"Mr Sorting Hat, on behalf of Hogwarts, I apologise," Dumbledore said, rising from his seat at the staff table. He bowed slightly toward the patched old hat, his expression gentle and perfectly sincere. "From now on, we shall clean you once every year, and if that proves insufficient, once a month can certainly be arranged."
The professors looked surprised, and so did the students. No one had expected the Headmaster to take the complaint so seriously, but since Dumbledore himself had spoken, no one could very well object. More than a few older students suddenly remembered their own Sorting and the faint disgust they had felt when that ancient, filthy Hat had been dropped over their heads.
None of them had dared mention it at the time. They had been too nervous, too young, or too afraid of looking foolish in front of the whole school. This year's first years, however, were apparently built differently. Not only had one of them pointed out the problem, he had done it in front of the staff table and somehow made the entire school feel guilty on behalf of a hat.
"Oh, I knew Jamie was going to do something again," Hermione whispered to Neville from the first-year line. Her tone was full of exasperation, but even she looked as if part of her agreed that the Sorting Hat really should have been cleaned before now. "He and Tyler can't stand still for five minutes without causing trouble."
Neville nodded nervously, clutching Trevor against his chest. He did not know whether this counted as trouble or kindness, which made it even more confusing. After the dragon prank, the flying swords, and everything else that had happened that day, he had given up trying to predict what Tyler and Jamie would do next.
"Professor McGonagall," Jamie said, turning toward her with an innocent smile, "may we delay the ceremony for a few minutes? I'd like to clean Mr Sorting Hat before continuing."
Professor McGonagall nodded almost by reflex. A second later, she seemed to realise what she had agreed to and opened her mouth to stop him, but Jamie had already picked up the Sorting Hat with one hand and lifted his wand with the other. The Great Hall leaned forward as one body, hundreds of students suddenly desperate to see what would happen.
"Aguamenti," Jamie said.
A powerful stream of clear water burst from the tip of his wand and washed over the Sorting Hat from crown to brim. The Hat jerked, then gave a long, dramatic moan that echoed across the hall. "Oh! Oh, that is much better. Yes, there, right along the brim."
Professor McGonagall's expression froze. At the staff table, Professor Flitwick sat straighter, his small eyes shining with astonished interest. Aguamenti was not normally taught until much later in a student's education, and yet this first year had cast it smoothly, with impressive control, and in front of the entire school.
The water struck the Sorting Hat with steady force. Years of dust, grime, old sweat, candle smoke, and whatever else had gathered in its seams began to run off in dark streaks. The first stream that splashed onto the floor was nearly black, and a collective sound of horror rose from the students.
"I cannot believe I wore that," an older student muttered from the Ravenclaw table. "That black water came from the Hat."
"I feel sick," someone at Gryffindor whispered. "Why did no one clean it before now?"
"Forget that," another student said, staring at Jamie. "How does a first year know Aguamenti? I didn't even learn that until much later."
The whispers spread from table to table. Some students were disgusted by the dirt, others impressed by the spellwork, and many were both at once. The Sorting Hat, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying itself far too much for something being blasted with water in front of the whole school.
Jamie kept rinsing until the water running off the Hat changed from black to grey, then from grey to clear. Only then did he lower his wand and shift into the next spell. "Scourgify."
A bright shimmer passed over the Hat, scrubbing deep into the stitching and fabric. Before anyone could properly react, Jamie flicked his wand again and cast another neat cleaning charm, pulling away the remaining moisture and dirt until the old Hat looked worn but no longer filthy. It was still patched, battered, and ancient, but now it had the dignity of an artefact instead of something rescued from a cupboard.
"Excellent cleaning charms, Mr Bauer," Professor McGonagall said despite herself. Her voice was still stern, but there was no hiding the approval beneath it. "And your Aguamenti was also very well cast. If formal lessons had already begun, I suspect Professor Flitwick would award you points."
Professor Flitwick nodded eagerly from the staff table, looking almost ready to applaud. A talented first year was always a delight, and one who could cast beyond the standard curriculum with such precision was difficult for a Charms professor to ignore. Even Snape watched with narrowed eyes, though his expression gave away nothing useful.
"However," Professor McGonagall continued, turning her sharp gaze back on Jamie, "may I ask where you learned those spells? You are still a first-year student."
"I read them in old school notebooks left behind by other wizards," Jamie replied calmly. "Hogwarts has produced many excellent witches and wizards, and some of them kept their notes after graduation. I taught myself from those."
Professor McGonagall considered that and gave a small nod. The explanation was plausible enough. Plenty of former students kept their school notes, and some families passed them down like heirlooms. She herself still had old notebooks from her Hogwarts years, filled with careful handwriting and stricter standards than most current students would appreciate.
What she did not immediately question was the amount of magic required. Aguamenti was not delayed in the curriculum merely because of pronunciation or theory; it demanded a solid reserve of magic and enough control to shape the flow without losing it. Whether the other professors noticed that detail or not, Dumbledore certainly did, though his expression revealed nothing.
The Headmaster watched Jamie with quiet interest, his blue eyes bright behind his half-moon spectacles. He did not speak, did not interrupt, and did not let anyone see the thoughts moving behind his smile. Age had not made Dumbledore simple; if anything, it had made him deeper, quieter, and far more difficult to read.
"Oh," the Sorting Hat said, twisting happily in Jamie's hands. "I feel remarkably refreshed. Thank you, young wizard. I had nearly forgotten what it was like not to be carrying a century of dust in my seams."
"You're very welcome, Mr Sorting Hat," Jamie said. "I think a little perfume would finish the process nicely. This one is from France."
He reached into the small pouch at his waist and withdrew a tiny glass vial. The perfume was from the wizarding world rather than the Muggle one, but some things existed in both societies because no civilisation, magical or otherwise, could resist smelling pleasant. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, catching candlelight in soft gold.
Jamie sprayed the Hat several times. A rich fragrance bloomed through the air at once, elegant, floral, and far too strong. Professor McGonagall took two discreet steps back, and several students in the front row wrinkled their noses.
"Oh, splendid," the Sorting Hat said, wriggling with satisfaction. "I have never worn perfume before. I feel quite magnificent."
"You smell magnificent too," Jamie said with a smile. "Possibly magnificent enough to overpower the first three rows."
"That is quite enough, Mr Bauer," Professor McGonagall said quickly. The ceremony had already been delayed far beyond anything she considered proper, and the first years still needed to be Sorted before the feast could begin. "You may begin your Sorting now. We have many students waiting."
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Jamie said.
He placed the now-clean, heavily perfumed Sorting Hat on his head and sat down on the stool. The Hat settled over his hair, its brim casting a faint shadow across his eyes. For the rest of the Great Hall, everything seemed to pause.
Inside Jamie's mind, however, the Sorting Hat's voice sounded close and clear. "Oh, now this is strange. I cannot see your heart at all. You have used some method to block my probe, haven't you? You truly are a unique young wizard."
Jamie remained relaxed beneath the Hat. He had expected this. Something that could read minds or sense a person's nature would naturally try to peer into him, and he had no intention of allowing an old artefact, however interesting, to wander freely through his secrets.
"But never mind," the Sorting Hat continued. "You have helped me a great deal today, and I am feeling generous. Since I cannot read you properly, you may choose the house you prefer."
Jamie smiled faintly under the brim. "Then, Mr Sorting Hat, send me to Slytherin."
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