Hello! So this was written for a friend of mine who requested a Rise of The Brave Tangled Dragons story. The only thing she requested was Hiccup, Merida, Rapunzel, and Jack at Hogwarts, so this is my spin on it. Though, I must say , I think this fandom needs its own story tab if the problems I had figuring out where to put this are any indication. Also, while I think I managed to get all the spelling and grammar errors out of the way, you never know, so I ask that you please be respectful while reading.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the collective idea.

Enjoy!

Having It Sorted

One-Shot

September, 1023

They were, by far, the strangest couple the Sorting Hat had ever seen.

Of course, the Hat mused, perhaps that was the wrong word. The term 'couple' implied at least an amicable relationship, one that their body language did not suggest. They stood at the far end of the Great Hall, looking very out of place amongst the black cloaks and pointed hats, and very out of place with each other. Their posture was awkward, hostile, and they stood only close enough together to suggest acquaintanceship, but nothing more. If the Hat had to bet, he would guess that the only reason they remained beside each other was because they were afraid that stepping forward would invite the other to attack their back.

Perhaps it was a family quarrel. Merlin knew every clan had at least one, particularly those from wealth as the two obviously were.

Garbed in bright clothes that indicated two vastly different origins, both teens were clearly used to luxury. The boy's green tunic was laced with fur and gold thread, and the girl's dress was a shade of blue only the highest of nobility could afford. They gave off the airs of two people standing both above and apart from society, and the Hat was inexplicably struck with the thought that perhaps they were merely a figment of his imagination. They wouldn't be the first. His ability to imagine was still relatively new; in the twenty years since he'd been sewn, he'd only had the capability of thought for the past three, and he'd noticed that every so often his thoughts would run wild, conjuring images of things that were not there. No one else in the hall seemed to notice them, and they were certainly prominent enough to garner at least a curious glance. Not sitting with the older students, nor gathered to be sorted with the younger, the two aloof teens looked like uncertain, bitter visitors that everyone seemed intent on ignoring.

Despite their obvious hostility with each other, they gazed about the hall with ill conceived wonder; the boy was more ponderous than the girl, who was obviously trying to hide her curiosity at the sight of children lining up to be sorted by a talking hat. He supposed it was an intriguing sight, not that he had much room to speak. It was his third year, after all, and everything was old hat to him. Of course, once Godric announced the beginning of the sorting, he had little time to study the two further. There were other children to observe and he couldn't very well sort them if his attention was diverted to more mysterious guests.

A string of children were led up to his place on the dais and he sorted them all with a quiet dignity, understanding that each placement had to be perfect. The strange teens faded merely into the edge of his periphery. They made no effort to join the group and he was rather consumed with other thoughts.

"GRYFFINDOR!" He shouted, as the last new student stepped from the stool at the head of the Great Hall. The Hat could just make out Godric raising a fist in triumph before shoving that same hand in Salazar's face. Slytherin rolled his eyes in exasperation before depositing what was clearly betting money into the waiting palm. From her spot beside Godric, Helga tried in vain to hide a giggle and Rowena shook her head at them all.

Theirs' was the type of close-knit friendship the Hat never tired of seeing and would dearly miss once gone. It would happen eventually, was even the reason he'd been given a mind to begin with, but it didn't stop him from dreading the day they all left for the afterlife. Selfishly enough, the Hat almost wished they would remain as ghosts. He'd seen one or two crop up within the castle and they seemed jovial enough, though they tended to shy from company. They were sad souls, tragic in their fates yet brave in finding a way to make the best of it all, but the Hat wasn't sure he wanted to condemn such friends to that life.

They deserved better than to haunt a castle for all eternity.

He pondered the thought more as Godric plucked him from the stool, and caught one last glimpse of the two teens gazing about the noisy hall. They looked lonely, standing so apart from the crowd and each other. He almost called out to them, imagined phantoms or not, to invite them in and join the throng. The boy looked like he dearly wanted to, while the girl seemed out of place just standing about. He got the impression she was the type of person who enjoyed action, and solitude was in contrast to her basic nature.

As quick as the idea struck him, however, he was summarily removed from the hall and carried through the doors leading to a side room where he would wait out the feast. With a sigh that had more to do with the missed opportunity than anything else, the Hat slumped against Godric's grip and gazed about the gilded apartment. He supposed he could see why a ghost would choose Hogwarts to haunt; the castle was an impressive tribute to magic and new spells were added daily. If ever one had to haunt somewhere, Hogwarts would be the place for it.

Were the children ghosts then? The Hat pondered the notion closely. If they weren't mere figments of his imagination, were they possibly remnants of a past he had no knowledge of? He would be the first to admit his experience with people was as yet limited, despite the brains Godric had shoved into him. He would get flashes of people his owner and his friends had met on occasion, but nothing quite like envisioning two perfectly real, antagonistic teenagers. Besides that, the two children were too vibrant, too…too solid. They didn't carry about them the same ghostly mist as others did and looked as real as any other human.

So, if they weren't ghosts and they weren't students, then what were they?

"You seem distracted, my friend," Godric spoke into the silence. He was still high on his win against Salazar, so the tone sounded more teasing than concerned, but there was a question in his words that the Hat had to put effort into answering.

He hummed. "I saw something interesting."

"Oh?" The wizard asked, prodding him forward. "More interesting than my win against Salazar?"

"The highlight of your night, was it?" The Hat muttered somewhat sardonically. "Never mind the thirty new children coming to study at your great school."

Godric shrugged sheepishly. "Winning a game of chance is always something to celebrate."

"I thought it wasn't chance when you were sure you would win," the Hat mocked. "Or was that not what you were saying earlier?"

"So something interesting, you said?" Godric swiftly cut off, changing the subject so abruptly it was comical. "And you didn't point it out before?"

The Hat would have rolled is eyes if he had any, but decided to go along with the turnabout in conversation if only to tease Godric later. "No one seemed to notice. They just stood there and not an eye blinked."

"They?" Now the man was actually curious. "Some of the students?"

"I don't know," the Hat admitted. "They never sat at any of the tables and just stood before the entrance trying to ignore each other."

"Surely not," exclaimed Gryffindor, disbelieving. "We would have seen them."

"And yet they were and you didn't." A contemplative silence settled between the two as they considered their mysterious visitors.

"Are you sure they were there?" Godric didn't really doubt the Hat, but he had to rule out the possibility.

It brought the question back to whether or not he had dreamed them. Had he imagined the girl's fiery, wild mane or the boy's enraptured emerald eyes? Surely he wouldn't have conjured a metal leg in his fantasies for such a young lad, and a wand would have definitely sat in the girl's hand rather than a bow. The boy's clothes were unlike anything the Hat had ever seen, and, while his creativity was expansive, the Hat was not so convinced he could imagine something so different from what he knew. So had he imagined them? He didn't think so.

"Yes," the Sorting Hat replied, less hesitantly than he initially felt. He shook his crown as a human might shake their head, and, had he had hands, Godric imagined they would have risen to rub against a chin. "Yes," he repeated with more confidence. "Yes, they were there."

"Ghosts?" Godric prodded further, because while ghosts were normally visible to wizards, there was still much to learn on the subject of the paranormal, and he didn't delude himself to knowing everything.

This time, the response was quicker, if somewhat vague. "I'm not sure. No one else saw them." His crown quivered in exasperation and aggravation at not being able to describe what he'd seen. "They were so…so solid, like you or me or any of the students. They did not float above the ground, nor could I see through them. The children closest to them did not seem to feel any chill, and they were colorful, dressed in raiment as rich as Rowena or Salazar's. I felt like I could as easily sit atop their heads as I do yours."

"Hmm," Gryffindor hummed in thought. This was indeed a strange occurrence, though Hogwarts was a strange castle. Who was to say what types of things it attracted or housed within its walls. It was something to watch out for, but he didn't see much urgency in the news.

"If you see them again, let me know," he muttered, eager to let the matter drop now that he saw no harm it. "I'm always interested in meeting new people."

The Hat nodded. "Of course. Maybe I'll even get a name this time," he jibbed, though it was weak even to him.

Godric smiled. "I can only hope." Then, the matter apparently settled to his satisfaction, he turned and swept from the room to return to the feast, leaving the Sorting Hat perched amongst the gold and finery to think.

Ghosts, ghouls, benign or magical in nature, the Hat wasn't sure what they were, but he dearly hoped to see them again soon, if only so he could sate his curiosity once and for all.

September, 1040

Despite his hopes, the Sorting Hat wouldn't see their mysterious visitors again for many more years.

He had almost forgotten about them; their quick entrance into his life having been but a blip against a backdrop of changes and tragedies that had struck the castle. Salazar's betrayal followed by Helena's disappearance and Rowena's death seemed to have set Hogwarts into a state of perpetual mourning. Only Godric and Helga remained of what had once been four very close friends, and they had long lost much of their youthful vitality. They put on happy façades for their students, but anyone looking could tell their hearts were no longer in it.

The Hat could hardly be admonished for mourning the past, its vibrancy a wistful, glistening memory compared to the present. Godric hardly spoke, and never about Salazar. New students quickly learned not to speak the name in his presence, and the Slytherin House was referred to only as 'The Fourth House,' even during sorting ceremonies. Helga always sat disapproving whenever she heard this, but did not stop them, too tired and weighted down by tragedy to do so. It was as if they had both forgotten how to live, and the Hat could only tick down the days until they succumbed to their own sorrow and died.

He no longer shied from the thought of such an end, knowing they had long stopped living the moment Salazar picked up his bags and left. In fact, there was a part of him that almost felt relief at the idea, guilty though it made him. He longed to shout out, "SLYTHERIN!" once again, for, despite his betrayal, Salazar was as much a founder as any of them and maintained the right to his own house. Perhaps death would be a kindness, a mercy on two poor souls so tired of this world.

Though unaware at the time, the Hat would have been comforted to hear that such prayers were to be answered. It came for Helga the morning after the first day of classes, looking for all the world like a nice young man dressed in flattering leathers. Helga died quickly and peacefully, eagerly falling into the young man's arms with a sigh of relief.

The castle fell once more under the veil of mourning and the Hat knew it was only a matter of time before Godric succumbed completely to grief. They would be lucky if he lasted to the end of the month.

He didn't.

When it happened, it was almost anticlimactic. Once such a brave and daring youth, Godric Gryffindor was but a shadow, clinging to life out of sheer stubbornness. He was in his tower, nestled at the highest peak above the rooms his house boarded in. The apartment was comfortable and bedecked in rich reds and bright golds as was fitting a man of his stature. On some of the embroidery a splash of blue or yellow could be spotted, evidence of the two women in his life he cared for the most. There was not a speck of green to behold.

Later, the Hat would realize this was why he so easily spotted the boy and not the girl. Though hidden behind armored leather, the boy's green tunic and leggings stood out starkly in a room that had been void of the color for over a decade. If not for the shock of it, the Hat would have immediately cried out in warning, only for it to be blocked by a tiny hand covering his mouth.

Whereas the boy had clearly grown, shooting up to an impressive height and gaining muscle to replace the baby fat, the girl remained the same. It was curious to be sure and he wondered if perhaps she was using an illusion. He couldn't sense one though, and it only added to their mystery. Godric appeared not to notice them, which wasn't much of a surprise despite the frustration it caused.

The two both raised a finger to their lips in the universal sign for 'quiet,' and the Hat grudgingly complied. If they wanted to hurt Godric they would have done so already and they didn't seem the type to do so anyway. Of course, he didn't really know them, but something in their countenance made him trust them despite his growing anxiety.

He remained silent as the boy – no, man – moved on surprisingly light feet to crouch beside Godric's unmoving form. The old founder was hunched over his desk reading and rereading a document over and over again. The Hat wouldn't have been surprised to learn he'd been scanning the same sentence for the past three minutes. It was a sad sight, and the waning candle only added to the melancholy.

The mystery man's prosthetic leg gleamed in the moonlight and it should have grabbed Godric's attention, but the wizard remained absorbed in his work, his head falling ever so slightly as sleep claimed him. It caused the younger man to smile and even the girl softened, though she kept her gaze firmly on the aging founder and never let them stray to her partner. It was okay, as he appeared intent on ignoring her too.

The Sorting Hat would have questioned the bellicosity between them if he wasn't so enraptured in the actions playing out before him. With deft hands, the auburn-haired man reached out to touch Godric's shoulder and silently trailed his fingers up to settle at the wizard's forehead.

Godric slouched, falling over across the desk with more grace than one would expect of an old man, and the Hat was simultaneously horrified and confused. He watched as something slipped from his friend and fell into the waiting arms of the young man, who held it with such gentleness and care the Hat wouldn't have been surprised to learn the man had once been a father. There was no other way to describe the hold other than that of a parent cradling a newborn.

Both of the intruders relaxed and looked at each other for the first time. Something passed between them, though the Hat was unable to infer the meaning in its entirety. There was resignation and bitterness and something cold, but whatever else there was, they quickly returned to ignoring each other. The girl swept from the room in a flash of blue and red without saying a word, exiting through the narrow wooden door leading to the Gryffindor Common Room.

The man, still cradling the something from Godric's body, nodded to the stunned Hat and moved to leave, heading towards the window as if the height wouldn't kill him. It was this sudden flash of fear that gave the Hat his voice back and he shouted to the man just as he was about to leap.

"Wait!" The man paused. "What happened? Who are you?"

But the man just smiled a crooked, dopey little grin and waved a free hand before stepping from the ledge and vanishing into the darkness. He left the Hat on his perch with the still warm body of a legendary wizard and questions swirling in his brain.

The silence was deafening and he almost wished the phantoms would return if only to fill the void.

Harvest, 1115

It wasn't until his third entanglement with his mysterious visitors that he finally got a name and an idea of what they were. Of course, it was only the one at the time, his usual partner absent, and the name he gave her when asked didn't sound so much like a name but more a resigned, exasperated description in a language the Hat didn't understand.

The boy, now with the body of an aging man, introduced himself with a thick Scandinavian accent as, "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, King of the Wilderwest, Chief of the Hairy Hooligans Tribe of Berk, Spirit of Death, Overseer of the Harvest, Avatar of Air, and Guardian of Change. But please just call me Hiccup."

The Hat wasn't so sure he could do that. There were too many Capital Letters there for him to be comfortable, and it wasn't every day one came in contact with royalty, nor one that was also the anthropomorphic representation of Death. It certainly explained their last meeting, but so thrown by the knowledge was he, that the Sorting Hat could do nothing more than utter a stunned, "Oh," before settling back on his perch to marvel in silence.

The quietude didn't seem to bother Hiccup all that much, too caught up was he in admiring the headmistress' office. The room had once belonged to Rowena's daughter Helena, though the girl's ghost avoided it like the plague. It was large and spacious and filled with portraits and bobbles collected over the years by various headmasters. The paintings could clearly see him, though they appeared not to know what to make of him and so stayed silent, allowing the Hat to ask all the questions they had.

Those questions, of which the Hat had many, were shunted aside to make room for the earth-shattering knowledge he now possessed. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the boy-man-king as Death and Harvest and Air and Whatever Else, and so his ability to speak was severely impeded.

Hiccup, thankfully, took pity on him.

"I am – was – a Viking; been dead almost three hundred years now," he added as if that cleared up everything, by which of course it did not.

The Hat only continued to stare. He kept staring until his brain caught up once more with his mouth, and even then he could only muster up the ability to ask after the girl. Perhaps it was foolish, he'd seen enough to know of their dislike for each other, but he just couldn't keep the question to himself. For the first time he was meeting one without the other and it raised his curiosity.

It was the wrong thing to ask.

With a scowl, one laced with a twinge of sorrow and something like defeat, Hiccup turned to the tower's window and opened it with an angry flick. His green eyes darkened, and the Hat was at once struck by the thought that he should have kept his mouth shut.

"Vestmaðr," was all Hiccup said before he disappeared out into the night, leaving the Hat with the overwhelming feeling he had messed up and should probably learn to better curb his curiosity lest it land him in trouble one of these days.

Summer, 1210

Her name was Merida, Spirit of Summer, Guardian of Choice and Queen of the Kingdom of DunBroch, an old Pictish domain that had since been lost to time and conquest. She was bright, and funny, and spoke with such a thick Scottish brogue it was hard to understand her whenever she got excited. Her temperament reminded him of Godric and Salazar in their prime, and he found he enjoyed conversing with her. She told him all about her bow and her horse and how she'd once climbed to the top of a mountain to bathe in its springs. Their talks were long throughout her visits and he was brightened by her vivaciousness.

But it wasn't all sunny days, and occasionally a summer rain would set in after a particularly trying conversation. She had died young two hundred and twenty years prior and still wasn't quite over it. The Hat realized quickly not to bring the matter of her homeland up in discussion as it made her rather volatile and likely to shoot a few arrows. The same, he learned, could be said for any mention of Hiccup.

He had somewhat expected this after seeing Hiccup's reaction to her, though where the King's animosity was lined with sadness and a touch of exasperation, Merida's was all fire and brimstone. She refused to call him by his name, with the exception of a few circumstances, and simply called him "Lochlannach." This term the Hat did know, it being in one of the Gaelic dialects Rowena was fluent in. It meant "Viking," as fitting a word as it was, though she spat it with such bitterness he had to wonder at their history. Obviously, they had known and worked with each other for at least a couple of centuries, but time had not dulled the enmity between them.

If the Hat had to guess, he would bet most of that acrimony came from Merida. He couldn't say he blamed her. What he knew of the history between Vikings and Picts reflected a rather bloody relationship, with the Nordic conquerors taking much of what was in their path and the Celts and Picts trying to repel them. It was still somewhat hostile today, but the amount of intermarriage between the Norsemen and the Scots had dulled much of the former rancor; other invaders took precedence now, and they had little time to fight each other.

It was obvious much had changed since Merida's time on the throne, though the Hat had the sneaking suspicion her hatred went deeper than just cultural animosity. As she didn't much speak of her life amongst the living, the Hat could only guess at the root cause and he had his own suspicions about what had transpired.

A hatred for Vikings, a young death, and a kingdom lost to time seemed to point tragically towards a bloody end for the young queen, one not all that unfamiliar to other overthrown rulers or their people. It was the painful nature of the day and while the Hat hoped for a peaceful resolution someday, he held no delusions of it coming any time soon.

Still, if his theory was correct, and he very much believed it was, Merida's distaste towards her fellow Spirit certainly held some merit. Even if Hiccup had nothing to do with the downfall of her kingdom (of which the Hat was inclined to believe considering the king had been dead about a hundred and sixteen years before she was even born), Merida would always equate Vikings with death, something Hiccup's appointment as the 'Spirit of Death' did nothing to assuage. She was a fiery girl, with a raging temper and an even stronger sense of justice, and he could imagine it hurt something deep inside her to have to work with Hiccup when all she saw in him was the destruction of her home and the ruin of her people.

For Hiccup's part, the Hat had little doubt that he held out hope for at least a neutral relationship. The former king was a peaceful man by nature, one who yearned for compassion and understanding in almost everything he did, but the Hat was not so foolish as to believe that made Hiccup soft.

He'd heard stories – vague and tempered by time – of Viking raids. Merida's backhanded comment regarding Hiccup in places like Lindisfarne and Iona had prompted an extensive research project, one that, when broached with the king, had resulted in quite the rude awakening. The Hat learned quickly that one did not rise to become a Viking king without bloodying their hands first, and the Nordic way of life was practically built on the notion of the strong leading the strong. They were a battle-raised lot and Hiccup had lived to the age of eighty, almost ancient by most standards, and the Hat wasn't even entirely sure it had been age that took him. The man had spoken only once of his death, though the details were vague. From what the Hat understood Hiccup had expected to join his loved ones in Valhalla, a place only those who died valiantly in battle were supposed to go.

So no, he very much doubted Hiccup succumbed to old age.

It was an upsetting situation for the both of them to be sure. Hiccup had approximately sixty years of ruling under his belt, enough time for anyone to learn that peace wasn't always possible when they had people to protect, and Merida had almost six years of seeing the devastation Vikings could cause to draw her anger. They were two stubborn leaders thrust together with nothing but bad blood and nightmarish memories to bind them, and without the buffer of others as support. No wonder they kept returning to the castle. The other Great Spirits were so consumed by their own duties that it must have been nice for the two to come here were they were somewhat visible, and have a friendly conversation that didn't involve waiting for the other to make an attempt on their afterlife. It wouldn't kill them, but the Hat didn't doubt it still hurt.

For these reasons the Hat was careful to steer clear of the topic of each other in their conversations. So long as he kept their discussions away from the other and the sensitive nature of their pasts, he found their company enjoyable. The portraits and ghosts were nice in their own way, but after a while they ran out of things to talk about.

Merida and Hiccup were different. He liked different. And he was especially pleased when, in the summer of 1210, Merida casually slipped him from his shelf and plopped him on her head.

"Go ahead," she said. "Sort me."

Harvest, 1250

Hiccup had a dragon. His name was Toothless, though why the Sorting Hat couldn't even begin to fathom. The rows of gleaming teeth in the beast's mouth left little to the imagination. It wouldn't take much for those sharp protrusions to tear into his seams and rip them apart, leaving him as only a talking piece of shredded fabric. Embarrassing as it was, the Hat admitted he'd screamed the first time they met.

Apparently, the dragon had been Hiccup's companion even during his lifetime, though sometimes he would get a sad, faraway look in his eyes whenever he said this, and the Sorting Hat felt there was more to the story. He didn't pry, had learned not to pry after the first time, and let the Spirit keep his secrets. Whatever had happened between the two in life didn't seem to affect them in death. They were the closest friends the Hat had ever seen, even closer than the founders, and he took joy in watching them pal around.

Toothless couldn't talk, not like humans at least, though this never appeared to hinder his relationship with Hiccup. The king seemed to understand his best friend perfectly and it wasn't hard to see why. Toothless was perhaps the most expressive beast the Hat had ever seen, and after three hundred years the Sorting Hat felt that was pretty impressive. It got to the point where after enough interaction, even the Hat started to understand what Toothless wanted. Hiccup was ecstatic.

"See hattr," he said, beaming at the cap with his hand resting casually on Toothless' snout, "you can speak dreki."

They laughed for a good long while after that, the old black dragon joining in even though the Hat wasn't entirely sure he knew why they were laughing. It wasn't until one of the portraits snapped at them to end their cackling before they woke the whole school that the trio stopped.

Of course, it wasn't enough to sap them of their enthusiasm entirely and the Sorting Hat rounded on Hiccup by saying, "Now that I've got Dragonese under my belt perhaps one of these days I'll learn Norse."

To which Hiccup only snorted and replied, "The day you do that is the day I let you sort me."

It was a bet; one the Sorting Hat was determined to win. If the headmistress was curious at his sudden urge to learn a new language no one even spoke anymore she didn't say anything except a short quip about boredom, and perhaps he should do something more useful like writing songs. Nevertheless, she deposited a book on the Hat's shelf that would turn pages at his command.

He'd learn to write songs after he learned Norse.

Summer, 1304

Merida never married.

He didn't ask why.

Harvest, 1339

"Why Hiccup?" The Hat asked one damp evening at the beginning of the harvest. He was lounging atop Toothless' head as the dragon lay on the tower floor, Hiccup curled against the beast's hide.

The boy lazily rolled his head to throw the Hat a bemused look before chuffing and snuggling back against his friend. "You mean why not Sigurd or Hvisark or something else equally Viking?"

"Well," the Hat paused. "Yes."

Hiccup fiddled with the end of his tunic. "In my time, parents believed a hideous name would scare away gnomes and trolls."

"Oh." The Hat tried to equate that with things he knew about said gnomes and trolls. It…made sense, sort of, if he twisted the logic around a few times. "Did it work?"

Hiccup shrugged. "No one I knew ever got carted off. Though," and here his face took on a far off look, one the Hat knew meant he was remembering something particularly happy, "that could have been more because of their looks than their names."

"Ugly were they?"

"Most of 'em." Hiccup smiled. "But I loved them all anyway."

Summer, 1400

"Let me get this straight. You would have been queen before your brothers were kings?"

The Sorting Hat wasn't entirely sure how they'd stumbled upon this line of conversation. One minute they were discussing the correct way to shoot an arrow during a storm, the next he was finding out Merida became queen before her younger brothers had died. He was a bit confused.

Merida nodded her head, patriotic pride in her countenance. "I'm a Pict. Our rulers came from the mother's line."

"B-but you had kings," sputtered the Hat. He knew there had been Pictish kings because most other kingdoms would not have stood for anything else.

Again, Merida nodded. "True, and I admit we were one of the last clans to hold onto the old ways. Most of the other clans had combined with the Scots. Alba was forming and patrilineal inheritance was preferred. But not DunBroch. Not yet." Her face pinched and she allowed herself to admit, "As my mother's sons, had they been older, perhaps my brothers would have inherited first."

"But they were not."

She shook her head. "No. And we did not have the luxury of time."

"War?"

Merida's mouth twisted. "Lochlannaich."

Harvest, 1440

"Her name's Astrid."

The crisp aroma of harvest that always seemed to cling to Hiccup was especially stale today. It carried with it the scent of rotting leaves and musk, and held none of the sweetness the Sorting Hat was used to. Rare though they were, Hiccup had his bad days, ones where the weight of his life and the eternity of his afterlife seemed to barrage him with unwanted memories and thoughts.

Today was one such day and even Toothless was subdued. His great black head sat in his friend's lap, offering comfort in the only way he could. Every so often the dragon would peer up at the Hat as if to ask for help, but the Sorting Hat was well aware that it was best to let Hiccup direct the conversation when he got like this. It was much the same with Merida only without the yelling and property damage.

Sunlight tried to peek out from the clouds, but it was gearing up to be a perfectly dreary day nevertheless. Not for the first time the Hat wished the founders had found some way of maintaining the sun at least within the castle grounds. He knew it was a foolish desire, but Hiccup didn't need the rain to add to his melancholy. Especially when they were already so high up in the headmistress' tower that it made the clouds seem that much closer.

The words had been spoken into what was going on an hour-long silence. Even the portraits were hypersensitive to Hiccup's mood and remained extra quiet so as not to disturb him. No one was even sure he'd meant to speak, but the words tumbled from his lips almost without his consent. The sudden sound was startling.

"Who is?" The Hat couldn't help but ask, and he noticed the portraits paying close attention despite their perceived indifference.

When Hiccup didn't answer, Toothless warbled low in the back of his throat, and nudged his rider's limp hand. Hiccup took a deep breath before placing his hand along the dragon's forehead for a gentle scratch. It seemed to calm the man, for that's the form he'd chosen today. He looked about twenty, the same age he'd been when he'd taken Godric, with two tiny braids poking out at the end of his hair. Occasionally, he would reach up to touch them before quickly pulling away as if they burned.

He was sensitive about everything today and the Hat had to handle this delicately.

"It's a beautiful name," he prodded gently. Saying something wrong right now would cause the man to shut down, and then he'd never be able to help. "A strong one too."

This brought out a slight grin from Hiccup, though the Hat was cautious to term it as such. It really was nothing more than a slight uptick of the lips. Hiccup tilted his head. "It is. It suits her. She's the strongest, most beautiful woman I know."

The Hat hummed and braved a move at teasing. "I don't know, I've seen some beautiful girls walk these halls."

He was delighted to see the grin widen. The jest could have been taken very badly, but it appeared Hiccup wasn't so far gone that he couldn't recognize a friendly jibe. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Hiccup shook his head, and leaned back against the cool stone of the castle interior. His hand continued to stroke Toothless' head and the dragon leaned into the touch, understanding exactly what his friend needed. What little sunlight now managed to seep through the clouds seemed to know just where to fall as it bathed him in the rich golden light denied to the rest of the room. He looked wistful – sad and lost and captured in the painful memories of his past.

"She's better," he murmured, accent thickening with emotion, as his eyes closed. The Hat wondered what he saw behind those lids and liked to think it was something beautiful – someone beautiful.

"You love her." It wasn't a question though it was phrased as such, and the Sorting Hat could only watch as a few tears fell from his cheeks to land on Toothless. It made the dragon look like he was crying too.

"Of course I love her," Hiccup whispered. "She's my wife."

Summer, 1513

He had to wonder if there was something about the mid-millennia mark that turned Spirits into emotional wrecks.

It was a horrible summer by all standards, one the people of Scotland were unused to. A perpetual ventus charm was all that stood between Hogwarts' inhabitants and heatstroke, and the Sorting Hat was worried. Merida had a temper, but she rarely fell so far as to affect the weather like this. Not even her constant arguments with Hiccup had resulted in more than a quick summer storm. If the heat kept up not only would the muggles be dying in their fields, but they would have to worry about more than just a quick storm and the occasional sweat stain. There would be fires and drought and consequences come harvest.

Merida, for all her hotheadedness, was usually much more conscientious than this. Of course, the Hat knew she took orders from another – a Spirit she only ever referred to as Mother Nature – but those orders were generally nothing more than guidelines. For the most part, Merida were left to her own devices, and such heat suggested less of an order and more like Merida had finally reached her breaking point.

"Ad," she rasped out when she finally appeared on the tower ledge four days into the heat wave. "Ad, I couldn't remember their names."

It was rare that Merida slipped up and called him by the old Gaelic word. Spirits were able to communicate in any language they liked, but only Hiccup ever really held onto his original dialect. Unlike Merida, the king liked as many reminders of home as he could get and clung to his native tongue like a lifeline. In contrast, the queen always seemed to be running away.

Normally, he would have made some quip about it, but the tears that ran from her eyes told him today was not the time for jesting. Instead, he simply wiggled his brim to let her know it was okay to pluck him from the perch, and allowed her to hold him as tightly as she wished. It was uncomfortable, but mattered little in comparison.

He allowed her a few minutes of sobbing before the wails turned to sniffles, and the rivets crusted at her cheeks. With the tip of his cap, the Hat attempted to brush away what remained of her tears.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The Hat finally asked into the din. He understood if she would rather leave and continue mourning in private, but he wasn't quite convinced that would help.

Merida shook her head vigorously, stopped, nodded, and then did a sort of shake-nod that made it clear she wasn't sure what she wanted. It was a truly sad sight to behold such a strong woman reduced to this state. The Sorting Hat didn't say anything further, but curled the tip of his cap around her neck in the closest approximation of a hug he could manage.

"I couldn't remember their names," she repeated, her sobs thickening her accent and making it almost unintelligible.

The Hat buried himself further into the crook of her neck as her wails grew louder. Outside, a storm began to brew, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, and he could just make out a crack of thunder in the distance. He could only hope this breakdown would be the turning point she needed.

Quietly, he began to hum; trying to offer what comfort he could, though he knew it did little real good. Whoever she had forgotten must have meant the world to her.

"It took me too long to remember," she amended, one last aching whisper as the storm reached them. The thunder drowned out her wails, but it did nothing to quell the shaking of her shoulders or the new litany of names murmured like a prayer into his seams.

"Harris, Hubert, Hamish. Harris, Hubert, Hamish. Harris, Hubert, Hamish."

Autumn, 1590

Had cameras been invented yet, the Sorting Hat would have dearly wished for one just so he could capture the look on Hiccup's face when he spoke to the lad in Old Norse. It had taken a surprisingly long time to learn, but he chalked it up to a lack of resources. Unlike people, he couldn't just walk to the library to get the next book and was completely reliant on the whims of each headmaster. The current day's language charms only worked on the caster, not that he would have used them anyway, and the only person he could practice speaking with was Hiccup, which, of course, somewhat defeated the purpose.

So, two hundred and forty years after the initial bet, the Sorting Hat finally considered himself ready to claim his prize. As expected, victory was sweet.

Toothless looked terribly amused, his mouth widening into a gummy grin (and oh, so that's where the name came from!) as he pounced about the office in glee. The Harvest Spirit – Autumn now, the Hat corrected - was either completely oblivious or too shocked to care, and ignored the havoc his dragon was causing. He just continued to stand by the window as if he couldn't believe the Hat had actually learned Norse. Old Norse even, considering how many changes the language had undergone in the last few centuries. The portraits tittered back and forth, and some even threw out some friendly ribbing his way.

"Y-you…" the young boy stammered while raising a shaking finger, unable to do more.

"Learned Norse," stated the Hat smugly. "Yes, yes I did."

"But-"

The Hat raised a wrinkle. "But? But what? But that means you lost the bet? Why yes, I believe it does." His grin turned positively shark-like as Hiccup continued to stutter and stumble in shock. "Now get over here and let me sort you."

He wasn't sure, but he could swear he heard a teary sniffle as he settled onto the old king's head. It made the Hat smile. Sorting or no, being able to give his friend this one last tie to home was all the victory he needed.

Summer, 1631

"My mother once told me that the bravest thing a woman could do was get married."

The Hat paused in his actions – he was now learning how to write songs and it was harder than it looked – to gaze inquisitively at the somber redhead. His interest was piqued at the sudden statement for it was rare that she made any mention of her prior life.

"Wise words," he said hesitantly, not sure whether to agree or disagree considering his understanding of her own view on the topic.

Merida hummed, gaze set on the castle grounds. Silently, the Hat wondered what she saw there.

"She said it took courage to sacrifice your own happiness for the well-being of others."

"And," the Hat began after a long, uncomfortable pause, "what did you say?"

To his surprise, she smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile and gave off the feeling of being wholly self-mocking.

"I said she was wrong." A tiny bird landed at the window just as Merida turned blue-eyes to look at him. His breath caught at the listless quality he saw in them. "But then, I guess there's a reason I'm not the Guardian of Courage."

Autumn, 1674

Hiccup was a father.

He once had three children.

Their names were Frodi, Ingrid, and Bjorn, and their bloodline now spanned most of the known world.

He couldn't remember what they looked like.

Christmas Eve, 1712

Hiccup and Merida rarely visited together. The original animosity of their relationship had mellowed into an understanding, if somewhat belligerent, tolerance for each other. Merida didn't like Hiccup, and Hiccup wasn't particularly fond of her either, but, for better or worse, they were stuck working with each other for the foreseeable future, and rather than spend that time trying to find new ways to kill each other again, they had settled into a shaky truce.

The truce consisted of a whole slew of unspoken rules, but the main one was pretty much: 'I stay out of your way, you stay out of my way, and we'll both be better off for it.'

Suffice to say, they stuck to these conditions like a strong sticking charm, and the Hat was always concerned when they showed up together. It generally preluded something disastrous or catastrophic. Change and Choice often went hand-in-terrible-hand, and it was especially terrifying when one took into consideration that Death followed in Hiccup's wake like an absurdly loyal puppy.

For these reasons, the Hat could hardly be faulted for the feeling of dread that welled up within him when the two former rulers stepped into the headmaster's office together holding what appeared to be a bewildered captive. The boy, for he couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen, had the whitest hair the Hat had ever seen outside the elderly. His frosty blue eyes stared in wonder at everything around him despite the not so gentle handling he was under. For their parts, Hiccup and Merida looked as if they were putting forth great effort to remain as civil as possible for the newcomer, despite the perpetual chill between them.

His panic now tinged with curiosity, the Hat bowed respectfully to the two and continued to stare unabashedly at the new boy.

"Merida," he welcomed cautiously. "Hiccup."

"Hattr," Hiccup returned, tightening his grip on their fidgeting friend as if he were an unruly child.

Merida tightened her grasp as well. "Hat," she acknowledged, before tilting her head to the white-haired lad. "We have someone we'd like you to meet."

"Oh?" Was all the Sorting Hat found he could say.

"Yes," replied Hiccup, somewhat stiffly, as if he was trying to collect himself. "This is Jokul-"

"Jack."

"-Frosti," the king continued like the boy hadn't even spoken. There was the beginning of a wicked gleam in his eyes that, for once, Merida looked to wholeheartedly reciprocate. The Hat would have considered it bizarre if he wasn't so amused by Jack's obvious irritation.

Merida grinned, Chesire-like. "He's the new Spirit of Winter."

Winter, 1746

Jack was nothing like Hiccup or Merida.

For one, Jack remembered nothing of his life prior to becoming the Winter Spirit, or even that he had one. As far as he knew, he just appeared one day out of the ice to spread snow and fun around the world. It was a very ignorant existence, and more blissful because of it. The shades of darkness that always seemed to cloud the others' eyes didn't exist in Jack's. He was lighthearted and fun and mischievous, and represented a certain innocence his contemporaries had long lost.

Occasionally, the Hat wondered if this was his original personality. Curious and with a penchant for deleterious entertainment, Jack had all the hallmarks of a teenage boy too sure of his own immortality. It certainly fit his physical age. Jack only ever looked to be seventeen, though whether that was because he preferred it or he didn't realize he could change, the Hat wasn't sure.

Hiccup changed ages like most people changed socks. He would be a teenager one-day and then return the next as a thirty-year-old man. In contrast, Merida chose to spend most of her time as a teen. This difference somehow transformed the group into a parody of a dysfunctional family: Hiccup was the resigned father, Merida that daring aunt all the cool kids admired, and Jack the rebellious teen.

Jack even started calling the old Reaper, "Gramps." Merida loved it.

But while Jack's presence breathed new life into their eternity, the Sorting Hat could have done without one thing.

"You froze me," the Hat exclaimed, dumbfounded despite knowing better. He tried to move his brim; he struggled and grunted, but none of his efforts worked. On the ground, Jack stood doubled over, leaning on his staff to support himself as he laughed. The Sorting Hat was not amused. "I-urg-can't move! Jack!"

The boy continued to cackle, not the least bit remorseful. Around them, the portraits looked on in clear amusement. Oh sure, they could laugh. They weren't the ones frozen to a bookshelf.

"Jack, so help me-I will-"

"What?" The Spirit cut off mirthfully. What the Hat wouldn't give to wipe that smug little grin right off his face. "You gonna glare at me?" Jack accentuated his point by flicking a finger in the Hat's direction and frosting the tip of his crown.

"Jack," the Hat growled. "If you do not refrain from these shenanigans I will tell North."

Jack half-shrugged. "So tell him. I'm already on the Naughty List."

"I'll tell Merida."

Another shrug. Jack leaned further on his staff and allowed his smirk to grow. "We both know she'll laugh. Besides, it's not like her fire is gonna help you now."

"He has a point, you know," one of the portraits pointed out.

"Oh shut up, Fytherley," the Hat bit back. Fytherley and Jack exchanged telling looks that only served to fuel the Hat's ire. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself, but it didn't really work. "Must you insist on these childish pranks? Surely, you have better things to do with your time."

"Hmm," Jack intoned, tapping a finger mockingly against his chin before raising his hand and ticking his fingers down one by one. "I don't know. I mean I've already laid the snow down here. I'm not due in Glasgow for another few hours. The lake is frozen over and I started a snowball fight in the courtyard, which I'm pretty sure the Hufflepuffs are still winning. Honestly, coming up here and freezing you sounds like a good cap to my day."

The Hat glared. "You're pushing your luck, Frost. One more icicle and I tell Helena you've accepted the invitation to her deathday party."

Jack froze, wide-eyed. "You wouldn't."

"Get rid of the ice and we'll see about what I would and wouldn't do."

"Killjoy," but the ice melted off the Hat anyway not even leaving a hint of water behind. The Hat still shook himself just to make sure. "Better?" Jack asked.

"Much." His anger dissipated into resigned exasperation, and the Hat raised a seam Jack's way. "You know if you laid off the pranks you might just make it off North's Naughty List."

"Yeah, but then where would I be?" Jack asked with a lopsided grin. He hopped up onto the headmaster's desk, creating a thin film of frost across the wood. "All I'd be doing is laying down snow. I'd be as boring as you."

"Boring?" The Hat exclaimed. "Who's boring?"

"Uh, you're brought out once a year to look into kids' heads and tell them where to sit, and then spend the rest of the year on a shelf making up songs. How is that not boring?"

"For your information, it takes a lot of time and patience to come up with new songs year after year," the Hat said. "And I have plenty of visitors aside from your lot."

"Oh right, 'cause the Baron is such wonderful company."

"A mite easier than you," rebutted the Hat. "And for the record, I don't just tell children where to sit. There's a process."

"A process?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "Right."

"You scoff, Frost, but one wrong move on my part and I could ruin a child's life. That's not a power I take lightly."

"You think I take my power lightly?"

The Hat scoffed. "Did I say that?"

"You implied it."

"No. I said my abilities were not to be taken lightly; yours were not mentioned."

Jack crossed his arms. "But you do think I'm careless."

"I think you don't understand the difference between fun and danger."

"That's not true," stated the Winter Spirit indignantly. "I do know the difference."

"Do you?" The Hat questioned. "Because sometimes your pranks are more harmful than humorous." Jack narrowed his eyes, but didn't respond. The Hat took this as an admission. He sagged. "I just want you to be careful. There's no denying your good intentions. You're a good person, Jack, and I would hate for something to happen you would regret for the rest of your life."

"Nothing is going to happen," Jack insisted.

"For your sake, I hope so."

Summer, 1789

"Have you ever gone back?"

Merida looked up from where she was fixing the fletchings on her arrow. Her horse, Angus, snuffed loudly into her hair. Seeing the animal was odd, as he usually preferred to wander about the castle than stick around in the relatively cramped office. The Hat could only admit to seeing Angus perhaps twice before. It made him curious and thoughtful, and, while he had more practice, he still hadn't completely learned how to keep his mouth shut.

The queen focused the Hat with a befuddled expression. "Back where?"

"Home."

Merida snorted, face falling into a mask of forced indifference as she returned to her work. "I'm a Spirit, Hat. Home is wherever I want."

He shook his crown. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I'm afraid I don't," she said, intentionally being obtuse. Angus chuffed again, tickling her cheek and bringing out a slight, but sincere, smile.

"DunBroch." The Hat watched as her fingers stilled around the feathers and the smile slipped. "It can't be far from here," he spoke, words tumbling out as his nerves caught up with him. "We're in the Highlands and I know you're a Pict, and their land was all over this region, so I figure DunBroch can't be too far away and-"

"Yes."

The Hat stilled. His mouth shut with an audible thump! Merida's fingers fidgeted around the arrow in her lap and she swallowed harshly. Her eyes were glazed as she looked around the office like she was seeing something else.

"O-oh." He hadn't been expecting that answer. He'd just assumed she tried to avoid it.

She nodded stiffly, then shrugged. "I'm Summer. I go wherever I'm told."

"That's the only reason?"

"Should I have another?"

The Hat sighed, dejected. "No. I guess not."

Autumn, 1817

"I'm sorry, Jack did what?"

"He hit the Queen of Arendelle with his staff. The pregnant Queen of Arendelle."

"Isn't she a descendant of yours?"

"Not really the point here."

"Right, right…and this is a problem because…?"

"The Queen's been freezing things in her sleep."

"Oh dear."

Winter, 1821

"And he wouldn't stop watching me!"

"Well considering the fact that the last time you were in Arendelle you gave an unborn princess ice powers, I don't think he wants to take any chances with the next one."

"You know if I wanted a lecture I would have stayed with Hiccup."

"Then don't do things I need to lecture you for."

Spring, 1891

"Oh my gosh! It really is magic!"

It was not everyday the Sorting Hat was surprised. As a magical hat in a magical school full of magical children of all ages, he was generally immune to all things abnormal. Considering his private life included long conversations with the spiritual Personifications of Nature, his definition of abnormal was also decidedly broad. Still, the Hat was fairly certain he'd never seen anyone quite like this.

This was a woman who couldn't seem to decide if her hair was blonde, brown, grey, long, or short. She also didn't appear to know what age she wanted to be because in the span of five minutes she had already been a small child, a teenager, an adult, an elderly woman, and back again. It was dizzying. He didn't know what to think. The only coherent thought he had amongst the jumble was:

Her hair can't be real.

No amount of styling or grooming could get hair so long. It was a wonder she didn't trip over what had to be at least twenty-one meters of blonde locks. Perhaps that was why she kept changing her age. The weight that much hair had to put on her skull must be agonizing. But then why bother with it at all, he wondered? He squashed the question before it could properly take root. He already had a headache.

"Look Pascal, the paintings are moving," she admired as she lifted up a small green chameleon towards the portrait of Edessa Sakndenberg, one of the Headmistresses back in the sixteenth century. Grasping hold of the reptile's claw, the girl (now a teen) waved. "Hello! I'm Rapunzel and this is Pascal. Nice to meet you."

The kindly headmistress only had enough time to wave back before Rapunzel was on to the next portrait, and the next, and the next, until she'd said a personal hello to each and every one of them. It was sweet, if a bit disorientating.

"Rapunzel!" The Hat couldn't help it. He sagged in relief as the familiar nasally voice of Hiccup echoed in from the window.

With a grace born from years of practice, the one-legged young man leapt from Toothless' back and onto the open sill. His dragon followed him into the tower and curled around the new girl with a croon. Giggling, Rapunzel gave him a scratch, her face set in a look of enchanted delight as if she couldn't quite believe she was actually petting a dragon. Whoever she was, she couldn't have known the duo long.

"Hiccup," she bubbled, a light German accent now apparent in her excitement. "You were right! It really is magic. Look, the paintings are talking."

The portraits were indeed talking; mostly calling out cheers of hello and cries for Toothless to stop prancing about the room lest he break something. Hiccup chuckled good-naturedly and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I did tell you places like these exist."

She twittered again, drunk off the new knowledge. "I know! But hearing it and seeing it are two different things."

"You spent the better part of your formative years with magical, healing hair and died only to wake up as a World Spirit. I'm surprised you're surprised," Hiccup said while crossing his arms. Rapunzel gave him a friendly swat to the chest, but continued to grin at the magic around her. The Hat swore the room began to glow.

"It's not the same!" But the Hat struggled to find a difference. Over eight-hundred years of sentience and even he paused at the idea of – what was it? – magical, healing hair?

Hiccup seemed to agree. "Ri~ght," he drawled skeptically.

"It's not!"

But it very much was and the Hat couldn't help himself.

"I'm afraid even in our world magical human hair would give most people pause."

Rapunzel jumped and let out a little screech behind cupped hands. She twirled around and her eyes widened as they landed on the Hat. Her reaction and expression struck the Hat as hilarious and he broke out into laughter not a second later. Hiccup ducked his head in mirth, while Toothless followed the Hat into hysterics.

"You talk," Rapunzel gasped in disbelief. Her hands flailed about in the air searching for Hiccup's solid presence as her eyes refuse to leave the bookshelf. "Hiccup, that hat is talking."

Still grinning, Hiccup nodded and calmly took her hand. "Rapunzel, this is the Sorting Hat. Hattr, meet Queen Rapunzel Fitzherbert of Corona. She's the new Spirit of Life, Spring, Earth, etcetera."

The Hat bowed. "Your Majesty."

Rapunzel curtsied, but it was clearly only due to habit. She turned wide-eyes back to Hiccup. "The hat talks."

Hiccup bobbed his head. "Yes, sólveig, he has that tendency."

Jerkily, she looked again at the Hat. "You talk," she whispered, sounding like a broken record.

"I do," he agreed. He sat fascinated as multiple micro-expressions flittered across her face. She went quickly from shock to awe to excitement, and before he knew it she had plucked him off the shelf and held him gently in her, now adult, hands. From this proximity, the Hat could just catch the scent of rain and marigold.

"You're amazing," she muttered gleefully. Looking down at the chameleon on her shoulder, Rapunzel said, "Look Pascal, it's a talking hat!"

Pascal grinned gummily and reached out with his foot, but the appendage was too short. Not to be deterred, the chameleon scurried down Rapunzel's shoulder, across her arm, and curled up along the Hat's brim, turning brown in the process. The Hat found he didn't mind.

Hiccup chuckled. "You've made a new friend, hattr."

"It would seem so," the Hat replied. "Pascal, huh?"

Both the girl and the reptile nodded, pleased. "He's my best friend," Rapunzel exclaimed. "I hope we'll be good friends, too."

"Oh, I have no doubt." He really didn't. He could feel himself warming up to her already and he hadn't even known her a full ten minutes.

"Wow," she breathed, struck again by the extraordinary situation she was in. "Who'd have thought all of this was here, just hidden away. Do you mind if I ask how you talk?"

"Well it's quite complicated really," the Hat began to Rapunzel's rapt attention. "You see a long time ago, I was but a normal hat, and then one day my owner decided he needed a successor…"

An hour later, he sat atop Rapunzel's head and sorted her.

Autumn, 1905

Hiccup never talked about his wife in the past tense, and it took the Hat far longer than it should have for him to realize this.

He always said she is beautiful.

He loves her.

She is the bravest warrior he knows.

Once the realization hit him, the Hat never asked about her again. Hiccup's denial was so overwhelmingly sad it was sickening.

Spring, 1912

"He's very handsome."

It was a bright sunny day and the children of Hogwarts had taken a brief respite from their studies to bask out on the surrounding lawns. The spring rain that had pervaded the skies for so long had finally given way, leaving in its wake the fresh scent of wet grass and clean air. Inside the headmaster's office, Rapunzel sat curled up in a cozy corner with a sketchbook on her lap and an assortment of paints beside her. She was positioned just so for the natural light coming in from the window to illuminate her sketch.

She smiled wistfully. "He is isn't he?"

The man in the picture was still taking shape, but the Hat could see the sharpness of his jaw and the softness in his eyes. He was handsome in a rugged-swashbuckling way, with an easy-going expression and the beginnings of small goatee. Every line and shadow was added with precise care, like she was trying to immortalize the man. She spent extra time on his nose, her face furrowed in concentration as if one wrong line would ruin everything.

The Sorting Hat sent her an inquisitive glance. "Is he someone you know?" Rapunzel had a habit of drawing the people around her, but the attentiveness she put into every stroke spoke more of a personal relationship than just a passing glance or fancy.

As he suspected, she nodded. "Yes," she said, a distant gleam in her eyes. "His name was Eugene."

"Eugene?" The Hat asked with a laugh. It wasn't an unusual name, but it certainly carried about it a sense of unfortunate commonness that the Hat just couldn't connect with a woman like Rapunzel.

She grinned, all teeth, as if beset by a wonderful memory. "Yeah, he didn't like it much. I was the only one who could get away with calling him that."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm." She tilted her head, long golden hair glistening in the sunlight. The sketch became more defined under her talented fingers. "He called himself Flynn Rider after a character in a story. I told him I liked Eugene better." She finished shading around the nose and giggled. "No one was ever able to get his nose right. Not even official portraitists."

"But you did," he gaged, though it really was no guess at all.

Rapunzel nodded. "Always. I think he asked people to do it on purpose after a while, just so he'd have an excuse to get me to do it." She reached for the paintbrush and dipped it into the lightest brown paint. Carefully, she brought it up to his eyes and began to give them life.

"So who was he?" Rapunzel obviously treasured him; he had to be someone close.

If possible, her face grew softer. The absolute adoration that shone from her told the Hat everything he needed to know before she even opened her mouth. "He was my husband. We were married for almost fifty-years. He didn't much like being a prince," she said, then paused and squinted her eyes. He'd never noticed before just how green they were, like Hiccup's, though he shook the thought from his head. A spot of paint flecked off the brush and onto her cheek. "Or, well, he liked the trappings, if not so much the expectations. But he loved me."

"It's hard not to," the Hat teased and Rapunzel smiled in gratitude.

"Eugene was different. He put up with a lot for me, and I admit I wasn't always the easiest person to live with." She flinched sheepishly and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Too many years living alone in a tower, you see. But even with all that, he was always there for me; my best friend." She picked up another brush and dipped it into the darker brown, then brought it back to add depth to his eyes. "When I woke up and realized I was young again, he was the first person I looked for, but…"

"He wasn't there," the Hat finished, not unkindly.

She shook her head. "No. Hiccup met me. He told me everything. Gave me back Pascal." She took a deep breath and reached up to pet the chameleon. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck with a quiet croon. "But I miss my husband. I miss my parents, and my children, and my grandchildren."

"You can't go back, Rapunzel."

"I know." She bit at the end of her paintbrush. "But I won't remember forever. I think that's what scares me the most. I've seen Hiccup and Merida, and North wouldn't even know he had a family if the stories didn't say he did. So I've decided that as long as I have my memories, I'm going to keep them right in here." She tilted the sketchpad up just a smidge in indication. "Maybe someday Hiccup, Merida and Jack – when he gets his memories back – will let me draw their families too."

"They might not remember; it's been centuries," the Hat reminded, gently.

Rapunzel chuffed and looked up at him as if she knew a secret he didn't. "They remember more than they think."

"You believe so?"

She nodded and turned back to her painting. "I do."

Summer, 1918

"When was the last time you left this school?" Merida asked into the lull of their conversation. They had been discussing the ongoing war in the muggle world – a war the Hat had very limited knowledge in considering the official wizarding view on the topic – and with little information on his part, the conversation quickly petered out. The Hat could not appreciate the outside world, just as Merida could not understand the stationary one.

Her question gave the Hat pause.

It had never bothered him, this inability to leave. Hogwarts was his home, his inheritance by all accounts, but even he had to admit curiosity. When was the last time he'd been outside? He fought to think.

Merida seemed to understand his dilemma. "If you have to think about it, it's been too long."

"Not so long," the Hat argued weakly. "Godric used to take me everywhere."

"Godric?" Asked Merida, aghast. "You haven't left this castle since Godric was alive?" She shook her head and the Hat looked away embarrassed. "Oh Hat, you need to get out more."

"And go where? I'm a talking accessory."

Merida shrugged. "And I'm the Spirit of Summer. Doesn't mean I haven't visited Antarctica just for the hell of it."

"Yes, but you have legs," he stated, looking pointedly at said appendages. "And a horse."

"And hands useful for carrying things," she stressed with a persuasive lilt in her voice. "Just say the word and we're off."

"Off?"

Merida tilted her head. "Off. Anywhere you want to go." A broad smile lit up her face as she watched temptation take hold of her friend. "The day's still young," she sang. "And I still have my rounds to make."

"You want to take me on your rounds?" Asked the Hat incredulously. Admittedly, he'd always been curious, but the Spirits tended to visit under the pretext of forgetting their duties so he'd very rarely asked about them.

But Merida just nodded, still smiling, as the awe spread over his face. "I'm heading to West Country later."

If possible, the Hat perked up even more. "West Country?"

"Mm-hm." She raised her chin, grinning like a child on Christmas morning. "I might even stop at Godric's Hollow. They're not scheduled for another day or so, but if you really wanted to…" she trailed off, eyeing the Hat for his reaction.

He didn't disappoint. The Hat practically shivered with anticipation at the thought of returning to his birthplace. Yet, even as his excitement grew, the idea of leaving the castle was daunting. He knew these walls. The outside world was such a distant memory it was a wonder he could remember it at all. "I don't know…"

"One trip," she insisted, raising a finger up for emphasis. "Just one wee trip and we can come right back."

Still, the Hat hesitated. "The headmaster will notice I'm gone."

"We'll be quick," she said. "I promise we'll be back before sunset."

"You seem awfully insistent on this," mumbled the Hat as he continued to debate with himself.

Merida scuffed at the floor and her face fell into a sort of thoughtful, apologetic expression the Hat couldn't quite place. "We always come to you. I figure it's high time one of us takes you somewhere."

"And you just so happen to offer this on the same day you go to my old hometown?"

"So I planned ahead." She grinned and reached up her arms to the Hat. Her face was bright with expectation.

"Cute," but he was touched, a warm tingling racing along his brim and straight to his seams. From this distance, he could just make out the scent of crisp fruit wafting from her.

"And effective," Merida teased. "So what do you say? Wanna go?"

Sighing, the Hat shook his crown and grinned. He feigned reluctance. "We'll be back by sunset?"

"Promise."

"Then I suppose I don't have a choice." As if he wasn't itching at the seams to taste real fresh air.

Face alight with glee, Merida grabbed the Hat from off his shelf and carried him to the window. There was a bounce to her step that the Hat couldn't help but be infected by. He took a deep breath. "No," she said as they stepped onto the ledge. "You don't."

Wind drowned out the Hat's screams and Merida's laughter as they plummeted to the ground below.

Spring, 1940

"He took my country."

"Rapunzel?"

The woman stared hard out the window, shoulders shaking and fist clenching around her frying pan, acting for all the world like the Hat hadn't spoken. Pascal, for once not sitting on her shoulder, had positioned himself a safe distance away in the spot beside him. "He took my country," she hissed again, vehemence and venom in each word. Angry tears burned at her eyes.

The Hat shifted uncomfortably. "Who?"

"That man," she whispered. She was too enraged to speak any louder. Paranoid, the Sorting Hat made surreptitious glances towards the surrounding plants, lest they suddenly take on a life of their own. Pascal, he saw, was doing the same. "He's destroyed my country." Oh, too late, there went a vine. "The Third Reich. Ha!" He was fairly sure rose thorns were not supposed to be that sharp. "We weren't even a part of the First and Second Reiche. What gives him the right to declare us German property?"

"Ah, Rapunzel?"

"And my family!" She shrieked, completely ignoring the Hat and calling forth the attention of the portraits that had so far been able to successfully ignore the enfolding drama. "Those are my great-great-grandchildren, you Arschloch!"

"Oh dear," mumbled the Hat under his breath, inaudible against the stentorian nature of Rapunzel's outcry. He'd never seen her like this. It was certainly an eye-opener, but it didn't make the newly grown fanged geraniums any less terrifying.

"How dare he?" She continued to seethe. Out of the corner of his eye, the Hat was just quick enough to watch as the Bloody Baron stuck his head through the wall only to decide it wasn't worth getting caught in the crossfire. What was Rapunzel's anger doing to the rest of the castle if the Baron was the one the ghosts sent to check it out? No doubt this would be castle gossip for at least a month.

"Rapunzel," the Hat tried again. He jumped out of the way of a demonic venomous tentacula and warily watched as it curled its way around the banister. Pascal, usually so fascinated by her powers, now seemed content to find the largest, darkest corner and hide. It was going to be hell explaining this to the headmaster. "Maybe we should calm down," he suggested as one of the portraits fled from a rather persistent vine. "The headmaster does need an office, after all."

It had no effect. In fact, it only seemed to fuel her fire. She grasped the handle of her frying pan tighter and began to swing. "He-" swoosh "-has-" zing "-no-" thunk "-right!" This swing was particularly hard and she knocked a fruit right off the headmaster's desk. The Hat cringed, but figured better an apple than a head. "My family has ruled Corona for over eight-hundred years!" Another swing, another apple. "I will stick him in a tower. I will stick him in a tower and sell tickets for people to come and jeer at him. See how he likes it," she hissed, brandishing the pan higher above her head. "How dare he, how dare he, how dare he!" The frying pan came striking downwards, faster than before, and right before it lobbed off the marble head of one of Godric's grandsons, the Hat shouted:

"No!"

Rapunzel stopped dead, the edge of her frying pan mere millimeters from the bust. She was breathing hard, rage-filled tears forming tracks down her cheeks, and brown hair a disheveled mop atop her head. An eerie silence settled over the room as everyone waited on baited breath for what she would do.

They didn't have to wait long.

Rapunzel crumbled. She fell to the floor in a heaping mess, sobs tearing out of her as if forcefully ripped from her throat. Her body heaved with each gasping breath and her face took on an unsightly ruddy complexion. The plants, which had been creeping ever closer towards the ceiling, rescinded leaving behind a trail of crushed wood and torn tapestry.

Pascal didn't hesitate to leap over the retreating plants and climb up Rapunzel's arms. His tail curled around her neck in an imitation of a hug and he nuzzled up against her cheek. The Hat could only watch, unable to help, as the normally formidable queen broke down.

One more time, he tried to reach out. "Rapunzel?"

She looked up at him, eyes swollen and bloodshot, and the absolute anguish on her face hurt something deep inside him he didn't know he had. "He's going to kill my family," she rasped. Her lips trembled with the force of her emotions and her hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically. "He's going destroy my people and I can't stop him."

"Your Majesty…"

"He's not going to stop, Sortierer," she whispered, holding his gaze. "He's going to keep taking and taking until everything in his path is destroyed."

"You don't know that-"

"I do know that!" Rapunzel screamed, cutting off whatever he was going to say. Her face crumpled. "He is going to kill my family," she said with stalwart certainty. "He is going to slaughter my people, and I am going to have to watch every second of it."

She broke down again and there was nothing more to say.

Winter, 1941

Jack never sat still. He was not one for quiet contemplation, nor for extended periods of melancholy. At his very core, Jack was an eternal boy: quick to have fun, quick to action, and quick to smile. He wasn't one to hold grudges or dwell on injustices. Only his invisibility ever truly upset him.

To see Jack now, one would never suspect him of being that boy. For the first time, the Hat thought he looked like Hiccup. It was the way his brow creased in thought, and the slight downturn of his mouth. His posture was hunched and he sat in the windowsill as if disinclined to move. Frost slowly crawled along the panes before trickling down in droplets of water.

The Hat twisted nervously.

"The last time you looked this thoughtful you were trying to figure out how to freeze the dormitory entrances on Christmas Eve without letting North know it was you."

"I did it too," Jack replied, momentarily distracted.

The Hat nodded. "I know. I remember. I also remember learning a few new Russian swear words." He quirked a wrinkle. "So what are you cooking up this time?"

Jack bit his lip. "Am I a coward?"

"What?" The Hat's eye-holes widened in surprise. That was not where he was expecting this conversation to go. "A coward? What makes you think that?"

"Rapunzel yelled at me."

"Ah." Okay, that made sense. "Rapunzel's been under a lot of stress lately."

Jack snorted and rolled his eyes. "That's an understatement," he mumbled under his breath. Rapunzel had been snarling and hissing at just about everyone for the past year or so. Even Merida didn't dare go near her.

"I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it," the Hat tried to console, though judging by the disbelief on Jack's face it did little to help.

"What do you know?" He muttered. "You weren't even there. You didn't hear her."

Reluctantly, the Hat agreed. "True, but I highly doubt Rapunzel thinks you're a coward."

"Didn't sound like it to me," Jack retorted, his expression despondent. "She seemed pretty serious."

"Often, when people are worried about something or under a lot of stress, they say things they don't always mean," the Hat explained gently, trying to get Jack to understand that whatever had happened was not his fault. He didn't even have to know the full story for him to know this. Besides which, it was just unnatural for Jack to look so disheartened. "Rapunzel just needs some space."

"From what?" The Winter Spirit erupted, frustration evident in his tone. "She loves people. I've never even seen her upset before. She's acting like Merida after she's spent too much time with Hiccup."

The Hat sighed. "The war has been hard on her."

"The war?" Jack asked, confused. His befuddled expression was enough to remind the Hat that Jack didn't know. It was a rude reminder. Out of all the Spirits, Jack was the only one unaware of the fact that he'd once been a normal person. He had no concept of the fact that Hiccup, Merida, and Rapunzel had loyalties and histories outside the ones he knew. The idea of Rapunzel feeling such outrage on the behalf of people she shouldn't know was foreign to him.

Once again, the Hat questioned the decision to keep Jack in the dark.

"Why would the war be affecting Rapunzel?" Jack questioned further. It was painfully evident to the Hat just how strange the idea was to him. This was not to say he believed Jack didn't care about the people affected by the war, but it was hard to care too much when you couldn't do anything to help. Ignoring the problem and running away was far easier to do when you could traverse the world in seconds.

But how to explain it to Jack when he didn't even have the basis of his own history to fall back on?

The Hat decided on a slight omission.

"Rapunzel," he started, trailing off as he tried to find the right words. "Rapunzel is not a Season like you or Merida. She's like Hiccup. Her entire way of being revolves around Life. So much early dead, so much needless death, hurts her in a way you and I can't fully comprehend." It was sound logic, and probably not far from the truth, but the Hat knew it was not nearly the whole reason for Rapunzel's fury.

Jack, on the other hand, seemed contemplative. His face scrunched up in thought as he played with a cluster of snowflakes in his hands. "But, if that's it, why isn't Hiccup acting strange?"

Good question, but the Hat was prepared. "Hiccup is far older. He's seen more wars and atrocities than Rapunzel. He doesn't like it, but it's easier for him to drown out the suffering." Though if the war kept up, he wasn't sure what Hiccup was going to do. "As time passes, Rapunzel will be able to drown it out too."

"I hope so," Jack uttered, but the Hat could hear sympathy in the lad's voice and it made him smile. True, the Hat hadn't told him everything, but what he did say had made enough of an impact to at least get the boy thinking.

"So you don't think she meant it when she called me a coward?" Jack asked after a minute of silent contemplation.

It was almost endearing how the Spirit was so concerned about the opinions of his friends. Still smiling, made softer now by Jack's obvious vulnerability, the Hat shook his crown. "No, I don't think she meant it. You are not a coward, Jack. This I know for a fact."

"Good," the Spirit stated decisively, dissolving the snowflakes. "Because she kept asking me to freeze Russia and I don't care how many Germans it stopped, even I have limits."

Spring, 1968

"I think Bunny's gonna kill Jack."

"Why?"

"I dared him to make a blizzard on Easter Sunday and he actually did it."

Summer, 1972

Rapunzel once asked Merida how old she'd been when she died. It was understandable; the redhead only ever appeared to be sixteen.

Merida's response:

"Old enough."

If asked, the Sorting Hat would say twenty-four was not nearly 'old enough'.

Winter, 1976

"Why is Rapunzel always checking for mirrors whenever she comes here?"

The Hat sighed and tried to think up a good answer that wouldn't confuse Jack, before realizing it was futile and spoke the truth as best he could.

"Because a part of her believes magic can't exist without smoke and mirrors."

"Oh."

Winter, 1977

"Why does Merida think wands are weird?"

Another sigh. Another half-lie.

"Because Merida has been around so long that she still remembers when witches used staves."

"Oh."

Winter, 1978

"Why does Hiccup think all women have magic and the ability to see the future?"

"Your guess is a good as mine."

"Oh."

Winter, 1979

"Why did muggles think witches were servants of the devil?"

He couldn't help it. The Hat paused. He stared long and hard at Jack until the Winter Spirit began to fidget under his gaze.

"Hat?"

The Sorting Hat shook himself and smiled, aiming for reassuring, but falling short.

"I don't know. I guess they just feared what they didn't understand."

"…Oh."

Autumn, 1981

"You took them personally."

The words might as well have been shouted for how silent the headmaster's office was. Hiccup sat in his usual spot at the window, thick silver hair braided beyond the base of his neck to match his neatly trimmed beard. It wasn't often the man appeared like this; he complained of arthritis in his knees and fingers, though the Hat wasn't convinced he truly felt any pain. In the guise of an eighty-year-old man, Hiccup looked as if a strong wind would blow him over.

"I can't remember the last time you took someone personally," the Hat continued. "I thought you preferred to delegate."

Hiccup snorted, the first sign of life he'd given in almost two hours. "It's my job."

"One you rarely dip your own hand into."

"Not rarely enough," Hiccup mumbled, shifting his body against the sill. His gaze was distant, green eyes dull as he stared out the open window to the trees below. "It was supposed to be the baby," he whispered after a moment.

The Sorting Hat stiffened. "What?"

Hiccup nodded, absently. "Mm. I can't be there for everyone personally, but babies – children – I always try with them. They deserve more than to be whisked away with the wind. It was supposed to be the child."

"But-" the Hat started, stopped, and tried to wrap his head around the new information. "How did this happen?"

Hiccup gave a little half-shrug and, for the first time since he arrived, looked at the Hat. His face was pensive and tinged with fear. A feeling like lead built up along the Hat's shoulder.

"I don't know."

Summer, 1991

"He was a wee bit scrawny, didn'tcha think?" Merida asked from her place beside the Sorting Hat. They were in the side room reserved for the Hat during the Opening Feast, surrounded on all sides by glittering golds, precious gems, and priceless portraits. The collection had grown exponentially over the years and it was the Hat's annual entertainment to find each new item. This year, however, he had something different to marvel at.

"I mean what did they feed him?" She continued. "Poor lamb looked like a strong wind would keel him over."

"Some people are just naturally thin," the Hat supplied, though he wasn't completely sure that was the case. "It's their metabolisms."

As if she had read his mind, Merida had already begun shaking her head before his words could finish. "No, not like this. His frame's all wrong for it. He would be thin, aye, but he's meant for broader shoulders."

The Hat furrowed his brow. "And you can tell this from under all those robes?"

She shrugged. "I'm a warrior. I have to know these things." Alright, the Hat nodded, that made sense, though he couldn't recall the last time Merida had ever raised a sword or bow at someone other than in jest. Hiccup didn't count. "He's been starved."

"You're sure?" Because if it was true it would raise a whole slew of uncomfortable questions about the boy's upbringing and his future at home.

"Aye," Merida replied, stalwart.

The boy in question was called Harry Potter. He was eleven-years-old and had been sorted into Gryffindor House not a half-hour ago. It was for his sorting that Merida was even in the Great Hall. He was of particular interest to the Spirits considering the events of his infancy, though it was not their job to interfere. That particular task was left to the Big Four: North, Bunny, Tooth, and Sandy. Merida and her compatriots had other, broader, duties to attend to than caring for one child's well-being.

"He'll be alright," the Hat reassured, opting for optimism. "He won't starve here at least."

"And when he goes home?" Merida asked, the Hat's attempt at comfort falling flat against reality. "What will he do then?"

"The same thing he's been doing, I suppose." The Hat tilted his cap, his face softening into something bordering expectation. "He's a strong lad. I dare say his relatives won't recognize him come next summer."

Merida snorted, resting her hand on her hip. "For his sake I hope so."

"He will. Gryffindor will be good for him."

"Yes," she bobbed her head mockingly. "A house known for bravery and foolhardiness, and a boy with a prophecy over his head. That's a good combination." She chuffed, but the Hat wasn't insulted. He knew she meant nothing by it. "I thought you wanted him in Slytherin," she questioned, fidgeting somewhat with the end of her bow in discomfort. The Hat hummed and eyed her before shaking his crown. It wasn't his place.

"He would have done well in Slytherin, I don't deny it, but I've come to understand that children often know themselves better than I ever will. Mr. Potter asked for Gryffindor and I have every confidence he'll succeed there as well."

"If he doesn't get himself killed first," she added, only half-joking.

"Well, yes," the Hat chuckled, "there is that."

Autumn, 1994

"Did you know the Hungarian Horntail is descended from the Monstrous Nightmare?"

The Hat fought against the sigh he wanted so desperately to let out. Had he eyes, he would have rolled them. Hiccup had been talking like this for an hour. The cap's body tilted to the side just so for him to gaze heavenward. He knew Hiccup liked dragons, but this borderlined obsession.

"You'd think it would have been from the Nadder because of all the spikes, but it's the mucus that gives it away. Green gel still lines its ridges even though it can't flame up its body anymore."

"Fascinating," the Hat grumbled under his breath. Toothless eyed him from his position on the floor with a look that said he'd heard him, but thankfully Hiccup was too engrossed in watching the tournament to listen.

"You know if Harry wasn't flying away like that, the dragon would be much more docile."

"He's trying to steal the egg," the Hat reasoned. "I think the dragon would put up a fight regardless."

Hiccup waved his hand dismissively. "The dragon knows it's not a real egg. They're smarter than that."

"Then why fight to protect it?"

To the Hat's amazement, Hiccup grinned. "He's playing. The dragon thinks he's trying to take away his toy, but after enough hassling the dragon forgets about the egg and turns his attention to Harry. The Horntail thinks they're playing fetch."

"Fetch?" He asked incredulously. From his peripheral a long jet of flame could be seen just out the window. The Hat sputtered. "That dragon is literally trying to roast him alive!"

Hiccup snorted, not even deigning to look away from the battle. "Eh, he's just having fun. Don't worry, no one is dying here today."

"Somehow, that's not reassuring."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

The king only flashed him another grin and began cheering. Harry had gotten the egg.

Winter, 1995

"I think Sandy's losing his touch."

"I don't think this is Sandy."

The headmaster's office was quiet in the aftermath of Harry's departure. Portraits tittered around them, swapping gossip and ideas back and forth amongst themselves, but Jack and the Hat remained motionless. They sat side-by-side on the top shelf behind the headmaster's desk, faces hard in contemplation. A faint scent of smoke from the dying fire wafted up from the fireplace.

"Who else could it be?" Jack asked. "The kid dreamed it."

"Mr. Potter is not a seer," the Hat replied, certain of the fact. He'd been inside the teen's head and knew he didn't have the Gift. "Sandy is capable of many things, but giving a child a prophetic dream without an open channel on the boy's side is beyond even his capabilities."

"Maybe he was just dreaming," Jack reasoned while tightening his grip on his staff. "It doesn't have to be prophetic."

"For this result," the Hat paused, thinking deeply, "I don't think it was a mere nightmare."

"Then what?" Jack hunched over himself, a comforting layer of frost forming under his body and lacing up to coat his hands. It made him look as if he was comprised of ice. "If he's not a seer and it wasn't a dream, the what was it?"

The Hat heaved a heavy sigh. "I-I don't pretend to be an expert on the topic."

Jack's eyes narrowed. The Hat fidgeted nervously against the wood. His mouth moved but no words came out, and his brim pattered against the shelf like a person would tap their fingers. "Expert or not, you know something," Jack said, drawing the Hat's attention back to him. "What is it?"

The Hat twittered again and looked about for something else to pin his attention on. Jack would have none of it. "Hat…"

He slumped. "Dumbledore's been doing research."

Jack's eyes flickered, not quite sure what that meant. "O-kay…" He played anxiously with a few snowflakes in his hand. "On what?"

Shaking his crown in trepidation, obviously not sure if he should speak at all, the Hat replied, "Horcruxes."

Horcruxes? Jack's face scrunched up in confusion. "What's a Horcrux?"

The Hat's face twisted in loathing – an expression so foreign Jack was momentarily shook – and said, "A Horcrux is an object containing a person's soul."

"Wait." Jack stiffened. "What? How is that possible?"

"In a word? Murder."

"Murder?" Jack's eyes went wide with horrified surprise.

"Mm," the Hat nodded heavily. "Dark magic combined with pre-meditated murder."

"But…what?" The Hat watched as ice shattered and then reformed in quick succession around Jack's hands. He couldn't tell if Jack was seeking comfort or if this was some sort of anger management. Perhaps both. "Okay, so Horcruxes. What does this have to do with Potter?"

"Can't you guess?"

"I'm not sure I want to."

The Hat cast him a look, foreboding and forewarning in every crease. "Then you have your answer."

Spring, 1997

There was a strange sort of hierarchy amongst the Spirits that the Hat never pretended to understand. From what he had managed to glean over the years his friends were considered a wholly different set of entities than, say, Father Christmas or the Easter Bunny. The Big Four were, as he understood it, concerned mainly for the well-being of children. The Other Four were concerned for the well-being of the world as a whole. They had different jobs than their counterparts; jobs that did not always allow for frivolity and playful chats.

Sometimes, the Hat had to remind himself of this.

Hogwarts was a battlefield when Rapunzel showed up. Though faint, the sounds of battle from the hallways still managed to echo up into the headmaster's tower. Portraits were scurrying every which way bringing stories of Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. They all cried out for Dumbledore, but the man could not be found. He had vanished and in his absence the school was falling apart.

"Sortierer."

The soft pitter-patter of Rapunzel's feet upon the wood drew the Hat's attention away from the sounds of fighting emanating from the rest of the castle. She was an old lady tonight; her silver hair piled up in an elegant coiffure reminiscent of the late 1800s, and her gown was a simple white lace. The Hat was momentarily taken aback as it was rare for Rapunzel to traipse about in this guise. He was so distracted, in fact, that it took him longer than normal to notice her expression.

His brow crinkled for a moment and then it clicked. Her posture, her age; he'd seen it before. He felt his face slacken and his crown droop as something like stone settled along his brim. If he had lungs he would have stopped breathing.

"I'm so sorry, Sortierer," she began, sympathy the Hat didn't want to hear in every word. "Do you want to say good-bye?"

It was the same question every time. Rapunzel had only recently taken over the job of asking, Jack having done it prior and Merida before him. Hiccup never bothered. Idly, the Hat wondered if she'd get sick of it in another century or two and try to pass it off to someone else.

"You don't have to," she told him, taking his silence for indecision.

Times like these and the Hat had to remember she'd only done this twice before. His lips twitched. He shook his crown. "No," he uttered, drawing himself up. "I do."

Rapunzel didn't say anything else and for that the Hat was grateful. Instead, she simply glided over to him in a manner more reminiscent of the queen she used to be than the Spirit she was now, and plucked him gently from the shelf. Her hands were soft along his frayed cloth and he found himself nestling into her warmth. She smelled like lilies.

The world outside the headmaster's office was dark and muggy. Rain was in the air and judging by the rumbles in the distance they were due for a storm. Such was common this time of year though the Hat couldn't help but feel it was a little cliché. Lightning and Death – the Hat might have to have a talk with Hiccup about his morbid sense of humor.

He felt Rapunzel grip his brim tighter in her grasp and then they were flying. The last time he'd gone outside had been with Merida almost eighty-years prior, but this fall was nothing like the one he remembered. It held none of the whimsy, and all of the fear. Space blended together, and before he knew it they were standing on the edge of the Astronomy Tower, just out of sight.

For a moment, the Hat was confused. Here? Off all places, the Astronomy Tower? But then his brain caught up with his eyes and he was able to take in what he was seeing. It was young Draco Malfoy, looking thoroughly terrified, and Albus Dumbledore.

They were talking, about what the Hat couldn't tell, though from the trembling wand in Draco's hand it wasn't anything good. Merida stood at Draco's shoulder, her face gentle as she brushed her hand unseen through the boy's hair. Opposite her, Hiccup sat upon the railing, posture stiff and dutiful as he took in their arrival. Both Spirits nodded to the Hat but didn't speak and just returned to their wait.

It wasn't the first death the Hat would be witness to. Over the years he'd seen countless friends perish in equally countless ways. He was sure he would see countless more. It didn't stop the hurt every time though.

Death Eaters appeared just as Merida cupped Draco's cheek. Their sudden entrance made her drop her hand and draw back in defeat, and the Hat felt any hope he might have had plummet out from under him. The group taunted the boy for a second and then there was Severus. He was puzzled – what could Severus possibly do with everyone watching? – and then in an instant, all those conversations he'd overheard made a dreadful sort of sense. He shut his eyes and wished he had hands to stop himself from hearing just as Dumbledore's plea echoed throughout the tower.

"Severus, please."

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light was blinding. He hadn't expected it to be so bright even through the thick cloth of his lids. Rapunzel's grip tightened further and she drew him closer to her chest. It was a small comfort.

By time he was ready to look again, Draco was being pulled from the tower by the other Death Eaters, and Dumbledore was falling. Time slowed down. The Hat couldn't move.

Hiccup was standing now, his arms outstretched as if to catch the falling headmaster. To the Hat, it looked like a twisted parody of a trust exercise, only instead of catching the elderly man, Hiccup allowed him to tumble through his arms and over the balustrade to the ground below. The Hat wanted to scream at Hiccup. He wanted to yell for him to catch Albus before the fall killed him, but he knew the words were worthless.

Instead, he forced himself to look at the misty, glowing mass in Hiccup's arms. The sight was strangely comforting in its familiarity. Hiccup cradled the soul close as if it was a newborn. For a brief moment, the Hat had the foolish desire to tell him Dumbledore was stronger than that. He didn't need to be held like a babe. But then he looked closer at the mist and it looked so fragile he feared it would just float away with the wind should Hiccup let go.

Merida stepped forward then, gliding across the tower floor towards the exit. She and Hiccup barely paused to look at each other, though the Hat was almost positive he caught the briefest nod of respect from them both. It was too minuscule to be sure, but it made him feel somehow better to think that they did.

The former queen continued her trek across the stone to them. The exit was right behind them and just as he thought she was going to pass by Merida stopped. The way she looked at him – soft-eyed, stern-faced – made him want to stand up just that little bit taller. She squeezed his brim gently, the warmth from her fingers spreading throughout the cloth and up to the very tip of his crown. He sighed involuntarily.

"You'll be okay, Ad," she said patting his shoulder and drawing away.

The Hat nodded, knowing from experience she was right, but not feeling particularly okay just yet. It must have showed on his face because she flicked his side kindly and said, "Chin up, Ad, you're gonna need you're wits about ye." The sudden thickness of her accent almost threw the Hat, but then he watched her draw herself up as if bracing for something unpleasant, and, after a deliberate nod to Rapunzel, continued on her way towards the door. From his vantage point, the Hat could just make out Angus waiting in the wings. Soon Merida had disappeared down the staircase and into the violence below.

If he had the capacity for deep thought just then, the Hat would have guessed she was making a b-line for Mr. Potter.

He turned his attention to Hiccup. The king, who appeared to have little concern for everything but the soul in his arms, spared them only a passing glance and an inviting little nudge towards the ground before he too vanished into the night. The Hat thought he heard Toothless in the distance, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen.

He felt Rapunzel shift. From below, he could hear the first few anguished cries as people discovered the body.

"Do you want to take a look?" She asked, conscious of the still raw wound.

The Hat laughed but there was no humor in it. "Do I want to?" He asked rhetorically. "No. But he was my friend and I owe him at least that."

Rapunzel smiled and Pascal clamored down from her shoulder to curl around him in a gesture of solidarity. The Hat was grateful.

They began to move forward and the closer they got, the more the Hat felt himself stiffen. He didn't really want to see the body – that would make it real – but if he didn't he would regret it for the rest of his life, and, considering his track record, that was an awfully long time for regret. Besides which he'd been there for almost every headmaster previously; he could hardly do any less for one as distinguished as Dumbledore.

Suddenly, they were at the edge. The balustrade was chipped from where the spell had hit and the Hat knew that directly below he would find the empty body of one of his dearest friends. It was harder to look down than he thought it'd be, but he said the same thing after every death so he supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

By time he looked down, the courtyard was beginning to crowd with students – some crying, some stunned, and even a few in the midst of swapping angered fists. With all the chaos it was difficult to make out the body of the old headmaster. But no, there he was, lying amidst the stones and shrubbery; surrounded by an invisible wall only a few had the bravery to break.

Merida was down there, standing at Harry Potter's shoulder. The boy was hunched over and her ghostly hand lay on his back soothingly, despite the fact he couldn't feel it. He breathed a sigh of relief he hadn't known he needed. A knot deep inside him loosened. At least Harry was alright.

He looked back at Dumbledore, so still upon the pavement, and thought of the mist held gently in Hiccup's arms. He shut his eyes in farewell.

Good-bye, my friend. Thank you for the memories you've given me.

It was all he could think to say. Dumbledore's portrait would appear in the Headmaster's Office and they'd have years more to talk, but, as he'd noticed, the paintings were never quite the same as the people they tried to reflect. For most people he met, all he had were memories.

Wands glowed from the courtyard below them, a good-bye and a thank you to a well-loved man, but the Hat was done.

As if reading his mind, Rapunzel adjusted him in her hands and then they were flying again. Seconds later, they were back in the headmaster's office. It was exactly as they'd left it with the exception of Dumbledore's portrait watching the new arrival with a familiar twinkle. It soothed the empty feeling of the room just a little bit. The Hat smiled ruefully.

"Thank you, Rapunzel," he mumbled as the former queen placed him delicately back on his shelf.

She bobbed her head, which turned into more of a small curtsy, and brushed aside a stray piece of lint. "For you, Sortierer, anything."

Oh the Hat very much doubted that. They had far too many restrictions placed on them to do anything for him, but he appreciated the sentiment.

"Do you want me to stay?" She asked, even though she already knew his answer.

True to form, the Hat was already shaking his head before she finished. "No," he said, like he had every time since Godric. "I'm alright. You go back to work."

Though obviously hesitant, Rapunzel didn't say anything and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. The brush of silver hair against his face tickled and he felt his lips twitch.

"So long, Sortierer. Call if you need anything. We'll hear," she reminded as she stepped onto the ledge.

The Hat's lips twitched again. "I will." He wouldn't, but that wasn't the point. Rapunzel must have known it too because she rolled her eyes and propelled herself out the window in a dizzying twirl. The scent of lilies followed her and the room was suddenly left smelling stale and cold.

It was too quiet.

"Friend of yours, Hat?" Albus Dumbledore's voice rang out from beside him and it was comical how much it startled him.

He chuckled. "You have no idea."

"Oh?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even brighter and he popped a few lemon drops in his mouth. "Do tell, my friend. I'm always so enchanted by your stories."

"Well, I suppose it started years ago when Godric and Salazar made a bet…"

Summer, 1998

"Did I ever tell you about the time I turned my mother into a bear?"

"You did what?"

They had been moseying through the remaining rubble for the past hour just talking about inane things when they stumbled upon the statue. Hogwarts was slowly rebuilding itself after the final battle, a mix of the castle's innate magic and the tireless work of the professors and students, but there were still quite a few hallways blocked by fallen walls and staircases.

The Hat, sitting quite comfortably atop Angus' head, spotted it first. They were on the second floor, near a collection of unused classrooms and old portraits few people ever spent the time to go see, when he saw the bear. It was a wooden statue, obviously ancient and kept from rotting through magic only. The statue was quite thoroughly smashed to bits about the base, but sported a surprisingly intact head. It was sculpted mid-roar and would have been terrifying to come across in the dark.

Merida hadn't looked away since they found it, but her shocked expression had since faded into cautious amusement.

"Mmhm," she intoned with tightly puckered lips. Her brow was furrowed and she looked a bit embarrassed. "I didn't want to get married so I turned her into a bear."

"You-" the Hat began, but wasn't sure how to continue. That was by far one of the most extreme reactions to an arranged marriage he'd ever heard of. "You turned your mother into a bear because you didn't want to get married?"

Merida shrugged a shoulder defensively. "I was sixteen."

"Sixteen? That's a pretty good deal." From their past discussions, he would have thought she'd been younger. The Hat distinctly remembered quite a few second and third years who had been married. For a princess, sixteen was a good age for engagement.

But Merida's face remained pinched. "I didn't think so."

Of course she wouldn't. Not that he could blame her. It really was too young, but at the time even wizards rarely made it past the age of seventy, nevermind the muggles. He brushed the uncomfortable topic aside before he could delve further and returned the truly pertinent question. "How did you even manage to do something like that?" Because he was almost positive Merida had been a muggle, but back in those days it was hard to tell. The line between magicals and muggles had been a bit blurry and no one really kept record.

He watched a muscle spasm in her face; a sure sign the memory was an unpleasant one. He didn't urge her to continue, but waited for her to speak. After a minute, it paid off. "I…followed a group of will-o'-the-wisps into the woods and met a witch who gave me a cake to give to my mum to change my fate."

The words were spoken in such a rush and in such a thick Scottish accent it was almost unintelligible to the Hat. When he was finally able to put it all together, his mouth dropped and he could do nothing but stare at her. She wouldn't meet his eyes and twisted her hands together.

Well no wonder. "You do know that wisps tend to lead people to their deaths, right?"

"Technically," she stressed, "they lead you to your fate."

"Yes," said the Hat nodding emphatically, "to your death. It's the one fate everyone shares."

"I was desperate," she explained, bringing up her hands for emphasis. "I really didn't want to get married."

"Well, clearly." She had to be desperate is she was willing to follow a wisp of all things. "And how did changing your fate equate to turning your mother into a bear?"

"Ah, well, that's a wee bit complicated. You see I figured if I gave my mum the cake it would change her mind, not, you know, her mind. Into a bear. Or her body."

"And the witch didn't tell you any of this?" He knew a lot of witches back then were vindictive little hags, but by Merlin, a bear?

"She was very cryptic."

"You didn't ask, did you?"

With a strained face, Merida shook her head. "Ah, no. Not in so many words."

He would have slapped himself if he could. Only his understanding of the time period prevented him thinking on it further. There was no Statute of Secrecy and witchcraft wasn't yet feared by most of the muggles. As a witch living on DunBroch lands, it would not have been in the witch's best interests to harm her queen. She must have been senile to do what she did.

"Did you at least manage to turn her back?" Asked the Hat, focusing his attention to the truly pertinent part of the story.

"As a matter of fact, I did. And I didn't even need the witch to do it." But there was something in her eyes that told him there was more to the story.

"So," the Hat prodded, "what did you need?"

Merida squirmed. "I needed to sew a tapestry."

"You…needed to sew a tapestry?" That wasn't like any potion or spell he'd heard about. Then again he didn't pretend to know every spell, especially one so old. Still, a tapestry?

"My mum had been making it and I got angry and tore it and it was really all about pride, you see, so it was a symbolic thing. And there was a bear fight in there too, and dad almost killed mum before I could show him I wasn't making it all up, and somewhere along the line my brothers got turned into bears, and it was all a very big mess."

The Hat could only stare. Below him, Angus shook his head and chuffed. The horse obviously remembered this clusterfuck of the events. Well, it may have been old news to Angus, but the Hat was still floored. "I'm sorry," he said as soon as his voice returned, "but you turned your brothers into bears too?"

"That was not my fault," she stated defensively. "They had a habit of stealing sweets and found the cake."

"And they ate it."

"Yes."

"And turned into bears."

"Yes."

"Because you went to a witch."

"Of for the love of – that's not the point!" She whirled around to glare at him but something on his face must have given him away. Merida scowled as he fought back a laugh. "Bastard."

"I'm only teasing," he said. "It's not the worst reaction to an arranged marriage."

"It's not?"

"Well, it's not the best," he admitted. "But no. I remember a girl who was so jealous over her lover's engagement to a wealthier woman – a muggle I might add – that she accused the fiancée of witchcraft. It led to quite a few burnings, if you get my drift." Judging by the horrified expression, the Hat figured Merida did indeed understand. "Besides, I can't very well rebuff you over something you did a thousand years ago."

"Yes you could," she stated, deadpanned. "I'm sure my family would."

"Now I don't believe that for a minute."

"Why not?" She asked, suddenly fired up, but the anger was directed inward. "I would. It's because I kept refusing to marry that the lords turned on us to begin with. If I had just picked one of their stupid sons, maybe the lochlannaich could have been stopped."

"And what does dwelling on that do?" He rebutted. "You can't change the past, Merida."

He watched as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Angus nudged her comfortingly and she visibly relaxed under his touch. She inhaled again, shook her head and then looked back at him. "I'm sorry. That wasn't why I was telling you all this."

The Hat only shook his crown, begging her to understand that he held none of this against her. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said gently, before sobering and asking more seriously, "Though I have to ask, why did you tell me? Not to be nosy of course, it's just you rarely offer up such information."

Instead of getting defensive, as he expected she might, Merida smiled. It was soft and made her eyes twinkle. Had he breath to breathe, it would have stopped. She laid a gentle hand on the bear's head. "You asked me a question once, about whether or not I've ever gone home."

The Hat vaguely remembered this so he nodded. "Yes…" he trailed off, wondering where she was going with this.

"Well, I decided it's high time you knew who's room you occupied."

For a moment, the Hat was confused. He knew the headmaster's office had once been Helena's, so what could Merida possibly mean by – oh. Oh. He swiveled around, almost falling off Angus' head and stared incredulously.

Her teeth flashed. "Your founders definitely added onto it. It was in ruins before, and it was certainly never this large. I think the muggles still see it as such."

The Hat blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. The words were stuck.

"This bear used to sit in our Great Hall. See, I carved my name into it when I was seven." Her hand extended to point out the tiny, scratched out runes along the bear's leg. "I'm surprised it's still around. It's very old."

"Clearly," he said, flabbergasted.

"It's hard, coming back," she began with a heavy sigh. "But it gets easier every year and I guess what I'm trying to tell you is, thank you."

"For what?"

"For helping me. For talking to me. For never telling me it was wrong to be angry."

"It wasn't wrong," he replied, knowing what she getting at.

She shrugged a shoulder, years of being told the opposite giving her pause. "That's not what North told me, or Tooth, or Bunny. Even Hiccup's yelled at me."

"It wasn't wrong," the Hat reiterated, stronger because she seemed to need the reassurance.

"And I want to thank you for that," she said, finally turning away from the bear to look at him head on. The gaze was intense and grateful and something else. "I've been angry for a long time, and I don't know yet if it will ever really go away. But you've helped me a lot, for years, and I felt you deserved at least this one truth."

The Hat was touched. It had obviously taken a lot for Merida to muster up the courage to speak about her life. Even now, thought time had dulled the ache, she still had a shadow in her eyes. In that moment, the Hat felt very honored. It made him want to move around all puffed up. "In that case, thank you. For trusting me."

Her lips twitched. "You're welcome."

"And," he began, because he was now feeling particularly bold, "because apparently I've been neglecting to say this for many years, may I just take the time to say 'welcome home, Your Grace'."

It may have just been a trick of the light but the Hat swore Merida's smile lit up the whole castle.

Winter, 2012

"He can see me," Jack marveled for about the fifth time in as many minutes.

It had been a rather adorable scene that met the Hat upon waking. Like a child awaiting a story, Jack sat cross-legged on the windowsill, one knee bouncing up and down in unrestrained excitement while he clutched his staff close to his chest like a favored toy. The early morning sunlight glittered off fresh snow collecting across the grounds and cast a warm, almost ethereal glow into the headmistress' office. Jack's face, usually shadowed my mischief, was open with wonder and amazement. Had the Hat not already been informed about the events of the past spring, he might have been confused. As it were, he just smiled indulgently.

"So Rapunzel told me," he said. "She said you were quite the hero."

Jack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. A glimmer of cautious pride sparked in his eyes. "She did?"

The Hat nodded. "Mmhm. She said if not you for you Pitch might have actually succeeded."

"Eh, well, it was kinda my fault to begin with," Jack admitted, slumping a bit.

"Considering how Pitch makes it his job to be manipulative, I don't think it's so much your fault as it is his talent. The fact that you fought back is much more a testament to your character."

"Really?"

"Yes," the Hat assured. Had he eyes, they would have twinkled. "As it stands, your resiliency saved the world, so take the compliment and enjoy the rewards. You're a guardian now after all, aren't you?" He reminded, and grinned as a silly little smile lit up Jack's face.

"Yeah," the Spirit breathed, as if he still couldn't quite believe it. "The Guardian of Fun."

"It suits you." The Hat chuckled somewhat with the knowledge. "Though, I think I could make a solid argument for being the Guardian of Mischief instead."

"But mischief is fun," Jack teased. "So I am the Guardian of Mischief."

"Oh," the Hat scoffed, "of course. Silly me."

Jack laughed and pushed off the windowsill. He walked with a spring in his step towards the headmistress' desk, snowflakes following in his wake, before settling quite comfortably on top of the wood. He swung his feet absently back-and-forth, grin never leaving his face.

The Hat raised a crease. "So Rapunzel never did say who the special little boy was. She only said that he was adorable and she wanted to adopt him."

Jack lit up. "His name's Jamie Bennett. And did you know Gramps said he's actually descended from my sister?"

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"Neither did I," the Winter Spirit exclaimed, bewilderment and excitement coating his tone. "But I remember her now! Her name was Elizabeth, but I called her Little Bit. Everyone thought it was because she was so small, but I really meant it as a Little Bit of Trouble."

"I do not doubt that."

"Nope!" He said with obvious pride. "She got into everything. It was great. Hiccup told me she lived to be really old, and she had a huge family, and," he paused here for emphasis as his face threatened to split in half, "she named her first son Jack. Jack Bennett."

The Hat laughed, Jack's overwhelming happiness was that infectious. "Did she really?"

"Yep!"

"And Hiccup kept track of all of this?" He knew the Spirit of Death had a list, but thousands of people died everyday all over the world. Even for him, to keep track of one girl's family from almost three hundred years ago was a bit of a stretch. Maybe he knew Jack would need it someday.

"Well," Jack said, once more turning sheepish. He twirled his staff around in his hands and snowflakes fell from it into tiny, piles along the floor. "As Hiccup put it, he likes to 'keep track of his family' so to say."

Now the Hat understood. "Ah, so you are one of Hiccup's descendants." He'd had his suspicions to be sure, but it was nice to have the confirmation.

Jack nodded, delight in every line of his face. "Yep. And Rapunzel is my cousin! Kind of. Tenth-cousins somewhat removed. But she's first cousins with that queen I gave ice powers to all those years ago. I mean I knew Hiccup was old, but I didn't know he was old enough to have spawned most of the ruling families of Europe."

"Quite a bit more than them, to be sure," the Hat snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised if most of the world could claim some relation."

"I'm related to everybody," Jack gasped, wide-eyed as the implications hit him.

The Hat chuffed. "Well a lot of people, at least."

Jack waved his hand dismissively. "Shut up. And you know, I can actually call him gramps now and there's not a things he can say against it. Merida thinks it's hilarious."

"Oh I'm sure she does." Merlin knew how much joy she got out of it before it was a known truth. "Before long, you'll even have Rapunzel doing it."

"Already do," he said, conspiratorially.

"Oh, I'm sure Hiccup just loves that."

"Actually," Jack said growing contemplative. "I think he does. Like he complains, but he never actually tells us to stop. And sometimes I think it even makes him smile."

"Really?" Jack nodded. "Then I say keep doing it."

"Me too. Besides, it makes Toothless laugh."

"Well then you know you have to." The Hat winked at him, before settling back against the shelf and allowing his face to soften. "All jokes aside, Jack, I have to say I am very proud of you."

"Didn't think I had it in me?" Jack joked, though the Hat easily saw through him to the gratitude he felt underneath.

He allowed himself to play along. "Well…" They both chuckled. The Hat shook his crown. "No, I always knew you had it in you. The only difference is that now you do too."

Jack snorted. "How you could possibly know that?"

"I'm the Sorting Hat. Knowing things is what I do." He tsked at the Spirit. "Even when the people I'm sorting don't realize it themselves."

Jack's brow furrowed. "You've never sorted me."

"Oh? Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," Jack said, bobbing his head. "I think I'd remember that."

"Oh right," the Hat uttered, idly and not wholly convincing. "Well, we'll just have to remedy that now won't we?"

"Um, excuse me?"

"Well I can't have sorted Hiccup, Merida, and Rapunzel, and then just leave you out to dry. That would be rude."

"I think I'll live," Jack deadpanned.

"Nonsense," the Hat scoffed. "After all, it's about high time I taught you my process, remember?"

"Your process?" The Winter Sprite asked, creases digging deeper into his forehead as he puzzled it out. "What proc-?" His eyes widened. "Oh not this again!"

"If I recall correctly, you told me I was boring."

"That was years ago! Rapunzel wasn't even here yet!"

"And you've grown so much since then," the Hat said, not budging. "Oh come on. You can't tell me you're not curious."

"Not really."

"Well I am," he retorted. "Now come on. Put me on."

"Do I really have to?"

"Yes. Or are you going to be like your esteemed ancestor and make me win a bet first?"

"You had to win a bet with Hiccup?" Jack asked, shocked out of his whining; the image was too fantastic to ignore. "You won a bet with Hiccup?"

The Hat sighed. "Yes. Clever he may be, but give me enough time and I will always win. Keep that in mind."

"I will."

"So then you know it will be easier to just give in now than have me hound you for the next hundred years."

"You'd forget." But Jack didn't look convinced and the Hat smirked in triumph.

"I don't forget." He pointedly ignored the way Godric's face blurred in his memory.

Jack sighed, defeated. "You're insane, you know that?" But he sent a little gust of flurries to pluck the Hat off the shelf anyway.

"Ah, but I am in good company," the Hat replied smartly before landing gently on Jack's head.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack groused. "Go on then, show me your process."

The Hat rolled imaginary eyes, which looked nothing more than a slight swirl of his crown, but did as requested, delving into Jack's mind as easily as any other. A minute passed, two, and Jack fidgeted against the mahogany. Slowly, a thin film of frost began to settle along the wood.

Another minute and he just couldn't take it anymore.

"Well?"

The Hat chuckled, face splitting with such a smile as if to say he'd done nothing more then confirm something he'd already known. He patted Jack's forehead with his brim. "You'll be happy to know Jack that you were as brave in life as you are in death."

September, 2017

"Come on, come on, come on…."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Yes!"

Jack leapt up, unseen by the masses in the Great Hall, and pumped his fist in the air. Next to him, sitting at the top of the stairs, Merida let out a groan. The two were situated on one side of the Sorting Hat, opposite Hiccup and Rapunzel on the other, watching the proceeding ceremony with varying levels of interest.

Merida flicked a finger to Rapunzel and said, "Point to Jack."

Rapunzel was already ahead of her as she ticked off a mark in her sketchbook labeled Gryffindor. It was the sixth mark under such header; right next the five under Slytherin and the four under Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff was in the lead with seven ticks.

The Hat had to hold back a laugh. The absolute disgust on Merida's face was almost too much to ignore. She was competitive and hated to lose; the fact that Jack had just pulled ahead of her must have rankled. It took every ounce of willpower not to slip when he was surrounded by so many people who would more readily believe his mind was finally slipping than admit to spirits they couldn't see.

The next child was called up to the stool and the Hat had to turn his attention to her. He noticed vaguely that Rapunzel had returned to her sketch of Astrid; Hiccup leaning over her shoulder pointing out little inconsistencies. The brunette queen always fixed them with a smile and would occasionally reach up to scratch the sleeping chameleon on top of her head. Likewise, Toothless lay dozing at Hiccup's foot.

A minute passed with the first year trembling under his brim before he shouted out, "SLYTHERIN!"

"Ha ha!" Merida shouted in triumph. Rapunzel turned the page to place another mark under Slytherin while her fellow queen gloated. The red-head slapped Jack playfully on the shoulder and did nothing to stop Angus from whickering in the Winter Spirit's ear.

"Yeah, yeah. It just means we're tied," he said, trying to rub the saliva from his face. "Gramps is still in the lead."

Merida waved him off. "We can beat the lochlannach."

On the other side of the Hat, Hiccup snorted in dismissal. A few hundred years ago that would have been an insult. "Keep thinking that Vestmaðr. I'm going to enjoy eating all your candy when I win."

Hiccup had a right to be confident. The next three students went to Hufflepuff, and Rapunzel got two more points when the children after them – a set of twins – went to Ravenclaw. That put Rapunzel tied with Merida and Jack, with Hiccup in the lead.

"Oh come on, Sorter," Jack complained as the second twin joined the Ravenclaw table. A tickling feeling raced through the Hat at his newest moniker, but he held back the dopey grin that threatened to show.

"I'm not a part of this bet, Frost," he whispered under his breath so that no one else in the hall would notice. It was a good thing Longbottom had had a recent incident with a baby mandrake, because he was the only person close enough that might have heard otherwise. "And I am not putting children in Gryffindor just so you can win."

"Killjoy," Jack muttered and crossed his arms. Even Merida looked put out.

Professor Longbottom called the next student up – an excitably nervous looking blond boy – who was promptly sorted into Slytherin. Merida crowed and shot Jack a smug look.

"Well no duh," he tried to explain away. "He's a Malfoy. Just you wait. Potter and Weasley will be up soon and they're guaranteed Gryffindors."

For the next few minutes, more students were called up to be sorted. Two each were sent to Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and three were sent to Gryffindor. Hiccup remained in the lead, but his margin was closing quickly.

Finally just when Jack looked like he would burst, Longbottom called out, "POTTER, ALBUS!"

"Yes!" Jack exclaimed, whooping as the boy made his way up the stairs.

Merida sent him a glare and grabbed the back of his shirt to yank him back down. "The lad hasn't even been sorted, yet."

Scoffing, Jack said, "He's a Potter. Of course he's going to be in-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"-Gryffindor…what?" Jack's face fell so quickly it was a wonder he didn't suffer any injuries. For her part, Merida began to cackle behind her hands at the unexpected turn of events.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" She mocked. Even Hiccup and Rapunzel couldn't keep their mirth hidden as Jack stumbled to find a reply. "Potter's in Slytherin?" She looked to Rapunzel. "Tell me you put the point in the correct spot."

The new Guardian of Creativity giggled and turned her sketchbook to show her the new tick under Slytherin.

"Sorter!" Jack rounded on the Hat, who only blinked to show he'd noticed. "What are you doing?"

"Sorting the students," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

Jack shook his head vigorously, snowflakes falling off him to land unseen on the stone floors. They evaporated instantly, too close to Merida to last long. "No! You're letting them win."

"I am not-" but he was cut off as the next student arrived, and Jack turned to pout at the edge of the stairs.

"Oh come on, Jack," Rapunzel began, the scent of daffodils drifting off her and into the wind. "Losing isn't that bad."

"Easy for you to say. North just gives you chocolate. I have to steal it."

"North still won't take you off the Naughty List, huh?" Hiccup asked, taking the sketching of Astrid from Rapunzel so he could edit some of the features himself. The brunette looked a little put out, but gave it up with only the briefest of eye rolls.

"No," Jack grumbled. "Apparently, saving the world does not make up for three-hundred years of Naughtiness. He still gives me coal every time I see him."

"Have you tried asking nicely?"

Jack tossed Rapunzel a wry look. "It's North. I had to bribe a Yeti last tim-"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"SERIOUSLY?"

His three companions burst into peals of laughter as Jack buried his face in his knees with a groan, and the Hat desperately covered his bottom lip to stop himself from following them.

"Don't worry, Jack," Rapunzel teased. "If you ask nicely maybe we'll share our candy."

"Just you wait, Weasley's gonna win me this thing."

As luck would have it, Weasley was not going to win the bet for Jack. Oh, it was a tough choice, the girl was very much like her mother, but in the end the Hat made his decision relatively quickly. Of course, he did put on a bit of a show, just because he was enjoying watching Jack squirm.

"RAVENCLAW!"

It was probably a good thing, the Hat mused, that no one besides himself could see or hear the Spirits, otherwise Jack's cries may have deafened them. It also would have decidedly destroyed the ceremonial pomp that came with the end of the sorting because the way the other three Spirits collapsed against the staircase was wholly undignified.

Hiccup, without any preamble or prompting, took out the little package of sweets North had given him and quickly deposited them into Rapunzel's waiting hand, before falling down against Toothless once more in mirth. Merida, glad to at least not have lost against Hiccup, also handed her goodies over to the winner and crossed her arms over Angus' back, smirking as she did so. As for Rapunzel herself, she gleefully counted her loot before eyeing Jack. With deliberate slowness, she extended her hand and curled her fingers, beckoning.

"Come on, Jack," she sang. "Fair is fair. I won."

"But she was a Weasley," the teen moaned, uncomprehending.

"And now she's a Ravenclaw. Pay up."

Scowling and letting more than a little frost escape from his staff, Jack flung the bag of chocolates her way. She deftly captured her pay and nodded. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Shut up. I'll win next year."

"Hmm," she intoned through the chocolate in her mouth. "We'll see."

"Don't worry, Jokul," Hiccup piped up, having finally stopped laughing. A crooked grin had stretch across his face and he flicked away a few flurries. "We have the rest of our afterlives here. I'm sure you'll win at least once."

"Yeah," Merida joined. "Maybe by then you won't even have to steal the chocolates."

Boisterous laughter erupted from the group, one that even Jack joined in after a few seconds of grumbling, and the Hat allowed the sound to wash over him. A few snowflakes dusted at his brim, melting immediately under Merida's close heat, and the Hat inhaled the sweet musky scent of dead leaves that wafted under him. It mixed well with the crisp aroma of rain that seemed to cling to Rapunzel, creating a wholly fresh and cozy feeling the Hat wished he could burrow into. He felt warm, surrounded by friendship he'd long ago thought lost.

With a smile, he allowed the professor to carry him out of the hall, knowing the four were following close behind. Their bickering was a refreshing background noise.

"I can so get off the Naughty List!"

The Hat snorted; he couldn't help it. Professor Longbottom cast him a questioning glance, but he waved it off with a whisk of his crown.

Rapunzel appeared beside him, looking fresh as a spring day. Her cheeks were rosy as she tossed him a grin and tilted her head to where Jack stood squabbling with Hiccup and Merida. Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

"So, what do you think? Does Jack have a chance next year."

The Sorting Hat looked behind him, mindful of Longbottom still listening in, and quirked his seams upward in playful conspiracy.

"I'll see what I can do."

And that's that. I hope you all enjoyed and thank you for reading! Please review, but don't flame. I appreciate constructive criticism, but flames do not help writers improve.

Word Directory: (Note, I do not speak any of these languages and so all I know of them is through research)

- Lochlannoch: The old Gaelic word for Viking. Technically speaking, the Picts spoke a language historians believe to be closer to Brittonic, at least that's the most accepted theory from what I've found in my research, but considering Merida's time would have been around the formation of Alba and the Kingdom of Scotland, I figured she would be speaking something closer to Scottish Gaelic.

- Lochlannaich: Plural of Lochlannoch

- Vestmaðr: From what I could find, this would be the Old Norse word for "Briton, Irishman, Gael"

- Hattr: Old Norse word for "Hat"

- Dreki: Old Norse word for "Dragon"

- Ad: Old Gaelic word for "Hat"

- Solveig: Old Norse female name meaning "Strong House" or "Daughter of the Sun"

- Sortierer: German word for "Sorter"

- Reiche: Plural form of Reich (German for "empire")

- Arschloch: German for "Asshole"

Notes:

- Harvest to Autumn: For the most part, the seasons were segmented into two in most historical societies: winter and summer. The transitional seasons of autumn and spring are relatively more recent additions to the calendar. The harvest occurred at the end of the summer and was heavily associated with death and spirits as the winter approached. It wasn't until the late 1400s - early 1500s that the term "Autumn" actually started to occur more frequently. Hence why Hiccup is the Spirit of Death first, and Rapunzel is the Spirit of Life, before they are Autumn and Spring.

- Jokul Frosti: The story of Jack Frost has many different historical beginnings, but one of them is in Old Norse mythology where he was known as Jokul Frosti. Hence, why Hiccup is so amused when he'd created. As for why Merida was amused, well in some old Celtic myths, the Oak King is the spirit of winter and she's having a ball of a time reconciling the two.

- Why Rapunzel checks for mirrors: Rapunzel would have died in the 1890s when illusionists and magic shows were all the rage. Even someone with magic hair would have been a bit skeptical about other forms of magic if they had been raised under the belief that most magic was a trick of the light. Of course she's much more accepting, what with the magical healing flower and all.

- Why Merida finds wands weird: From what I could find, the magic of the Picts was very similar or related to that of the druids. So, she would have been expecting a staff rather than a wand or complex rituals over spells. And to break a spell, she doesn't expect a countercurse as evident of her experience with her mother and the bear.

- Why Hiccup thinks all women have magic: The Vikings believed all women were magical and had the ability to see the future in their dreams. That was why Viking women were in charge of the family finances. It's also why they were in charge of weaving, because it was believed that they could enchant protective spells into the clothes.

- Jack and Magic: Due to his lack of real memories, Jack just accepts the magic for what it is. If not, he might have been a bit concerned about a school of children learning what he would have been brought up to believe as "devil worship."

- My Thoughts on Merida: I will be frank, I don't like her character in the setting she was placed in Brave. I think she would have been better utilized in a different time period, where arranged royal marriages were not the norm or expected for the political stability of their kingdoms. In this story I have used my own headcanon that Merida continues to refuse marriage as she gets older, causing resentment amongst the lords who were willing to wait until she was ready before. Now that time goes on and she still refuses, the clans begin to fight believing they are being snubbed, and are no longer united enough to defend against the Viking invaders. It's not wholly Merida's fault, but she sort of takes it onto her shoulders anyway. Hence why she doesn't like Hiccup. Despite my personal feelings, however, I do not believe in bashing a character and I hope I managed to do her justice.

- Their Houses: Alright, so I know the general consensus is that Merida goes to Gryffindor, Jack goes to Slytherin, and Hiccup and Rapunzel go to either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. However, it is my belief that while Merida is not a traditionalist in any sense of the word, she does display the cunning, resourcefulness, and ambition of Slytherin much more than Jack does. This is nothing against her character. I'm a Slytherin; it's my favorite house. I just go by what I see when I watch her character. Jack, while ambitious and cunning, is at his heart more concerned for others than himself. He has no self-preservation. He sacrifices his life for his sister and does everything to rescue Baby Tooth. As far as I'm concerned, he's a Gryffindor. Rapunzel almost went to Gryffindor as well because it takes a lot to go against everything you know and tread into the unknown, but I feel that her desire for knowledge and her love of discovering new things belonged better in Ravenclaw. As for Hiccup, well he was the most difficult. Honestly, he could really go anywhere. He has the intelligence and wit for Ravenclaw, the ambition and resourcefulness of Slytherin, the bravery and daring of Gryffindor, as well as the hard work and loyalty of Hufflepuff. In the end, I picked Hufflepuff not just because he seemed to tick off all the required qualities, but because I think if the Hat asked him what house he wanted, Hiccup would choose Hufflepuff if for no other reason than they represent the type of person he strove to be.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Have a lovely day!

~Alabaster Ink