TRAGEDY OF A SORTING HAT:
He was cute, young, king of trendy, edgy and quirky. He was old and certifiably insane.
He saw her first in a meeting at the office. He was sitting behind the desk, she on the other side, a pom-pom attached to her top.
She was from the Ministry of Magic, a young assistant, the type with hip square glasses, all black clothing and a bob cut. She had arrived for a meeting on behalf of Mr Fudge.
He began to praise the gods above for Fudge's superiority complex, and his need to send minions to complete his bidding.
Dumbledore greeted the woman, shaking her hand genially. The Sorting Hate nearly swooned! She was gorgeous!
The beret atop her head was plump, red, sitting just off centre in that quirky way, a pom-pom attached to the very centre. She was so lovely he began to compose and impromptu verse about her:
"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I love that pom-pom,
Is it stuck with glue?
You sit so jaunty on one's head,
I love your colouring,
It is so red!
I want to take you awaaaaaaay,
My sweet bereeeeeeeet!"
Not one of his better or even rhythmic compositions, but being lovesick and infatuated did that to a person. (Er … hat.)
When the hip edgy woman left she dropped her beret and it was left sitting on the edge of Dumbledore's ornate desk chair.
Dumbledore picked it up and examined it, deciding to send it to her tomorrow, but he left it next to the Sorting Hat on the shelf until then. What luck! It was like a date!
The Sorting Hat shuffled closer, and flexed his biceps. (Er … brim.) "Hello there," he leered, leaning closer to the small unobtrusive beret.
The red head (er … hat) gave no response, or indication that she had heard him.
"Hard to get, hmm?" He said musingly, giving her a wink and again admiring her pom-pom.
Again, the beret stayed silent and still. The Sorting Hate furrowed his brow, and then edged forward, nudging her gently. She just flopped to the floor, completely lifeless.
*gasp* She was just a normal beret! No magic, no talking, no nothing!
And so, with a deep shaking breath, the Sorting Hat resigned himself to a lifetime of solitude. *tear*