The Black Lake rippled quietly behind him.
The crowd stood frozen.
Professors. Prefects. Filch. Mrs. Norris.
And at the center of it all—
Alexander.
Calm.
Composed.
Hands behind his back as he'd just finished an evening walk.
He looked around casually and nodded.
"Oh yes," he said, voice relaxed, "what a great night to take a stroll around the lake."
No one spoke.
"So," he continued, turning toward the castle, "I guess it's time for me to head to bed."
He gave a polite wave.
"Good night, everyone."
Then he ran.
He made it three steps.
"Stupefy."
A red flash struck him square in the back.
Alexander froze mid-stride—
Then collapsed face-first into the grass.
Before he even hit the ground—
"Levicorpus."
His body jerked upward, hoisted into the air by one ankle, robes hanging upside down.
Professor McGonagall lowered her wand slowly, face carved from pure stone.
"Everyone is dismissed," she said sharply.
Students scattered instantly.
She turned slightly.
"Filch. Fetch the Sorting Hat."
Filch, with an annoyed look on his face, just nodded and dove into the lake.
Dumbledore stepped forward, studying the floating, stunned boy.
Then, with a small motion of his wand—
"Mobilicorpus."
Alexander's stunned body drifted beside him like a puppet.
They began walking back toward the castle.
Moonlight followed them up the stone steps.
After a moment, Dumbledore spoke gently.
"Mr. Chen… that was very brave of you."
No response.
"I do hope," he added lightly, "it was worth it."
Alexander, still stunned, could not speak.
Dumbledore blinked.
"Oh dear. I forgot."
He raised his wand.
"Finite Incantatem."
The spells broke instantly.
Alexander dropped.
Face-first.
He groaned, pushing himself up while rubbing his cheek.
"…Worth it," he muttered hoarsely.
Dumbledore chuckled.
They resumed walking.
"But it is not over," Alexander added, still rubbing his face. "Professor, I hope you keep that hat locked away and safe."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
Inside the office, Alexander looked around again—the portraits, the shelves, the silver instruments humming quietly.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk.
"Well then," he said, folding his hands. "Let us discuss your punishment."
Alexander stood calmly.
"First," Dumbledore said, "I will be writing a letter to your parents."
Alexander nodded.
"Second—another month of detention."
Still calm.
"And third…" Dumbledore adjusted his glasses slightly, "I believe Minerva's current detention methods are… ineffective."
Alexander blinked.
"You will instead join Mr. Filch for evening detentions."
Dumbedore then pause said.
"Given your… abundance of free time, only Sundays will remain free for you. Friday and Saturday evenings will also be spent in detention."
Silence.
Then Alexander nodded thoughtfully.
"That sounds reasonable."
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
"But," Alexander added, "I still think we should change the sorting system. That racist hat lies too much."
Dumbledore pressed his lips together to hide a laugh.
"Go to bed, Mr. Chen. You have a long weekend ahead of you."
Alexander turned to leave.
Halfway to the door, he stopped.
Looked back.
"Hey, Professor?"
"Yes, Mr. Chen?"
"If you ever need someone to help wash that racist hat again… let me know."
Dumbledore raised a brow.
"I feel after today—it looks a lot better."
"Goodnight."
He left.
Dumbledore finally laughed out loud.
The moment Alexander left his office—
CRACK.
Dumbledore Apparated away.
Later that night…
Filch and McGonagall stood by the Black Lake shoreline.
After considerable effort—and several complaints from the squid—they retrieved the battered Sorting Hat.
It was soaked.
Singed.
Wrinkled.
And furious.
"That child is a devil!" the hat shrieked. "He deserves expulsion! Look at me—I look hideous!"
Filch said nothing, clutching it like evidence.
They returned to the office where Dumbledore awaited.
After hearing the punishment, Filch's eyes lit up with unsettling joy.
"Leave him to me, Headmaster…"
McGonagall only nodded in agreement—though her expression held equal parts disapproval… and reluctant amusement.
They left shortly after.
The office fell quiet.
Then—
The portraits began talking.
Former Headmasters leaned from their frames.
"Outrageous!"
"The boy assaulted school property!"
"He should be expelled!"
Others disagreed.
"Well… the hat is rather mouthy."
"Four Founders or not—it has sorted some questionable Slytherins…"
"He did show initiative…"
The argument grew louder.
Dumbledore remained seated, hands folded, listening.
Finally, he spoke.
"We will not expel him."
The portraits quieted.
"He is still a child," Dumbledore said gently. "One who has not yet accepted his place at Hogwarts."
Murmurs followed.
Dumbledore's eyes drifted toward the desk where the Sorting Hat now rested—bandaged, cleaned, and muttering to itself.
Then he smiled faintly.
"…This year," he said softly, "is going to be very entertaining."
The instruments hummed.
The portraits resumed whispering.
And somewhere in Ravenclaw Tower—
Alexander Chen slept peacefully.
Completely satisfied with his night's work.