Silence fell over the Great Hall. Before the students had been murmuring or talking excitedly, now they stared.

They knew the boy. Most everyone knew. Rumors had spread quickly and all eyes widened. Once the shock settled, they started up again.

"Bloke blew out all the windows in the car on the way here—"

"Prefects were livid!"

"He's odd—"

"—Related to the Potions professor—"

"—Thought he was a Squib at first—"

"Can't control anything—"

"—Breaks everything—"

"—A disaster—"

"Stupid—"

"Moron."

"I hope he isn't sorted into my house."

Wheatley didn't hear a thing, he had more important matters. Like the ratty hat sitting on his head that was going to determine the next seven year of his life.

Ratty, is it?

He blinked in surprise. That's right. The hat can bloody think!

Not much brain in here, boy.

That sounded like the governess he had growing up, he thought, a little sadly. He may have been holding onto the hope that maybe he was a genius of some sort. Just misunderstood. God knew he always tried his best. It just never turned out right in the end. Never was his fault, really. Like the cat in the courtyard when he was nine, just a mistake. He didn't know that the governess's medallion was cursed. Or the paintings in the foyer, that had been awful. Or even today, with the windows on the Express. He had meant to impress the pretty girl. She had smiled at him. He wanted to show off his wand. It had been accident, really—

Not much nerves either.

And that sounded like his father, Wheatley cringed outright at the memory. He was 110 pounds of lanky, clumsy, limbs, sticks really. Of course, he ran from bullies. What was he to do when they were picking on the little ones? That kid had looked like a scrapper even if the others were two feet taller than him. His father didn't approve of the obviously wiser choice of running. His father didn't approve of him in general. A general disappointment. Always running away, always messing things up, always having to apologize.

Well then—

No one ever bothered to apologize to him! They could have mentioned something. Anything. Hey there, Wheats, this little bugger right here is pretty important and dangerous, don't hang it about the cat's neck. Wheatley, dear, I'm sorry you had to face those scary bullies. There really wasn't anything you could do. Oh, Wheatley, be a dear and be careful with your new wand around glass; it tends to shatter all of it.

No one could be bothered to even listen to him.

I say—

Well, he'll show them. Thought he was magicless and a failure. That was wrong. Letter on his eleventh birthday, on the dot. No question about it. This boy's a wizard! And he's going to be the greatest wizard! He'll impress everyone and he'll be popular and no one will call him a moron again.

Wheatley paused in his thoughts, realizing the hat was quiet. He craned his neck up, as if he could see its button-eyed expression over the wide brim.

Good luck with that, boy.

Then it shifted over his head and he heard cry out to his surprise:

"SLYTHERIN!"