"So, Felix Serendipity," Dumbledore murmured, his voice calm but penetrating, "did you steal the Sorting Hat?"
I met his gaze, refusing to look away even as I felt the weight of those blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles. Fawkes shifted on his perch, those intelligent eyes never leaving my face.
"No, I didn't," I replied, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart.
"Do you have an alibi?" Dumbledore pressed, his fingers steepled together.
"Sure, I was studying a book on Ancient Charms in my club room that Professor Flitwick got for me from his personal library." I kept my answer simple, sticking close to the truth where possible. The best lies were always wrapped in truth.
"Title?" Snape interjected, his dark eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Charms of Greeks," I replied without hesitation. "I was studying one that was supposed to allow fire to burn on water."
Dumbledore's expression softened slightly, interest piqued. "Oh? Were you able to succeed?"
I allowed a hint of disappointment to creep into my voice. "I tried it with a piece of paper, but sadly no, I didn't succeed. I didn't have much time to study before the podcast, as you could guess. In fact, I started the podcast like 20 minutes after the game ended, which was perfect for me since talking and having no one listen kind of sucks."
Professor Trelawney's magnified eyes blinked owlishly as she studied me, her countless bangles jingling slightly as she shifted. I wondered if her supposed Seer abilities could detect falsehoods. If so, I was done for.
"May we check your memories?" Dumbledore asked, his voice gentle but leaving no room for refusal.
I shrugged with an air of nonchalance that belied the anxiety coursing through me. "Sure."
I felt the wand with all of its deathly magic press against my temple. The sensation was distinctly unpleasant, like icy fingers sliding into my brain. The urge to grab that legendary wand was almost overwhelming – I could feel the death-like magic emanating from it, powerful and enticing – but I remained perfectly still. No one could say I didn't have self-control.
I felt the magic invade my mind, searching for the spellbook, attempting to pry it open. The grimoire would have stayed stubbornly closed if I hadn't deliberately opened it for Dumbledore's inspection. His magic continued its invasion, but I guided it carefully, turning to a specific page of my memories.
Well, not really memories.
After all, I was a Scribe, and my mind was like a book. Who could say I couldn't write into it? I hadn't had much time to practice, but from my brief encounter with the Order, I was fairly certain this was what they had done when Dumbledore previously invaded my mind. So I was doing it too.
The magic began to read the page where I had "written" exactly what I had claimed – and it wasn't even a complete lie, as I did indeed have a book from Flitwick. I even included a few minor frustrations with the spellcasting for authenticity – the way the parchment had caught fire but extinguished too quickly once I put it in water, my annotations in the margins, everything was accounted for.
The magic absorbed these carefully crafted scenes, seemingly satisfied, and began to retreat, drawing with it the words on the page. As they disappeared from my mind, they reappeared on the silvery thread now emerging from my temple. When I opened my eyes, a gossamer memory strand dangled from the tip of Dumbledore's wand, glimmering in the Great Hall's ambient light.
Dumbledore examined the memory thoroughly, gesturing for both Snape and Trelawney to inspect it as well. Snape's perpetual scowl deepened as he studied it, while Trelawney's eyes, already enormous behind her spectacles, seemed to grow even larger.
I held my breath, keeping my expression neutral. Had I missed something? Was there a detail I'd forgotten to fabricate? A contradiction they'd noticed?
After what felt like an eternity, Dumbledore's grave expression lightened.
"It seems everything is in order," he said at last. "You are dismissed. Thank you for your cooperation, Felix."
I nodded respectfully, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace as I exited the Great Hall. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to skip, to yell in triumph, but I maintained a measured stride. My face remained impassive, though inwardly I was grinning like a lunatic. Self-control – I had it in spades.
Only when I was several corridors away, safely out of sight and earshot, did I allow myself a tiny fist pump. I'd done it. I'd lied to Dumbledore's face – manipulated a memory extraction – and gotten away with it. The greatest wizard alive, and I'd fooled him.
The spellbook stirred in my mind, almost like it was congratulating me. I suppressed the thought before it could manifest physically.
As I turned a corner, I nearly collided with Adrian, Penelope, and Roger, who were clearly waiting for me.
"Well?" Penelope demanded, her voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"
"Nothing," I replied with a casual shrug. "They asked where I was, checked my memories, and let me go."
Adrian's eyes narrowed skeptically. "So they believe you didn't do it?"
"Why wouldn't they?" I countered, injecting just the right amount of indignation into my voice. "I was studying Flitwick's book when it happened. You can ask him if you don't believe me."
"We do believe you," Roger said quickly, though the uncertain glance he exchanged with Penelope suggested otherwise.
"Great," I said brightly. "Now, who's hungry? I'm starving. I could go for some ice cream."
As we headed toward the stock of ice cream I had brought from Christmas break, I couldn't help but marvel at how perfectly my plan had unfolded. The hat was safely hidden, my memories had been sufficiently doctored, and suspicion was now directed elsewhere. All I needed to do was lay low, study the hat at my leisure, and return it before next year's start with none the wiser.
What could possibly go wrong?
Dumbledore's POV
I had been fairly certain that Felix had stolen the hat. The conviction had settled in my bones like an old ache – persistent and difficult to ignore. Perhaps it was his unusual magical abilities, or the fact that he was one of the few students I had brought to my office, or maybe it was simply that the Sorting Hat had shown such interest in him during our previous conversation.
Yet his memories had been clear and unaltered. Neither myself, Trelawney, nor Snape – all accomplished in detecting mental manipulation – had noticed anything amiss. He hadn't used any Occlumency that we could detect, and young wizards rarely, even the most talented ones mastered such techniques before their NEWTs.
"It seems it wasn't any of the students here," Trelawney said at my side, her countless bangles jingling with each gesture. After Snape and myself, she was the best in the castle at detecting Occlumency, and her status as a Seer only enhanced these abilities.
"It seems it wasn't," I agreed, though uncertainty lingered.
Snape's dark eyes fixed on the doorway where Milo and Valentina had exited. "I'm still not sure about those two Gryffindors. We should have administered Veritaserum to all the students."
Trelawney's eyes widened dramatically, the magnification of her spectacles making the effect almost comical. "You're joking, right? Aside from the fact that it's strictly regulated by the Ministry, and procuring such quantities would be impossible on short notice, we would be violating the free will of the entire student body!"
"A small price to pay for the truth," Snape replied with a dismissive shrug.
Trelawney drew herself up indignantly, prepared to launch into what promised to be a lengthy tirade, but I raised a placating hand.
"It doesn't matter," I said, feeling suddenly tired. "I'll contact the Auror Department to see what they can discover. Perhaps Professor Blackwood could assist as well, given his expertise in tracking. The locator charm I placed on the hat appears to have been disabled somehow." I paused, considering. "And we shouldn't discount the possibility that this wasn't the work of a student at all."
"But why steal the Sorting Hat?" Trelawney asked, her voice rising in bewilderment. "It makes no sense!"
"The hat has existed since before Hogwarts itself," I reminded her. "It contains knowledge – secrets – that date back to the Founders. For someone seeking such information, it would be an invaluable resource."
Knowledge. The trait all Ravenclaws valued above all else. My thoughts returned to Felix Serendipity. I had been so certain it was him. Perhaps Veritaserum wasn't such an outrageous suggestion after all.
I sighed, dismissing the thought. "It matters little now. The thief could be anywhere – potentially even outside Britain by now. We must focus on creating a substitute for next year's sorting."
After dismissing my colleagues, I gestured to Fawkes, who immediately glided to my shoulder. With a burst of flame that temporarily blinded me, we apparated directly into my office. I sank into my chair, feeling every one of my considerable years as I gazed at the shelf where the Gryffindor sword lay, the space beside it conspicuously empty.
"Did you find the culprit?" Armando Dippet's portrait inquired hopefully.
"No," I admitted, the single word heavy with disappointment.
Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait sneered down at me. "The first headmaster to lose the Sorting Hat," he declared with malicious satisfaction. "You have truly outdone yourself this time, Dumbledore."
I cast a silencing charm around myself, blocking out the portraits' commentary as I massaged my temples. A headache was forming – a vicious, stabbing pain behind my eyes that no amount of magic seemed to alleviate. I would need to devise a rudimentary sorting system for next year's first-years, something that could adequately replace a thousand-year-old magical artifact created by the four greatest witches and wizards of their age.
"I hate migraines."