AN: Succumbing to peer pressure, I am now writing a YGO/HP crossover. Hah! I looked through all the clichés, worked out what most people were taking for granted and not changing, then did my best to turn them upside down.

If I had to dedicate this story to someone (which I don't), it would be to Lizeth, and/or Jase Shadowstar, who are also writing rather excellent YGO/HP fanfics.

Unclaimer: OK, so I don't own them. Like that's going to stop me at all. Mwahahahahahahahah!!!!!!!!!! *insane laughter*

****************************************

Dumbledore sighed, running his fingers through silvery hair and allowing himself a rare moment of uncertainty, a luxury that - as headmaster - he could not often afford. His bright blue eyes were troubled, behind his half-moon spectacles as he contemplated the matter at hand.

Ever since the job had acquired the curse, getting new teachers for Defence against the Dark Arts had been becoming harder and harder.

Every year he was faced with the possibility that the Hat wouldn't be able to find a replacement for the position.

Last year it had not done so, and the position had been eventually filled by Delores Umbridge of the Ministry.

It was not a situation that the headmaster was anxious to repeat.

The Sorting Hat was a far more complicated device than even Albus could begin to understand the workings of, and the headmaster treated it more like a friend than a teaching aid.

It was old enough to have a character of its own, and was actually considered alive - and with legal rights - under the magical entities act of 1066. (Hogwarts was another of these living magical creations; the two conspired together on a regular basis.)

Godric had been excessively fond of his Hat.

Salazar had given it to him as a joke-gift on his birthday, and ever since then Gryfindor's founder had worn it whenever it was reasonable to do so, and sometimes when it wasn't (see Hogwarts a History, the really truly unabridged edition, page 178.)

Time had allowed it to assimilate the personalities of all four founders, although it was always more in tune with its creator Salazar, and its long-time owner Godric, than either of the others.

These characters were mostly dormant - after centuries of 'life' the Hat preferred to sleep for most of the year, waking for few reasons other than to produce the lists of new students to invite to Hogwarts, and when the time came, to sort them into houses.

And, recently, to choose the new DADA professor.

As it was doing now, just as usual.

Usual, except that this time, the Hat was more awake than it had been in years.

None of which, of course, was relevant to the subject under consideration.

It just provided some explanation as to why Dumbledore was awaiting with more trepidation normal whatever solution - or lack thereof - the Hat might provide.

The power that had been gathering inside the Hat finally began to focus, silver and blue sparks - house colours of Slytherin and Ravenclaw combined - gaining substance quickly.

A small popping sound later, a silver envelope addressed in metallic blue ink floated to the table. Dumbledore had to concentrate to make out the words, from the shadowed, archaic font they were written in. 'Rakura, It depends, Domino City'. The addresses had a way of self-updating once they were closer to their targets.

~Isn't Domino City somewhere in Japan? This is certainly going to be an interesting year.~

A second popping sound signified a shower of red, gold, and black - Gryfindor, Hufflepuff - sparks forming another envelope. Black, this time, with gold writing and ruby shadows.

~Two?~ The headmaster's surprise was only slightly muted by the memory of Harry Potter's fourth year, and the Goblet of Fire. The Sorting Hat had never done this before. He scanned the text quickly. 'Yugioh Mouto, Game Shop, Domino City.'

A third popping noise heralded a third envelope, this one gold and lavender. ~Lavender? What house is that?~ It was addressed to 'Ma'ik Ishtar, I don't have a clue but probably. . . Domino City.' Albus puzzled for a moment over the apostrophe and the unusually vague address, then shrugged.

Rakura, Yugioh, and Ma'ik. It seemed that Hogwarts would not be suffering from a shortage Defence masters this year.

Had anyone been there to witness it, they would have noticed that Dumbledore's trademark twinkle had reappeared in full force. He checked the Hat one last time to be sure that was the last letter - no more sparks appeared to be gathering - before trotting off to tell Minerva the good news.

Behind him in the office, one last envelope coalesced from the shadows. In curling, dark emerald writing, the name 'Severus Snape' could barely be made out against the silver-black background. The red-haired goddess smirked in delight. The potential this situation held was . . . inspiring. She bowed respectfully to the Hat - an action oddly out of character for her, who respected no one - before seizing the letter and darting away to get it posted.

*********************************************

And so the Gods play chess with the lives of men, and when they are loosing, with pick up the playing board and throw the pieces across the room in a fit of petulance.

*********************************************

Review please. It would make me happy. And when I'm happy I like torturing poor defenceless fictional characters. In other words, I'd update faster. So reviewing is good thing, that you must do, yes? Please, please, please! I wanna know what you thought of it. REVIEW, YOU COWARDLY MUSTARD-COLOURED ROTTING PUSCULES! OR ELSE!!!!

That task completed, my friends, live long and prosper. Until next time . . . farewell

And do something each day to traumatise those who have no imagination, and to delight those who do.

Eris, Goddess of Discord, Darklady of the Spire, and Patroness of Chaos