Sorting out the Sorting Hat

"Hahaha!"

My laughter echoed off the stone walls of the Room of Requirement, bouncing back to my ears in waves that only fueled my mirth. I clutched my sides, gasping for breath as tears of triumph streamed down my face. Thank Merlin I was in a demiplane room where no one could hear me.

"Hahaha!"

I couldn't stop. The sheer exhilaration of success, after months of painstaking study and experimentation, was intoxicating. My fingers trembled with residual magic as I wiped my eyes.

"I've done it, you absolute piece of cloth!" I crowed, pointing at the Sorting Hat sitting dejectedly on my desk. "I've finally done it. Take that, founders of Hogwarts, you've met your damn match!"

My laughter finally began to subside, leaving me light-headed and giddy. It was then that the Sorting Hat spoke, its fabric mouth curving downward in disapproval.

"Great, you've gone insane," it grumbled. "Just what I needed—a kleptomaniac who is now insane. What have I done to deserve this?"

I took a deep breath, composing myself as I gazed around the room. Books on magical theory were stacked in precarious towers, parchment covered in my scribbled notes littered every surface, and dozens of failed experimental hats—some half-formed, others melted, a few frozen mid-motion—were scattered about like discarded shells. One month had passed since I'd returned home for summer break, and I was finally done.

Not just with understanding sentience, but with memory magic and everything else the hat had been enchanted to do. And speaking of everything else...

My eyes drifted to the right side of the desk, where a magnificent sword lay gleaming in the wandlight.

The sword of Gryffindor.

It was exactly as the legends described—made of pure silver, its hilt set with rubies the size of eggs that caught the light and transformed it into blood-red sparks. The gemstones symbolized the House of Gryffindor, and beneath them, engraved in flowing script, was the full name of Godric Gryffindor.

It had been a startling discovery. While examining the hat's enchantments, I'd stumbled upon a concealment charm unlike any I'd encountered before. It turned out Godric had hidden the sword inside the hat—a separate space similar to demiplane magic, but crafted with such elegance that it had remained undetected for centuries. The founders really had been powerful wizards and witches.

But I was better. I am better.

With a satisfied smirk, I tapped the desk, transforming a section of the polished wood into a black cowboy hat. The transfiguration was flawless—not a grain out of place. I held my breath, concentrating with every fiber of my being.

"I Cast Sentience."

The magic flowed from inside myself, permeating into the atmosphere, and into the hat. Immediately, the fabric began to wrinkle and shift, forming the shape of a face just as the Sorting Hat had. But this wasn't some complex interweaving of charms and enchantments—this was pure will made manifest. This was true sentience created in a single cast.

That's what I had achieved, and I couldn't be happier.

As the hat came to life, I willed it to grow, to mature. I gave it a basic personality from which it could develop on its own—curious but respectful, intelligent but not overbearing. Finally, my magic calmed, settling into its new vessel. The cowboy hat blinked its newly formed eyes and spoke in a deep, slightly accented voice.

"Hello, sir Felix."

I let out a giggle of satisfaction, admiring my handiwork for a moment before waving my hand and taking away the sentience I had given. The hat shuddered, its features smoothing out as it reverted to ordinary transfigured wood and fused once more with the desk.

My hands traveled through my spiked golden hair as I tried to calm myself, the exertion of the spell leaving me slightly dizzy. My gaze returned to the Sorting Hat, which wore an expression that could only be described as horrified.

"What... what did you just do?" it whispered, its fabric voice trembling.

"Created sentience," I replied simply, pulling up a chair to sit before it. "Isn't that what this whole study has been about."

The hat seemed to shrink back, though it couldn't actually move from its spot. I almost felt sorry for it—almost.

"Well, Sorting Hat," I said, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, "thank you for your patronage, truly. You have been quite a fascinating project to work on, but I think it's time for everything to go back to the way it was, don't you think so?"

The hat's fabric wrinkled in what might have been confusion. "You're... handing me back?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's a bad decision," it said, perking up slightly. "I'm gonna snitch on you so hard, you are gonna spend the rest of your kleptomaniatic days in Azkaban. Have fun studying those dammed Dementors."

I tilted my head, considering this unexpected suggestion. "Hmm, Dementors, you say? You know, that doesn't sound so bad. They're amortal from what I've read—I wonder what gave them that property? Perhaps they're manifestations of magic itself, or perhaps—"

"It was a threat, not a study invitation!" the hat interrupted, its voice rising an octave. "You, you—"

"Oh," I said, blinking innocently. "Then I guess I won't take you up on it. Plus, who says you're going to snitch?"

"Me, I say it!"

"Uh-huh, but why do you think I'd let you?"

The hat seemed to deflate as understanding dawned. "Then... you're not handing me back?"

"No, I am handing you back," I clarified, picking at a loose thread on my robe. "After all, I do feel badly about all the anxiety I probably gave poor Dumbledore. He's really old, and it probably didn't do well for his health."

"Then—"

"I'm going to take away your memories of the past four months."

The Sorting Hat stared at me, its fabric mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Wait, wait, wait, you can't do that!"

"Oh, I can," I assured it, twirling my wand between my fingers. "And I am. Plus, I'm keeping the sword—it looks cool, and that way I have a keepsake. I think it's not that bad if I keep it; after all, it was just rotting inside you."

"You have to be kidding me," the hat muttered, its voice smaller now.

"I may be a kid," I said, rising from my chair with a stretch, "but I almost never kid." I paused, reconsidering. "Wait, that's a lie—I do kid, a lot actually. In fact, that's kind of what I'm known for." I grinned. "Either way, I'm not kidding this time, so farewell, my dear hat. It's been a pleasure studying you."

"Wait, wait, wait—" the hat began, but I wasn't listening anymore.

My mind recalled every charm I'd learned, every magical theory I'd absorbed in these past months. One of my hands found its way to the hat, feeling its magic course through it—a complex tapestry of spells woven together over centuries, now as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.

My other hand performed the shape of a Z as the magic in my body followed suit, casting a bewitching spell and making the Sorting Hat fall into a deep sleep. Then I muttered, low and clear.

"I Cast False Memory."

A golden thread of magic emerged from my fingertips, entering the brown hat almost as if mingling with its own threads. The magic danced and wove, carefully extracting the memories of the past four months and replacing them with fabricated ones—peaceful slumber in an unknown location. I also took care to remove any memory of the Sword of Gryffindor being hidden inside it, along with deleting all traces that could be used to trace back to me, whether charms or otherwise.

When the golden thread finally emerged, carrying with it the stolen memories, I felt a pang of something almost like regret. But it passed quickly.

I transfigured a piece of the desk into parchment, and the book of spells materialized before me, opening to the page of the wizardly quill. The quill appeared in my hand, and I wrote in gleaming golden ink.

Thanks for the hat.

The quill vanished as I folded the note and attached it to the hat. Then, carefully lifting the Sorting Hat by its pointed tip, I walked toward the door. My free hand reached out, and a shadowy gate began to appear—a doorway to the room of requirement in Hogwarts.

With one smooth motion, I tossed the hat through the opening and closed the door, canceling the spell and returning once more to my own quarters.

The Sword of Gryffindor resting on my desk. I smiled to myself, already planning where I would hide my newest treasure.

After all, what's a successful heist without a proper trophy?

Argus Filch POV

It was night, and I was roaming across the Hogwarts grounds like I usually did, when I heard a meow—a meow I recognized. How could I not? It belonged to the greatest cat in the world, my beautiful Mrs. Norris.

I whisked myself to the source of the noise, and when I reached her, my mouth fell open. In her mouth was something which Dumbledore had deemed forever lost—brown, saggy, and asleep, with a note seemingly glued onto it.

The Sorting Hat

I carefully took the hat from her, reading the note.

"Thanks for the hat," I muttered, turning the parchment over. "Well done, Mrs. Norris. We must give this to Dumbledore as soon as possible."

A/N: I Cast Give Me Your Stones