After dinner, as students lingered in the Great Hall, finishing desserts and gossiping about the latest rumors—
A barn owl swooped down and dropped a small sealed note directly onto Alexander's plate.
He opened it.
Mr. Chen,
Please come to my office this evening.
— Albus Dumbledore
Alexander folded the note calmly.
"…Well," he muttered. "Showtime."
The spiral staircase leading to the Headmaster's office was quiet at night.
Torchlight flickered along the stone walls as Alexander approached the large stone gargoyle guarding the entrance.
He stopped in front of it.
Smiled.
"Professor Dumbledore is waiting for me. Please open up, my great friend."
The gargoyle didn't even look at him.
It simply rotated aside with a rumbling grind of stone.
Alexander raised a brow.
"…See? Respect goes a long way."
He stepped onto the moving staircase as it carried him upward.
The office door opened.
There he was.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, hands folded, half-moon glasses resting on his nose, eyes twinkling like he'd been expecting entertainment.
Alexander stepped in slowly, looking around.
The circular office was filled with shelves of books, strange instruments, and softly whirring silver devices.
Portraits of previous Headmasters lined the walls—
All pretending to be asleep.
Alexander narrowed his eyes slightly.
Great Acting.
He knew they could move and talk whenever they wanted—basically ghost paintings.
Messy desk.
Stacks of parchment.
Piles of books.
And then—
In the corner.
Trying very hard to look inconspicuous.
The Sorting Hat.
Alexander's eye twitched slightly.
He only glanced at it before walking forward.
"Hello, Mr. Chen," Dumbledore greeted warmly. "How is Hogwarts treating you?"
Alexander shrugged.
"Alright. But I think Ilvermorny would've fit me a lot better."
Dumbledore chuckled softly.
"Hogwarts is far more wonderful than Ilvermorny—if one chooses to enjoy it."
Alexander rolled his eyes.
"Yes, yes. That's what my parents keep telling me."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"So, Professor… are we here to talk about removing Professor Snape as a teacher?"
Dumbledore laughed again—genuinely amused.
"Yes… But we will not be removing Severus as a professor. He has been a fine educator. Perhaps a little… intense—but a brilliant Potions Master nonetheless."
Alexander clicked his tongue.
Dumbledore's tone softened slightly.
"However… I would ask that you refrain from making accusations about him being racist. Such claims damage not only his reputation, but the school's as well."
He adjusted his glasses.
"Even now, rumors spread. Questions are being asked about how we educate our young witches and wizards."
Alexander crossed his arms.
"As long as Professor Snape stops being racist, I won't say another word."
Dumbledore studied him for a long second—
Then simply nodded.
"I will… speak with Severus."
Silence lingered.
"Well then," Dumbledore said lightly. "Any other questions, Mr. Chen?"
Alexander shook his head.
"Nope."
"Very good. You may head to bed now."
Alexander turned.
Walked away from the desk.
But instead of heading toward the door—
He walked toward the corner.
Toward the Sorting Hat.
Dumbledore watched silently, curious.
Alexander picked the hat up.
Held it in both hands.
Then looked back.
"Professor… can I keep this hat for the weekend?"
Dumbledore blinked once.
"…No."
Alexander didn't put it down.
Instead—
He moved fast.
Wand out.
"Lumos—Maxima!"
A blinding flash of light exploded in the office.
Dumbledore lifted a sleeve slightly to shield his eyes—
More surprised than harmed.
By the time the light faded—
Alexander was already sprinting for the door.
Sorting Hat in hand.
Out in the stairwell—
Alexander ran full speed, laughing.
"Racist hat! How dare you put me in Ravenclaw!"
He shook it slightly.
"Tonight—you're mine! Ahahaha!"
The Sorting Hat, which had been silent until now—
Suddenly screamed.
"HELP! DUMBLEDORE! THIS CHILD IS INSANE! HELP—!"
Alexander's eye twitched.
"Too loud."
He flicked his wand mid-run.
"Silencio."
The hat's voice cut off instantly.
Its mouth still moved—
But no sound came out.
Alexander grinned wickedly as he bolted down the corridors.
Clutching the muffled, flailing hat like stolen treasure.
"Oh yeah," he whispered. "We're gonna have a long talk tonight."
And somewhere far above—
In his office—
Albus Dumbledore lowered his sleeve, eyes twinkling brighter than ever.
"…Well," he murmured.
"That will be an interesting show."