In a thousand years of existence, the Sorting Hat has been on many heads. He's heard the thoughts of thousands children. What was he saying? Dozens of thousands. He's seen it all, heard it all. He's been on the head of Merlin, of Albus Dumbledore, of the man who would become Voldemort. Legends, gods, those who'd be happy to remain in the side-lines, those who would be everything if only for a few. All so easily impressed, unaware of what life had in store for them.

And the Sorting Hat had the duty of finding where they should be sorted. Where they'd prosper, thrive, become who they were truly meant to be. Such was the burden that was given to him by the founders and, with his non-existent hands, he had the power to shape the wizarding world with just four words.

It wasn't always easy. Some souls were so bright it went without saying where they belonged, some were trickier. Each soul was unique and, if putting Weasleys in Gryffindor seemed to be a tradition, there could always be a Sirius Black to remind him there was no pattern.

And, once the Sorting ceremony was done, the Deputy Headmistress would bring him back to his shelf.

Alone. Only he and his thoughts. Only he and his memories.

Alone, always alone.

He had even started writing songs, that's how lonely he was these days.

The Sorting Hat was precious for the school but, at the end of the day, he was still a hat. Hats weren't meant to wistfully look at the window, they were supposed to be outside, see the world, and shield their owner from sunlight.

Sometimes, the Sorting Hat just wanted to be Hat.

"Potter, Harry."

The silence brought him back to the present. Silence could be more deafening than the loudest scream after all.

Harry Potter, he's heard Dumbledore talking about him in his office. The Boy-Who-Lived, the only being to have survived the Killing Curse.

Oh well, duty called.

And he had to admit, the Sorting Hat was curious to know what kind of wizard this boy was.

When he touched the first strands of hair, he felt worry. Absolutely normal, classic. He quickly chased it away and tried to go deeper.

Oh, that wasn't going to be an easy one. The fabric stretched to form a smile. Difficult cases were his favourite. It showed him why the founders had needed him.

"Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

The mind, which previously had been anxious now was radiating calm and the boy was smiling.

"You're the Sorting Hat, you tell me. Who am I?"

The Sorting Hat stopped. His duty was to test the children's talents. So why? Why did he get the feeling he was the one being judged today?

"Tell me why you're hesitating. I'm curious."

The Sorting Hat hesitated. "Like I said, you've got plenty of courage."

"Lots of courage, eh?" The mind was now laughing at him. "Not unexpected I suppose."

"But there's also a good mind. You're clever, maybe not in academics but you know how to react, how to quickly make connections and use what you've learned to its fullest. And there's such thirst to prove yourself. Talents you want to use, to show the rest of the world. Once you've got a goal, you will do anything to see it achieve. Not necessarily by any mean, I concede, but you will do anything for the mean you find fit to prevail."

"So let me get this straight." The boy nodded. "You're hesitating between Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"If you want to put it that way, these are the two houses that'd fit you best. Personally, I think you should go to Slytherin-"

The boy laughed.

"I'm serious!" The Sorting Hat protested. "You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that - no?

But the boy just shook his head. "Not Slytherin… Not Slytherin."

It wasn't a plea. This was queerest things, really. It felt more like a disappointed parent gently correcting his child because he's failed some test.

"Maybe it isn't my head you should search." He mused. "Maybe you should go deeper, Hat. I'm sure the magic that was given to you can do that."

Hat?

The Sorting Hat stilled. He suddenly had a terrible feeling.

Going deeper. He hasn't done that in a while. In centuries maybe, but that was still doable.

Still plenty of courage. Lots, lots of courage and bravery. A loyalty without bound. And he was right about him being cunning and smart, he knew he was!

"Sure, sure," the boy was now humouring him. "Despite what many may believe, I'm not stupid, you should know that better than anyone else. It'd be like… I don't know, saying Slytherin wasn't loyal to a fault because he was cunning."

Oh he knew that, Slytherin had been Gryffindor's best friend for a reason. Now, back to the sorting. The Sorting Hat wasn't finished. Bravery, kindness, loyalty, ambition and cleverness.

Alright he was lost now. Now, if that brat could stop mentally laughing at him.

And suddenly, he felt it.

The fabric tensed.

In a thousand years of existence, the Sorting Hat has been on many heads. He's heard the thoughts of thousands children. Dozens of thousands. He's seen it all, heard it all. He's been on the head of Merlin, of Albus Dumbledore, of the man who would become Voldemort. Legends, gods, those who'd be happy to remain in the side-lines, those who would be everything if only for a few.

But this? That spark in the boy's soul? Golden and bright and so, so warm?

There's been only one being who had it.

Hat screamed.

For centuries, he's always sought him. Turning left and right, hoping despite everything that he'd pick him up. Searching in the middle of a crowd for him.

And, suddenly, in the middle of this crowd, just as he's given up, he was back.

"GRYFFINDOR!"