"As long as you answer a few things for me, I won't do anything to you."
Sean held up the crumpled Sorting Hat, speaking calmly.
"Of course, of course — I trust you more than anyone, young wizard."
The Sorting Hat wiggled happily. It seemed surprised by how this had turned out but not entirely against it.
"I'm kidding."
Sean stared at it with a 'You actually believed that?' look.
"Annoying— such a vindictive little Ravenclaw—"
The Sorting Hat flopped and twisted as if trying to escape from Sean's grip, though obviously it wasn't going anywhere.
"You learned how to lie! Oh no — you didn't lie!"
Its voice rose and dipped oddly, as if even it wasn't sure how to react.
At that moment, Whitey swooped in through the window.
Sean truly hadn't lied — he wasn't the one planning to use the Sorting Hat as a nest. Whitey was.
"Let me go! I belong on young wizards' heads, not in some foul-smelling bird's nest—"
The Hat's mouth stretched wide in dramatic despair. On top of it, Whitey fluttered and tapped the Hat with his talons like a cat toying with a mouse.
"I have a moral obligation to give you proper warnings! I'm never wrong — not even with the most baffling witches and wizards.
I'll tell you this — some Ravenclaws fail every exam, some Hufflepuffs are lazy but gifted, some Gryffindors are timid and skittish…
But that doesn't matter — yes, it doesn't matter. It's our choices that show who we truly are. Choices matter far more than abilities.
Never forget — I am the smartest magical artifact in the wizarding world! The wisdom of the Four Founders sparkles in my brim—"
The Hat rambled on, desperate to defend itself.
"Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick — oh, I struggled with those two. Even now they like to imagine that, if not for certain key moments in their youth, their roles might have been reversed — McGonagall Head of Ravenclaw, Flitwick Head of Gryffindor.
But guess what? Impossible! Look at how differently they turned out—"
Its shrill muttering felt like it pierced straight into Sean's mind.
Legilimency.
Sean knew exactly why it sounded like that.
"I could tell you ten centuries' worth of secrets, but asking the old Hat to admit it made a mistake? You might as well toss me into that bird nest."
The Hat rattled on.
"Mr. Sorting Hat, ten centuries of secrets?"
Sean asked in a deliberately thoughtful tone.
"Of course, of course — the Diadem of Wisdom, the Cup full of loyalty, the Sword that answers courage—"
Its folds shifted into something like excited eyebrows.
"I can tell you of what once was, what has vanished, and what has endured… but guess what? When you truly need it, Hogwarts will help you. In this castle, help always comes to those who deserve it."
Help always comes to those who deserve it…
Sean's eyes were calm as a deep lake under a thin veil of mist.
"All right then — take me. I know what you want—"
The Hat's raspy voice surfaced again.
Sean stepped forward thoughtfully and took the Sorting Hat from Whitey's talons.
Moonlight spilled into the Headmaster's office, gleaming off the silver instruments and reflecting in Sean's eyes.
The Hat tightened — as though an invisible hand were squeezing it. Sean felt himself grasp something long and solid inside.
"Of course! Of course! You will succeed! You're Gryffindor's favorite Ravenclaw—!"
The Hat shrieked excitedly.
"But not now—"
Suddenly the shrieking stopped.
Sean frowned. He pulled his hand free — empty.
"You remember what the old Hat said, right? Hogwarts will always help those worthy of help. The Sword of Gryffindor will appear only for a true Gryffindor in a moment of real need. When you've completed the task Gryffindor would approve of, come back to me."
…
Sean didn't get the Sword of Gryffindor — but he hadn't exactly been rejected either. He had felt the sword in his hand. So why couldn't he pull it out?
Was the timing wrong?
The night slipped away. A thin mist spread across the horizon, tinted soft pink and gold.
The ceiling of the Great Hall was a solid gray sky. The House tables were lined with bowls of porridge, plates of pickled herring, piles of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon.
All morning, Justin and Hermione hadn't smiled once. They kept sneaking glances at Sean, then pretending they were just minding their porridge.
"Sean… did you finish your Animagus transformation?"
At last, Justin couldn't hold it in and whispered.
Sean was busy analyzing something shaped like a Sneakoscope — he was planning to build glasses that bent and refracted light multiple times.
"Mm."
He flicked his wand, and the Sneakoscope-like object came apart, every piece floating in midair for inspection.
"Oh, what a shame — I mean, that's wonderful—"
Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires, blurting the first part before Justin elbowed her and she corrected herself quickly.
Sean gave them both a puzzled look, then went back to studying the hovering parts.
"Can we see your Animagus—"
Justin began, but the Great Hall doors burst open as hundreds of owls swooped in, circling above and dropping letters and parcels everywhere.
One overstuffed package dropped onto Neville's head, followed by a large gray creature plunging into Hermione's jug, splashing milk and feathers everywhere.
"Errol!"
Ron yelled, grabbing the soggy owl by the legs.
Errol collapsed on the table, legs sticking up, a dripping red envelope clenched in his beak.
"A Howler. Brilliant."
Ron's face crumpled completely.
"You'd better open it, Ron," Neville said quietly.
"If you don't… it's worse. Gran sent me one once — I ignored it, and… well…"
He shuddered.
"It was horrible."
The envelope's corners were already smoking. Ron reached out with a trembling hand, carefully pulled it from Errol's beak, and tore it open.
Justin and Hermione leaned in, curious — but Neville had already clamped his hands over his ears.
They quickly understood why.
At first they thought something had exploded — a deafening roar filled the entire hall, shaking dust loose from the ceiling.
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
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