making a stand

He sends innocents to death row.

That is how it feels, to him, as much as a Sorting Hat can feel. He knows he is not alive in the strictest sense, that he is only something that has been conjured up and that the thoughts in his head cannot truly be called his own, but there is no other explanation for this uneasiness that seeps into the very seams of his fabric when he sits, once again, on the stool.

What does it feel like to search a young mind and decide whether or not it deserves to be condemned? Because the Hat knows. He knows that being sorted into Slytherin is no better than a sentence. Despite what Dumbledore has said about house unity no one is making an effort to reach that cohesive ideal.

He cannot not Sort. It is something that was magicked into him, the sole reason for his existence. (Sometimes, he thinks, as he is oft to do when he rests for months on end with only imagining up a new song to sing as his objective, that if he could destroy himself he would. He is doing no favours whenever speaks the truth.)

So he decides. If he must Sort, then he shall. But in a different manner.

The first girl steps up to the stool – he does not hear her name, but he could find it, if he wanted to, in her thoughts. However, he does not. Instead, he calls out, instantaneously, 'Slytherin!'

There is silence. Quiet applause from one table; none from the other three at all.

The next student comes up. 'Hufflepuff!' More applause. Even a cheer or two.

'Ravenclaw!' The applause gets louder, but the Sorting Hat knows it will be the next table that garners –

'Gryffindor!'

– the most applause, the loudest cheering.

He continues Sorting.

'Slytherin!'

'Hufflepuff!'

'Ravenclaw!'

'Gryffindor!'

Nobody has noticed it yet, or at least nobody has made an outcry, but he is sure they will.

He continues Sorting.

'Slytherin!'

'Hufflepuff!'

'Ravenclaw!'

'Gryffindor!'

There is a quiet whisper, no more than a low rumble, but it is there. However they do not protest yet.

One more before that happens.

'Slytherin!'

And then it comes:

'Hey! It's just going in order!'

There are the necessary outbursts – This is ridiculous! – It always starts with Slytherin too! – Headmaster, this is... – Headmaster! – Headmaster! – Headmaster!

And the elderly Dumbledore walks over to the Hat, and puts it on his own head, and the Hat confides back, telling him his reasoning, his plot, his hopes.

When Dumbledore puts him back down on the stool, he does it very gently, and his words, though not loud, silence the room.

'I'm afraid – ' oh, of course he is, and the Hat can imagine the twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes as he speaks ' – that our old Sorting Hat is not functioning as it should. As we do not have a Sorting Hat to Sort for us, we will simply have to leave these children in the Houses they are in now...' and the commotion threatens to start, but Dumbledore stems it with his next words '...until two weeks later, where we'll do a rotation.'

The uproar begins, but Dumbledore rests a gnarled hand on the Hat's tip, and waits until everyone has quieted down. He explains, once again, the need for House Unity, and what better time to implement this since the Sorting Hat has proven he needs a break?

As Dumbledore continues talking, said Hat smiles – as much as a piece of cloth can smile, anyhow – and thinks – as much as a piece of cloth can think, anyhow –

How's that for house unity?

and he sits back down