"As long as you tell me a few things, I won't do anything to you."
Sean said calmly, holding the crumpled Sorting Hat in his hands.
"Of course, of course, I trust you more than anyone, little wizard."
The Sorting Hat wriggled cheerfully. The situation surprised it a little, but somehow felt inevitable.
"I lied."
Sean stared at it, wearing an expression that plainly said, You really believed that?
"Annoying—typical grudge-holding Ravenclaw—"
The Hat flopped and jerked as if it wanted to hop out of Sean's hands, but it was pointless.
"You've learned to lie! Oh no—you didn't actually lie!"
the Hat squeaked, its voice rising and falling oddly.
At that moment, Whitey swooped in through the window ledge.
Sean truly hadn't lied—he wasn't the one planning to use the Hat as a nest. Whitey was.
"Make it let go! I'm meant to sit on young wizards' heads, not in some reeking bird's nest—"
The Hat's ragged brim gaped in an exaggerated scream. Perched on top of it, Whitey flapped her wings and tapped the Hat with her talons from time to time, like a cat toying with a mouse.
"I have a moral obligation to issue you a proper warning. I never make mistakes, not even with the most difficult witches and wizards.
Oh, I really must tell you—some Ravenclaws fail every exam, some Hufflepuffs are lazy but have brilliant talent, some Gryffindors are timid cowards…
But that doesn't matter, yes, that doesn't matter. It is our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities.
Don't doubt it, I am the most intelligent magical object in the wizarding world. The wisdom of the Four Founders flashes in my brim—"
The Sorting Hat chattered on, eager to prove itself.
"Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick—they cost me no small effort back when they were Sorted. Even now they like to imagine that, if not for a few key moments, things might have been reversed: Minerva as Head of Ravenclaw, and Professor Flitwick as Head of Gryffindor.
But guess what—that's impossible! Look how differently they've turned out—"
The Hat's shrill muttering was quiet, but somehow pierced straight into Sean's mind, clear and grating, like a voice from inside his own head.
Legilimency.
Sean understood why it sounded that way.
"I could tell you a thousand years of secrets, but getting Old Hat to admit it misjudged someone? Better to turn me into a bird's nest."
The Hat grumbled.
"Mr. Sorting Hat, a thousand years of secrets?"
Sean asked, sounding as though something had just clicked for him.
"Of course, of course—the diadem of surpassing wisdom, the cup overflowing with fidelity, the sword that answers courage's call—"
The Hat's creases scrunched into something like eyes, practically glowing with pride.
"I can tell you what has been, what has been lost, what has survived… but guess what: when the time comes, Hogwarts will help you. In this castle, those who truly need help will always find it."
Those who truly need help will always find it…
Sean's gaze went very still, like a deep lake shrouded in a thin, endless layer of mist.
"All right then, go ahead, take hold of me—I know what you're after—"
The Hat's faint, raspy voice came again.
Sean, thoughtful, walked over and took the Hat back from Whitey's claws.
Moonlight poured into the headmaster's office. The silver instruments and Sean's eyes both gleamed.
The Hat grew tighter and tighter, as if an invisible hand were squeezing it hard. Sean felt his fingers close around something long and solid.
"Of course! Of course! You'll succeed! You're the Ravenclaw Godric Gryffindor himself would have admired—"
The Hat crowed in excitement.
"But not yet—"
its shriek cut off abruptly. Sean frowned and drew his hand back out of the Hat.
His palm was empty.
"Remember what Old Hat said? Hogwarts will always help those who deserve it. The Sword of Gryffindor will appear when a true hero needs it. When you're ready to carry out the task Gryffindor himself would approve… come back and see Old Hat."
…
In the end, Sean still didn't get Gryffindor's sword. But it didn't feel like the sword had rejected him; he was certain he'd grabbed it. So why couldn't he pull it free…?
Wrong timing?
Night slipped away quickly. The sky turned a pale pink-gold, a thin mist hanging over the horizon.
In the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling showed a blanket of grey clouds. On the four House tables sat bowls of porridge, platters of pickled herring, little hills of toasted bread, and plates of eggs and bacon.
All morning, Justin and Hermione hadn't smiled once. Every so often they snuck glances at Sean, then pretended they were only concentrating on their porridge.
"Sean, did you finish your Animagus transformation?"
Justin finally couldn't hold it in and whispered.
Sean was still examining something that looked like a Foe-Glass. He was preparing to make a set of spectacles that could refract light multiple times.
"Mm."
he answered simply. With a flick of his wand, the Foe-Glass came apart in midair, each little component floating separately while he studied them.
"Oh, what a shame—I mean, that's wonderful—"
Hermione snapped Travels With Vampires shut and sighed before Justin nudged her and she hurriedly corrected herself.
Sean shot them a puzzled look, then went back to studying the glass.
"Could we see your Animagus…?"
Justin began, but a hundred owls swept into the Hall, circling overhead and dropping letters and parcels onto the students below.
A bulging parcel landed squarely on Neville's head. A moment later, a greyish lump crashed into Hermione's jug, splashing milk and feathers all over her.
"Errol!"
Ron cried, hauling the bedraggled owl out by its legs.
Errol flopped onto the table, feet sticking up, with a wet red envelope still clamped in his beak.
"A Howler. I'm dead."
Ron's face collapsed.
"You'd better open it," said Neville quietly.
"It's worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once and I ignored it, and then—"
He gulped.
"It was horrible."
The corners of the envelope were already smoking. Ron's hand trembled as he carefully took it from Errol's beak and tore it open.
Justin and Hermione, both curious what a Howler actually was, watched—only to see Neville slap his hands over his ears. A second later, they understood why.
At first they thought something had exploded. A colossal voice filled the Great Hall, making dust rain down from the enchanted ceiling.
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
~~~
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