Songs are written to the HP music of John Williams. If There Were No Magicians in Chapter 3 is set to Hedwig's Theme - CD1 track 01, 0:00-0:38. Alohomora in Chapter 5 is set to Harry's Wondrous World - CD1 track 02, 1:20-1:58 (or DVD1 track 35, 145:17-145:56), without changes of key.

Original story material and lyrics are the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer. The 4th year sorting song excerpt is from Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, chapter 12.

1. Try Trap, Hero.

The opening banquet was over, and the Great Hall was clearing out. Most of the students were excited after Dumbledore's announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, and could hardly wait to talk it over in the common rooms.

But not Harry Potter. Harry was glum. The Quidditch season, cancelled!

He needed a soothing thought or two to clear his head. And so, he stayed behind in the hall, to begin Fourth Year by renewing an old acquaintance.

It was the first time he had seen the Sorting Hat in more than a year. Tonight, it had sung cheerfully of its creators, who charmed it to do its task almost a thousand years ago.

Harry noted it was none the worse for being soaked and kicked around on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. He approached the hat, still sitting on its judicial stool.

"Ah! What can you tell me off the top of your head, Potter?" said the hat.

"I'm glad to see you again, for one," said Harry cheerfully. "I just wanted to say hello."

"It was nice of you to stop by tonight. You've been noticeably absent for my first-night appearances for two years!"

"Sorry. I was unavoidably detained those times."

"Or, to be more exact, it was unavoidable the one time, and detention the other."

"Well....yes," confessed Harry. "Being with Dumbledore all day certainly keeps you well-informed, doesn't it?"

"Indeed. But I must say, our adventure in the Chamber of Secrets was the most excitement I've had in many a century! You must invite me again, next time you take on the entire dark world, single-handed."

"I'd rather not invite myself to that, thank you."

"Oh, it's in your nature. Since the Chamber, I've been fascinated by anagrams... the rearrangement of letters. Peculiarly, an anagram of your name is 'Try trap, hero!' -- did you know? Sure enough, the dark world has induced you to go charging into their traps, and you have, unfailingly, on every occasion. You're fortunate to have found your way out each time."

"If it's all the same, I'd like to keep my neck in one piece -- and all the rest of me."

"A clever outlook, Potter. But remember -- if you were more clever than all else, I would have placed you in Ravenclaw! That was not to be. With your ambition to prove yourself, you were destined for Slytherin; only your bravery, and your desperate insistance, placed you in Gryffindor. Ambition and bravery can prove to be a foolhardy combination. You called on me in the Chamber, and why? Because you entered carrying your wand at the ready as your only defence, knowing that evil lurked there -- then you carelessly threw it aside. As though you needed two hands to shake someone awake! In a moment, the enemy had your only weapon. Try trap, hero?"

"I understand. Thank you. I'll try sidestepping the traps -- if I can. And for good reason. I'm not a hero."

* * *

As if the Tournament and the start of the school year were not enough excitement to churn things up, Harry received an owl the very next morning, with a note summoning him to the Headmaster's office.

He couldn't remember the lemony password, and tried several; Sherbet lemon worked this time.

Dumbledore, seated at his huge wooden desk, greeted him as he entered. As Harry sat, he waved at Fawkes, the venerable phoenix -- and started to say hello to the Sorting Hat, but for some reason, it wasn't on its usual shelf.

Dumbledore looked over his glasses at Harry. "I moved the hat for today, so we could have our chat alone. Something has happened, Harry, and I hardly know how to explain it.

"There is an old bog in the dark forest where Hagrid collects peat, used in our greenhouses. Yesterday, he came upon a most unique thing, buried in the bog.... the remains of old worked leather, very rotted."

"Is it an important find, Professor?"

"Quite. We know it is because it said so. It talked to Hagrid."

"Talked! Enchanted leather? What did it say?"

"It said it was once the Sorting Hat... oh, and not the one we have, but the real one."

"Why wouldn't our Sorting Hat be the real one? If this leather thing was buried in peat, it must have been there for hundreds of years!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "and that was a most remarkable detail. It says it was discarded there, long ago, by a young wizard...

"...a wizard named Harry Potter."

Harry was agape. "Really! Do you think it was an ancestor of mine?"

"No," said a gruff voice from behind Dumbledore. For a moment, the headmaster continued to look Harry in the eye, then reached behind his chair and brought forward a shapeless, dismal, muddy dishevelment of old leather, and placed it at the centre of his desk. It barely moved as it spoke.

"Not an ancestor, Potter...

"It was your owl Hedwig who carried me to my doom, as it was ordered.

"It was you who had me destroyed.... a thousand years ago."