(First Potterfic! :D Crossposted in illeatmyself.)

"Altair, Andromeda Arwen."

"I PROTEST!"

A murmur runs through the hall and dies into silence. The Sorting Hat topples off Miss Altair's raven curls and lies there fraying at the mouth.

"Have mercy on me," it wheezes. "I'm nearly a thousand years old. My seams can't take it. You know what kind of strain these little hussies put on me."

"Hat," says Professor McGonagall sternly, "I must ask you to speak civilly of my niece."

She picks it up again. "Better be Gryffindor, Andie. --Black, Brandy Blossom!"

A dozen portraits blink in the darkness as the Sorting Hat wakes, screaming.