One after one, the first years were sorted respectively into their decided houses declared by the Sorting Hat. Merlin couldn't help but stare longingly at the creased ancient hat and grin, propping his chin in the palm of his right hand, missing the sceptical look that Severus shot him. He knew of the Hat's history, pretty much all of it. The Sorting Hat was sewn roughly one thousand years ago and began as a normal hat that once belonged to the prominent and gallant Godric Gryffindor, a rather stubborn and slightly pompous fool. Only when he was young, that is. He soon matured quite rapidly when Merlin came into the picture though. In more ways than one, it jogged the warlocks memories of Arthur.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Sorting Hat bellowed out loudly as the last student was swiftly categorized into the preferred house. Merlin sat upright, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back slothfully. He didn't much appreciate sitting in such a firm and uncomfortable chair, not to mention that it didn't have any armrests for him to lean against. Sneaking a look at Snape's chair, he groaned. His one had armrests, so why didn't he have one? Even Dumbledore had a better one — which made sense, seeing as he was, after all, the headmaster — but it certainly didn't excuse the fact that it looked like an entire couch!

Just as Professor McGonagall was close to raising the stool and leaving to the sidelines of the hall, an abrupt call from the hat proclaimed a silence that settled over not only the students that were carelessly whispering to each other but also made a few of the teachers yelp in surprise, that including Minerva who was holding the top of it up. "Wait!" It shouted. "You!"

Seeing as the Sorting Hat didn't have the ability to properly swing himself or walk up to the staff table, he turned just enough to lock his gaze with Merlin's. McGonagall twisted the hat to face her before raising it high enough to meet her perturbed expression. "Who? Who on earth are you talking about?" She inquired tiredly, omitting the fatigue that was beginning to wear her down. Minerva was in no mood to linger on with his witless games.

"Professor Evans," he stated airily. "A young man with dark, obsidian hair, blue eyes," Merlin shrunk down into the depths of his chair as much as he could, sliding his back against the backrest with a reproachful look plastered across his face, clearly ungrateful for the calling of his name. The hat continued blatantly, "Pale skin, tall and slender." He enunciated loud and clear for everyone to listen to, disregarding their thoughts and opinions completely. Minerva hesitated for a second, soon giving in and advancing towards the staff table. Professor Quirell, who was neighbouring next to Severus, pulled himself closer towards his chair, mimicking that of what Merlin was already in the process of doing.

She stopped in front of the Headmaster, earning herself a click of disapproval from the demanding accessory in her hands. "I said young, not bloody ancient," he remarked temerariously. While Dumbledore expressed a soft crinkled look of being affronted, he quietly chuckled with a snort before waving his hand along the table for the two to continue. Minerva frowned, apologetically glancing at the headmaster before resuming their traipse along the staff table.

Snape silently kicked the stuttering Dark Arts professor from underneath the table, reprimanding the said man for his erratic behaviour. He sent the professor a contemptuous sneer with a faint snarl before restoring his attention to the hat that was being held by the thin-lipped Head of House. As she neared where he sat, he too, couldn't help but lean away from the approaching two in disgust. He looked at Mr Evans, who seemed relatively undisturbed by the whole affair with a vague twinkle in his eyes that reminded him of the old coot that sat beside the raven-haired wizard.

"Him." The hat presented rather ruefully, Minerva pulling herself back from taking another step and turning her body towards the warlock. The wrinkles and abundant folds that shadowed the hat's many features curled up into what could be deciphered as a wry, twisted smirk. "Mr Evans," he drawled in a much Snape-like manner, stretching his brim and crinkling his pointed tip inwards. "A rather rare enigma, aren't you? Shrouded in mystery, never wanting to reveal yourself."

Merlin leaned forward quickly and muttered, "You best keep those words to yourself." He admonished, wanting to deviate from this conversation as quickly as possibly. Obviously, he knew that if the hat were to outright claim that he was Merlin, that many would simply brush it off and profess that it was invalid; for there was no proof of evidence to prove him so. Be that as it may, this was The Sorting Hat, a gift from the founders. His word could be granted for the truth for all he knew. They probably wouldn't believe that he was The Merlin, but it would still cause suspicion among his peers and students. And that wasn't something that he wanted to deal with any time soon.

"Oh, young war—"

Merlin quickly intervened before the words were able to slip out of his mouth, "Evans." He corrected swiftly. Noting the way how the Sorting Hat appeared a little insulted that he was interrupted, Merlin rolled his eyes in exasperation. The pronunciation of his old title prompted him to recall his elderly companion; that old grandpa of a dragon, better known as Kilgharrah.

"Evans, it is then. You have not yet been accumulated to a proper house, have you?" The warlock darted his eyes around the premise, tremendously uncomfortable with not only the chair but with the number of curious stares that he was gaining from both the students and the professors around him. Flitwick in particular was the most intrigued. As the eerie silence continued, the Sorting Hat burst out in a wave of anger from his impatient nature. "Well?"

"No," he attests firmly, unwavering in his seating. "Although," he perked up cheerfully, "I don't suppose I'd be able to create my own house, now would I?" Merlin was forced to hold back a look of triumph when he noticed the many jaws that had unclasped themselves at his ridiculous words. Not only was it absolutely impossible for something like that to happen, but it was also unheard of!

McGonagall tightened her grasp around the top of the hat sternly, sending the artifact a message that not only her arms but her patience was growing tired with each passing second. "Ow! If you cannot simply hold me within your hands, which is, might I add; a very easy task, please! Plant me on the young lad's head!" he cried with a visible wince. The Head of Gryffindor sent a worrying glance towards the Headmaster, Dumbledore giving her the go-ahead signal with the wave of his hand and a nod. Warily, she positioned the Sorting Hat on top of the professor's head, where he adjusted it to be worn in a jaunty manner. He earned himself a few snorts and giggles from a minority of students, predominantly those from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

"Now," he announced solemnly, casting a long blanket of silence amongst the snickering students in an instant. "Oh, my. So my assumptions are true, you are who I presumed. A challenge you are, quite so. Though I'm afraid the destinies of time are sown, you seek for something that you rightfully own. But oh, what could it be? What is it that not even I can see?" Merlin snorted testily, a glint of mischief colouring his eyes that hid behind the brim of the hat. He could recall the old, wise dragon from his long-forgotten past; Kilgharrah it was. The one dragon that would always endure the warlock's pointless but meaningful rants and complaints that was choking up his mind, offering him advice with the one condition of turning them into confusing riddles that often ended up fracturing his brain from attempting to solve them by himself. He shook his head dismissively, obscuring the distant memories that threatened to resurface themselves.

"A dragon? Well, I'm quite flattered that you'd think of me in such a manner." The Hat mocked playfully, receiving a long sigh from his client. "I am only teasing you young war— Mr Evans. I have no intentions in offending you any further."

"In what sense did you detect a dragon you crazy old fool." Severus, along with the other staff members looked at him expectantly. Shocked, but captivated in where the conversation might be going. Some of the students had even shuffled up a few seats forward, heavily compressing themselves against each other restlessly. "All I saw was an aged lizard that was more tactless than wise." He muttered under his breath, forcing his tired lips into a thin smile.

"He was no self-centred miscreant, Merlin, and you are more than fully aware of that fact!" The hat glowered with more wrinkles growing onto the archaic leather accessory, much to his own dismay and misfortune. Thankfully, for both of them, the slip of the warlock's true name wasn't audible enough for anyone to hear. Nonetheless, it didn't stop Merlin from releasing a little more than what was necessary of magic from his grasp, clearly shaking the magical instrument he wore. "You…"

"As you were saying? I'd rather get this sorting thing out of the way, thank you." Crossing his arms across his chest once more, this time more impatiently, he cleared his throat loudly. "Come on now." He urged, purposely making it sound like he was speaking to a child not worthy of sparing anymore of his precious time.

"Fine," the Hat sneered. "You are, without a doubt, kind, caring, compassionate," Merlin softened his look, formally resting his hands on top of each other and straightening his back against his chair, no longer having the need to complain of how unfitting it felt. "Brave, heroic, protective… intelligent," there was a hint of resistance in saying the last word before he pushed forward valiantly, "Optimistic, and wise."

Just by listening, and that alone was enough to tell Merlin just how genuine and serious the Hat was being — even if he heard some reluctance in declaring that he was intelligent. "Although," the Hat carried on with a small grin pulling at his lips. "You were also known to be naive, outspoken, and slightly foolish in your past." He added friskily, already acknowledging that he had probably irritated the warlock with his choice of words.

"We were all foolish in our pasts, it was what shaped us into who we are to this day." The Sorting Hat gave a stiff chuckle at the warlock's short speech, noticeably a desperate attempt to make amends for his words. Severus snorted from beside them, holding a tight fist against his mouth, feigning a sudden cough.

"Indeed…" If he was given the ability to move by will, he would have shaken his head in incredulity. "Onto other matters, I see you fit in… Oh, maybe… Slytherin?" He quickly spoke over the stammering crowd of students that included the Potions Master himself, "Hm, no. Perhaps Gryffindor?" Observing the table full of Gryffindor students, it was quite clear that many of them were excited and also enthused by the suggestion. On the other side of the Great Hall were the Slytherins, who were looking more than just disappointed but insulted at the outrageous proposal. "Although, for you to end up in the other two noble houses are entirely conceivable… goodness. This has got to be the most overwhelming and difficult decisions I've had to make since the founder's era!" That caught everyone's focused attention.

"Should I be flattered or worried?" Quipped Merlin.

"Both, Mr Evans," the Hat answered rather grimly, "I'm afraid that not even I, can appropriately sort you into your destined—"

Merlin interrupted by pulling down on the brim of the hat roughly. "Alright, let's do this instead." He insisted, locating the palms of his hands down onto the polished surface of the table smoothly. And in a deep, almost seductive if not, alluring whisper, "Which house do I have to be in to annoy Snape?"

The Sorting Hat split into a loud maniacal fit of hoarse laughter when he was able to properly process the meaning behind the warlock's words. A very bold and shameless question, it was. He expected nothing less from the witty warlock that seemed to always make a serious situation into nothing more than a casual conversation, or a humorous joke. Of course, in this staid standpoint, the matter wasn't to be taken lightly. Merlin was practically required to be sorted into one of the houses, it was necessary if he was going to remain an assistant here. All in all, this was perhaps the most arduous decision he had ever made. He knew all too well of the consequences of placing the sarcastic jester into Slytherin; students might stray away from him for his decision, seeing as a large majority of the house were the children of former or current death eaters. Not to mention that Tom Riddle — now known as The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, or Voldemort — was also sorted into the house. Anyone that landed in it was labelled as evil, especially from the arrogant Gryffindors.

On the other hand, there was always the option to throw Merlin into Gryffindor, which did very well suit him well, but the warlock's preferences were driving him off that course. As he managed to sober himself up quickly with a sombre look now shifting across his wrinkled face, he imitated that of trying to clear his throat, as if he had one. "I'm quite certain you already know the answer to that question, Mr Evans." He chuckled profoundly, squirming uncomfortably when Merlin tried to look him at him. "However, I digress. You would make a wonderful Hufflepuff for your intense loyalty—"

"That is out of the question. My honour for loyalty is on pause at the moment, you see." Merlin intervened, showing apathy to the sudden subject and dismissing it without a second thought to think it over. "I mean no offence to the House itself, nor its students, but I simply can't see myself there." He spared a contrite glance towards the Hufflepuff table, sending his apologies with his looks alone. Most of the girls were already fawning over him and he wasn't even sorted into a house yet. It didn't necessarily bother him, but it did make him hope that he wasn't going to be getting any anonymous love letters from them any time soon. He even noticed one of the seven-year Hufflepuff girls staring longingly at him — which most certainly made him shudder before brushing it off.

"I see," the Hat hummed, "Perhaps you'd fit better in the prideful house of Gryffindor?"

The warlock released a nonplussed snort with a glint of hilarity gleaming in his eyes, his shoulders vibrating softly with mirth. He was expecting the suggestion from the hat, yes, but he couldn't help but chortle in amusement with a hand held up against his mouth in an attempt to try and muffle them. Arthur would fit there, Merlin thought sardonically. Arthur was a Pendragon, probably one of the noblest and bravest members among them all, effortlessly outranking them all just with his abundant pride. Merlin found it amusing as well, seeing as the sole colours of Gryffindor were red and gold — an almost exact and accurate symbol and crest of Camelot.

When he contemplated on it a while longer, he curled the side of his lip up before chewing the insides of his mouth distractedly. "Difficult," he started, "Gryffindor, or Slytherin." This time, he turned his gaze to face Snape, pursing his lips together tightly as the edges slowly coiled up at the sight of the Potions Master deathly scowl. "Ah," he clicked his tongue. "Doesn't matter."

"Have you made a decision, warlock?" The Hat whispered. Merlin nodded impassively, highlighting one word in his mind and mindfully sending it to the ancient artifact that sat upon his head. Having received the given word, he chuckled and if he could, he would've shaken his head incredulity. "Your mind is truly a great puzzle, young—" he paused, correcting himself; "Old one. I pray you find solace in this world."

Thank you.

With one extensive intake of oxygen, the Sorting Hat thundered in a loud declaring voice among the chattering students that had soon silenced themselves at his assertion, "SLYTHERIN!"