One-Shot: The Sorting of Draco Malfoy, a harry potter fanfic

Many people thought the sorting hat was just a hat. Well, not just a hat, given that it could talk and spent at least a good half hour at the beginning of each year sorting the new arrivals of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But people thought that was the extent of the sorting hat's abilities.

No one ever reckoned that it could think past that. Never realized that the sorting hat remembered, recalled each and every sorcerer that it had sorted, and could wonder if it had made the right choice. For it was a hard choice, the hat knew. Which house a student ended up in shaped who they were, what they became in life.

There were quite a lot of factors involved in sorting a person. First there was the obvious factor. Which house did a student seem to fit into best? Where they brave or cunning, loyal or clever? The answer to that pushed a student toward a particular house.

But the sorting hat had learned it couldn't sort students based on that alone. It also looked at the underlying personality traits. The individual fears and weaknesses of each student, more than anything, determined where they belonged.

The sorting hat was good at its job. Very good. Most often it didn't take long at all to sort a student. However, sometimes the sorting hat had doubts. Neville Longbottom for one. The boy was just walking down to the Gryffindor table now, newly sorted, the insignia of Gryffindor appearing on his robes.

He wasn't the brightest of students, though the sorting hat knew that he could be if he found the right topic to study. He was loyal, though he had yet to be truly tested in that field. Calculating didn't at all describe him; Neville was naïve and trusting. He was also shy.

For a small moment the sorting hat had considered putting him in Hufflepuff. But no, Longbottom was already loyal, not like the other one, he didn't need any help with that. He needed help becoming brave.

But there was that bit of doubt in the sorting hat's mind, that what if. It had made this mistake before, many years ago, had put a student in the wrong house. Perhaps, if Peter Pettigrew had been put in Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor, things would have happened differently.

He had been, the sorting hat recalled, much like little Neville Longbottom. Shy, average student. However, he had lacked the loyalty that Longbottom already possessed. It had taken the sorting hat many moments to decide on a house the night it had sorted Pettigrew, but at last it had placed him in Gryffindor. The house most likely to simulate Pettigrew's bravery. There was loyalty in Gryffindor, the hat had reasoned. Chivalry. He would grow into a brilliant young wizard in the scarlet robes of his house.

Thinking back, the sorting house realized that it probably should have put Peter Pettigrew in Hufflepuff. So that the boy could have learned to hold to his values tightly, to not even consider turning in his dear friends to the dark lord.

For the sorting hat knew it was Peter Pettigrew, not Sirius Black, who had made that fateful choice. The hat remembered the two boys, knew them down to their cores, knew Sirius would neverhave even entertained the possibility of such a betrayal. Neither would Remus Lupin. Petter Pettigrew was the only choice.

The sorting hat knew none of it would have happened if Peter Pettigrew had been put in a different house. The sorting hat's mistake had cost many people dearly. It was determined to never make that mistake again.

It pushed thoughts of Pettigrew out of its mind as students continued to pitter-patter up the steps of the stage. The sorting hat needed to focus on them, not on the little boy it had failed so many years ago. Like always, the sorting hat breezed through the names on the list in Professor McGonagall's hands.

Until the name Draco Malfoy was called.

The sorting hat had already seen the Malfoy boy through the eyes of several students it had already sorted. For in those few moments while it was on someone's head it saw all, heard all that they had ever experienced.

Draco Malfoy, the sorting hat knew, was a bit of a snob. A snob born to privilege. His father was powerful, not with magical skill but with his position in the Ministry of Magic. His mother was rather weak willed- the sorting hat mused that much of the Malfoy family was- but she was utterly devoted to her son.

But Malfoy was also insecure. Surprisingly so. Even as he strode up the steps to the hat, feigning a confidence that only the sorting hat saw through, the ancient being saw through his façade, saw the little boy beneath. A little boy desperate for his father's approval. A boy who was still unsure of his beliefs, who still nodded and agreed with his father's every word, because that was how he'd been raised. It was either that, the hat realized, or the harsh lash of his father's hand.

In the instant the hat touched Malfoy's head, it read his every thought. Every secret, every fear, every hope and dream. The boy was clever, cunning. He would go far in life, no matter which house he ended up in. He had that sort of drive.

He was also unsteady in soul. He lacked the fierce loyalty that most people held for friends and family, though he certainly had the potential for it. He also lacked bravery. The bravery to stand up to his father, to form his own beliefs and break away. Again, the potential was there. But it was untapped.

Weaving in between all that though was Draco's desperation to please his father. It was clear he wanted to be sorted into Slytherin; he was chanting it in his head.