Chapter 289: The Sword of Gryffindor
"As long as you tell me what I want to know, I won't do anything to you," Sean said calmly, holding the crumpled, tattered Sorting Hat.
"Of course, of course. I believe you more than anyone, young wizard," the Hat replied, twisting its fabric body with a hint of nervous energy. While the situation was a bit unexpected, it seemed entirely in character for someone like Sean.
"I was lying," Sean said, staring at it with an expression of mock surprise, as if to say, 'You actually believed me?'
"Vexing—you vengeful Ravenclaws!" the Hat grumbled, hobbling and twitching as if trying to hop out of Sean's grip, though the effort was futile. "You've learned to lie! No—wait—you aren't lying at all!"
The Hat's voice rose and fell in a series of dramatic, puzzled cadences.
Just then, Snowy glided in through the open window. Sean hadn't been lying; he wasn't the one who wanted to use the Sorting Hat to build a nest—Snowy was.
"Get her away! I belong on the heads of young wizards, not in a smelly bird's nest!" the Hat wailed, its fabric mouth stretching wide in an exaggerated grimace.
On Sean's shoulder, Snowy ruffled her feathers and pecked playfully at the Hat's brim, looking for all the world like a cat toying with a trapped mouse.
"I have a moral obligation to offer you an appropriate warning," the Hat continued, trying to regain its dignity. "I am never wrong, not even with the most complex of wizards. Oh, I must tell you—some Ravenclaws fail every exam, some Hufflepuffs are lazy despite having immense talent, and some Gryffindors show nothing but cowardice...
"But that doesn't matter. No, not at all. It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. Make no mistake, I am the cleverest magical artifact in the Wizarding World! The wisdom of the four Founders flickers within my brim—"
The Sorting Hat rambled on, desperate to prove its worth.
"Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick—oh, those two gave me quite the headache! To this day, they still enjoy imagining what might have happened if their Houses had been swapped. Minerva as Head of Ravenclaw, and Filius as Head of Gryffindor. But do you know what? It's impossible! Look at how differently they have turned out—"
The Hat let out a sharp, discordant cry. The sound was small, yet to Sean, it was piercingly clear, echoing inside his mind.
Legilimency. Sean knew exactly why the Hat's voice felt like it was originating from his own thoughts.
"I could tell you a thousand years' worth of secrets, but I'd sooner be turned into a nest than admit I made a mistake," the Hat babbled.
"Mr. Hat," Sean interrupted, his interest piqued. "Secrets from ten centuries?"
"Of course, of course! The Diadem of peerless wisdom, the Cup overflowing with sincerity, the Sword called forth by courage—"
The folds of the Hat formed something resembling eyes, which were currently dancing with excitement.
"I can tell you what once was, what was lost, what survived... but do you know what? Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who deserve it. In this castle, those in need of aid shall always find it."
Help will always be given to those who deserve it...
Sean's gaze remained as calm as a deep, still lake shrouded in a thin layer of mist.
"Very well, then. Come, reach inside. I know what it is you seek—" the Hat's raspy voice whispered.
Sean walked forward thoughtfully, taking the Hat from Snowy. The moonlight spilled into the Headmaster's office, making the silver instruments and Sean's own eyes gleam with a cold light.
The Hat grew tight in his grip, as if an invisible hand were squeezing the fabric. Sean felt his fingers close around something long and hard.
"Yes! Yes! You shall succeed! You are the Ravenclaw whom Gryffindor admires most—" the Hat shrieked with excitement.
"But not now—"
The shriek cut off abruptly. Sean frowned and pulled his hand out. It was empty.
"Remember what I said? Hogwarts will always help those who are worthy. The Sword of Gryffindor appears only when a true seeker is in need. When you are ready to fulfill a mission that Gryffindor himself would recognize... then come back and find me."
Sean hadn't managed to retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor, but he hadn't been rejected by it, either. He had felt the hilt in his palm; he knew it was there.
Is it just not the right time?
The night vanished quickly, and a pale gold mist began to rise on the horizon.
The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling was a dull, overcast grey. On the four long House tables sat bowls of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon.
Neither Justin nor Hermione had smiled all morning. They kept glancing at Sean before quickly looking back down at their porridge, pretending to be deeply interested in their breakfast.
"Sean, did you finish your Animagus training?" Justin finally whispered.
At that moment, Sean was busy analyzing a Sneakoscope-like device. He was planning to construct a set of lenses designed for multiple light refractions.
"Mmm," Sean grunted. With a flick of his wand, the device was magically dismantled. Its various components hovered in midair, waiting for his inspection.
"Oh, what a shame. I mean—how wonderful!" Hermione said, closing her copy of Voyages with Vampires. She let out a small sigh of disappointment before quickly correcting herself after a sharp look from Justin.
Sean gave them a confused glance before returning to his study of the lenses.
"Could we see your Animagus form—"
Justin was interrupted as a hundred owls suddenly streamed into the Hall, circling overhead and dropping letters and parcels into the laps of the chatting students.
A bulky parcel landed square on Neville's head, followed closely by a large, grey blur that crashed directly into Hermione's milk jug. Milk and feathers splattered across the table.
"Errol!" Ron shouted, grabbing the bedraggled owl by its legs and pulling it out.
Errol sprawled on the table, legs in the air and a damp red envelope clutched in his beak.
"It's a Howler," Ron said, his face turning ashen. "I'm dead."
"You'd better open it, Ron," Neville whispered. "It's worse if you don't. Gran sent me one once. I ignored it and—" he took a sharp breath, "—it was horrible."
The corners of the envelope had begun to smoke. Ron reached out with a trembling hand, carefully pried the letter from Errol's beak, and tore it open.
Justin and Hermione watched with morbid curiosity, wondering what a Howler actually did. They noticed Neville covering his ears, and a split second later, they understood why.
At first, they thought there had been an explosion. A roar of sound filled the Great Hall, so loud it shook dust from the ceiling.
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
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