Chapter 54: Never Wrong!

The other professors had already left the Great Hall.

Now, only Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall remained. The Sorting Hat's ear-piercing shrieks had finally worn down Dumbledore's patience.

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore began, his tone as gentle as ever, "as the Sorting Hat itself has stated, it is one of Hogwarts' most treasured artifacts. None of us have the authority to damage it… or take any other extreme actions."

Dumbledore rarely addressed people by their first names when others were present.

Initially, he had intended to take Snape along to check on the poor student who had fainted earlier. However, while he had been idly stroking his beard, Snape had already taken matters into his own hands—quite literally—by seizing the Sorting Hat.

To be honest, Dumbledore didn't entirely disapprove of Snape's reaction. If anything, it was proof that Ian truly meant something to him.

And that, in turn, was a tether—a connection that could stop Snape from slipping into the abyss.

"I only intend to give it a bath," Snape stated expressionlessly, gripping the Sorting Hat firmly.

"The sewage pit is not a bath!" the Sorting Hat shrieked. "Let me go, you miserable old bat!"

Professor McGonagall, noticing Snape's face darken at the insult, quickly made a silencing gesture toward the hat.

"Old bat, is it?" Snape sneered coldly. "Not even Merlin himself can save you now."

With that, he started marching toward the nearest restroom, the Sorting Hat still clutched in his grasp.

Dumbledore raised a hand as if to intervene, then hesitated.

"Dumbledore! McGonagall! Save me!"

"I watched you both grow up! You owe me!"

The Sorting Hat struggled in vain, its frayed brim flapping helplessly.

"It was Ian! It was Ian!" The hat suddenly shouted in desperation. "That little wizard was the one who called you that! I was only repeating his words!"

It had betrayed its accuser without a second thought.

Unfortunately for the hat, a thousand years of existence had not yet taught it one simple truth—betrayal comes with a price.

Snape's expression darkened even further, and his strides quickened.

"In that case, let's see how you like washing up in Ravenclaw's sewage pit."

"Noooooooooo!"

The Sorting Hat's wail of despair echoed through the hall.

"Enough, Professor Snape. Stop terrifying the poor thing," Dumbledore finally sighed, a note of guilt in his voice.

After all, it was he who had initially assured Snape that Ian would be sorted into Slytherin.

Who could have predicted this outcome?

By all accounts, Ian should have been a perfect Slytherin.

Just last night, Dumbledore had even taken the time to whisper a quiet suggestion to the Sorting Hat—encouraging it to give Ian's sorting into Slytherin serious consideration.

Yet despite that, the hat had still placed the boy in Ravenclaw.

Dumbledore, of course, had unwavering faith in the Sorting Hat's judgment.

Snape, however, was clearly far less willing to accept the reality before him.

"I wasn't joking," Snape said flatly, though he did finally stop in his tracks.

Dumbledore immediately seized the opportunity.

"Let's allow the Sorting Hat to explain itself," he suggested calmly. "It has never once made an incorrect judgment in a thousand years."

McGonagall nodded in agreement.

"Meddling with the Sorting Hat's decisions is already an overstep," she added. As a professor, she had long since learned to suppress her own Gryffindor instincts.

"Exactly! I am never wrong!" the Sorting Hat declared loudly, as if its very honor had been called into question.

Snape's expression was one of thinly veiled contempt. "I trust my own eyes more. Slytherin is where he belongs. He should be in Slytherin."

Memories of his encounters with Ian flickered through his mind.

The orphanage.

The torn-up floorboards in Hogsmeade.

Ian's every word and action.

Everything about the boy—his ambition, his cunning, his unwavering determination, and his understanding of honor—proved beyond a doubt that he belonged in his house.

Just look at the students sorted into Slytherin this year.

One was a Grindelwald brat—not worth discussing.

The others? Utterly mediocre.

One of them even fainted from excitement during the sorting ceremony!

Fainted!

Out of sheer excitement!

Was that not the very definition of a Gryffindor?

The more Snape thought about it, the angrier he became.

The Sorting Hat was deliberately making a mockery of him.

Even the Grindelwald child had been successfully tricked into the house. Yet Ian—who was far more devious—was somehow not a Slytherin?

"Silence won't save you."

Snape lifted the Sorting Hat higher, his fingers tightening around its brim.

"I'm thinking!" the hat insisted. "I'm considering the best way to explain how special the boy is!"

"I'm listening," Snape replied icily. "But if you start babbling about how he's 'clever' or 'wise' or 'just' or any of that nonsense, I will find a way to make sure you permanently reek of sewage."

The Sorting Hat flinched. It was more than intelligent enough to recognize a serious threat when it heard one.

"No! You wouldn't dare! Dumbledore, say something!"

Dumbledore merely adjusted his glasses, offering no reply.

"Dumbledore can't save you," Snape stated flatly. "Are you really going to waste my time?"

The Sorting Hat practically trembled in his grasp.

"Of course not! Absolutely not! If it were merely about being talented, I would have given you this one. I would have put him in Slytherin for you."

Its sudden change in attitude spoke volumes about its intelligence—or its survival instincts.

"But he still ended up in Ravenclaw," Snape pointed out coldly.

"Because Ravenclaw is where he truly belongs!"

The Sorting Hat's voice rose in defiance.

"I have waited a thousand years," it continued, "searching for the one who could inherit Rowena Ravenclaw's legacy. That was the task Godric entrusted to me!"

Its words gave both McGonagall and Dumbledore pause.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly.

Behind his half-moon glasses, Dumbledore's gaze flickered with intrigue.

Because they knew what the word apprentice truly meant.

It was not the same as being a student.

It was a direct inheritance.

A bond akin to that of parent and child—one where a master saw in their apprentice the potential to surpass them.

"You mean to say that Ian has the talent to be Rowena Ravenclaw's apprentice?" McGonagall asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Absolutely!" the Sorting Hat declared with conviction.

"He shares the one trait that made her truly unique—something none of you understand! Not even you, Dumbledore!"

Snape's frown deepened.

"Enough. Shut up."

McGonagall also interjected, her tone growing sharper. "How dare you say such a thing about Dumbledore—"

"Please, let it continue."

Dumbledore raised a hand to stop them, his expression as mild as ever.

He met the Sorting Hat's gaze with curiosity.

"I have always trusted its judgment."

Then, softly, he added:

"And at Ian's age, I certainly wasn't capable of creating new spells."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

McGonagall's pupils contracted slightly in shock.

"A first-year? Creating magic?"

Her disbelief was plain on her face.

Snape, too, stiffened.

Damn it!

Wasn't that meddling old man just supposed to humor the boy with some bird tricks?!

How did this suddenly turn into a discussion about magical innovation?

"That child…"

McGonagall's voice trembled slightly. She knew exactly what Dumbledore's words implied, and at that moment, she recalled who Ian had been standing next to during the Sorting Ceremony.

A prodigious young wizard.

Standing beside a boy who bore an uncanny resemblance—in more ways than one—to a young Grindelwald.

She didn't want to let suspicion cloud her judgment, nor did she wish to unfairly speculate about Hogwarts students. But deep down, an unavoidable sense of unease crept into her heart. She turned to Dumbledore, a silent question in her gaze.

And that—

That was precisely the reaction Snape had been dreading.

His lips pressed into a thin line as his grip tightened.

Was he regretting questioning the Sorting Hat?

Possibly.

"There is no need for concern," Dumbledore said gently. "Professor McGonagall, we must have faith in our students."

But within that soft-spoken assurance, there was something else—something too subtle to detect.

"If we approach them with suspicion from the very beginning, treating them as villains to be guarded against… how, then, can we ever guide them away from the darkness?"

A reasonable statement.

"It seems my perspective was flawed," McGonagall admitted, nodding solemnly.

Snape discreetly let out a breath.

He was more than ready to toss the wretched Sorting Hat aside and be done with this ridiculous discussion.

Unfortunately—

"Dumbledore, I wasn't implying that your magical talent is lacking!" the Sorting Hat suddenly piped up again. "Of course, that young lad's gift for magic is extraordinary as well, but that isn't the reason I sorted him into Ravenclaw!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, just get to the point!" Snape snapped impatiently.

"You're the ones who've been rambling all this time!" the Sorting Hat protested, sounding thoroughly aggrieved.

But when it saw the growing impatience in the room, it wisely decided not to push its luck.

"It's about his attitude toward knowledge!" the hat declared loudly.

McGonagall frowned. "Every Ravenclaw values knowledge. That alone isn't much of an argument."

Snape and Dumbledore seemed to share a similar sentiment.

However—

While Snape was becoming increasingly irritable, Dumbledore remained patiently attentive.

"I don't mean the common pursuit of knowledge," the Sorting Hat said. "Look at you all—this is exactly why you wouldn't understand her. It's why she spent her life in isolation, never truly understood."

A deep, almost mournful sigh escaped the hat.

"For a thousand years, every student sorted into Ravenclaw has been bright, clever, and academically gifted. But what made Rowena Ravenclaw truly exceptional was never just her thirst for knowledge."

The Sorting Hat sounded as though it were reminiscing, mourning something lost to time.

"To stand at the peak of wisdom, one must possess more than intelligence, diligence, or pride. What truly sets a Ravenclaw apart—what made Rowena herself unique—is something else entirely…"

There was a brief pause before the Sorting Hat spoke again, its voice ringing with conviction:

"Arrogance."

A stunned silence filled the room.

Yet the hat continued, unyielding.

"Yes. Ian possesses that same quality. When I look at him, I see a glimpse of Rowena herself. He does not simply seek knowledge—he expects it to yield to him."

"He does not chase after knowledge."

"Knowledge follows him, shaping the path beneath his feet."

"Do not question my judgment," the Sorting Hat said firmly, its ancient voice echoing through the Great Hall.

Then it turned its timeworn face toward Snape and declared,

"Ian Prince is the truest Ravenclaw. Yes, Slytherin might grant him power and influence—but only Ravenclaw will allow him to achieve true greatness."