I walked quickly across the castle, my borrowed heart beating faster than usual in Dumbledore's chest. The sensation was peculiar - like wearing a suit that was both perfectly fitted and uncomfortably large at the same time.
I had to make it to the gargoyle corridor on the seventh floor. From previous scouting, I knew that while the gargoyle was usually there, it sometimes wandered to the fifth, second, or third floors.
Consulting my map one last time, I spotted the familiar statue ahead. It was even uglier up close - a massive stone monstrosity that made the other gargoyles look positively cherubic in comparison.
I crept back slightly, folding my map and tucking it into my wallet so the gargoyle wouldn't see it before approaching. My silver-trimmed robes swished against the stone floor, a rather cool sound effect and one I could get used to.
"Liquorice Wand," I muttered stroking my long beard (another cool perk of looking like Dumbledore, seriously it was silky smooth). The gargoyle sprang aside with surprising agility for something made of stone, revealing the familiar spiraling staircase that moved upward like some magical escalator.
"Thanks, Stairwell Gargoyle," I couldn't resist adding, remembering our first meeting.
As I ascended the moving stairs, I retrieved a small radio from my wallet and fitted it into my ear. The device was barely larger than a bean - one of my better pieces of enchantment work, if I did say so myself. It only allowed communication with the center of the radios, meaning I couldn't make more than one line for the moment, if I had to compare it to something I'd compare it to walkie talkies with a single frequency.
"Jarvey," I whispered into the radio. "How's the game going?"
There was a brief scratching sound - probably Jarvey scampering to a window for a better view of the Quidditch pitch.
"60-30 to Slytherin," his voice crackled back. "The snobs look like they are going to win, like always."
"Looks like I'll have to be at the consolation party after all, damn Roger is gonna be sad, either way contact me immediately if they catch the snitch."
"Roger, roger," Jarvey replied, which made me imagine him doing a little salute with his tiny little paw.
Finally reaching the top of the staircase, I faced the imposing oak door with its brass griffin knocker. Taking a deep breath, I pushed it open and stepped into the headmaster's office.
The circular office was even more impressive than I remembered from my previous visit. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the high windows, now that I thought about it, it had to be some kind of charm cause this was way too much to be normal.
The walls were covered in portraits of previous headmasters, most pretending to doze in their frames but watching me through barely-closed eyes.
Delicate silver instruments whirred and puffed on spindle-legged tables, each one more fascinating than the last. One particularly intricate device emitted rings of purple smoke that formed perfect geometric patterns before dissipating. My fingers itched to grab them and stuff them into my wallet but I restrained myself (I know I know, I'm a damn saint).
The enormous claw-footed desk dominated the room, its surface pristine were it not for the fact that it was filled to the brim with papers. I picked one up, reading the title.
Auror Movement
"Boring," I muttered to myself. I looked through some of the other papers, when a voice interrupted me.
"Dumbledore what are you doing in? I thought you were going to the game?"
I looked to see the portrait of a woman with dark hair.
Damn living portraits.
"Nothing much I had to grab something and review a few papers I forgot about, a headmatser's work never stops. Isn't that what they say."
"I guess..." the portrait replied as it pretended to doze of again.
Still, what else could he have in his drawers.
I moved onto them opening up (what can I say I have poor self control), each drawer was filled with papers, but none were very interesting that is until I actually found one rather interesting a tome with a single spell.
"Fidelius Charm," I muttered.
I quickly read through it, the gist of it was basically a spell of total concealment as long as the person who was designed with the secret didn't blabber, it was pretty complex but it didn't matter if I didn't understand it right now, since I could flip back to it later on. After reading it through I placed it back in the drawer just like I had found it.
I opened the last drawer revealing one of my loose ends, the radio I had given Dumbledore.
I immediately grabbed it and started inspecting, he hadn't seemed to have touched it in anyway shape or form which was good, no other charms had been placed. I opened my wallet, looking carefully so no portrait would be able to see me, placed the radio inside and grabbed a perfect replica save for the charms to listen in.
No way I was gonna leave it that in here, just because he hadn't done anything to the radio in the last two weeks didn't mean he wouldn't do something to it later on and I couldn't risk it.
I heard soft whoosh of wings which made me rise my head quickly as I hit the back end of my head underneath the wooden desk.
"Oww, ow, ow," I muttered rubbing the back of my heads to see the thing that had made the noise. Fawkes had left his golden perch and now sat on the desk, regarding me with uncomfortably intelligent eyes.
"Hello there, my old friend," I said softly, reaching out to stroke his magnificent plumage copying Dumbledore's intonation just like I had heard in the radio. To my immense relief, Fawkes leaned into the touch, trilling softly.
After indulging myself a bit I turned from the the desk, displayed prominently on the wall, sat my prize of my eye, the reason I had done this. The Sword of Gryffindor gleamed in its glass case, but my eyes were fixed on the shabby wizard's hat beside it.
After weeks of planning, the Sorting Hat was finally within reach.
With trembling hands I performed a wandless wingardium leviosa, lifting the worn down hat from its shelf and into my hands.
"Oh! Oh! What's this then? Who dares disturb my rest?" the Hat declared loudly, its patches twisting into a semblance of a face. Then it paused, studying me with whatever passed for eyes in a magical hat.
"Oh, it's you," it said with dawning recognition. "What are you doing in here, and looking like that?"
The hat's words seemed to trigger a cascade of events. The heavy oak door swung shut with an ominous thud. The portraits were no longer pretending to sleep, and one in particular with black hair and dark eyes which I recognized as Phineas Nigellus Black's voice cut through the sudden silence.
"You're not Dumbledore."
Fuck, I thought, my carefully constructed plan crumbling around me.
The radio in my ear crackled to life with Jarvey's voice.
"Slytherin caught the snitch!"
Double fuck.