"Exactly," said Harry, stopping the hat from rolling on.

"And so...?"

"So you are Godric Gryffindor."

The hat was stunned; he had never been addressed so. "To some degree, I must admit, I have always seen myself as a Godric... a shadow of his memories, his thoughts, his words."

"And his cleverness and magic, too; I shan't ever forget. You brought me his sword when Hogwarts was in danger."

"And you yourself were in danger," replied the hat, "even moreso than Hogwarts. The sword was yours to use, and you called upon it."

"I owe you and Fawkes for nothing less than my life. Now I need to call upon you again... for your brains."

"Such as they are?"

"Exactly as they are. We have a job to do, and we'll need the wisdom of a Godric with us."

"You sound as if we're about to go into battle."

"Hopefully not...but if you're willing to go, it might prove every bit as exciting as our last venture."

"Is this 'Try trap, hero' again, Potter?"

"With your help, maybe we can avoid any traps. If you're allowed to go with us, I'm sure Dumbledore will have to insure your safe return, so you can continue sorting."

"And singing."

"Of course."

"Interesting invitation."

"And if you wish to join, just say so. Should we call you Godric?"

The hat hesitated, but not for long. "No, I am not worthy of that. But on to the fray, Harry, on to the fray!"

* * *

Hermione felt put down. "Did I hear right, Professor? Three teenagers could traipse off to the past alone, and the world has no problem. But once we want to bring the hat along, suddenly it has to be approved by the Ministry? What's wrong with this?"

Dumbledore looked up from his desk. "In a sense, they're approving your trip as well. You three are underage, and would be performing magic away from school by intrusive time-moving. It wouldn't hurt to get your magic approved ahead of time, just this once!

"But you are correct, Hermione," he continued, "they didn't seem too bothered on your part, as long as they were aware. Their deep concern is, the Sorting Hat is a charmed Muggle artifact, and an historic one at that. They would be very displeased if it were to be lost a thousand years in the past, with what it knows. But Ronald's father has been able to get the approvals... since one of his own sons would be with it at all times."

Ron smiled. "Finally, I've been discovered!"

The Sorting Hat joined the conversation. "Always liked Arthur Weasley. He's the perfect man to get this venture approved; his name is an anagram for 'We Salute Harry,' did you know."

Harry rolled his eyes, but Dumbledore smiled. "You do love your anagrams, don't you?"

"It's surprising I had never found them so entertaining until the Riddle incident. Now I'm fascinated by them. You must try doing them my way -- no writing, all mental!"

Ron snickered. "Sounds mental, all right."

* * *

The Ministry tightly controlled the very few time-moving gates, which were of ancient construction and never used except to correct the most drastic anomolies. The only gate yet discovered in Scotland was about 16 miles away, at the other end of the glacial valley by the Muggle village of Althers. There, far off the roads, was an old Druid site called the Witching Walk, known only to magical folk. An ordinary portkey was available there for modern-day tourists, but only attended a few hours a week. It would be just as simple to fly.

So, the entourage went by broom in late afternoon. For Harry, it was his first true cross-country flight, out of sight of Hogwarts, and quite different from circling around the lake.

They were led by Dumbledore, and of course they had never seen their headmaster fly before. He was quite good at it, as old as his broom was, and the three were busied keeping up with him, constantly adjusting course and altitude to stay out of sight of farmhouses, roads and the villages of Bumpus and Althers. Hedwig had left earlier on a direct route; she was waiting for them.

On arrival, Dumbledore directed them to a cave, whose doorway was hidden by a charm. There, the brooms could be stashed safely. Nearby was an ancient stone gateway, and the actual time-moving gate was the constantly-moving shadow of the keystone.

Dumbledore fussed over the three travelers, acting very much like a mum bundling her children off to their first weekend away.

"The gate has been instructed as to the proper year and date, coming and going. Be your usual selves, but don't step on pompous toes. You boys will carry these short swords, called whingers, just because most men carry one; let's not use them to dice anyone's ancestors by mistake. You have pencils and paper for owl posts to each other, if you need them. Remember your wands and magic are not for Muggle eyes, if at all possible.

"Miss Granger, you will be the 'cover story' for the visit, as we discussed. You've read the most about the era, and about the school's history; you will be an excellent advisor to steer your team. Remember, though, to depend on the hat for its first-hand knowledge of the day.

"And," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "if you would do me the favour, Miss Granger, mind your not setting fire to anyone named Dumbledore."

Setting fire? Why... He couldn't know about Snape! ...oh, wait, doesn't he always. She smiled back. "Yes, Professor, I'll control myself."

"Mr. Weasley, likewise? Hopefully any Malfoy ancestors will survive your visit? (Rats! thought Ron.) In this pack, you shall carry the expedition's food and dole it out. Stream water should be safe to drink, but draw it away from any farms or towns. You also have the soap and whatnot, as sanitation is late coming, and a basic medical kit. In the padding is something Harry asked to bring.

"Mr. Potter, there will be no Voldemort to deal with, but remember that Salazar Slytherin and any rabid followers are of concern to you. You will wear the Sorting Hat. The leather patches on your shoulders and forearms are not unlike a falconer's; they are for Hedwig to ride. I would suggest you keep her close, so she is not hunted down. With Hedwig and the hat, you may feel a bit topheavy at first, but once they're accustomed to moving about this way, it will help you balance the load.

"It should be quite a treat to visit the very founders of Hogwarts. All right then?"

"All right, sir," answered all three.

"Then, as we practiced. Stand in the shadow of the gateway keystone, and together say 'The past, quickly.' The wording is, 'Ealddaeg afysan'."

The three teens, the old hat and the fidgety owl shuffled into place in the shadow, looked at each other, and nodded the downbeat. Four were heard to say "EALDDAEG AFYSAN!", and one said "OOK!" (the same in owl talk), and they were gone. No flash, no melodramatic puff of smoke, no sound -- just gone.

Dumbledore stood looking at the spot for a long time. He had been a teenager at Hogwarts when he first heard about this gate to the past. How many times he had dreamed then, of stepping in and saying whatever mysterious words were needed. How many times since! Now, he was far, far too old for such adventures.... Well, back to Hogwarts. I've missed the banquet. Perhaps the kitchen is still open; I could do with a nice dish of pudding, before bedtime.

They arrived in Time Immemorial on a windy Autumn day in Anno Domini 1015. It was partly cloudy, and warm; the Scottish countryside glowed in colorful leaves. Smoke rose from a distant forge, and somewhere a rooster crowed. The very air had an earthy scent.

Hermione revelled in the realisation she was standing in medieval Scotland! The boys, on the other hand, were more concerned with promptly checking landmarks for their journey on foot.

The first unplanned problem was that the hat had a very wide brim, not leaving room for a tall Hedwig on Harry's shoulders. Harry did not want to hold his forearm in midair for several days just to provide a perch!

Fortunately, from whatever magic pocket young ladies use to hide pins, needles and thread for just such emergencies, Hermione produced a safety pin to tack the brim to the crown on one side. The hat said it wouldn't mind. Now Harry could turn his head a bit while wearing the hat, and Hedwig could have a stable perch.

Harry said it helped that he had broad shoulders. Ron argued the true benefit was from Harry's small head.

* * *

They had walked hardly a mile when they met their second challenge.

As they came upon an apple orchard, an old man looked up from his horse-drawn cart, startled by the sight of the trio, one of them bearing an owl, a pointed hat, and strange black rings around his eyes. He halted the cart, leapt to the ground -- never taking his eyes off them -- and drew a short and very crude-looking sword.

The boys both drew their whingers and stood at the ready. Hermione started reaching for her wand, then remembered not to use it.

"No!" said the hat, in a low but demanding voice. "None of you! Leave him to me!"

Ron and Harry looked at each other, nodded, and lowered swords. The man looked a bit confused at that action, but continued in their direction, his sword drawn.

They could barely hear the hat mutter a word softly, then...

The man's jaw dropped open at the booming voice from nowhere. He staggered backward, his sword falling from his hand, and he ran for his life. His horse, spooked, ran past them in the opposite direction, the cart bouncing wildly behind. An equally upset Hedwig was in an apple tree, squawking loudly. Harry had a pained look, and was holding his ears.

When the dust settled, Ron turned. "All right, what was that?"

The hat whisper-shouted one more word, "Quietus", causing Harry to wince once more. Then in a more normal tone, "Sorry for the Sonorus. Haven't used that in years. I just told him he'd be severely cursed if he were to casually slay you young folk. Voice from the heavens and all that. Effective, eh what?"

"Seems to work," said Ron. "But aside from the git's sword, what set you off like that?"

"I read personalities at a distance, remember. And he really glowed with the sudden intention of slaughtering you all."

"Slaughtering us?" asked a shocked Hermione. "Just like that?"

"It's a different age, completely," explained the hat. "There are many hog farms around here, y'know; I imagine he's an uneducated hog farmer. He would have no tolerance for strangers in his valley, since strangers commonly steal hogs for dinner. He was gleaning the orchard and the woods for anything edible that might feed the hogs. Suddenly there you were, three total strangers in the vicinity. He took out his sword to solve both his problems at once. Serendipity! To his tiny little mind, strangers shan't feed on hogs -- but hogs can always feed on strangers. Nothing personal, and you'd never be missed."

"Oh, I'm so glad I asked," said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"Beside which, he was lading."

"Lading...?"

"Yes. Loading his cart."

"So?"

"An anagram of Ronald Weasley is 'We Slay No Lader.' That suggests you three would have failed to deter him."

"That is so muggular!" argued Ron. "What should I do -- change my name to spell 'We're Not Hog Feed'? Can't we defend ourselves?"

Hermione interceded. "We're not here to stab or kill people, remember."

"Hermione's right, sir," said Harry. "What we actually mean to say is, thanks for the Sonorus. It was brilliant, and saved any bloodshed."

Hedwig returned to Harry's shoulder, glaring at the hat. The hat drew back from the owl.

"Hedwig tells me," said the hat, "she will peck me to shreds if I dare do a Sonorus again."

"And I will help her," agreed Harry. "My ears are still ringing. Now, on to Hogwarts."

"Only 15 more miles of psychotic hog farmers to go," muttered Ron.

* * *

As they traveled, the three were briefed on the 11th century by the hat, including the fact that family names like Granger, Weasley or Gryffindor were not yet in common use.

That also applied to eyeglasses, leaving Harry's wondrous world slightly out of focus for the duration.

"It's quite an era in Britain," said the hat. "Loch Ness is still abrim with huge schools of kelpies; dragons are still not on the endangered magical species list. If you know where to look, there are large communities of gnomes and leprechauns that came with the invaders. Brian Boru's followers are still harassing the coast, just a few days west of here. A goblin still sits as king of the Hebrides, and England's copper miners are mainly elves. Meanwhile the throne of the kingdom of Scotland, such as it is, will soon be held by none other than..... Macbeth!"

The boys, with wicked smirks, simultaneously asked, "Who?"

"Oh, honestly, you two!" said an amused Hermione, shaking her head in disbelief.

* * *

"Hedwig is somewhat the poet," said the hat.

Hermione looked up. "That's the second time you've mentioned Hedwig. Can you read her personality too?"

"Oh, much more. We've been mentally chatting the whole way. Very interesting bird. Gets around much more than Fawkes."

"You talk to birds!"

"Someone has to, since you don't do it all that often. They get bored, y'know."

"So what's a bird's poetry like?"

"Quite normal, actually. Her current work is entitled If There Were No Magicians."

"Wishful thinking, Hedwig," said Ron, "but you shan't be rid of Harry that easily."

The hat chuckled. "Oh, It's not at all like that, Ronald. Her poem is from a Muggle's point of view, how children need time for dreaming, and stories, and imagining on everything -- especially on our world, or course! One verse even hints at some of your adventures. Since songs are my specialty, I've been mentally creating a melody for it, which I'm calling Hedwig's theme for now. Lilting little ditty, almost a Celtic dance. Care to listen?"

"Sure!"

So the hat sang:

Hermione applauded, grinning broadly. Harry gaped at Hedwig in amazement, his eyes welling up; he had a whole new appreciation for the hidden talents of his faithful owl.

* * *

The young Gryffindors gradually became used to life with a talking hat and a chatty owl, so they weren't surprised when the hat said Hedwig was offering to scout ahead for a campsite. Harry stressed Dumbledore's warning about predators, then released her. Hedwig returned shortly to lead them to a high woodlot off the trail, where they spent the night comfortably bedded down on pine needles.

* * *

They crossed the last of the hilly country by noon of the second day, and stood on their final summit, looking down at a familiar lake...and at a Hogwarts that appeared so strange to them!

It was surrounded by a low outer wall, which in later years was mostly buried by the rubble from rock quarrying and excavation of the dungeon footings. They saw only one classroom building, with the central courtyard they had so often crossed, and two towers, all looking remarkably pristine. More construction was in progress where the second building would rise, but at the moment there were just long crude structures with wooden chimneys, perhaps some temporary dorms and a scullery.

A large open ground still covered the spot where the huge sinkhole to the Chamber of Secrets would develop over time. The lower pitch, which would be used soon enough for Quidditch, was overgrown. The Great Hall, gateway, high bridges and larger towers would not be completed for another century. The extensive gardens were outdoors, since the greenhouses would not be built until the 1600s.

Oddly enough, there was a woodcutter's shed downhill from the buildings that they instantly recognised. It was almost surrounded by a forest, already quite tall. It would not change in the next thousand years; they almost expected to see Hagrid by its familiar doorway, or Fang sunning himself on the broad stone steps.

"And can we get in here?" asked Ron. "No hog farmer types among them, I hope."

"Have no fear," said the hat; "we will be treated as friends. You have magic in you, or you wouldn't even see Hogwarts."

"What do the Muggles see in this century?"

"Oh, a wretched heath -- sharp boulders, with hardly a place to set a foot. Vultures and serpents abound by day, and strange howls and wandering lights and spectres at night. In a superstitious age, no non-magic folk would dare approach. Because of this forbidden area, the whole valley is called alaetan, or forsaken; so the farmers are Alaetaners, which will be corrupted over time into the village name, Althers. Well, let's be off."

* * *

They followed the road to the end of the last Muggle cartwheel rut, and beyond into the brush of the enchanted area. The trail resumed as they neared Hogsmeade -- what little there was of the village in that day and age. The people were about their mid-day business, and unlike the old man, paid them no particular attention; with the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in their ward, they were used to seeing strangers. Some doorways were carved with shopkeepers' names or nicknames, none familiar to our three time-travelers except, perhaps, the Danish-born scribe called Blott.

The hat said the village was young, having been founded by an English expatriate wizard named Hengist, who just wanted some peace and quiet away from Muggles. At this point, the enchanted area was still called Heng's ward, and the town had been laid out in Heng's moed, or meadow. Those names would become Hogwarts and Hogsmeade soon enough.

The road had the usual hoofmarks and other donations left by farm animals. Here and there were other odd indentations on the dusty roadbed, which the hat explained were made by bulky straw barn-brooms during takeoffs or landings.

As the path took its familiar turn toward Hogwarts, Ron passed out chocolate as energy for the adventure ahead. They were still snacking as they passed through the outer wall.

"Well, that's something I haven't felt in a hat's age," said the hat. "I sense multiple Godrics - my own presence, and Gryffindor himself. But I also sense a third!"

"Odd sensation, maybe," said Harry. "But if Madam Pince researched this just right, Gryffindor charmed his hat by now. Including yourself, there should be three Godrics."

"Oh! Before we forget any longer," said Hermione, "I'll do the translation charm."

"Sorry," said Harry. "We should have reminded you."

She swish'n'flicked, "Lingus."

"And none too soon, maiden," said a voice from behind them. Startled, they turned to see a tall, middle-aged man with long, receding blond hair and a full bushy beard.

"Welcome in, travelers! I am Salazar. Can we offer you refreshment and hospice for the night, after your long trip from the Witching Walk?"

Salazar! They were talking to the founder of Slytherin house! Harry was the first to recover his tongue. "Most pleased, sir. I am Harry, son of James."

"And I am Hermione, called the Reader."

"And Ronald the..er, Burrower."

Salazar bowed in greeting. "You spoke strangely when I was approaching; now I understand your words, but they do not match your lips. The Reader's charm is my confusion, no doubt!"

"We speak with the tongue of our homeland across the sea, sir," said Hermione. "Forgive our need for a charm."

"The countryside has been nattering about your progress for two days. There are tales of a magic gate of sorts at the Witching Walk.... have you come to us through the gate from the wizards of the Indies, perhaps, or the holy men of the West?"

He doesn't know what the gate does, thought Hermione. "Not any of those, sir; we did not use the gate. We merely come from Meath, in Eireinn, that I might see the great magic library here. We lingered along our journey to admire the gateway, hoping to find clues to its alleged powers. We saw nothing but stone, and no inscriptions to help us, so we continued on our way."

"We will see the Headmaster," said Salazar, "and no doubt the library will be open to a visiting magician. Harry, was it? Your hat and white owl are most curious. Before your arrival, one odd report had you conversing with your hat."

Harry decided to tell a little, but not everything. "The hat is a very old hand-me-down in our family, and I am proud to wear it. It is enchanted to speak a bit, and sing, but its mere age has not made it any more wise."

"Fascinating! I look forward to talking to him. Only days ago, we enchanted our Headmaster's hat for a special need we have; pardon me if I do not explain. Such an heirloom as your hat deserves your special care! I will have our tanner give you a leather tonic that will do it proud."

"Thank you, sir."

"And does the owl hunt game for you, as though a falcon?"

"The owl is my pet. She hunts for herself only. However, she can follow some commands."

"Really?" said Salazar.

"Oh, wise owl!" addressed Harry. "Fly to that tower and perch. Then, return to my other shoulder."

Hedwig took to the air, paused on the tower ledge, then started back. Harry removed his hat to ensure a choice of perches, and Hedwig picked the opposite side as instructed, to the amazement of Salazar.

"You are quite the trainer! With your powers to command, you would do well in Slytherin."

"So I've been told -- but we have come only to guide and forage for the Reader. Ronald and I are poor sons of non-magic folk." That should turn him off, thought Harry.

"Ah! The Fates are cruel. Well, come with me; I will introduce you to Headmaster Godric."

* * *

They were brought to the new construction area, where Godric was observing. Their meeting had the three time-wanderers in awe. He was tall (and quite handsome, noted Hermione), with piercing green eyes, long black hair just starting to turn gray, his beard neatly cut. He was not wearing his famous hat. The intelligent and well-spoken Godric bade them welcome as equals, asked his staff to prepare a room for their stay, and arranged for the Reader to have full access to the library.

* * *

They sat down to a late-afternoon outdoor meal with Godric and the entire teaching staff, including an opportunity to meet the other co-founders. Rowena was tall and intellectual, while Helga was short, alert and athletic; they made quite the comedy team when they got together, and were enjoyable dinner companions.

They had many questions for Hermione about the progress of wizarding in Meath. Hermione pleaded exhaustion from the trip, and said she would be glad to tell them everything in a day or so. However, she explained the Lingus charm, which they found a delightful tool. H'ajij of Jericho, the Charms teacher, tested it by speaking in Aramaic, yet they all understood him.

As dinner ended, various magical matters were discussed. Discovering their ignorance of owling, Ron suggested owls could be trained to carry messages, and Harry demonstrated Hedwig's ability to carry a message to Rowena, to much amazement.

While he had the floor again, Ron chanced asking where the students were. The staff seemed quite surprised he would ask, and said they were home, of course! It was harvest time, and they must help their families! "Oh... of course," said Ron, and he shut up, feeling he was out of their league.

"And what say your diviners, Reader?" asked H'ajij. "Do they see the outcome of all the invasions and kingly rivalries here?"

Hermione flipped through her mental history chart. "This will be a safe place for your school. Our seers say the five parts of Scot-land will eventually become one. Know that the south will unite under the Normans in Our Lord's year 1066. In time, they foretell, even our proud Eire-land will be brought low."

"Do they foresee unity for all wizardry?" asked Salazar. "And, which families will be the nobles to rule our magic world?"

Hermione took on an all-too-familiar look, like she was considering the joy of punching Salazar in the mouth, so Harry took it. "In our land, sir, no one is considered to be better suited to rule just because of their blood. They say those who believe otherwise will always fail."

Some of the teachers were amused at Salazar's discomfort. He stared at Harry, smiling artificially. "When has the non-magic world ever been without leaders by blood lines? And if that is not the answer, then what other great force is there, to bring the magicians of the world together?"

Ron smiled, and answered, "The Quidditch game, forsooth." That drew a lot of blank looks and whispers -- and one or two knowing nods.

Harry expanded on that, noting that friendly competition at sports could bring distant groups from far apart together, as at kingly tournaments, and foretold the popularity of the game now being created at Queerditch Marsh. He offered another demonstration, their facility with flying in competition.

Two rather large barn-brooms used in local transport were offered, and Ron and Harry took to the sky. Harry found it miserably slow, clumsy and very uncomfortable, but it reacted well on his turns, climbs and dives. Ron threw a scrap of wood as high as he could; without the help of his eyeglasses, Harry snagged it in midair and threw it to Ron, who threw it back to him. The staff was suitably impressed.

As they landed, the bell of the little church in Hogsmeade began to ring the curfew. Godric noticed the lengthening shadows and called an end to the session.

Hermione, rising from the bench, overheard Godric addressing Salazar.

"Salazar, will you give the hat your instruction now, and return it to me by the Nones tomorrow?"

"Gladly, Headmaster," replied Salazar.

* * *

They walked to the lake to sit by themselves, munching more chocolate from the rations.

"Forsooth, Ron?" said Harry, chuckling.

"Oh, cut me some slack, Harry! You two were raised by Muggles and got to read all this King Arthur stuff. I don't know how to talk that way."

"Relax, Ron, you don't have to," reminded Hermione. "The Lingus charm does most of that. I'm talking a little stiffly, just to be sure we get the right message across the translation."

Hermione divulged what she heard at the end of the meal, which upset Ron. "They're letting that nutter Salazar spout his pureblood nonsense to the hat. After sitting through hours of that trash, no wonder our hat always looks wilted."

The hat might have answered him, but was preoccupied. "I cannot believe what I am dimly sensing. Too many Godrics."

"I thought we did this already," protested Harry. "You, Godric and his hat. That make three of you."

"I know. But, I suddenly sense four Godrics."

"Four??"

The hat sagged in a glum sort of look. "Listen carefully, Harry. Let's prepare ourselves. There may be a plot afoot!

"You know the password to Dumbledore's office; keep it to yourself. If you ask me the password, I'll give you the proper answer only when you and I are alone, Harry -- remember that. Any other time, when we're not alone, I will say Popinjay instead. Understand?"

"Popinjay when we're not alone -- the other, only when we're alone. Okay, I understand."

"That's my wizard! Be sharp. Mind what you say and do. Something very odd is happening.... too many Godrics. "

* * *

They returned to their quarters after sundown, encountering only the school's tanner, who wanted to deliver the promised tonic for Harry's hat -- a vial of leather polish, and a piece of hide for buffing. He also proffered some spare grain mash to feed the owl.

Hermione retired to a side room for some much-needed sleep. Having little to do but chat with Ron in the dim candlelight before bedtime, Harry took out the bottle, pulled the willow stopper and began applying the tanner's tonic. Indeed, the hat took on a wonderful glow... in more ways than one.

"Wow!" said the hat. "What's in that stuff?"

"Beeswax, I'm told," said Harry, "and some other ingredients to soften and shine. I'll put on one more coat. It seems to go on fairly smoothly."

"Smoothly, yeah. Definitely SMOOOOOTH! I want the recipe. Dumbledore's got to mix me up some of this! I'm softened and shined, all right. I like this! Puts th' buff in yer leather and th' shine in yer boots. Whoooo!"

"Yeah, I'll bet he loves it," Ron laughed.

"Why do you say that?" asked Harry.

"Can't you tell?"

"Tell what?"

"Harry, you Muggle, the ruddy hat's sozzled!"

"Sozzled?"

"WHOOOOOO!" said the hat. "Another coat, Harry, old boy, before you... shelve that. Jus' ...one more... coat... or two. Gooooood stuff. WHOOOOOOOOO!"

"Oh," said Harry.

"Jus' one more li'l coat, for old time's zake, mate!"

"I don't think so...mate."

"U'll even zing a zortin' zong for you. Name a... name a year. Zing wu'll zing a song. Tell howl jokes. Owl jokes. Wadduz a scottish owl say. Say.. hoot, mon! Heeheehee. Owls.... WHOOOOHOOOOO!"

To make matters worse, the hat had company.

"HOOOOO!" echoed Hedwig, who also seemed happy.... in fact, thrilled that the grain mash in her dinner had aged so well. She, too, was enjoying the 11th century.

"Embarrassing. Really embarrassing," said Harry, taking away their potent goodies.

* * *

"Thoroughly embarrassing."

"...wake me tomorrow morning... very quietly..." said the hat.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," said Harry, "it is tomorrow morning. No days off. Blame me, if you'd like, for overdoing the polish last night. Sorry. And as for you, Hedwig, I'm surprised at you!"

"..ook..." mumbled Hedwig, her head hung low at a strange angle.

Hermione tsk-tsked at their situation, then went to examine the small but astonishing school library.

Out of necessity and a bit of guilt, Harry went to the tanner. Naturally, the tanner had never heard of any leather object suffering from a hangover, and directed him to Salazar, the potions expert, as most likely to have a cure.

When Harry located him in his dungeon quarters, Salazar said he could relieve the hat's problem, if he could just borrow it until mid-day.

Harry went back to consult with Ron, the hat's official guardian; they decided to take a reluctant chance on letting the hat out of their sight, after removing the very uncommon safety pin and telling the hat to reveal nothing. The hat was in no mood to argue, and was delivered to the dungeon.

Hedwig, though, would have to rough it out. While Ron went beyond Hogsmeade to fetch fresh spring water, Harry spent the rest of the morning with Hedwig, preening her gently and feeding her bits of decent modern food from the rations. He could tell Hedwig just wanted some quiet, loving sympathetic company until she recovered.

* * *

By mid-day, things were improving. Ron returned, and Hedwig felt well enough to leave for some exercise and fresh air. Then, a familiar voice returned, in Salazar's hands. "Well! After that, I much prefer being a hat, and letting other people wear the head!"

"Again, I apologise," said Harry. "Who could have predicted that a talking hat could be over-polished? And thank you, Professor, it sounds normal again."

"Very interesting effect!" replied Salazar. "I was curious to converse, but he wasn't very talkative in his... ah, current state. We must remember not to polish the Headmaster's hat! How unusual, isn't it, we should suddenly have two enchanted hats here -- yours and the Headmaster's."

"Odd coincidence, that," said Harry, happy that the hat had returned without disclosing anything. Salazar left shortly after, and Harry restored the safety pin on the brim.

"So," said Ron to the hat, "did you have a nice time drying out? And did Salazar give you the pureblood lecture?"

"He had a lot to say about that. Some of it sounded perfectly logical...."

"Maybe," said Harry,"but it's the part that's not logical that hurts. At least you're out of there."

"It's strange, with all these Godrics..."

"Here we go again. You're still sensing four Godrics, right?"

"No..."

"Hmmm! That's an improvement."

"Not really. Now I sense five."

Harry stopped in his tracks. Five Godrics? Something very odd.... too many Godrics.....

Then it hit him like a bludger. Harry turned very red, and wished he could hide somewhere.

"Oh, no.... now I've done it. Now I've really done it! How stupid of me!"

"It can't get much worse than it did last night, " said Ron, "or can it?"

"It's bad. I think Salazar has taken the opportunity to duplicate our hat!"

"WHAT?"

Harry held his head in misery. "The Godric count just went up to five. That would explain why the fourth one appeared yesterday. Why didn't I see it then?

"Ron, when we arrived, there were three Godrics, remember? Then Salazar had Godric's new talking hat overnight, to tell it what kind of student should be in Slytherin house. I'm guessing he duplicated it then, and suddenly there were four Godrics.

"With that, he has all the time in the world to train that duplicate as a Sorting Hat that favours his house -- like putting all the purebloods in Slytherin, and putting the other First Years in houses that are inappropriate. Then he can swap the identical hats, destroy the real Godric hat, and his hat will be in charge! Over time, any purebloods will be turned into Slytherin nodders, and then ... well, you can imagine the rest.

"Well, today he had our hat for a few hours, and suddenly there are five Godrics. Remember who recommended the leather polish? He did! For all we know, it was a potion he formulated to harm the hat's health, hoping we'd turn to him for help! He wants to know what our hat knows. If his copy has the same memories, and he makes it talk, he'll know all about us... and much more than we'd like him to know about the next thousand years. He could undermine Hogwarts and the whole magic world!"

Ron nodded. "Uh...yeah, that, and... well, maybe this is a bad time to ask, Harry, but -- how do we know this is our real hat? Or could it be the duplicate?"

Harry slumped. He had no answer, and was kicking himself. How could I have been so stupid to put us in this situation!

"Let's get Hermione, straightaway. And don't let me lose this hat!"

Ron and Harry had to drag Hermione away from the extraordinary and ancient magic books in the library, but time was of the essence. Together with Hedwig and the hat, they left the school and sat by the lake to fill her in on the day's events, and sort it out.

She wasn't kind to Harry in his moment of penance. "Ooooh! You two can get into more trouble when my back is turned! A dumb question, Harry: did you ask the hat where Godrics four and five might be?"

Pause. "Oh....no. I didn't."

"Well, shouldn't we?" Looking up to the hat on Harry's head, she asked, "When you were with Salazar, did you see any other hats that were anything like yourself?"

"Now that you mention it," said the hat, "there were two hats, much younger, on the table, and another about my age, rather worn, nearby."

"And was it then you first sensed another Godric -- number five?"

"Actually, yes."

"Okay, Harry, now you can panic. I agree. Between dinner last night and Noon today, Salazar duplicated Godric's new hat, and our old hat, both!"

Harry was so angry. "It's time to wrap this up and get out of here before Salazar does any more!"

He stood up and started striding to the school, with Hermione and Ron racing to catch up to him. "First, we have to let Godric know about the problem, so they never let the proper Sorting Hat out of the headmaster's control again. And, we have to eliminate the duplicate hats. If Salazar tries to stop us, we have one talent he shan't be expecting, that even our hat can't tell him about."

"What's that?"

"Later. Let's go see Godric."

* * *

Harry stopped himself when he realised, in his blind anger, he was storming toward the non-existant doorway to the modern-day Headmaster's office in a yet-unbuilt tower. Wake up, Harry. Get a grip. Keep your head about you. Use your resources. He took a breath and asked the hat where the Headmaster's office was.

The hat directed them into another tower -- one they were familiar with, even if the huge well of staircases was not yet decorated in paintings.

Something else was missing: the multiplicity of landings. Hermione thought she'd solve an old conundrum, which was not addressed in Hogwarts: A History, and asked the hat about the changing stairs.

"Originally," said the hat, "the stairs were charmed to become slides, to confuse trolls who might wander in. Legends say they developed their other talents as a defense against enemy hoards. Just legends, that. As I recall, the stairs merely became fed up in the very rainy Spring of 1315, because students were tracking-in enormous amounts of mud. They've randomly changed ever since, as a protest. The architects had to build the additional landings to compensate for it. Since then, steps have started to vanish occasionally. No telling what's next if you students don't start wiping your shoes."

In the dusty 11th century, it was too late to wipe their shoes. Harry took off the hat, the only courtesy he could think of at the moment, and carried it.

At a familiar spot on a corridor wall, there was a huge frame with an unravelled scroll of illuminated text. From it, a tonsured monk turned and said, "Password?" Drawing on ancient memories, the hat replied, "Griffon gilded."

The panel groaned open in the usual manner, and they entered the Gryffindor common room -- or rather the office, such as it was in the 11th century. The headmaster looked up, astonished by this intrusion, and challenged them.

"Reader?? How did you come past Brother Baldpate, and what brings you here?"

Hermione had it ready, and poured it out breathlessly. "Headmaster, pardon our impudence, but our time here is short. Please accept what we say, no matter how mad it sounds, and we will tell you everything you need to know. Understand that all three of us are students here ourselves -- but from a much later year, sent back through the centuries by our Headmaster through the Witching Walk to correct an ill in your day.

"This hat we carry is one and the same with the hat you have just enchanted. It has carried out your wishes, sir, for almost one thousand years! But dark magic is afoot with the hats. We beg you to listen, and heed -- please, or the school is doomed!"

Godric just stared. Hermione waited uncomfortably, since she had little or nothing to prove her claim. If he threw them out, their mission had failed.

Finally, Godric spoke. "If this is true, tell me: what is our intended task for the Seeing-Hat?"

Hermione smiled. "We call it the Sorting Hat, sir; its task is to separate the First-Year students into Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin houses. Oh, and perhaps you and the other founders have a love of music, because your hat seems to like beginning each year's task with a new song."

Godric was taken aback. He looked at each of his visitors, then at their hat. "We have not described its task in the presence of others. Not even the teachers have been told about it. Yet you know it...."

He took the hat from Harry's hands and turned it in all directions, pausing to wonder at the closed safety pin -- then examined one spot on the brim closely for the longest time, rubbing it between his fingers. He reverently put their hat in Hermione's hands.

Walking to a paneled wall, he took out his wand, touched it to one panel and said "Wisdom!" A compartment door opened.

From it, he took out his newly-enchanted hat. It was light brown, and showing signs of many years of rugged use as an ordinary hat, but nothing as worn as the hat they knew, of course.

He brought it near, and pointed to a semicircular mark on the edge of its brim. Hermione noticed Godric's eyes were welling up.

"This is the mark of my own daughter, as a little child, gnawing on my hat out of boredom on one day of a long wagon trip -- when we left our beloved home in The Hollow, far beyond Hadrian's Wall, to start a new life here. And.." -- he touched the hat in Hermione's hand, again rubbing that one spot -- "the mark also appears here, on your hat!

"To think that whole empires crumble and vanish, unremembered -- but a humble child, hardly old enough to speak, has made a mark enduring for a thousand years!

"My daughter is now your age, the wife of a simple clay-thrower. She will never have the school to teach her the ways. In time, her sons and daughters will come here... and make their mark on the world." He brushed his tears aside. "For their sake, I believe you, and I will help you in any way."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry. "I'm proud to add, your Seeing-Hat chose all three of us as Gryffindors -- and in our time we have successfully defended the school with your hat, and your sword." Then he began to enlist Godric in their plan.

* * *

Late that afternoon, Godric distracted Salazar and the rest of the staff to a prolonged discussion at the construction site of the new building.

Still, the tanner remained annoyingly attentive to the whereabouts of the strangers. He seemed to be everywhere they went.

"It's uncanny," said Ron. "This guy has to be part Filch. He'll never let us get near Salazar's room!"

"No doubt about it," said Harry, "he's Salazar's watchdog."

"In Salazar's case, that would be a pedigree bloodhound."

Harry smirked. "Then it's time for our secret talent." They quickly returned to their quarters, and shut the door.

From then on, the tanner was alert to see if they left that room, but nothing happened. Oh, the wind blew the door open once, but swung it closed again in moments, and in that time no one exited. He paid it no mind, and continued to stand watch by their room.

* * *

"I'm getting pecked every time we move," complained the hat.

"Hush," said Hermione. "We're almost there."

They entered Salazar's locked dungeon room with a whispered Alohomora from Hermione. After closing the door, they took off Harry's invisibility cloak, which had been the padding in Ron's pack.

"All right, fast work, everyone," said Harry. "First, find the duplicate of the new hat."

It only took a minute to locate it on Salazar's chair. Harry opened a window.

"Hedwig, take it to Gryffindor tower as Godric showed you. Mind that Salazar and the tanner don't see you, and get back here, straightaway."

Hedwig was quickly gone with that hat. It would be up to Godric to question the twin seeing-hats and determine which one had been the least brainwashed. Most likely, the fake was the one Salazar had kept.

"Now let's find the twin of our hat. We rip this place apart if we have to."

After a few minutes, Hedwig returned to Harry's shoulder, her mission complete. The search continued.

Ron shoved aside some scrolls on a high shelf, and there in a recess was another old hat, looking every bit like the Sorting Hat. "Here it is, Harry!" he exclaimed.

"Right," said Harry. "Keep it for a minute." He held up the hat he had been carrying under his arm, recalling the password agreement: Popinjay when not alone.

Then he challenged the hat, "Tell me the password to Dumbledore's room."

"Popinjay," said the hat.

"Hermione, you and Ron stay up front here." Harry dashed away from them to the far corner of the room, and asked the password again.

"Sherbet lemon," came the answer. "Harry, don't delay. Let's destroy the duplicate quickly, and get out of here!"

"Oh, I'll destroy the duplicate, all right," said Harry, "but I must check one last thing." Harry returned to the desk, and put his hat down.

He gestured to Ron, who tossed him the other hat off Slytherin's shelf. Harry said nothing to it until he had carried it away to the far corner.

"Quickly, tell me the password to Dumbledore's room."

"Popinjay," answered the hat.

"That settles it. Hedwig, you're on again. I want you to take that hat from the desk -- and dump it a swampy bog, deep in the Dark Forest. Then find us; we'll be on the road out of here."

Hedwig obediently leapt off Harry's shoulder, swooped to snatch up the hat from the desk, and headed for the window. The hat in her talons was shouting, "But --- sherbet lemon! I gave you the proper answer! Sherbet lemon!"

Hermione and Ron had looks of total bafflement, but Harry still waved them off. He turned again to the hat from Salazar's shelf. "Tell me the password again."

"Well, now it's Sherbet lemon. No dunce cap for you, Harry. Knew you'd figure it out."

"Whew! Welcome back."

"And none too soon. That maniac cured my problem right off, duplicated me, then ranted to the copies about purebloods. After that, nothing for me but questions and ..."

"Later," interrupted Harry. "Everyone back under the cloak and let's get out, now!"

* * *

Hedwig spotted them when they finally took off the cloak, a half-mile beyond Hogsmeade, and she swooped to her perch on Harry's shoulder. She briefly rubbed her head against the repinned hat, as though she was greeting a fond old friend.

Hermione ended the Lingus charm, so any prying ears along the road would not understand what they said.

Harry started explaining the passwords, but Ron was quickly lost. "Try that again. Why did you trash the hat that gave the correct answers right off, then keep the one that only got it on the second try?"

"Was it the second try?" said Harry. "Think it out, Ron. Salazar did swap our hats. I was wearing his fake, and the one you found on his shelf was the real one. But I didn't know that.... so why did I do what I did? You tell me."

"I'm still working on that part, oh great one. Let's see... the agreement was, say Lemon-something only when you were alone... right? The hat you had been wearing said that when you were off in the corner.... but apparently it shouldn't have, becaaause...."

"Yes? You're almost there, Ron."

"It would have to be because you weren't really alone. Give me a hint."

"The fake hat got a lot of Salazar's brainwashing before he gave it to us. So...."

"So everything's relative, purebloods are kings of the world, and everybody else is pond scum..... hmmm... oh! I get it!" Ron smiled broadly. "If most people are scum, then don't even ask about birds. You might as well have had a potted plant on your shoulder."

"Bravo, Ron!" said Harry. "Hedwig and the real hat are friends. The hat even devised a new password that was a type of bird. The brainwashed hat's new rating system didn't consider an insignificant beast as an equal to man, and it said Sherbet lemon. Wrong answer!"

Ron finished deducing. "So when the hat from Salazar's shelf said Popinjay, it was saying you two weren't really alone, as long as Hedwig was also there. That's when you knew for sure...and once you sent Hedwig away, then it could finally say Lemon-whatever. Wicked!"

"You devised a clever test!" said Hermione to the hat. "So if it wasn't for Hedwig being here, we would have had no quick way to find out in time. Both hats could have given identical answers, and then where would we be?"

"Now one last little dodgy problem," said Ron. "Salazar might still think we got here through the Witching Walk. What keeps him from flying there, hitting us with an Avada Ka-whammy, and taking our hat?"

"I can't think he would want us anymore," said the hat. "Once he delivered the copy to you, he started questioning me. I amused myself by telling him you are three very minor wizards from Prester John, king of Armenia. He bought it. I described looking for potions among the weeds in Armenia, and our search for magical qualities in the goats of Armenia .... and so on. I had him bored to tears about the low state of magic in Armenia. My duplicate could have told him the truth about us, but that fake couldn't get an edge in wordwise, with Salazar lecturing him non-stop."

"How did the great Sorting Hat become such a creative liar?" teased Hermione.

The hat grinned. "From a thousand years of listening to students, explaining themselves to their headmasters."

"Oh, sure," said Ron. "blame it on us. Speaking of liars -- now that it's going to happen, do you remember Godric questioning you and your twin when you were young? How did he handle it?"

"It's dawning on me. Godric played on my twin's ego, engaging him in a pureblood discussion. It took a while for the fool of a hat to open up, but once he did, he was just brimful about what a great idea it was for improving magichood. Then Godric asked me, and I told him I had never heard such tripe in my life. He put me back in his secret storage, and I never saw the other hat again. By the arrival of the next First Years, I was off and running as the Seeing-Hat. Salazar was in an awful dither for a long while."

Harry was reassuring. "Don't confuse Salazar's powers with Voldemort's. Salazar's in trouble and he knows it. He doesn't have an army of believers yet; his duplicate hats are gone, and the other founders will be on to him now. Oh, we've given him a big setback to his plans.

"We know what he's going to do, and it's bad enough. He'll bide his time, gather a following of students... and under this new classroom wing, he'll construct his Chamber of Secrets. Luckily for him, we couldn't tell Godric about the Chamber, because it would drastically change history."

"Salazar did us one favour," noted Hermione. "His duplication charm made absolutely perfect copies."

"Why was that good?" asked Ron.

"Because the 'thousand-year-old hat' convinced Godric to help us... when, in fact, Salazar had only made it that morning, teeth marks and all."

* * *

It was just their luck, on the way back, to encounter the same cart and the same old man approaching from a side road. He immediately reined his horse, and just sat there while they passed the intersection, his lips trembling. If he had been thinking of going in their direction, he changed his mind.

* * *

As they camped out by a brook at sunset, the hat entertained them with details of his evasive answers to Salazar. Hermione then asked the hat if it had any other songs. As usual, it offered to sing the Sorting song for any year.

"Well," she responded, "I was really thinking about Hedwig's poetry. Have you collaborated on any more?"

"Oh, several are in the works. But another song is done, and you might like that. It's a song about love, set to a tune I had been calling Harry's wondrous world. "

Ron roared. "A song about Harry? Must be a very short song!" Harry, blushing at yet another 'short' joke, tried to muffle Ron into silence with no success; "And a short love song at that! Does it start, 'Harry and a house-elf in a tree, k - i - s - s - i - n - g' ?"

"It's not about Harry, or anyone in particular," responded the hat, relaxed and unperturbed by the wrestling match ensuing behind it. "Like Hedwig's other songs, she likes trying to picture human feelings."

Wizards tumbled, with flailing arms and incessant laughter, but the hat went on calmly. "It's supposed to be the bittersweet song of a young girl whose life truly opens as she first experiences simple love from afar; she sees how it has such extremes of complete joy or crushing sorrow; yet it's in human nature that she will seek love again and again. Hedwig calls her poem Alohomora."

"In that case," said Ron from a headlock, "I vote for the sorting song of....oh, 1234."

"Oh, don't be a prat, Ron," said Hermione. "Let's hear what Hedwig has to say about love. You might learn something."

"Doubt it," said Ron.

Hermione had her way, and the hat softly sang in the last light of dusk:

Ron and Harry listened, and pretended to cringe in pain until it was over; soon, they would have their chance to learn such feelings the hard way. Hermione, however, applauded Hedwig and the hat as she had before.

"Perhaps," said Harry, "we shouldn't give Hedwig all this attention. She's pitifully stuck up as it is. She'll be even harder to live with now! Right, Hedwig?"

"Ook," said Hedwig in disagreement. One can never be stuck up enough, I say! Keep those compliments coming! Well, hat, shame they'll have to give you back to Dumbledore. I'll miss these conversations. It was boring when Harry was wearing that Slytherin snob; he ignored me totally. I made sure I dropped him in the worst slough. A thousand years in muck, rotting away? Served him bloody proper.

The hat agreed. Too right, old girl. I knew you would have picked me out, if all else failed, and rescued me. Honestly, I can't understand how you manage it. You learned English, but your pet Harry has never learned bird-tongue. I'd find that very inconvenient.

Hedwig was amused. Sometimes, the less these three know, the better. Good thing you never told them your old-English anagram of my name, w-e d-i-g-h, as in 'we die'. They might have humaned out on taking this trip!

The hat smirked. Heeheehee. Humaned out. I like that! He was getting to appreciate bird humor. Fawkes tends to be a bit intellectual, but I must try some of your owl jokes on him. Now, how did that one go? 'A witch, a goblin and an owl walk into a bar....'

* * *

Once back in the keystone's shadow at the already-ancient Witching Walk, they chorused "SITTHAN AFYSAN," which is "The future, quickly", and in an instant they were returned. They recovered their brooms and headed home, following Hedwig.

After days of patient shoulder-sitting, Hedwig wasn't in a rush. She enjoyed swooping the long, evasive route that wizards and brooms must travel. If anything, she put them through some quite unnecessary manoeuvres.

* * *

Hogwarts never looked better. Suddenly, the tired old castle with its cold stone floors and torch-lit walls seemed very modern -- by virtue of such simple things as lawns, indoor plumbing, heating, clean beds, a laundry... and hearty meals for the ravenously hungry. They tucked in to it all.

They hadn't missed a thing, since the gate had been told to return them on the day after they had left. Ron went to the gamekeeper's hut to pick up Scabbers, then spent quite a while chatting. Hagrid was surprised to hear his hut was at least a thousand years old, and rocked with laughter to hear Ron's stories that ensued from the leathery find in the bog -- about the hog farmer, the night Harry polished the hat, how they evaded the tanner, the Armenia story, and the complete mess they made of Salazar's room.

In a spare evening, Hermione gathered all the notes she had written on owl-post paper, and recorded all her other memories of the old books -- which fortunately had been in a decipherable Latin and French, not Celtic. Madam Pince was avidly waiting to transcribe the lot onto parchment.

Their curiosity also led Hermione, Pince and Harry to search in the Gryffindor common room, behind a large 15th century tapestry. There, 990 years after she and Harry last saw it, Hermione pointed out a particular panel. No Lingus charm was needed; the Anglo-Saxon word had survived into modern English unchanged. "Wisdom," she said, touching her wand to the panel. A door to the past opened.

In the recess was a long and most enlightening manuscript on the beginnings of the school, including Godric's personal thanks to "three wyse yong Magi allegiant the Crest of Gryfon d'or". An illumination showed the three in their medieval robes: a dark-haired boy bearing a tall hat and a white owl, and holding a broom; another with red hair, raising Godric's sword with both hands; and in the middle, a bushy-haired girl with a book under one arm, her free hand using a wand to turn an hourglass in midair above them. Hermione was so thrilled to see herself and the boys portrayed in 11th century art!

Pince was discoursing on how the titles, locales and nicknames of the day became fixed as family names over the next century or two -- names such as Reader, Tanner, Burrow, Jameson and Gryffindor. That reminded Harry of a puzzling detail from their journey, and he asked Pince about it. Godric had said his teenaged daughter was married to a clay-thrower; what did that refer to?

"Good Lord!" she answered. "You of all people should know what that is. He throws wet clay on a treadle-powered spinning platform, and works it into shape with his hands, for firing in an oven.

"Why, he's a potter, of course!"

That night, Harry would fall asleep speculating on his family tree.

* * *

It was soon after that the young Gryffindors would became involved in the aftermath of the Goblet of Fire; that story has been told.

They would also face the most chilling, terrifying, heart-stoppingly difficult challenge of their young wizard lives: dating. But that peculiar tale is also written.

* * *

For Hedwig, it was wonderful being back with the old gang in the owlery; they were most attentive to the tale of her part in this amazing adventure, and squawked no end with amusement about the bog.

It was great fun when Fawkes stopped by the owlery one day, at the hat's urging, for a get-acquainted chat that was long overdue. The owls found him very down-to-earth, witty and wise. The youngest girl owls were annoyingly attentive to the flamboyant phoenix, and tried to monopolise him the whole time. Hedwig sighed, and blamed herself; she never should have recited Alohomora to impressionable young owlets.

* * *

And what of the flying fedora of first-year fate?

"A tip of the hat to you, Potter," said the now-familiar voice, restored to its warm, dry, roomy shelf in the office.

Harry interrupted his report to Dumbledore to smile up at the hat. "Oh, we're not on a first-name basis anymore, now we're back on the job?"

"Must maintain protocols, y'know," replied the hat. "Nice of you to look in on me. Here I am again, making lifetime decisions for First Years in a split second! And what's happened to my wreck of a bogged-down Slytherin twin?"

"That muddy blob of leather? Professor Flitwick has seen to it. He removed the charm today, then burned the remains. After a thousand years, you're alone in the world again... like me."

"You're still young, Potter. You shan't always be 'alone', as you keep claiming you are. Perhaps, Granger might be the one! Seems the nice girl, and quite resourceful. Why, an anagram of her first name is 'Hero, Mine!' -- suggesting she will have a heroic mate. 'Try trap, hero' ? You've seen worse traps!"

Dumbledore leaned back, very amused, watching Harry turn red.

"Or," continued the hat, "perhaps the Weasley girl you and I rescued -- though she has both Yin and Yang in her name, which could complicate your..."

Harry finally jumped in. "Excuse me; but please, no more anagrams! They're most interesting, but I really don't place any faith in them. And again, I'm not a hero."

"True, you did sidestep any major traps on our little adventure -- you'll not mention the leather polish to anyone, that's a good lad. Nevertheless, you made heroic choices; why, just to go on that journey was heroic!"

"Ron also went. Maybe he's Hermione's hero. To me, anagrams are no more a science than Divination."

"Well, it keeps me amused, Potter, when I'm not busy bailing you out of traps. That, and sorting.... and owl jokes..... and songs, of course!

Why, who would defeat the evil

By casting a charm or spell?

Just boys who exceed at wizardry,

And girls who do witching well!