Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am solemnly up to no good.

AN: Written for Maraudercat's challenge.

The Potter and the Hat

"Potter, James…stop flirting, James, and sit on the stool."

"Ok, ok. It isn't that big of a deal you, know, Professor."

"Don't give me that, Potter, and put the hat on your head."

"Kind of worn out, isn't."

"Just wear the hat, James!"

"Jeez, you'd think I was threatening to burn it, the way you're going on."

"I wouldn't put it past you. I knew your father."

"Ha. That must have been…"

A Potter, eh?

"You the hat?"

Yes, yes I am.

"You sound like an old man. You should use some moth balls. They might help that molding."

A brash one, are we?

"Nah, just honest."

Of course, of course you are. Harry Potter's son, eh?

"Don't you dare sort me just because I'm his son. That's not fair. And you know it, too, so don't even pretend…"

Stop moving around or I'll fall off and then bite you.

"You won't bite me."

Really?

"Really."

Confident, are we?

"Just honest."

I was hoping the Potter boy would be more difficult to sort. There's been mutterings about you in the headmaster's office.

"What kind of mutterings?"

I'm sure you'll find out soon enough.

"GRYFFINDOR!"