Chapter 26

1st of September 1991
Hogwarts

With a dramatic flourish, Dumbledore reached beneath the table and pulled out a beret adorned with googly eyes that wobbled and jiggled with every movement. The hall erupted in laughter and whispers, students exchanging bewildered glances. Dumbledore cleared his throat, commanding the attention of every single person in the hall. "Welcome to our newest students!" he boomed, his voice charged with magic, making the already silent room feel even more hushed. Nobody dared to speak when he did.

Professor McGonagall, looking bewildered, stepped closer to Dumbledore and whispered urgently, "What in Merlin's name is that? Where is the Sorting Hat?"

Dumbledore turned to the crowd, unfazed. "Ah, yes, a slight change this year. You see, Romuald—that's the real name of the Sorting Hat—unfortunately, or fortunately, acquired sentience due to some alchemical experiment and a bit of me fucking around. And now that he has a moral compass, he feels dirty going into the minds of children. So..." He made a series of exaggerated switching sounds with his mouth and introduced, very proudly, "Tadaaaa! The Sorting Beret. He retired about a hundred years ago, replaced by Romuald, but he is still able to sort people ! Well, mostly. "

The beret made a croaking sound, and with one of its googly eyes falling off, it muttered, "Fuck... What a hangover." The beret then screamed, "My eye! Someone get me some alcohol!"

Professor McGonagall stood speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Seeing her distress, Professor Flitwick, always quick on his feet, stepped forward and took charge. "First years, please form a line. When I call your name, you will come forward and sit on the stool. The Sorting Beret will announce your houses."

"Wait!" screamed the beret, its voice suddenly loud and demanding. "First, I must honor my predecessor and successor Romuald by singing a song or some shit."

The beret cleared its non-existent throat and began to sing in a raucous, off-key voice:

"Oh, I'm the Sorting Beret, what a wild life I've led,

From Parisian bars to this old wizard's head.

I've sorted mages in a gin-soaked haze,

Now I'm here to boggle you all in a daze.

I've seen drunken wizards, and witches in fits,

I've danced on tables, and fallen into pits.

So place me on your head, let's see what's inside,

But first, someone get me a drink! My throat's parched and wide!"

The hall was filled with the sound of nervous shuffling and whispered comments about the bizarre spectacle unfolding before them. Had Dumbledore truly become crazy ? And why did he look so young and so fit ?

"Hey ! Why is nobody clapping !", said the beret, before vomiting a bit on the stool.

Professor Flitwick clapped his hands to bring back order. He discreetly vanished the vomit. "Alright, now that our Sorting Beret has had its say, we shall proceed. When I call your name, please come forward and sit on the stool."

He glanced at his parchment and called the first name. "Abbott, Hannah."

A hesitant girl stepped forward, trembling slightly as she approached the stool. She sat down, and the beret was placed on her head. Its lone googly eye made strange, erratic patterns.

The beret mumbled incoherently for a moment, then said, "Ewww... What are you thinking about that for?!" The hall fell silent, the tension palpable.

Finally, the beret shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

As Hannah ran to join the clapping Hufflepuff table, the beret let out a loud, exaggerated burp. "Ah, nothing like a good sorting to clear the cobwebs!" it exclaimed, wobbling its remaining googly eye comically.

"Bones, Susan!"

Susan Bones, looking nervous, stepped forward and sat on the stool. The beret was placed on her head, and it immediately began its antics.

"Well, well, another mind to dive into," the beret said with mock enthusiasm. "Let's see what we have here... Oh, dear Merlin, you're thinking about...no, I can't say that out loud. Do you even know what a niffler is supposed to eat?"

Susan turned bright red as the beret continued, "Ah, a loyal heart and hard-working spirit. But really, you should rethink that whole 'chocolate frog for breakfast' idea. And for the love of all things magical, stop worrying about your hair! It looks fine! HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers and laughter as Susan scurried over, her face flushed with embarrassment but also relief. Hufflepuff ! Just like her aunt !

After a few more students were sorted without incident, Professor Flitwick called out, "Crabbe, Vincent."

Vincent Crabbe lumbered forward, his heavy footsteps echoing in the hall. He plopped down on the stool with a grunt, and the beret was plopped onto his head. The beret groaned theatrically, as if it had just been placed on a pile of dragon dung.

"Oh, joy. What do we have here?" the beret started sarcastically. "Let's see, a mind as dense as a troll's breakfast. Courage? Not a speck. Intelligence? I'd get more conversation from a rock."

The hall buzzed with murmurs and giggles as the beret continued its ruthless assessment, while the remaining first year were getting paler en paler. Ron gulped loudly. "Ambition? Only if it involves blindly following someone else's orders. You're too cowardly for Gryffindor, too dim for Ravenclaw, and too much of a born follower for Slytherin. Honestly, if I could refuse a student, you'd be the first. But alas, rules are rules."

Crabbe's face twisted in weak protest, and he mumbled, "Hey, that's not—"

"Oh, stop your whimpering," the beret cut him off. "You should be thrilled to go to the loser's house—I mean, HUFFLEPUFF!"

The beret's words were met with boos and jeers from the Hufflepuff table, who felt both insulted and defensive of their house. Crabbe, looking thoroughly humiliated, shuffled over to the Hufflepuff table, his shoulders hunched in embarrassment.

As the hall filled with a mix of laughter and outrage, the beret muttered, "Next! And someone get me a drink, for Merlin's sake. This job is draining."

"Gregory Goyle," Professor Flitwick called after a few more students.

Goyle lumbered forward and plopped down on the stool, his massive frame almost toppling it over. The beret landed on his head and groaned dramatically. "Oh, for the love of dragons, another one with the intellect of a rock. HUFFLEPUFF!"

Goyle trudged off to the Hufflepuff table, where the students clapped politely, looking slightly bewildered by their new addition. A few more students were sorted without incident, each receiving the beret's peculiar brand of commentary. "Finnigan, Seamus," got a, "Keep the explosives away from this one. GRYFFINDOR!"

Then Professor Flitwick called out, "Granger, Hermione."

A bushy-haired girl practically sprinted to the stool, her excitement palpable. The beret was plopped onto her head and immediately shrieked, "Ahh! So much useless information! Do you ever stop reading? And...aren't you a bit young for 'Fifty Shades of Grey'? Really, girl? Oh, and what's this? Obsessing over perfect exam scores already? My, my, we have a little know-it-all here."

Hermione's face turned a deep shade of red as the beret continued, "And honestly, who alphabetizes their textbooks? You need a hobby, kid. RAVENCLAW!"

Next, Neville Longbottom approached the stool, his face pale and sweaty. The beret landed on his head and sighed dramatically. "Oh dear, what have we here? Clumsy as a drunken troll, nervous as a kneazle in a room full of rocking chairs. Honestly, how do you manage to tie your shoes without tripping over them? But wait, there's something deep inside... a glimmer of courage buried under all that anxiety. GRYFFINDOR!" Neville stumbled off the stool, tripping slightly as he joined the Gryffindor table, his face burning with embarrassment as the students clapped, some sympathetically, others with barely suppressed laughter.

Daphne Greengrass stepped forward next, her expression calm and composed. The beret landed on her head and hummed thoughtfully. "Ah, what do we have here? Cold as ice, aren't you? Calculating, ambitious, and not one for small talk. Bet you've got a plan for everything, including where you'll sit at dinner. I can see you've already decided who's worth your time and who isn't. SLYTHERIN!" Daphne smirked slightly and gracefully joined her new house, receiving polite applause and a few nods of approval from the older students.

Finally, it was Draco's turn. Professor Flitwick called out, "Malfoy, Draco."

Draco walked to the stool with an air of confidence, determined not to show any fear. The beret was placed on his head, and it sighed theatrically.

"Oh, look at this one. All polished arrogance and daddy's money. Let's see...ambition, yes. Cunning, absolutely. But oh, the daddy issues, they practically scream. HUFFLEPUFF!"

Draco's face turned beet red. "What? No! There must be some mistake! I'm a Malfoy! I belong in Slytherin!"

The beret snorted. "Oh, please. Your stuck-up attitude might fool some, but not me. Hufflepuff is where you're headed!"

Draco's eyes widened in horror. "No! You don't understand! My father will hear about this! I'm destined for Slytherin! I've got ambition, I've got cunning!"

The beret chuckled mockingly. "Ambition? Cunning? Sure, if your ambition is to pout and whine your way through life. And cunning? Ha! The only thing you're good at is getting someone else to do your dirty work. Face it, you're more suited to fluffing pillows in the Hufflepuff common room."

Draco was now desperate. "But...but I have the right connections! I know people! My father is a major donor to the school!"

The beret paused for a moment, as if considering this. "Ah, yes. Lucius Malfoy, generous contributor to the Hogwarts coffers. Well, why didn't you say so earlier?"

Draco nodded eagerly, thinking he was finally getting somewhere. "Yes! Exactly! My father is very influential."

The beret sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. Just to keep the peace, I'll put you where you think you belong. But remember, kid, money can't buy you everything. Even if it can buy me. I love money. SLYTHERIN!"

Beet red, Draco trudged to the Slytherin table. He was greeted with claps and a few snickers. He spotted Marcus Flint, the burly Quidditch captain and son of one of his father's clients, who gave him a nod of approval. Draco forced a smirk, trying to shake off the humiliation.

After a few more students were sorted—Theodore Nott to Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson to Slytherin, and the Patil twins separated into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor—the hall grew silent as Professor Flitwick called out, "Potter, Harry."

A hush fell over the Great Hall. Every eye turned to the scrawny boy with the unruly hair and glasses, who nervously stepped forward. The beret snorted.

"Merlin's beard, he's just an eleven-year-old boy! Stop being so cringy," the beret insulted the students, drawing a few giggles. "What's next? Are you all going to faint like Victorian ladies? I knew one of them who used to…Well…"

Harry sat on the stool, and the beret was placed on his head. It immediately began to mutter. "Oh, this is interesting. Very interesting. Courage, plenty of that. You'd do well in Gryffindor. But wait, there's also a sharp mind. Ravenclaw could use someone like you. And look here, loyalty. Hufflepuff might suit you too. But oh, the ambition. Yes, I see it now. A thirst to prove yourself. You could be great, you know."

The beret continued, "Now, let's see... Gryffindor, eh? You've got the guts for it, but honestly, do you want to be surrounded by reckless show-offs? No? Didn't think so. Ravenclaw, perhaps? You're bright, sure, but can you handle the constant debates over whether a Hippogriff's feathers make better quills than phoenix feathers? Might drive you mad."

The hall chuckled as the beret went on. "Hufflepuff, then? Oh, you'd fit right in with all the hardworking, loyal types. But do you really want to spend your days finding lost toads and helping others with their homework? Thought not. Ah, Slytherin... Now there's a house for you. Ambition, cunning, a thirst to prove yourself. Yes, I see it now. SLYTHERIN!"

The hall gasped, stunned silence filling the room. Harry looked shocked, his face paling as he made his way to the Slytherin table, where Draco and the others clapped, albeit a bit hesitantly. As he walked, Harry exchanged a glance with his new mother of heart, Aunt Andromeda, who was seated at the head table. She gave him a reassuring nod, her eyes filled with pride and encouragement. With a determined look, Harry squared his shoulders and continued towards the Slytherin table.