BAM!
The sound of my impromptu apparition echoed through the darkness as I materialized in what seemed to be an underground chamber. My head spun violently, the aftereffects of magical transportation mingling with the panic still coursing through my veins.
"Intruder, intruder!" squeaked multiple high-pitched voices.
"Call for Tillery!"
"It's not an intruder, it's Master Dumbledore."
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, realization dawned on me. I'd landed in the house elves' living quarters. Dozens of tennis-ball sized eyes stared at me from the shadows, some wide with alarm, others narrowing in suspicion.
"Great, the house elves' living quarters," the Sorting Hat said dryly from my trembling hands. "Quite the brilliant escape plan you've concocted."
Wait. I could actually use this to my advantage.
"And pray tell how you're going to use this?" the Hat continued, as if plucking the thought directly from my mind.
Is it reading my thoughts.
"Of course I am," the Hat replied smugly.
I fumbled in my enchanted wallet with my free hand, fingers searching frantically until they closed around a small vial containing a golden potion. The Polyjuice with my own hair - my escape route back to myself. With shaking hands, I uncorked it and downed the contents in one desperate gulp.
The transformation was immediate. Pain rippled through my body as Dumbledore's form began to recede. I shrank several inches, my shoulders narrowing, my bones compressing painfully. The elaborate robes I'd transfigured to match Dumbledore's suddenly hung off me like circus tents, and the half-moon spectacles made everything swim before my eyes. The Sorting Hat slipped from my grasp as I doubled over.
"Ah, Master Dumbledore has changed into Master Felix," observed one of the house elves, its voice tinged with surprise but not alarm.
I straightened up, placing the cork and glass vial form the potion back into my wallet. "Tillery!" I called out, remembering the head house elf who had helped me with my apparition experiments. "It's me, Felix! I need your help!"
There was a soft *pop*, and Tillery materialized before me, wearing his distinctive tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, a small fork-shaped pin gleaming on his chest.
"I is Tillery," he announced formally, though his eyes betrayed recognition. "What does Master Felix need help with?"
"I—" I began, but was cut off as Tillery's enormous eyes landed on the Sorting Hat, which had fallen onto the stone floor.
"Aagh! The Sorting Hat!" Tillery shrieked, his already high-pitched voice climbing several octaves. "Master Felix, why do you have that?!"
Several house elves gasped in unison, and I saw one edging toward the exit, likely planning to alert someone.
"Tillery, listen," I said quickly, trying to keep my voice level despite my racing heart. "I need your help. Do you know of a good place to hide this hat?"
The house elf wrung his hands, pulling nervously at his bat-like ears. "Uh, uh, uh," he stammered, glancing around as if the answer might be written on the walls. Suddenly, his face lit up. "The Come and Go Room, yes, most definitely! The Come and Go Room is the best place."
"Perfect," I said, relief washing over me. "Go and hide it, please. Do it without being seen. This is a favor I need from you."
Tillery's already wide eyes grew impossibly larger. "A favor?"
"Yes, a favor," I confirmed, seizing on his interest. "I'll do whatever you want in return."
"Whatever Tillery wants?" he asked, almost to himself, the concept clearly novel and slightly bewildering.
I bent down and picked up the Sorting Hat, extending it toward Tillery. The Hat, which had been suspiciously quiet during this exchange, suddenly found its voice again.
"Hey, don't hand me to this frail-looking, magic-wielding house elf," it protested. "Do you have any idea how old I am? I was crafted by Godric Gryffindor himself! I've sorted some of the greatest wizards and witches in history! I deserve more dignity than to be smuggled around like contraband!"
I ignored the Hat's outrage. "Hide it in your bed for now, then place it in the Come and Go Room tonight, okay?" I instructed Tillery.
The house elf nodded solemnly. "Okay, Master Felix. Tillery will do this."
As Tillery carefully took the Hat, I addressed the gathered house elves. "Can any of you apparate me to my club room?"
A female house elf with a slightly cleaner tea towel stepped forward. "I can," she offered, raising a thin hand.
Before I could say another word, the elf's fingers closed around my wrist. With another familiar *pop* and the uncomfortable sensation of being squeezed through a rubber tube, we appeared in my radio station.
The sudden transportation left me dizzy, my stomach lurching in protest. I stumbled slightly, grabbing the edge of my desk for support.
"Thank you—" I began, realizing I didn't know her name.
"I is Milly," she supplied, smoothing her tea towel.
"Thank you, Milly," I said with genuine gratitude.
She nodded, though something in her expression suggested she wasn't entirely pleased with her involvement in whatever mischief I was clearly perpetrating. With another *pop*, she disappeared.
I collapsed into my chair, the adrenaline that had been sustaining me suddenly evaporating and leaving me exhausted. Jarvey was perched on the table, his small red eyes fixed on me with an expression that somehow managed to be both concerned and judgmental.
"So you're back, huh," he observed. "That was a close one."
"Way too damn close," I agreed, running a hand through my hair. I reached for the Marauder's Map underneath Jarvey, simply to check Dumbledore's location. He was still in his office, likely assessing the damage and questioning the portraits.
It was fine, I was careful, it's not about what they know, it's about what they can prove.
"Mischief managed," I murmured, tapping the map with my wand. The inked lines vanished, leaving nothing but blank parchment. I secured it in one of the locked drawers I had transfigured into the wall, then gathered the unused Polyjuice potions – one still silver and the others dark and muddy – placing them alongside the map.
I locked the drawer with my password, magic and charm, then added a second locking spell for good measure. If anyone found these, especially the polyjucie, questions would be asked that I couldn't possibly answer.
I sank into one of the comfortable armchairs I'd transfigured for radio guests, too tired to even remain upright. Unholstering my wand, I transfigured Dumbledore's glasses back into wood and restored my school uniform to its proper state and fit.
"I'm so damn tired," I groaned, glancing at my watch. 4:33. "Have to start live broadcasts in 30 minutes though, otherwise people could get suspicious."
"You should sleep," Jarvey suggested, surprisingly without a single curse word.
"Can't," I replied, though my eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead. "Have to maintain appearances. Last thing I need is for someone to connect my absence with the missing Hat."
Jarvey scampered across the table and up my arm, settling himself on my shoulder. "At least you got the Hat," he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "Though I still don't know why you wanted that crusty old thing in the first place."
I stared at the ceiling, contemplating all that had just transpired. The plan had been risky from the start – breaking into Dumbledore's office, impersonating the greatest wizard of our age, stealing a priceless magical artifact. I'd known the consequences if caught would be severe: expulsion at the very least, most likely legal repercussions. But my curiosity had outweighed my caution, as it so often did.
"I need to know how it works," I explained, though I wasn't sure if I was talking to Jarvey or myself. "It's sentient magic, Jarvey. The Hat thinks, it remembers, it makes decisions. It's more than just enchanted – it's almost alive. Besides there's something else, I'm not sure what but call it a hunch."
"Okay, okay, no need to get all wizardy on me," Jarvey finished for me.
"No worries, I know you don't have the brains for anything 'wizardy'." I sat up straighter, feeling a second wind of energy at my insult.
Jarvey snorted. "You blonde haired bastard, I'm the smartest damn magical beast in existence, your wizardy stuff is just plain stupid."
"Whatever you say," was all I replied, as I began to think.
The Come and Go room, I had no clue what that was, meaning it was probably a room in Hogwarts I hadn't been able to discover, meaning that Dumbledore possibly also couldn't have discovered it.
Dumbledore.
A pang of guilt shot through me. Dumbledore had been kind to me, had even encouraged my radio project. And yet, I'd betrayed that kindness, had exploited it to steal from him.
"No," I told myself firmly. "Not steal. Borrow. I'll study it, then return it. No one's gonna know it was me."
The lie tasted bitter, even in the privacy of my own thoughts.
I checked my watch again. 4:47. Fifteen minutes until broadcast time. I needed to pull myself together, to act normal, to pretend that today was just like any other day.
"Come on," I said to Jarvey, rising from the chair with effort. "Let's prepare for the show. What musical crimes shall we inflict on the wizarding population of Hogwarts today?"
Jarvey brightened. "That Beatles song about the submarine. The yellow one. It drives the Slytherins absolutely mental."
Despite everything, I laughed. "Yellow Submarine it is, then."
As I set up the microphones and prepared my notes, a strange sense of calm settled over me. The most dangerous part was over. The Hat was safe with Tillery for now, and soon it would be hidden in the Come and Go Room, wherever that was.
For now, though, I had a radio show to run. Life at Hogwarts went on, and so would I.