Yay! School is out, finally. So now I have more time to update. Here is a funny one that is more of a transition then an important plot point. Well, here we go.

Chapter Six:

A New Headmaster

The Sorting Hat did not see the man at the window again, nor did he wish to see him: he would never dare to say the name. "What would Mordred want with Riddle," he mused one day. He would probably never know for Riddle had been gone from the school for some time. Life went back to the normal drone of sitting on the shelf, which now seemed rather tedious after so much excitement for just two years. One thing had resulted from the whole incident: Armando Dippet had retired out of embarrassment for the events of those two years. His popularity had really never picked up after Myrtle dying and Riddle being possessed. He had been a fine Headmaster, but nobody really wanted him there anymore.

Without Dippet there that afternoon (for he had just left this morning), everything was more quiet then usual. Except for the mutterings of the portraits. Today they had stayed awake and seemed more alive then ever before. "Rupert, good fellow," he inquired to the alert neighboring portrait, "what on earth has got you all talking today?"

"We are trying to figure out who the Ministry has appointed to replace Headmaster Dippet. He does not have a portrait yet, since he's not dead, so we have no one to ask. Phineas Nigellus has been running in and out to his portrait in the Black family home but there is no news so far," reported Rupert Avencroft.

"It's probably some foolish old duffer anyhow. Why should you care? He will not be any different from the rest," grumbled the Sorting Hat. The lack of fresh air appeared to finally be having a profound impact on him. That and a rather strong distaste for the Ministry, but who could blame him: they were the cause of strife for many wizarding families. The Ministry always hid behind a mask of being on all wizards' sides while constantly and invisibly stabbing everyone in the back. It was a pyramid of power that wizards fought to get to the top of. They had secrets they would keep from everyone who they deemed a threat. How could such a small movement have become such a power that destroyed so many of the wizarding world's finest young wizards and witches?

"But they say they might appoint…"

"Not another word, Rupert. I do not wish to speak of your 'glorious ministry and how it is all going to change.' They still keep me sour."

"You are as stubborn as Merlin's eagle. The Ministry…"

"That's enough, Rupert. Let him be sour if he wishes," interrupted Phineas Nigellus. The Sorting Hat reminded himself that he would have to thank Phineas later. "There is no news so far of an appointment. We will all just have to wait and accept whoever it is." Several portraits grumbled at this and turned their attention to the silent door holding their breath. The Sorting Hat did not care and instead fell into a troubled sleep.

A Long Time Ago Just a Bit After the Sorting Hat said Nasty Words About Godric Gryffindor…

The Sorting Hat sat still on the shelf with stormy thoughts about what his Master Godric had said about leaving. Lord Godric could not leave, the wizarding world needed him and further more he left his sword with him. How could he possibly survive without his sword? Lord Godric without his sword would be like a dragon without fire or Hogwarts with no dungeons for Slytherin House. The Sorting Hat's attention was then pulled away by a creak emitted from the door. A little socked foot came in through the crack followed by a little girl who must have been a first year. Yes, Juliana Jensen was her name, a resident of Hufflepuff House. She was rather shy but extremely loyal to the friends she had. Ah, the perks of being a mind reading hat: you could always see a person's character before you knew them.

Tonight she seemed to be quaking like a rabbit considering she had just broken into the Head office. He couldn't blame her for that because it was extremely brave to even try let alone actually get in. "Juliana," he said smiling trying to calm the child's fears, "I hath not seeneth thou for a whileth. What bringseth thou hereth?"

Juliana stood swaying at the bottom of the shelf. He could now see that there were tears streaking down her face. He was really going to have to start telling off the Slytherins for this. It was ridiculous how many crying first years had come to him this year. "I cometh bringing the feareth running through Hogwartseth. I heardeth from an old maneth who came to Hogwartseth tonight that the Headmasterseth and Headmistresseseth will not be returning: he saideth they were…"

Tragically in the Future in a Very, Very Familiar Dorm by Now…

"Dead!" shrieked a little puppet that appeared to have been made out of one of Peter's small, old, holey socks. There were pieces of yarn falling off of the 'head' onto a crowd of first years watching the show. McGonagall had not been kind to them when giving detention. James, Remus, and Peter were beet red from the shame of performing their show live for all of Gryffindor House one year at a time: this was only their first performance. Then they would have to repeat the process for the other three houses, which would be rather painful. Sirius, however, was having the time of his life.

"Um, Sirius," whispered James, "you're supposed to be sad and crying."

"Oh, okay," hissed Sirius. "I heard they were all dead having been viciously murdered by Robin Hood and his Merry Men in the middle of the Black Forest. Salazar Slytherin's remains are in my knap sack if you want them. We want to burn them with Regulus, I mean, Romulus. Dirty villain for killing his brother like that: it will teach them." The sock puppet opened a little bag and began tossing shreds of cloth all over the room.

The first years were in hysterics. Some of them hid under Remus' bed sobbing while others pulled out tomatoes and began chucking them at the puppet stage.

"See what you've done, Padfoot. You've made them all cry. Ouch, and their starting to throw watermelons!" Remus said picking up a piece of the melon that had smashed on his head. Peter snatched it and began eating it along with his puppet because he had given the new Slytherin pasta eyes. "You shouldn't have changed the lines!"

"But it's the truth! I swear it!"

"No Sirius, let's just read from this history book."

"But it doesn't tell the truth!"

"Well then take this seriously."

"Okay." One of the melons caused the puppet stage to tumbled over onto the Marauders.

"Thanks, Sirius, thanks," groaned James.

Back to Juliana and the Sorting Hat in the Dark Office…

"Dead," she whimpered quietly. The Sorting Hat felt every fiber in his being go ice cold.

"Dead? They cannoteth be dead. I just saweth them yesterday eveningeth. Well, besideseth Lord Salazar." This could not be true. It was completely ridiculous. Lord Godric, Lady Rowena, Lady Hufflepuff, and… okay, Lord Salazar were far to strong to all be dead.

"But they areth. In a clearingeth not far from your Lord's hometh came the army of the Darketh Oneseth. They beganeth to fight when the followers of the Ministering of Magiceth came upon themeth in numbers unimaginableth. Lady Rowena felleth first, followed by Morgan le Fay. Lord Salazar felleth trying to help Lady Helga with Morgan le Fay. Lady Helga soon felleth trying to pull Lord Godric from the frayeth. He then fell lasteth at the river taking down the Dark Sorcerer Lancelot with his daggereth. The resteth of the Ministering of Magiceth shot down the Darketh Mordred in the center of the fieldeth. Anyone elseth perished: followers from botheth sides."

"All of themeth? By a magical movementeth? Who do they thinketh they areth?"

"The governmenteth," sighed Juliana pulling out a scroll with a trembling hand. When the Sorting Hat read it he could feel his hope wane to nothing. The Ministering of Magiceth was now the Ministry of Magic and they now owned the school. "I was ableth to obtain these tokenseth from the Gryffindor Houseth. They rode out all nighteth to find them." Juliana pulled out a locket that had belonged to Salazar Slytherin, a pair of broken spectacles of Rowena Ravenclaw, a horn that belonged the Helga Hufflepuff (the Sorting Hat looked over to her tea set sadly sitting forgotten in the corner forsaken by its mistress), Lord Godric's red cloak (his heart turned to stone after seeing this), and a small glowing orb. He now without a doubt that they were indeed all dead, and that he was completely alone. "I am sorryeth," Juliana cried. Her tears overtook her and she left the room weeping.

The next few months passed in a numb feeling as rules and laws were made, the orb that apparently belonged to Morgan le Fay was taken to the new government building, and the Founders were all forgotten with the promise of new life for the wizarding community. Any relations or people loyal to the Founders still 'disappeared' never to be seen again even down to the last child. The Sorting Hat watched bitterly as the world changed allowing less room for old things and more for greedy wizards. He knew that forevermore he would never ever be able to forgive this new Ministry of Magic.

Back to the Present Where the Sorting Hat Was Taking a Nap…

The Sorting Hat woke with a start as the door creaked open. He rolled his eyes and was about to go back to sleep when Horace Slughorn walked in with a red decrepit looking phoenix. He placed it on the wooden stand that Dippet's Dwarf Owl used to stand on and left the room. Portraits muttered darkly around him.

"Horace Slughorn," spat Rupert Avencroft. "Even though he may be a fine Potion's Master does not mean he will make a good Headmaster." The Sorting Hat couldn't help but to agree. He should not be prejudiced but Horace Slughorn was not Headmaster material.

"The same a usual," he complained in an 'I told you so' kind of tone. He now turned his attention to the old phoenix that gripped the stand in warty feet. "Well that thing looks like it should lay an egg and go die somewhere like other phoenixes do. It looks plain miserable."

With that, the phoenix burst into flame becoming ashes on the floor. However, Horace Slughorn had not thought about the stand he had placed the bird on before putting him there: it was wood. Wood meant fire and obviously the stand caught on fire. "That's just lovely," the Sorting Hat moaned. Yet the fire did not seem to want to stop there because there was carpeting on the floor. "Oh great, carpeting. Maybe Dippet should have thought of all the hazards to carpet before buying such an expensive one."

He thought the fire should have been satisfied at that point, but it wasn't. A portrait of a rather boil-covered old Headmistress burst into flame with her giving a banshee-like scream before melting away. At this point, all the other portraits began to flee, Phineas Nigellus being the most successful since he had another portrait in another house. It was quiet except for the crackling of flames crawling up the furniture.

And then the Sorting Hat realized a terrible thought: sure he was immortal to time but Lord Godric had forgotten that he was flammable. "Help!" he shouted out to nobody as fire climbed his shelf. "I need help, the fire is trying to kill me!"

He began gathering all the objects on top that could shield him at the time. All the nonflammable objects fell into the flames as he tried to squeeze behind them. "I really need to lose some weight," he thought to himself. Then he saw Lady Helga's horn, the rusty metal that once was Lady Rowena's spectacles, and Lord Godric's cloak at the other end of the shelf. He had to rescue them or they would be lost forever.

He scooted to the other end of the shelf and hopped on top of the items. If he were going to go down he would die a hero's death. "In the name of Merlin's scraggily beard will someone please help me?" Yet no one came.

He could see the flames at the edge of the shelf. "Goodbye cruel world," he called. Trying one more tactic, he began blowing at the flames like one would blow out candles of a birthday cake, but the flames just grew bigger. He closed his eyes knowing he'd see Lord Godric again soon.

But then the door burst open and there was water everywhere. The Sorting Hat was completely drenched and very irritable. He looked up at the spell caster and saw Albus Dumbledore tucking his wand away examining the damage in the room.

"Merlin's pants!" sputtered the Sorting Hat. "What took you so long? I could have died and then what would you have done? Students couldn't be sorted and the school system would be in chaos."

"I am terribly sorry," responded Albus as he repaired most of the items in the room. The portraits began to return to their spots including the burnt witch to a newly conjured canvas. "I do believe I warned Horace that it was Fawkes' burning day. It appears he was too preoccupied with not getting burned and catching his breath. Will you place that telescope over there, Horace. And do mind the stairs. I suppose we will have to put an advertisement out for the Transfiguration post."

The Sorting Hat was stunned. "You are the new Headmaster?" he asked in amazement. He would have thought at this point that people would want him as Minister of Magic instead. Some of the other Ministry officials would not have agreed: they didn't seem to want him in power anywhere.

"Yes I am. Who were you expecting? King Arthur?" he smiled as he interrogated a familiar twinkle in his eye. There was something about Albus Dumbledore that had always reminded him of someone.

"Well…no, I just…" stuttered the Sorting Hat. He resumed his indignant nature. "Well done, and you better do a better job then the rest of them." All the portraits erupted with complaints but the Sorting hat didn't pay them any mind.

"We'll see. Oh bother, there he goes," he said to Fawkes the baby phoenix as they heard Slughorn fall down the stairs. Dumbledore pulled a metal stand out of a box and placed Fawkes in the tray until he had enough strength to fly to the bar. "Now I must get some work done, so please don't interrupt me. I have several interviews to conduct and I need to move the portraits around."

"Why is that?" asked the Sorting Hat.

"Old Headmaster Dippet died in his sleep last night. Surely someone told you?"

"No," said the Sorting hat. "No they didn't."

"Well, it's a shame. They said it was the killing curse. I cannot imagine who it could be…" Dumbledore trailed off reading a resume. The Sorting Hat could not help think a boy who was now a man who had the word murder etched in his face. A certain Tom Riddle…

Well, that was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoyed the return of the sock puppets. Speaking of our sock puppet puppeteers, guess what time frame is next? The Marauders! Please review!