A/N: A bit of speculation. Why did the hat put him in Gryffindor? I own none of the characters. Rowling does.

Under the hat brim, all he could see was darkness. No cheerful light of the dining hall, no curious faces of Hogwart students, not even the stern features of the teacher who set the hat on his head. McGonagaul, wasn't it?

Nevertheless, his ears worked fine. The whisperings of the students he couldn't see even though he sat in front of them all made his heart keep a fast and nervous pace. Why do we have to wear this thing in front of everyone, anyway?! he thought angrily, an embarrassed blush warming his face.

Witnesses.

Neville Longbottom nearly toppled off the stool upon which he sat. The voice seemed to come from inside his head. Judging by how the noise of the students didn't change, Neville guessed he alone heard it. Witnesses?

Correct. If someone was sorted into one house and later tried to lie about it, there would be enough witnesses to say otherwise.

Neville couldn't deny it made sense.

Quite. A smug tone entered the voice and the boy recognized it as the one who sang the sorting song.

You're the hat!

Dear, dear, clucked the voice in a dry tone. Have you just now figured that out?

Neville's shoulders slumped. Sorry, uh, Mr. Hat. Gran says I'm a bit slow.

Does she? A contemplative silence followed. Well, perhaps you are a bit slow. Magic skills somewhat below average…hmmm…a love of plants, though.

Neville brightened, a shy smile curving his lips. A memory of Gran's garden, bursting with color, orchids, pansies, lobelia, roses, flutterby bushes; everyday of spring and summer, he and Gran tended the flowerbeds and orchard. He remembered the time he'd taken Gran's wand while she napped and waved it at the garden. Each flower glowed with an inner light, a deeper hue, their smell a wave of ambrosia…

Of course, when Gran found out, he'd gotten a hard clip around the ear and she took better care of hiding her wand during naps.

But the spell remained, didn't it? The hat shared the memory alongside Neville. And every time guests come to tea, your grandmother takes them out into the garden and shows off her grandson's genius.

Blushing even deeper, Neville shrugged. I don't really know what I did…

You have potential, Longbottom – no doubt there. Now, what house do you think you should be in?

Hufflepuff, came the glum reply. Gran says I'm not smart enough for Ravenclaw or brave enough to wear Gryffindor colors.

And Slytherin? Prompted the hat.

I'm not going into Slytherin.

Why not?

The resentment returned and the boy gritted his teeth, clenching the sides of the stool hard. I just don't.

Slyer now, the hat's voice dropped to a whisper. Even if you could avenge your parent's sooner?

Shut up! bellowed Neville. They were tortured by former Slytherins!

You could learn how to return the favor, learn to make your parents' torturers suffer every bit as much if not more… the hat's voice trailed off.

The temptation to give in, to agree, to beg the hat to put him in Slytherin tickled at him, beckoned to him. Then, Neville remembered the boy with the green eyes he'd met on the train. Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

Lived despite what? Despite his parents dying. He grew up without them.

It's worse for you, though. His parents are gone – yours are alive and they don't remember you.

If they remembered me, they'd still tell me to make them proud, countered Neville after a moment. I'm not going into Slytherin.

All right, then. The hat's voice turned back into its normal businesslike tone. A few final words, Longbottom. True strength arises from taking the right road, not the easiest. It is the same with courage.

Neville nodded.

Oh, and tell your grandmother she doesn't know everything about sorting, thank you very much.

"GRYFFINDOR!"