Disclaimer: This Fanfiction is not meant as a guide for the proper handling of possessed fruitcakes. Please do not treat it as such.

The piece of Voldemort's soul that was lodged inside of the fruitcake first became aware of its own existence shortly after being placed onto a dusty shelf in the back of Dumbledore's office. Its first thoughts went something like this.

Man, old Dumbly needs to clean this place up. Wait, did I just think? Oh! it realised, I exist!

The fruitcake tried to trace the chain of events that led up to its existence, but could only vaguely remember a few things about babies and potters and rats. Eventually it decided that it's past seemed to be a mystery, and so it left it at that.

Having pondered the question of its own existence as far as it could, the fruitcake decided to turn its attention to its senses.

I seem to be able to see, it decided, and hearing seems to be a thing as well. The fruitcake briefly pondered how it could possibly see or hear with neither eyes nor ears, but quickly shelved that thought for another time. I'm not sure about taste, smell, or touch though. There is, after all, a distinct lack of things to taste or smell, myself excepted. The fruitcake thus decided to tenuously declare its number of working senses to be two, but with room for error.

Moving onto the next topic, the fruitcake decided to put these probably two senses to work. It scanned the room with its vision, and listened for any sounds. Noticing that there were an awful lot of objects in view, it decided to make a list.

Ah, lists. Somehow, the fruitcake was sure that in its past life, it had a great love of lists, especially in groups of thirteen. Maybe there was a list of babies, or potters, or rats? Once again shelving this thought, the fruitcake went about listing everything it could see.

My List (of things I can see and/or hear):

- Me (Looking nice and shiny today, if I do say so myself)

- A wooden shelf (My current place of rest. Would look better in green)

- Several golden devices (Doing everything from spinning to hurlsquishchucking. Making way too much noise)

- A bird in a cage (Very golden and shiny. Making all the rest of the noise)

- A hat (Old and wrinkly. I seem to remember it from somewhere…

The list trailed off as the fruitcake regarded the hat. Somehow, this hat seemed familiar. A memory briefly swam to the surface… the hat sat upon the young boy's head, and… yes, Slytherin would help you to reach your dreams, but many terrible things… "SLYTHERIN", the hat cried, and the boy stood up to join his…

The fruitcake started, and the memory was broken, floating back into the recesses of the fruitcake's sugar-filled mind. Though it mourned the memory's loss, the fruitcake now had at least some information with which to proceed. So the hat can talk? Could it be like me?

The fruitcake looked at the hat, which sat directly next to it on the shelf. The hat was quite a bit taller than the fruitcake, and it seemed to be made from some form of brightly glistening leather. Regarding this shining monstrosity, the fruitcake tried its best to speak. 'Hello good sir, how are you-' The fruitcake cut itself off as it realised that it wasn't producing any sound, though this should have been obvious, considering it had no mouth, nor vocal chords for that matter.

Thus, the fruitcake was just as surprised as you no doubt are to receive a response. 'How am I what?' spoke a sharp voice, somehow seeming to resonate throughout every fiber (or rather, every carbohydrate?) of the fruitcake's being. 'How am I alive? How am I able to speak telekinetically? How am I able to keep my surface so well polished and smooth? If it's the last one, the answer is a good scrubbing in Mermaid oil every week, and a fair amount of elbow grease on the part of the Headmaster.'

If the fruitcake had a mouth, it was sure that it would be hanging open. 'Um, hi,' it said, quite lamely. The fruitcake found itself quite at a loss for what to ask, so it decided to tackle the questions in order of relevance. 'I'd like an answer to the second one, please.'

The hat seemed to chuckle, a movement that somehow shook the hat like a wave. 'A common property of magical items. I assume from the question that you're new.'

Thinking back to the haze of its past, the fruitcake decided that this was likely true. 'It seems likely, yes. I don't suppose you could tell me how I came to be?'

The hat's cone shook, in an imitation of a human head gesture, made all the stranger when one considers that hats are generally seated atop human heads. 'I can't think of a reason why a wizard would impart life into a fruitcake, nor why old Dumbles would put you on this extra importance shelf with me. Perhaps he's thinking of eating you?'

The fruitcake visibly became a few shades whiter in horror. The hat laughed heartily at this, its leather surface now waving about like a giraffe in a tornado.

'Heh. Nah, old Dumbles would never eat you,' the hat assured. 'and not just because his teeth are too rotten to even bite into you. The man may be old and codgy, but he respects life, even that of inanimate object like myself.' The hat smiled wistfully, the corners of the crack near its brim turning up at the corners. 'Let me tell you, before Dumbles, I had some Headmasters who would just lock me in a box all year and forget about me, and others who felt the need to parade around with me on their heads all the time.'

The hat seemed to realise that it was rambling, and so brought itself back to the present. 'Well, it'll be nice to have someone new to talk to.' It bowed its point towards the fruitcake. 'The Sorting Hat, at your service.'

The fruitcake suddenly panicked, as it realised it didn't have a name. "The Fruitcake" certainly wasn't a name. It was a description, though The Sorting Hat seemed fine with it. Somehow, however, the fruitcake knew that it needed a real name, one that it could be proud of. A few names from its past floated through the fruitcake's mind, sweeping past before they could be fully examined. A large one floated through, but that name gave the fruitcake a lot of bad feelings, so it moved on. Soon it got to a few more recent names, jumbling around.

James… Lily… the names jumbled around, but eventually the fruitcake pulled a name out that sounded good, and didn't have that subtle feeling of guilt and anger attached to it.

'Pleased to meet you, Sorting Hat. The name's Jamesley.'

A/N: While looking up fruitcakes, I discovered that fruitcake also means "A person who is completely insane", which I think describes pre-death Voldemort quite well. Huzzah for happy coincidences.

I should have called this "Voldemort the Fruitcake".