The hall watched me with bated breath. They all wanted Potter, like he was some prize. It sickened me. They just wanted the boy-who-lived to be in their house. They didn't know anything about the boy, but he could be used as leverage. See, our house really is the best, we got Potter. No, I wasn't going to subject the boy to that. My decision was made.

"There will be no more houses," I boomed, voice magically amplified. I'm sure those students thought I was joking. They laughed, smiled with friends. But not the teachers. Their laughs were uneasy, their eyes worried and confused. One particular professor, I'm sure, knew what I was getting at before the others did. I can safely assume he bitterly detested the sorting system.

When I remained silent, then their smiles faded. They looked around at each other, furrows forming between their brows. By now the staff was consulting in low voices, huddled around the table. What was going on? What are we to do?

As they were whispering, the truth of my words began to settle, like sand that has been stirred up in the bottom of the ocean and falls back, but now each grain of sand is in a different place than it was before. First, they all gasped as their little house badges seemingly vanished into thin air.

My magic is extremely powerful. Whatever I say concerning houses goes. That's how I was made. But I doubt Godric ever thought it would be used this way when he created me. But I think I can take some liberties, don't you? It's been far too long that I've been a good little hat and done what I'm told.

Then, the four house tables disappeared. That's right. Now, the poor children had reached their breaking points. The swell of agitated voices crashed around me. The first years looked at each other, wide eyed. And Potter. He was afraid, I could tell. But not of what all these other children feared.

So what I did was wrong. Yes, hats do have consciences. But I was curious. I peered into the young Potter's mind, curious as to what was bothering him.

I delved into his mind, ignoring the rush of feelings and thoughts, searching for just the right emotion. Ah, there it was. Fear. He was afraid of being the one who had caused this whole thing? Afraid of being…. Different? He just wanted to fit in?

Strange, I would have thought him angry about not getting put into Gryffindor. But I wasn't left much time to mull over these thoughts, as I was rather rudely lifted off Potter's head and brought over to the staff table.

"What is going on, hat?" hissed McGonagall. "What do you mean by this? Surely you can't do this?" Came another voice, Sprout, I believe. But I remained silent. Let them work it out for themselves. I wasn't sorting, and I wasn't talking.

Then Snape spoke up. "I believe it does have the power to do this. I think we're just going to have to deal with it," he said, voice slow and calculating. The staff's eyes were upon him. "Surely not?" Came someone's reply. "Surely," he answered, eyes swinging toward the chaos which had erupted. "I suggest you speak to the children, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded, and began to speak, voice loud and firm. "Children, calm down. I'm not sure what's going on. For now, please remain quiet as the staff and I work out what to do."

What to do? Yes, that seemed to be the question. They couldn't seem to agree, so they decided on having everyone sleep in the great hall while the teachers went into their discussion mode, leaving the prefects in charge.

They left me there, in the Great Hall. Why? I suppose they were just so wrapped up in the circumstances. But you would think they would. Maybe they realized it was hopeless trying to get any information out of me.

So I sat upon the staff table, receiving many glances and points from the students. Those plush purple sleeping bags, trademark of Albus Dumbledore, had appeared. Friends grabbed them and settled into groups to chat. I kept a special watch on Potter, who looked a bit lost. His large eyes darted around the scene, and he finally just went by a sleeping bag in the corner, leaning his back against the wall.

The boy needed someone to talk to. So I looked around. All the first years seemed terrified. You'd think Albus would do something to make them more comfortable? But no.

Then I spotted him. He was a small boy, almost as small as Harry. He had white blonde hair that was now disheveled from its previous smoothness, falling into his eyes. His previous 'friends' seemed to have left him now that they had found someone else. I wondered about him. He had been difficult to sort as well. But he had asked for Slytherin, so why not? But it seemed to me as if he wanted it for someone else, not for himself. But now, that was gone. The few first years that had been sorted weren't any longer.

The small blonde noticed Harry sitting in the corner, and he seemed to struggle with himself before reaching a decision. He went over and sat by him. I wondered what would happen between the two. Could it have happened it I'd sorted?