After a few hundred, the Sorting Hat had already stopped counting. So when the year of 1991, rolled around, it was clear that the piece of glorified headwear had had enough. Even Dumbledore had a look of shock when instead the hat stopped his typical out-of-tune singing. For the first time in decades Sorter (His last name being Hat) felt a sense of achievement at finally bettering the whole of Hogwarts by ridding it of one of its more unpleasant traditions. Everyone in the Great Hall now sat in disbelief at what had occurred. "Well?" he demanded; "I'm here for the bloody tradition. Start the sorting."
"Um… Hannah Abbott. I mean Abbott, Hannah," McGonagall said, still phased by the occurrence. The victi… student that put her head into Sorter's cloth body could only be described as yellow given her hair colour…
"HUFFLEPUFF!" Sorter roared, causing the girl to nearly fall in terror; she was a brilliant fit, colours, personality, and everything. Susan Bones was the next specimen. While the first had been clear-cut, the balance of Susan's traits and desires was tricky. She was braver than diligent no doubt, yet yellow was her decidedly favourite colour. "Thunderbird erm, Hufflepuff?" he said but regretted it immediately; his time abroad as an assistant sorter seemed to have rubbed off on him.
His words became monotone as he wrestled through the proper thing to do, barely paying attention. "Boot, Terry: Gryffindor. Brocklehurst, Mandy: Ravenclaw. Brown, Lavendar: Slytherin. Bulstrode, Millicent: Ravenclaw. Finch-Fletchley, Justin: Hufflepuff." It began to dawn on Sorter that he had been only using randomness to sort. His mind was now fully engaged when a Granger, Hermione set him on her head. She wants to be in Gryffindor quite a lot. The choice is obvious. "RAVENCLAW!" he shouted. The poor girl flinched but settled in quite nicely with her new housemates.
Neville Longbottom was next, a timid young lad. "GRYFFINDOR!" Sorter said. After him came a Malfoy. "HUFFLEPUFF!" The boy sat at his table with a downcast head. The boy was loyal to a fault but to the wrong house. The hat continued his fun until a Harry Potter stepped up. You're a perfect Slytherin, the Hat assured him. 'Not Slytherin' was the reply. Sorter was out of sorts for lack of a better word. He had lost count of who went where and hardly wanted to ruin the balance of power. The boy still continued his mantra, a rather cunning tactic, too cunning in fact. "SLYTHERIN!" The Sorting Hat chuckled. Life was much better this way.