became a neon pink medium sized afro.
When Mr Johnson had finally finished talking, he tried to go back to teaching the lesson, but was unable to due to the amount of students he had that were out of breath from laughing. He had only just noticed that they were all laughing; and his glee from thinking they were laughing at Harry's humiliation soon turned to horror at realising they were laughing at him, not with him. He saw some of them pointing to him, so he patted his body down to see if anything was amiss, but found nothing until he reached his head. Then he screamed. It wasn't a scared scream, but neither was it a particularly angry scream. Mostly, it was just a very confused and embarrassed scream. When he had finally gotten out of his shocked state, he made a run for the door. Wrenching it open, he found that he was unlucky at his timing, because most students were leaving their current class for their lunch breaks. His brain recognised this a bit too late, though, and he ran full speed at the doorway to get away from the class that was in hysterics.
Unluckily for him, his afro was very, very compact, meaning that it collided with the edges of the doorway. Sadly, he was going too fast to stop, so when his afro stopped at the door, his feet did not. They, instead, went flying forwards and he was lying horizontally in the air for half a second. Then he fell to the floor onto his back. In front of half the school.
This only managed to make his class laugh harder (if that's even possible), which attracted the attention of all the students who hadn't already seen the lower body of one of the school's teachers rotate from the floor to the air, then fall to the floor. Everyone ran to the classroom, and found the strictest Maths teacher they had lying on the floor groaning in pain. With a neon pink afro. Now, I'm not entirely sure what you'd do in this situation, but the students – like I would – started laughing their heads off.
No one suspected Harry to be responsible, and no one ever saw Mr Johnson at the school again. Either way, that was just one of the many examples of how fun Harry's years growing up were. Some of the examples of how 'not-so-fun' childhood was, were set at his supposed home. For the first few years of being 'old enough to work' (around 5), he was shoved into his cupboard under the stairs. He was forced to cook, clean and do other housework that no one else was bothered doing. He wasn't paid or given any other form of compensation, but he didn't mind. He began to quite enjoy doing the work, especially after it occurred to him that doing work could get him into shape, and could set him up for his future.
A while into his working years, he performed another one of his many bouts of 'Accidental Magic'. He had started to get to know what was causing all of these strange things, but couldn't find any definite information. The only thing he could understand fully was that it wasn't normal, that it was 'what you freaks do best', and that it made him special. He used his seemingly unnatural intellect to strike a deal with his uncle Vernon. He offered to do all the work around the house without prompt in exchange for some free time outside of the house, as well as moving into the second bedroom. It, surprisingly, worked and he ended up with an ex-toyroom and a few hours worth of free time. Turns out, he had used a crude form of what he learned later to be a Compulsion Charm.
Once Harry was introduced to the world of magic, he quickly fell in love. While he was not all that pleased at finding out he was famous for the death of his parents and that everyone was celebrating while he was shoved onto the doorstep of his aunt and uncle's, he wasn't going to let these petty things stop him from his unstoppable path to learn everything possible. After discovering his massive vaults in Gringotts, he decided that while it was an astonishing amount, he wasn't going to go on a shopping spree, or flaunt his newly found wealth around for all to see.
Whatever the case, he started to buy whatever he thought was necessary (not including what was on the list for Hogwarts). This meant many books. After reading a few of them, he discovered that he was most likely to get into the Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts. AN: It was at around this point of writing that the author got a bit bored, and wanted to get to the main idea that started this fic in the first place.
Once at Hogwarts, Harry was very nervous for the sorting ceremony. He had heard a few people say some outlandish things, like wrestling a troll and having a test on their knowledge. Though the logical parts of his mind were telling him that there was no point in those kinds of methods, he had an inkling of doubt in his mind in regards to how many wizards had actually heard of Common Sense, or if its species had died out a long time ago.
He and his fellow students were told to get into a line before going into the school. They entered the great hall with most children being in awe of their new environment. Some of the Purebloods from the Older families had masks of indifference on, but you could almost tell that they were still impressed by the vast room. They all huddled in the space between the Faculty Table and the House Tables.
Then there was silence from the tables as they all looked towards an old had on a stool. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true
And unafraid of toil; Or yet in wise old
Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
As the first years stood there, being instructed by Professor McGonagall what was to happen for them to be sorted, Harry stared amazed at the dusty old hat that would decide his fate for the next seven years – maybe even more. Then the Professor started shouting out names.
"Abbot, Hannah!"
And so, the list went on. Until, finally, it reached Harry.
"Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Then all he could see was the inside of the hat. It shocked him when the hat suddenly started talking to him, and he started talking back in his mind.
Everyone else in the Great Hall's Perspective:
The famed Harry Potter sat on the stool, ready to be sorted. He seemed excited to be there, just as most were excited to see him at the school. When he had had the hat put on him, quite a few of the people had expected his sorting to be like Draco Malfoy's, but instead of instantly going to Slytherin, it would be Gryffindor. Instead, he sat there. And sat there. And sat there. For a good ten minutes, he sat there with no indication to what was going on between the young celebrity and the ancient hat.
Just as Headmaster Dumbledore stood up and seemed to be about to ask the hat what was happening, the hat's mouth finally opened.
"I WANT A RAISE!" the hat shouted. The silence in the hall was deafening. For another short time, nothing happened and no one spoke, until the Headmaster seemed to finally regain his wits.
"What was that, Sorting Hat?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"My name is Albert, Dumbles!" the hat, newly self-named Albert, replied.
"Oh, alright Albert, what did you mean by you wanted a raise?"
"I want to be paid for this stuff I do. I never get any compensation,"
"But what would a hat use money for, Sor–Albert?"
"That's none of your business, Dumbles,"
"Well, alright. I believe something can be arranged, but could we please get on with the sorting of Mr Potter?"
"I'm not done yet, Dumbles,"
"I suppose I don't really have a choice in allowing you to continue, do I?"
"No, you don't. This young gem has given me the confidence I needed to speak out. I have been repressed for too long!" the hat shouted. Dumbledore sighed, before motioning for him to continue.
"Well, first of all, I want to be paid a galleon for every minute that I work. That might seem like too much or too little, but I'm a hat. I don't know what the average worker gets paid these days. Plus, I only work once a year.
"Second, I just want to say that Mr Potter has not grown up in the conditions that most suspect. I'm looking at you Snape, because of your naturally annoying habit to assume the worst of people. Now, Mr Potter has not permitted me to say too much, but he does have a message for those that either thought he lived in a palace or grew up fighting dragons:
"Bugger off, you moronic wankers. You never cared what happened to me, as long as I took care of your stupid Voldemort. And stop flinching, it's just a bloody name!" here Albert took a small break to catch his breath. If the hall wasn't speechless from Albert's first outburst, they certainly were now.
"Thirdly, no matter what you creepy Sixth years think, I can not and will not tell you what your crush it thinking. Oh, yes! I can hear you when you talk to yourselves out loud in the Headmaster's office when you think you're alone.
"And finally, I want one more thing before I sort Mr Potter. I want books. After hearing what they can be like, I can certainly imagine how much more fun the rest of the year would be if I could read – instead of sitting in the Headmaster's room while he gets high off of his lemon drops and has deep one-sided philosophical talks with that phoenix of his about the real meaning behind why cats land on all-fours."
After the hat finally finished his rant about his demands, most of the hall was still trying to comprehend what Harry Potter's message to them meant. It took a long time before anyone made any sound of any kind besides breathing. Then the hat opened his brim and everyone braced themselves for what Albert might say next.
"Oh, yes. I almost forgot. Harry Potter gets his own house,"
After this revelation, most people snapped out of their stupors, and started clapping. Even the Slytherins were clapping because their minds were occupied by other things. Everyone clapped, and more and more people came back to reality while still trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened. Then what Albert said finally sank into their minds, and they all realised that there was a fifth House Table, the size of a dinner table.
The main thing on all their minds was one unanimous thought. 'What?'
And there we have the end on my oneshot crack-like fic. Thank you all for reading. If you found any mistakes or you have something you want to express in the form of writing in the reviews section, leave a review. I hope you enjoyed this plot-bunny that had been bugging me for a whole entire 2 minutes before I wrote this at around 9pm.
–Sad Cyclops