Chapter 6: Talking Hats Are Jerks

Dean made sure he stayed in the front of the group, closest to the wall, as they climbed the stairs. He wasn't gonna be there when someone slipped over the small, slippery steps and fell down. And given how uneven the steps were in height, that was a very likely possibility. He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax, but failed miserably. He couldn't help but hold his breath with every step Hagrid took, placing those inhumanly big feet on far too small steps every time… It was just asking for a disaster to happen. Dean was really impressed when they made it to the top without incident.

There was something about the place itself, too. Almost as if the air was different, and he wasn't thinking about the humid and meadow qualities of it, either. There was something to the castle that made the hairs on his neck stand up straight.

Maybe it wasn't the castle, maybe it was the fact they were being led through what must have been the dungeons at some point. And I don't even have an EMF, Dean thought bitterly. An old dungeon? Great haunting place.

The other students seemed nervous, too. Scared even. But Dean didn't think they were noticing the subtle differences he was trying to figure out. He really should've read that book Bobby had bought him in Diagon Alley, the one about the history of the castle.

Or perhaps the long, narrow corridors with their dim candles and weird shadows were starting to get to him. No, dad had said Dean should trust his training, and his training was telling him he couldn't be on edge enough. Hell, what was I thinking coming to a magic school? Dean silently asked himself. It wasn't like he stood a chance if this turned out to be a very bad idea.

The group suddenly came to a halt and Dean's sense of nearing Doom grew stronger. He allowed himself to fidget with the cable of his earphones. He felt like a friggin' sitting duck, waiting there like that. Before his theories could get the better of him, someone knocked on a door and it opened almost right away. Dean gulped.

A witch in emerald green robes stepped into the candle light. Her face seemed to be set like stone, her black hair pulled into a tight bun, and she casted an authoritative look over the students. Dean fought the urge to straighten himself under her strict gaze.

"The firs years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid informed her as if delivering a package.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here," Professor McGonagall said. She sounded Scottish but uncanningly proper at the same time. Dean bit his tongue, not allowing a sound to come out. "Follow me," she told the students. She led them into a grand hall. The torches gave the rough, grey walls and the flagged stone floor a warm shade as the flow of students walked in. The ceiling was so high, Dean felt like he had just shrunk to ant size, but the marble staircase in the middle of the hall got rid of that disillusion.

Dean followed the witch past a grand double door where he could hear the drone of many collected voices. Whatever route the older students had taken, it had been a lot faster. Instead of letting them join the rest of the school, Professor McGonagall led them to an empty chamber to the side. It quickly got far too crowded, and Dean felt genuinely trapped.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," the good Professor said. "The start-of-term banquet is about to begin, but before that you will be sorted into your Houses," she explained and Dean vaguely recalled James talking about those Houses. "The sorting is a very important ceremony, because during your stay here for the next seven years, your House will be functioning as your family within Hogwarts." Yeah, Dean didn't see that happening. "You will have classes with the rest of your House, you will sleep in your House's dormitory, eat at your House's table, and spend your free time in your House's Common Room." She casted another stern look over the students.

Dean tuned her out and looked around the chamber. It was completely empty, there was nothing distinguishable about the room at all. He wondered why that'd be… An elbow of James in his side got him to pay attention to Professor McGonagall again.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." She paused to look pointedly at a few students. "I'll be back in a few minutes." The speech done, she turned around and closed the doors with a single wick of her wand.

It didn't take long before panicked whispers arose among the students.

"What'd you think the test is?" Dean heard a girl say behind him. Well, that was actually a good question, he thought.

"Do you think it will be dangerous? I don't know any spells yet!" Another girl asked the first, positively panicking. James seemed rather calm.

"What House do you want to be in?" James asked. Dean shrugged.

"Does it really matter?" Dean answered. James gave him an incredulous look. "What?" Dean asked. James shook his head in disbelief.

"Of course it matters!" James said a bit too loud. The students closest to them grew silent and turned to look at them. James flushed, Dean tried to look indifferent. "They all got different virtues, traits, that the Founder thought were most important," James continued in a whisper. Dean slowly crossed his arms in front of his chest, seemingly thoughtful.

"Where do the kids go without virtues?" James frowned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water. "Virtues," Dean snorted. "Are we joining a religious cult?" He shook his head in mock. What were his virtues anyway? Dean wasn't even sure he had them.

"Sometimes I really don't get you," James admitted. Dean shrugged.

"Works for me," he said, grinning. James just shook his head. The doors opened, cutting their conversation, and many others, short.

"We're ready for you," Professor McGonagall informed them. "Now form a line and follow me." The students hesitated, so Dean walked up to Professor McGonagall to take the lead. James seemed rather uncomfortable, but stepped right behind him. Dean failed to completely suppress a smile. He followed the witch through the grand doors, gritting his teeth as to not allow his jaw to drop at the sight before him.

Four long tables were lined up vertically in the room, floating candles above each of them and a few hundred students sitting at them. There were huge, arched windows on either side, and then there was a ceiling… And what a ceiling that was, if there even was one. Thousands of stairs shined down upon the occupants, a couple clouds passed by lazily, and the crescent moon was located proudly above a fifth table. Dean forced himself to look forward, the fifth table was occupied by the staff. He saw Dumbledoors sitting in the middle, and a few heads to the right was Bobby in his dark blue robes.

Dean could feel the tension leaving his muscles. Bobby was right there. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, but eased back in his chair once he noticed Dean. Dean resisted the urge to wave, and thankfully Bobby did, too.

Professor McGonagall had the students spread out in front of the staff table and looked at a filthy, black piece of fabric on a three legged stool. Dean quirked an eyebrow when a big hole appeared. Before he could do anything, it started to sing. More off-key than the last song Dean treated Sammy on, too.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me."

The occupants suffered in patient silence as the hat continued to sing.

"There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,"

And there his relaxation went. The hat could read his entire mind? That'd be very bad. His heart jolted, his brain raced. What was he gonna do about that? Far too soon the song ended. The older students cheered, whistled, and clapped. Even the majority of the staff was clapping. Dean made eye-contact with Bobby in the commotion, and saw what he had expected. Bobby's eyes were wide, but his posture calm. Almost unnoticeably, Bobby gave Dean a single nod of encouragement.

Professor McGonagall came to stand next to the stool and rolled out a long sheet of parchment. She cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses. "Andriessen, Nathan!" She announced. A small boy with a round face and sandy-blond hair stumbled forward. He sat down and the witch put the hat over his head. A few seconds passed in dead silence.

"Gryffindor!" The hat bellowed suddenly. A table off to the right wall burst out in cheers and Nathan hurried off towards them.

"Begbie, James!" Dean gave an encouraging pat on his friend's back and James stepped forward. It took even less time for the hat to do its thing.

"Slytherin!" The table on the opposite side burst out in cheers. James hurried off, glancing over to Dean as he did so. Dean followed him from the corner of his eyes, noticing how several students were clapping James on the back and shoulder and shaking his hand. What is wrong with these kids that they all wanna shake hands? Dean wondered.

The witch kept reading off her list, but the names hardly registered in Dean's mind. He knew he'd be waiting for a while and he was more focused on the hat. Dean tried to figure out the pattern, but there didn't seem to be one. The kids would walk up, sometimes the hat hardly graced their head, other times they sat there for minutes. It seemed completely random.

"Walters, Skylar!" A girl with spiky, short copper hair stepped forward and Dean noticed he and two other boys were the only ones left. He grinned, of course he'd be left waiting with the two bullies from the train. The hat was taking its sweet time again.

"Ravenclaw!" It finally bellowed, causing the table next to Slytherin to cheer and whistle.

"Winchester, Dean!"

Dean tried not to hurry, to walk as confidently as he could, like his father had-perhaps indirectly-taught him. He sat down slumping on his very uncomfortable seat. He even managed a slight smile before the hat sank over his head, way past his eyes. Dean blinked at the dark fabric in front of him, but didn't dare move any other part.

"Relax, whatever I learn here will never be told to another soul," the voice of the hat said, yet it didn't. It was silent for several seconds until Dean felt a chill creep up his spine. The hat is talking inside my head, Dean realized. He could feel the hat's intention to nod.

"How about things that don't have a soul?" Dean asked mentally. He could feel the hat smiling and resisted the urge to shudder.

"My charms are impenetrable, so no. None of the monsters you're thinking about will be able to extract any information from me," the hat answered. Dean could feel some hesitation from the hat, and he shifted in his seat.

"What is it?" he found himself asking. He was met by a long silence. Then he could feel the hat shaking its head no. Dean was about to demand answers when it continued.

"You're a tough one to place," it admitted. Dean didn't know what to say to that. Well, other than suppressing the fear of having no virtues, which he supposed was an answer to the hat on its own.

"I can see you're resourceful, clever, and very determined. You're willing to do whatever it takes to achieve what you want. Those traits are highly appreciated within Slytherin, and yet, what you want is far more Hufflepuff. You want to keep your family safe. You're truly loyal to them, dedicated even. And you work hard to protect them, which brings us to yet another House, Gryffindor. You're brave, courageously even. When you're truly scared-and we both know you have been-you push on. You never back down. You simply accept the challenge and show off your nerve like it's the best armor in the world. You even have potential for wise, old Ravenclaw. You certainly have enough wit about you, and I can see you got a creative, yet logical mind. But where do I sort you?" It felt like the hat was scratching its head. Dean was wondering if it just did that for the sole purpose of making him more

Uncomfortable.

"It's not often that I'm overqualified," Dean told the hat through their weird link. He could feel the hat rolling its eyes at him.

"Where would you sort yourself?" the hat asked instead.

"Hell, I hardly know which house is which," Dean answered, shrugging. "At least not with the nerds. One nerd in my family is enough." He could feel the hat raising its eyebrows.

"Yes, you had the least potential for Ravenclaw anyway," the hat agreed. It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

"Can you just hurry this up? I was promised a banquet after this ceremony of yours was over." Dean scratched his cheek in thought. "Hey, do you know if there's gonna be any pie?" he asked hopeful.

The hat ignored him, causing Dean to pout. "I think you would be most suited for either Gryffindor or Slytherin," it announced. Dean didn't react and the hat pondered on.

The hat was certain neither Ravenclaw nor Hufflepuff would do. The kid didn't have the thirst for knowledge that drove so many of Ravenclaw's students. He had a kind heart, but he didn't-couldn't- set himself up as a kind person. And with his impatience, even the students of accepting Hufflepuff would consider him an outsider. Dean was a bit rough around the edges, something that wouldn't do him any good in either of those houses, too. Gryffindor and Slytherin would be more accepting of that.

But how accepting would Dean be? The kid was stubborn and not scared to start a confrontation. In theory it could be good for Slytherin to have someone like Dean in their midst. But the sorting hat knew better than just theory. The hat had read the minds of all the students and it knew that it would result in lots of fights if it placed Dean in Slytherin. How much good would that do? Not much, it thought sadly. It would have done this kid well to hone his Slytherin traits, but Dean was already suspicious enough of the wizarding world and the current situation in Slytherin wouldn't help against that.

"That concludes it, then." Was the only warning Dean got, and it startled him. "GRYFFINDOR!" Dean's ears rang as the heavy voice echoed in his mind.

As in a daze Dean stood up, his ass hurting from sitting on that stupid stool for so long. Lightly shaking his head, he started towards the cheering table. A decision was made that the other kids before him had seem happy about, but Dean didn't feel a thing. Okay, he was relieved to get off that damn stool and away from all those prying eyes, he'll admit to that.

"Wyman, Aaron!" Dean looked over his shoulder to see the taller of the two bullies take place. So that was the sucker's name, huh?

Dean glanced over the Gryffindor table. His fellow first years seemed absolutely ecstatic, but one of the girls sat a bit further away from them. Dean remembered her, she had been sorted almost right after James. What had been her name? Kitty Bell? No, that would've been stupid. Perhaps he should've been paying attention to Professor McGonagall after all. She seemed calm as she played with the end of her ponytail and observed the other people sitting at the table. Dean figured he could use some peace and quiet.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked her. He didn't even know why he bothered. She looked up at him and offered an easy smile.

"Go ahead," she said, her eyes already back on the last person she had been looking at. Dean sat down, thankful that the benches were far more comfortable.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat shouted. Dean snapped around to look at James from across the hall. The poor kid looked terrified.

"Son of a bitch," Dean murmured quietly. He should've been there with him.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" the girl next to him asked. She hadn't even bothered to turn around. Dean clenched his jaw.

"Yates, Owen!" Professor McGonagall read. The girl was done observing the other people and turned to look at him. Fuck.

"Uh, your name was Bell, right?" he asked, his brows furrowed. She nodded and offered him her hand.

"Katie Bell," she clarified.

"SLYTHERIN!" Dean closed his eyes. Oh fuck that, that's just heartless. That damned hat!

Dean accepted Katie's hand. "Dean Winchester," he said, offering her a lopsided grin. She smiled back and shook his hand twice before letting go. Dean followed Katie's gaze to the staff table and saw that Dumbledoors was now standing. The stool and that jerk of a hat were gone. The headmaster smiled and opened his arms wide as if he expected someone to run up to him and embrace him. He gazed over the students

"Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Blockhead! Dweeb! Scrap! Attune! Thank you," Professor Dumbledore said and promptly plopped down again.

"Did you get that…?" Katie asked, her eyebrows raised.

"He went from headmaster to a kid on the playground to completely nuts from where I'm sitting," Dean answered, shrugging carelessly. He turned back to the table to find it loaded with food. "Oh hells yeah, that's what I'm talking about!" He dug in, putting anything that was in reach on his plate until it was full, and then some.

"So how's America?" Katie asked the moment he shoved a big heap of sausages in his mouth . He gave her an incredulous look and she rolled her eyes, slumping her shoulders. "Don't give me that! It's obvious with that accent of yours," she informed him. Fair enough. Dean gave her a one sided shrug and swallowed his lump of food down.

"Alright, I guess. It's easier to navigate and far less ancient looking," he told her.

"Do you miss it?" she asked as she reached over the table to grab the potatoes and serve herself. "Want some?" Dean held out his plate to her and she put a heavy dose on it.

"Not really, we always traveled a lot. This isn't much different, just looks more old-fashioned and the accents have a way to getting to ya, you know?" Dean found a can of some juice and Katie pushed her goblet towards him. He poured them a drink as he continued. "My dad and I agreed that your breakfasts rock though," he added, smiling. Katie nodded gravely.

"Don't remind me! My parents and I were on vacation to France once and the breakfasts were awful. I mean, they tasted alright, but I'd be hungry within an hour," she explained in all seriousness. Dean chuckled.

"I'm always hungry," he told her quietly.

"Yes, I can see that." She looked pointedly to his mess of a plate. Dean treated her to another lopsided grin and started wolfing his food down. Katie just shook her head and mumbled that sounded a lot like "Boys" before focusing on her own plate.

Dean swiftly finished it and reached over to a platter of ribeyes for seconds when a silvery something came out of it, casting his hand in ice water. He yelped, jerking away. His eyes widened when he realized what it was. The ghost rose up and Dean got a hold of the salt and sprinkled it all over the ghost.

The ghost cried out in pain as its image sizzled and hissed, causing a strange, clear smoke to appear. The head had fallen off to the shoulder, allowing Dean a nasty view into his neck. Dean watched wide eyed as the ghost didn't disperse like he was supposed to do.

"Why would you do that, boy?" The man cried. Dean opened his mouth and closed it again as nothing came out. Keeping his eyes on the ghost, he reached for his backpack.

"What did you do?" One of the older students asked. "How can you even harm a ghost?" Dean hesitated then. What was going on? He carefully glanced around and saw that several other ghosts had appeared. He tensed, how fucking haunted was this place?

None of the other students were making a scene, though. In fact, several seemed to be conversing with the ghosts. What the hell is happening? Dean asked himself. He looked over to the staff table to see what Bobby was making out of all this.

The man was standing, he appeared gruffer than his usual self. Professor McGonagall had his hand on his arm and was talking in on him. Reluctantly, Bobby sat down. Dean turned back to the ghost.

"You startled me," Dean told him. "I'm sorry." He couldn't believe he was apologizing to a fucking ghost.

"Apologies accepted," the ghost said, putting his head back on. "I see we got a nice lot for new Gryffindors!" he stated, circling around above the table to look at Dean's peers.

"Who are you?" A boy, Nathan, asked.

"I'm sir Nicolas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service!" the ghost declared solemnly. "I'm the ghost of Gryffindor tower."

"He's better known as Nearly Headless Nick!" A ginger-haired boy shouted.

"I prefer sir Nicolas, Mr. Weasley!" Nicolas retorted. He turned his attention back to the first years. "I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup five years in a row now! The Bloody Baron's becoming rather full of himself — he's the Slytherin ghost." None of the first years had time to react as Nicolas promptly turned around and drifted away over the table to sit elsewhere.

Dean shook his head. This was surreal.

"You okay?" Katie asked.

"Why the hell are there so many ghosts here?" he asked, placing his head in his hands. Katie shrugged.

"It's one of the few magical places in the United Kingdom where they don't have to be afraid to run into muggles. It sure beats staying at the Ministry of Magic," she explained simply. Dean groaned. "Wanna explain what you did to him?" she asked, poorly concealing her interest. Dean shot a glance at Nicolas, then turned his attention to her.

"I threw salt at him," Dean admitted quietly.

"Why salt?" Katie asked, frowning.

"It's supposed to disperse ghosts, I don't know why it didn't work for Nick there," Dean pointed to the aforementioned ghost. Katie's frown deepened. Dean sighed. "It has to do with the pure qualities of salt or something."

"Oh," Katie said. "And how do you know that?" Dean winked at her and started filling his plate again. "Oh, come on!" she whined. Dean pretended he didn't hear her and dug into his seconds. And he sure as hell didn't feel it when she hit him against the shoulder.

Kids were the same, magical or not. Dean smiled weakly at that. And the fact that his dormitory had its own ghost… Well, he'd just have to put a salt line around his bed and talk about it with Bobby once he got the chance.

By the time the desserts vanished, even Dean felt like he couldn't take another bite, not even of his favourite pie.

"Dude, I'm stuffed," he groaned softly, leaning back on one elbow. Katie turned to him, her face in mock concern.

"You're not going to explode, are you?" she asked. Dean rolled his eyes. He lazily turned his head when he heard someone loudly clear his throat. Professor Dumbledore was once again standing.

"The very best of evenings to you! To our new students I say welcome, to our returning students, welcome back! I hope the banquet tasted as good to you as it did to me." He smiled and let his eyes gaze over the students before him.

"Another year full of magical education awaits you, with some changes to the curriculum. But first some business. Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to point out to our new students-and some of our returning students-that the Forbidden Forest on the school grounds is indeed forbidden." He smiled knowingly.

"This year we welcome three new Professors," he announced, his voice more serious. "Suyilae Stainthorpe will be taking over the position of Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts." A tall woman in dark red robes and with her black hair braided in one long braid on the back stood up under the applause. She bowed her head lightly and smiled before sitting back down.

"Our other new Professor is Charity Burbage who will take over Muggle Studies until Professor Quirrell will come back from his year of traveling." A second woman stood up, she was shorter than Professor Stainthorpe and had curly, blonde-to-ginger hair. She made a bit of a nervous impression.

"And lastly, Professor Robert Singer will be joining us. He will introduce you to the new subject Wandless Defence." Dean snickered as Professor McGonagall had to elbow Bobby to get him to stand up. The students clapped politely and the soft buzzing of whispers filled the room. Bobby quickly sat down again and started staring daggers at Professor McGonagall. Dean tried not to choke on his own laughter. He didn't even care that his stomach was protesting madly.

"Of course we wish both Professors the best of luck," Professor Dumbledore said, nodding to both of them respectively. "But now your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish! And I know you all must be tired from the journey, so let us say good night. Pip pip!" As one, the student body came in movement. Chatter filled the room as they started to drop out of the… Cafeteria? Dean wasn't sure how to call it, really.

"First years! First years! Follow me!" A guy shouted, standing on the bench from their table. Katie grinned.

"Are you going to be able to get up?" She asked innocently. Dean shot her a glare and got up. He swiftly walked away from her despite his whole body protesting, just for good measure. He joined the small group that had gathered around the older student. The student waited for the last of Dean's peers to join them.

"I am Cyril Meaking and I'm one of the Gryffindor Perfects!" Cyril announced. "I'll show you the way to your dormitory, so please follow me and stay close!" Oh joy, what had that ghost said again? A tower? Dean gritted his teeth as he followed Cyril's lead up the marble staircase.

Dean wasn't sure if he was just too tired and full of food, or that the paintings and stairs actually moved as they climbed up to the tower. He swore to himself he'll never eat so much ever again just to be safe.

He almost bumped into the guy in front of him when the group suddenly came to an halt. He looked up to see Cyril had stopped in front of a huge painting of a fat lady in a pink dress.

"This is the entrance to our dormitory," Cyril explained. Dean squinted his eyes and opened them again to make sure he wasn't hallucinating when the lady moved. He wasn't. While he cursed under his breath, the lady in the painting turned to Cyril.

"Password?" she asked. Cyril glanced over the students to make sure they were paying attention before answering the portrait.

"The password is Cockroach Clusters." The lady gave a single nod and the portrait swayed away to reveal yet another narrow staircase. One by one, the students squeezed through the hole and up the stairs to reach a huge, round room. It was decorated with fluffy red armchairs and sofas, there was a fire going in the fireplace, and there were several tables to sit at.

"This is the Gryffindor Common Room," Cyril explained. "The dormitories are up there," he said, pointing to the staircase, "girls to the left, boys to the right. Your curfew is at nine o'clock at night, so make sure you're here by that time. Good night."

Dean walked up the stairs with the rest of the first years to find another staircase on each side. I hate this place, Dean thought as he made his way up. He dragged himself through the corridor when he noticed a sign with his name on it. Well, there were five names on it, but he didn't bother to read them all. He opened the room to find five four-poster beds, and one of them had his green duffelbags at the foot end. He hastily stalked over and looked longingly over the red blankets and pillows. At least tomorrow's Sunday, he thought in consolation. I can stay in that bed as long as I want.

He rummaged in his backpack until he retrieved the salt and made a rectangle just under the bed so one of his roommates wouldn't accidentally break it. Once done, he tossed the salt on his nightstand and fell face first into his mattress. Sleep took him almost immediately.

AN: Freaking Hell this sorting thing was killing me! I can't believe the decision is now final. I feel weird, I feel empty, and I feel nervous. I have changed my mind about a trillion times. I even considered just writing two versions of this story, one with Slytherin!Dean and one with Gryffindor!Dean, but I thought that'd be too much (for me). Who knows though, maybe I'll hit my head someday and do it anyway. It certainly would be interesting to see how it affects the plot… No! No, down plot bunnies, down! Oh man, I'm nervous. I'd really like to know what you think of my decision to put Dean in Gryffindor and I hope my/the hat's reasoning is satisfying for those that would've preferred a different House.

I may have been over-analyzing Dumbledore's four word speech in the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone (Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!). If you get it, awesome. If not, well don't worry about it. :)

Apparently Quirinus Quirrell was teaching Muggle Studies (I know, the irony, right?) before he left for a year and ran into Voldy. He was replaced by a nameless male wizard until Charity Burbage took the position in 1993 (Prisoner of Azkaban). I figured I might as well skip the nameless character and place Charity right away.