Arthur woke early the next morning, his mind already focused on the rare magical texts he would soon acquire. He completed his usual exercise routine before heading to breakfast, mentally listing the specific aspects of alchemy he hoped Dumbledore's book would cover. The conversion of magical energy, applications beyond mere transmutation, and theoretical frameworks that might connect alchemy to more modern magical disciplines topped his list of interests.
The Great Hall was buzzing with excited conversation when he arrived, the previous night's events having provided the student body with enough gossip material to last until Christmas. As Arthur made his way to his usual isolated spot at the Slytherin table, conversations faltered momentarily before resuming at a more frenzied pitch.
"...refused to compete until they bribed him..."
"...threatened to let whoever put his name in lose their magic..."
"...bargained with Dumbledore himself!"
These fragments painted a picture of how the events in the Great Hall were being interpreted—with considerably more accuracy than usual for Hogwarts rumors. Arthur noted that several Slytherins were conspicuously absent from breakfast, including Bole, who had so publicly incriminated himself the previous night.
The arrival of the morning post brought a flurry of owls, many carrying copies of the Daily Prophet. The newspaper had wasted no time covering the Tournament developments, its front page dominated by a large headline:
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT MARRED BY CONTROVERSYBoy-Who-Lived Selected as Unprecedented Fourth Champion
Beneath this was a smaller sub-headline that made Arthur raise an eyebrow:
Muggle-born Slytherin Extorts Valuable Magical Knowledge for Participation
A nearby student's copy provided Arthur with the full article, which painted him in predictably unflattering terms. Rita Skeeter's prose dripped with insinuation as she described how "Arthur Hayes, a Muggle-born student controversially sorted into Slytherin House, exploited a technical loophole to blackmail tournament officials." The article went on to question the "moral character of a student who would place personal gain above school honor" and featured quotes from unnamed "school experts" suggesting his behavior exemplified "typical Slytherin cunning without the traditional family values that usually temper such ambition."
Arthur scanned the article with mild amusement, noting that Skeeter had managed to simultaneously criticize him for being both too Slytherin (in his negotiation tactics) and not Slytherin enough (lacking proper wizarding heritage).
More interesting was the article's treatment of Potter, which focused almost exclusively on his famous past while barely touching on the irregularity of his selection. Skeeter had clearly decided that the "Boy-Who-Lived" narrative would sell more papers than investigating how a fourth name had emerged from the Goblet.
Having finished his breakfast, Arthur departed the Great Hall with purposeful strides, indifferent to the whispers that followed him. The opinions of his classmates—or the wider wizarding public, for that matter—were irrelevant to his plans. What mattered were the books he had been promised, and it was time to collect them.
He made his way through the castle corridors, passing several portraits that seemed to be discussing him as well. Apparently, news traveled quickly even among the painted inhabitants of Hogwarts. One particularly pompous wizard in Tudor attire actually called out, "Young man! Is it true you negotiated with Albus Dumbledore himself?" Arthur ignored the question, maintaining his brisk pace toward the Headmaster's office.
Arriving at the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance, Arthur realized he'd overlooked a significant detail—he didn't know the password. Dumbledore had been in no mood to share such information the previous night, and in his eagerness to secure the books, Arthur hadn't thought to ask.
"Typical," he muttered, staring at the impassive stone guardian.
After a moment's consideration, Arthur recalled what he knew about Dumbledore's password preferences. The Headmaster famously used sweet names as his office passwords. With nothing to lose, Arthur began systematically working through possibilities.
"Chocolate Frog," he tried first. The gargoyle remained motionless.
"Pepper Imps." Nothing.
"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans." Still nothing, though Arthur thought he detected a slight twitch of disapproval. Dumbledore's dislike for that particular sweet was well-known.
"Fizzing Whizzbee," Arthur said, reaching deeper into his knowledge of wizarding confectionery.
The gargoyle sprang to life, leaping aside to reveal the spiral staircase beyond. Arthur allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he stepped onto the moving stairs, which carried him upward to the polished oak door of the Headmaster's office.
He knocked once but received no answer. After a brief hesitation, he turned the brass handle and found the door unlocked. The circular office beyond was empty of human presence, though dozens of portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses lined the walls, many pretending to sleep while clearly observing him through narrowed eyelids.
"Good morning," Arthur said politely to the room at large. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to meet him here."
A few portraits nodded stiffly in acknowledgment. Others made no pretense of hiding their scrutiny, watching him with undisguised suspicion as he stood in the center of the room, taking in his surroundings.
The office was exactly as he'd heard it described—cluttered yet somehow orderly, filled with delicate silver instruments that emitted occasional puffs of colored smoke. Bookshelves lined the walls between portraits, filled with volumes that made Arthur's fingers itch with curiosity. A massive claw-footed desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with neatly arranged parchments and magical instruments.
One conspicuous absence was Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, whose perch stood empty near the desk. Arthur was about to take a seat to wait when a flash of fire erupted above the perch, momentarily filling the office with blinding golden light.
When the light faded, the phoenix had appeared, its scarlet plumage gleaming as though lit from within. Fawkes regarded Arthur with intelligent black eyes, tilting his magnificent head in what appeared to be curiosity rather than hostility.
"Hello there," Arthur said quietly, approaching the perch with careful steps. "I suppose we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Arthur Hayes."
The phoenix trilled a soft note that seemed to resonate directly in Arthur's chest, creating a strange sensation of warmth. Emboldened by this seemingly friendly response, Arthur cautiously extended his hand, half-expecting the magical creature to reject his touch.
To his surprise, Fawkes leaned forward, allowing Arthur to gently stroke the brilliant feathers at the top of his head. The phoenix closed his eyes in apparent contentment, trilling another soft note that felt like pure joy translated into sound.
"I have not seen Fawkes take to anyone other than Dumbledore quite like this, Mr. Hayes," observed a dry voice from somewhere behind him.
Arthur turned to locate the speaker, recognizing the voice even before his eyes found its source. The Sorting Hat sat on a high shelf, its patched and frayed form immediately recognizable despite being dormant for most of the year.
"Long time no see, Sorting Hat," Arthur replied with a nod of acknowledgment.
"Was it a long time? Well, for you it might be." The hat's brim creased in what might have been a smile. "I have heard quite a lot about your antics, Mr. Hayes. Fighting, detentions, and what not."
Arthur continued stroking Fawkes, who seemed in no hurry to end the interaction. "Well, did you expect any less when you sorted me into Slytherin?"
"No," the hat replied thoughtfully, "and as I expected, you excelled among the difficulty. You have become a strong wizard quite quickly. If not for the challenges presented by the house of Salazar, it would have taken you much more time."
"That's true," Arthur conceded, "but I might have made some friends in the wizarding world."
The hat's fabric shifted in what appeared to be the equivalent of a knowing look. "We both know that your lack of friends is not because of me, Mr. Hayes. With your cunning, you could have overcome the early problems and become a popular student in this school. It's just that you didn't want to."
Arthur smiled wryly. "You read me like a book, don't you, old hat?"
"That's my job," the hat replied with a hint of pride. "I have a thousand years of experience in this. Never been wrong."
"Maybe," Arthur said, his tone suggesting skepticism, "but I do think some students like Potter and Longbottom would have excelled in other houses."
"Perhaps. Both were difficult to sort, and in the end, the choice was theirs. But they are doing fine, aren't they?"
Arthur was about to ask a follow-up question when the door opened and Dumbledore himself entered, looking mildly surprised to find his office already occupied.
"It seems I've interrupted something," the Headmaster observed, his bright blue eyes taking in the unusual sight of Arthur Hayes petting Fawkes while conversing with the Sorting Hat.