If anyone asked who the most creatively driven and talented "person" at Hogwarts was, the answer would unquestionably be the Sorting Hat: weathered, tattered, filthy, covered in patches, and sporting a conspicuous rip near its brim.
The hat had originally belonged to Godric Gryffindor, one of Hogwarts' founders. After being imbued with thought, it had taken on the enduring task of "sorting the new students," but people often overlooked something else-every year, the Sorting Hat sang a song it had never sung before.
A song that never repeated-keeping that up for five, ten, fifty, or even a hundred years would not have been particularly difficult. But the Sorting Hat had existed almost as long as Hogwarts itself, and by now, it had performed over a thousand songs in Hogwarts' Great Hall.
This year was no exception, of course, though the Sorting Hat seemed a little underprepared this time-
At that moment, Hogwarts' Great Hall blazed with candlelight, golden cups and silverware gleaming in one another's reflected light. Pearly-white, translucent ghosts whispered away from the dining tables, while the students murmured among themselves-they were all craning to stare at a strange object on the staff table rather than paying attention to the Sorting Hat, already sitting on its three-legged stool. Even though the hat's mouth had opened and closed several times as if it wanted to speak, the returning students ignored it, and a considerable number of the new students did too.
"What on earth is that thing-oh, a Flying Head? Have you heard of Flying Heads? A good friend of mine once told me that terrifying creatures like that come out in the dead of night on an island in East Asia!" a Muggle-born first-year said excitedly. "I never thought we had Flying Heads in Britain too, or that one