7:00 PM.
Outside the Hogwarts Headmaster's Office, the ugly stone statue was different from the rest, and it was Ian's first time here. He gently spoke the password Dumbledore had told him.
"Jelly Slug."
As the words fell.
The stone statue tilted its head, clearing the path for Ian, who slowly climbed the spiral staircase, making his way up until he saw the solemn wooden door with a brass handle.
No need to turn it.
Ian simply knocked lightly on the wooden door, and the door handle seemed to come to life, flapping its little wings like it was vigorously opening the door, so the wooden door silently and slowly opened.
The never-extinguishing candles emitted a gentle light, as the most serious hall of Hogwarts unfolded before Ian's eyes, with rows of bookshelves prominently standing in the spacious room.
As Dumbledore didn't seem to intend to hold him accountable, Ian's mood wasn't too tense, since, after all, he was the victim who had been beaten up by a crowd.
He looked around the entire room with considerable interest.
Ian noticed the walls adorned with portraits of former headmasters, each one vividly lifelike, and the gaze of those headmasters was almost uniformly fixed on him.
"Is there a little wizard making trouble at the school again?"
"That little guy, I remember, he's the boy Dumbledore can't forget."
"Shut up! You big mouth!"
After a brief argument among the portraits, they all fell silent, motionless, pretending to be frozen with smiles on the walls, although their eyeballs continued to follow Ian's steps.
"Deadly Poison Magic"
"Evil Magic Manual"
"Blood Oath Contract"
"Advanced Dark Arts Unveiled"
...
Besides books like "Breaking Up with the Female Ghost," "Traveling with Ghouls," and "Vacation with the Mother Yasha," the bookshelf housed many volumes that could be called forbidden books.
They sat quietly just like regular books, alphabetically arranged on the shelves, as if not at all worried about the trouble that might ensue if someone sneaked off with one.
"After all, so many headmasters are watching."
Ian glanced at the portraits on the walls that seemed to be playing the "Statues" game with him, as whenever he glanced over, the headmasters seamlessly pretended to be frozen images.
"Hello, Sorting Hat, I heard you ratted me out to Professor Snape." Ian surveyed the office for a moment before addressing the Sorting Hat, which had pretended to be asleep since he entered.
"Snore, snore, snore~"
Its snores grew louder.
No matter how Ian picked it up and tossed it around, the Sorting Hat played the Sleeping Beauty, showing no inclination to respond to Ian's query.
"Am I not brave enough?"
Ian attempted to extract Gryffindor's Treasure Sword from the Sorting Hat but only dislodged a piece of dandruff left by some little wizard.
Thumb-sized, it was quite exaggerated.
"Gross!"
He flicked his hand with some disdain, headed to the sink to wash for a while, then returned to the main hall to find that the Dumbledore who had told him to wait in the office was still absent.
The Sorting Hat continued its charade of sleep.
"If I end up looking like the Mediterranean, it'll definitely be your fault! If that happens, I'll take you on a voyage for sure!" Ian didn't care whether the Sorting Hat was pretending to sleep or not. He grabbed it and used the Transformation Technique to turn a stone into a brush, beginning to scrub the Sorting Hat in the washbasin.
"Next batch of little wizards will thank me." Every time Ian brushed the Sorting Hat, he muttered under his breath, "Merit +1."
Apply soap.
Brush, brush, brush.
Apply soap.
Brush again.
Finally.
After the Sorting Hat was manually cleaned anew, it couldn't hold back anymore.
"I should have sorted you into Gryffindor!" A heart-wrenching voice descended, and from the Sorting Hat's pouch, a dazzling longsword fell in response.
This ancient relic shone with a brilliant golden light, as if holding the power and courage of the sun, with its blazing rubies on the hilt resembling burning flames.
Fiery.
Yet elegant.
"Nonsense! I'm a bonafide Ravenclaw. Smell this, luckily I haven't washed my robe; doesn't it exude a scent of recognition?"
Ian indignantly retorted as he picked up the sword from the ground.
The Gryffindor Treasure Sword could choose its wielder, often responding only to those possessing true courage, noble hearts, and a determination to fight for justice.
"You reckless, rude brat, I don't have a sense of smell. Put me back!" The Sorting Hat, appearing averse to water, although it was now clean as a whistle, persisted stubbornly.
Aged but no longer shabby.
"Now it's double recognition!" Ian hung Gryffindor's Great Treasure Sword at his waist, dried the water off the disgruntled Sorting Hat, and placed it back in its spot.
"I've been saving up a protective armor for a thousand years..."
The wrinkled face of the Sorting Hat brimmed with a sense of hopelessness. The portraits on the walls stifled laughter, some couldn't resist making sniggering sounds.
Ian sharply turned around to catch someone in the act, only to see the portraits reacting faster than ever, he just caught sight of Dumbledore appearing at the doorway.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, you really do walk silently." Ian's expression was surprised since Dumbledore had startled him before, yet Ian still couldn't guard against Dumbledore's stealthy approach.