"The Sorting Hat has been stolen."
Murmurs engulfed the Great Hall, washing over the students like a tidal wave of shock and confusion. Meanwhile, I just wanted to eat some ice cream. My stomach growled in protest at this unexpected assembly cutting into precious meal time.
Sat at the opposite side of my table, Adrian's eyes widened as he looked at me, suspicion etched across his face.
"Dude, please don't tell me you actually stole the hat," he whispered, voice barely audible above the rising clamor.
Penelope and Roger leaned in, their expressions a mixture of intrigue and concern. I could practically see the gears turning in their heads.
"Pfft, how could I?" I replied, forcing my voice to remain casual despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "Sure, I was interested in it, but I'm still trying to figure out the doorknocker, plus my radio station—I wouldn't even have the time. Besides, how would I even get into the headmaster's office?"
"But you said at the beginning of the year that you would steal it," Adrian pressed, his eyes narrowing.
"I remember like it was yesterday," he continued, his voice dropping even lower. "You said, and I quote: 'Yeah the dude just insulted us. Nitwit means to fail or failing school, blubber means not having enough courage and falling apart, oddment—not fitting in, tweak—hating the school.'"
I recalled saying "Uhh."
"And then you said," Adrian continued relentlessly, "'Yeah if I wasn't gonna steal the hat before, I'm definitely doing it now.'"
ADRIAN SHUT UP!
I wanted to scream at him to be quiet, to cast Zip It on his flapping mouth, but instead, I maintained my composure, the picture of innocent indignation.
"Yeah sure, I was interested in it, but that was just hyperbole," I explained with a dismissive wave. "Besides, I don't really care for the hat that much. As I said, I could study sentience from the doorknocker, and come on—stealing from Dumbledore? Do you guys really think I'm that stupid?"
The Ravenclaws just stared at me, their eyes squinting as if inspecting a particularly puzzling potion ingredient. I could almost see their analytical minds working through probabilities and scenarios. My housemates' scrutiny made sweat prickle along my hairline.
Before anyone could say anything else that could further incriminate me, Dumbledore's voice spoke once more, cutting through the speculative murmurs.
"The reason why I'm divulging this is a simple one," he announced, his normally twinkling eyes somber. "If any of the students have information on who could be the culprit, that would be very much appreciated. We believe that the perpetrator is at least a sixth year, as they were able to transform into me, hence they used the Polyjuice Potion. We have also found that certain herbs appear to have been stolen from the herbology class. We have no idea when these items were taken, however."
I fought to keep my expression neutral. Sixth year, he said! Perfect—that would divert suspicion from me. Though the herb part was concerning. Had I been careless when collecting ingredients? I didn't think so, but then again, in my excitement, who knows what details I might have overlooked.
"But how did they get inside your office, Headmaster Dumbledore?" a voice stood out from the crowd. Victoria Rosier, the female prefect of the Slytherin house, her pristine uniform and perfect posture radiating authority.
"We aren't sure about that," Dumbledore replied, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps they had a stalking charm placed around me."
"Wouldn't you have noticed?" another voice questioned from the Hufflepuff table, a scrawny sixth year whose name escaped me.
"I would have typically, but if that was the case... I didn't," Dumbledore admitted, a rare note of uncertainty in his voice that sent a ripple of unease through the crowd. The great Albus Dumbledore, outmaneuvered? The concept seemed almost absurd.
"Either way," he continued, his tone returning to its usual firmness, "I want all those who didn't attend yesterday's game to remain behind."
Those words made my friends stare at me once more, their suspicion practically tangible. Come on guys, I thought, feeling a mix of guilt and indignation, I thought you were my friends. Sure, I did it, but why are YOU suspecting me?
"Everyone else will undergo brief interviews conducted by your own house heads," Dumbledore finished.
People started to rise up from their seats and file out of the room, their departure accompanied by the scraping of benches and hushed theories. Soon, only twenty-three students remained. Almost all were fifth and seventh years, likely studying for their OWLs and NEWTs respectively, except for two fourth years and one first year.
Can you guess who the first year was?
ME!
As the professors funneled out, only three remained, Snape, Dumbledore, and the divination professor Trelawney. Her enormous glasses magnified her eyes to an almost comical degree as she gazed around the room in an unfocused daze.
"Jane Smith, please step forward," Dumbledore called, his voice echoing in the now-sparse hall. "Do you have an alibi?"
A tall Hufflepuff girl with mousy brown hair approached hesitantly. "I was in the common room studying for the NEWTs," she explained, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her robes.
"Was anyone else with you?" Dumbledore inquired gently.
"Yeah, Gabriel was," she replied, pointing at the other Hufflepuff prefect who sat a few seats away.
The boy with short brown hair nodded vigorously. "Yeah, we were reviewing our papers for Ancient Runes. The test next week is gonna be brutal."
"Would you mind if we checked your memories?" Dumbledore asked, his tone making it clear it wasn't really a request.
"No, I don't mind," Jane replied, though her shoulders tensed visibly.
Dumbledore nodded as he placed his wand to her temple. A silver, thread-like substance began to spiral out of her head, glistening in the light from the enchanted ceiling. Fucking great, more strings or threads or whatever. I suppressed a shudder as memories of my own encounter with magical threads flashed through my mind.
He examined the silvery strand intently before turning to both Snape and Trelawney. They both nodded, apparently satisfied with what they'd seen.
"You are dismissed. Thank you for your cooperation," Dumbledore said, his smile returning briefly. "Gabriel, you may also leave."
More fifth and seventh years came forward, each recounting how they'd been studying, for their OWLs or NEWTs respectively, each having their memories checked before being dismissed.
In the end, only the two fourth years and I remained. I didn't immediately recognize them, but as I studied their faces, trying to place where I might have seen them before, it clicked.
They were the two students I'd encountered on my first day roaming Hogwarts—the ones who had accidentally opened the Gryffindor common room door right in front of me.
"Milo Rascal," Dumbledore addressed the boy, "may I know what you were doing at the time of the game?"
Milo had unkempt brown, almost black hair and hazel eyes. What intrigued me, however, was how red his face had become. Was he embarrassed?
"I was studying along with Val—I mean, Valentina," he stammered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
I glanced at Valentina, noticing that she too was unusually flushed. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she seemed to be finding the ceiling architecture absolutely fascinating.
"May I check?" Dumbledore asked, already raising his wand.
"U-uh," Milo stammered, almost tripping over his own words. Even Valentina seemed to be having smoke coming out of her ears at this point. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't."
Dumbledore squinted his eyes, looking between Milo and Valentina, before releasing a knowing sigh. "Fine, you are dismissed. Just be careful when... studying."
Careful? Careful from what? Papercuts? Well this was magic so maybe they mean to be careful while experimenting with magic. Yeah that was most definitely it, I'm a genius.
"Headmaster," Snape interjected, his voice dripping with disapproval, "we must be certain they're telling the truth."
"Don't worry about it," Dumbledore said dismissively, waving his hand. "They seem like good kids."
"They are Gryffindors," Snape persisted, his lip curling slightly. "This is precisely the kind of reckless behavior they would engage in. Or have you forgotten about the Weasley twins?"
"Now, now, I was a Gryffindor too," Dumbledore reminded him with a twinkle returning to his eye. He turned back to Milo. "So, from one Gryffindor to another, you didn't steal the hat, did you, Milo?"
The boy shook his head vehemently, looking mortified at the entire situation.
"See?" Dumbledore said, turning back to Snape, who remained impassive, his dark eyes cold.
"Fine," Snape finally conceded, though his tone suggested he was far from convinced.
Milo and Valentina practically sprinted from the Great Hall, their faces still flaming red. Their hasty exit left me alone with the three professors, feeling like I was being judged by some magical tribunal.
Dumbledore's gaze settled on me, and Fawkes, perched on his shoulder, seemed to stare right through me with those unnervingly intelligent eyes.
"So, Felix Serendipity," Dumbledore murmured, his voice calm but penetrating, "did you steal the Sorting Hat?"