[216] What Do the Cards Say

Hall scribbled tarot card layouts and offered vague predictions. The class passed easily.

"Professor Trelawney is quite easy to talk to."

Hermione hummed. "So boring... completely useless..."

Hall patted her shoulder. "You seem a little anxious?"

He remembered. Hermione originally had five electives but could only choose three. Professor McGonagall would have solved this with a Time-Turner — now in Hall's hands.

He decided to act on his conscience. "If you're interested in the other courses, study them on your own. Write down what you don't understand and ask the professor. Some courses only need basic understanding."

Of the five electives, Hall was only interested in Ancient Runes. "Hermione, a person's energy is limited. You need to learn how to allocate your time."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I'll think about it." She waved and rushed off.

Hall turned to Draco. "Want to go?"

"Hmph!" Draco crossed his arms. "Now you remember me?"

"Don't glare. Pansy's about to kill me to soothe your Malfoy rage."

Pansy rolled her eyes and left with the girls. Only Draco and Zabini remained.

"What secrets have you and those Gryffindors been up to?" Draco demanded.

Hall explained he was looking for Gryffindor's Chamber of Secrets. "I think it exists. We've found the other three. Just missing a clue."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You skipped the process and got the final answer without intermediate steps. Of course you can't find a clue."

"So do you have any thoughts?" Hall asked.

Zabini spoke up. "There should be a gatekeeper at the entrance to each chamber. Like the hellhound guarding the Philosopher's Stone. The basilisk guarding Slytherin's. Lady Helena guarding Ravenclaw's. The house-elf Little guarding Hufflepuff's. And the guardian of Gryffindor's..." He winked at Hall. "Perhaps you could ask the Headmaster."

Hall suddenly realised. Dumbledore! If anyone knew Gryffindor best, it was Dumbledore.

"Thanks, bro."

Zabini chuckled. Being glared at by Draco was worth it for Hall's gratitude.

After dinner, Hall strolled towards the Headmaster's office.

"Toffee finger biscuits." Dumbledore's password had changed.

Hall entered and saw Dumbledore bent over, writing on a card. He smiled at Hall and tidied his desk.

"Hall." Dumbledore looked at him. It hadn't been long since Hall had discovered Hufflepuff's Chamber.

Hall didn't stand on ceremony. He plopped down in a soft chair. "Headmaster, do you know where Gryffindor's Chamber of Secrets is?"

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Dumbledore's glasses slipped down one side. Was that going too far? Let's put on an act first.

"Hall, about this..." Dumbledore tried to evade.

But Hall pressed. "Headmaster, I wasn't sure at first, but now I am. You definitely know something."

Dumbledore pushed his glasses back up. "This is more complicated than you think."

Hall's eyes darted.

Dumbledore's heart skipped. This kid was already full of mischief.

"If I go to the teacher..." Hall began.

"Don't even think about it."

Anyone else would be intimidated. Not Hall. He locked eyes with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore backed down first. "What's the use of knowing?"

"That's for me to judge."

Dumbledore sighed, stood, and led Hall to a mahogany bookshelf. Hall's eyes met the Sorting Hat's.

"I don't know the location of Gryffindor's Chamber of Secrets," Dumbledore said calmly, gazing at the hat displayed behind glass. "But the moment you raised the idea, I had a suspect."

Hall looked at the Sorting Hat. "You mean... the Sorting Hat?"

Dumbledore didn't speak.

Hall's mind raced. Gryffindor's sword was pulled from the Sorting Hat. Just like the treasures of the other houses entrusted to trusted guardians — Slytherin's basilisk, Ravenclaw's Grey Lady, Hufflepuff's Little. The Sorting Hat was the guardian of Gryffindor's Chamber.

But another question surfaced. "How is the Sorting Hat made? How does it know which house a young wizard belongs to?"

Hall turned to Dumbledore. "Is the Sorting Hat a product of alchemy? Alchemy cannot create life. Yet the Sorting Hat can communicate. It has a will — it can be persuaded. Communication implies a soul."

Hall's mind raced. "Headmaster, you know the truth."

Dumbledore looked at him helplessly. "Sometimes I'm grateful a wizard like you exists. Other times I think you're too intelligent."

"Yes, I know. We all know."

Hall turned. The portraits of past headmasters had all returned to their frames.

"Oh — what a clever child. Reminds me a bit of Tom." Former headmaster Armando Dippet's high-pitched voice carried through the portrait.

"Hmph! A red-haired brat!" A goateed old wizard snorted. "I still prefer black hair!" Phineas Black said with displeasure. "A rare intelligent redhead. Interesting."

"Headmaster Phineas Black," Dumbledore introduced. "Headmaster of Hogwarts two years ago."

Phineas stroked his goatee. "Oh — my achievements —"

"As if we didn't have any," a kind-faced lady interrupted. She looked tenderly at Hall. "Hogwarts survives because of young wizards like you."

"Madam Dilys Devant," Dumbledore continued. "Headmistress of Hogwarts and a distinguished healer at St Mungo's."

Hall noticed not all past headmasters had portraits. Creating a magical portrait that converses required the wizard to decide while alive, continuously infuse the image with magic, and die near the portrait so their last soul vestiges could enter it. Not every headmaster did this.

Hall looked at Dumbledore. "Will you hang here someday?"

Dumbledore chuckled wryly. "No. I don't intend to leave a portrait."

"So the secret of the Sorting Hat is only for the Headmaster to know?"

"That's right, lad," Phineas answered before Dumbledore could.

Hall glanced at him. No wonder he was a Black — the arrogance radiated from his bones. Phineas noticed Hall's hair colour and looked disgusted, but when he saw Hall's green-and-silver tie, his expression softened.

"So, have you any plans to become Headmaster?" Phineas asked. "If so, I might tell you the secret in advance."

Hall was stunned. "Never thought about it. Absolutely not."

"Not want to?!" Phineas exploded. "Headmaster of Hogwarts! The power of Hogwarts! Aren't you tempted?"

"Not at all. Compared to being Headmaster, I'd rather be the richest wizard."

The headmasters fell silent. Were students' dreams this wild these days?

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "If Hall really worked towards that goal... it's not impossible." He remembered how Hall had made money — the Squib Potion alone was practically priceless.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "The secret of the Sorting Hat..." He sighed. "Do you really need to know? Or have you already guessed?"

Phineas looked at Dumbledore in surprise. "You mean he guessed?!"

Hall scratched his cheek. "Actually, it was a coincidence. I thought of someone — he gave me inspiration."

Dumbledore's smile froze.

Armando Dippet looked stiff. "...Little Tom?"

Hall nodded. Tom Riddle. Voldemort. A madman and a genius. Hall had destroyed his Horcruxes. He'd confronted the main fragment directly.

What was the difference between the Sorting Hat, which could speak and think, and one modified by Voldemort? Hall pondered but couldn't convince himself otherwise.

The only difference was the vessel.

"The Sorting Hat is a Horcrux," Hall said with certainty.