Change of Heart

The Sorting Revisited

The approach of Monday, the 16th, seemed to accelerate unexpectedly. Even as I buried myself in the solace of the library, the looming prospect of the meeting with Dumbledore and my father persistently haunted my every thought.

On the morning of, I gingerly extricated myself from the confines of my bed, each movement a deliberate, almost ceremonial act. The careful attention I devoted to each facet of my uniform bordered on obsessive. I meticulously groomed my attire, meticulously ensuring that every detail aligned with perfection. The previous night had been dedicated to the laborious task of polishing my shoes, an endeavour that rendered them luminous and faultless. Adjusting my shirt collars to an impeccable sharpness was a meticulous endeavour, and I methodically scrutinized my robe, painstakingly expunging any vestige of stray debris that might have dared to linger. Every fold, every seam was scrutinized to uphold an immaculate presentation.

With the final knot firmly secured on my shoe, I dashed down the spiraling staircase that wound its way to the portrait hole. Time was a scarce commodity, a mere fifteen minutes left on my clock. But in my father's meticulous world, punctuality was merely the starting point. My watch became a trusted companion, a constant check on my progress as I endlessly examined my uniform and scrutinized my shoes, hunting for the most minuscule blemish. All the while, my heart galloped, propelled by the unyielding chase to reach the entrance to the Headmaster's Tower before the clock struck the crucial ten minutes to seven.

At the corridor's end stood an imposing, weathered granite gargoyle, its stoic wings embracing the circular space that ushered entry to the tower. Just a minute remained before my father's anticipated arrival, a narrow window to scale the spiral stairs. Similar to the Gryffindor Tower's approach, I intoned the secret password to the ancient stone guardian, watching as it leisurely pivoted counter clockwise, seamlessly revealing the staircase hidden behind it.

As the telltale sheen of moisture gathered on my palms and a faint tremor took hold of my legs, I cautiously crossed the threshold into the office. Before me stretched a circular chamber, a sanctuary of knowledge overflowing with towering bookshelves and a myriad of intriguing artifacts adorning each available space. The cobblestone walls played host to a gallery of esteemed former headmasters and mistresses, their portraits observing my arrival—some with keen interest, others lost in their own spirited discussions. Nestled between two expansive windows, a grand fireplace emanated a comforting warmth, casting a cosy ambiance across the room.

 Scattered about were numerous alchemy tables laden with brewing materials, where cauldrons simmered with potions in the making. Adjacent to a grand desk, a stately bird stand cradled a majestic phoenix, serenely dozing as the stand gently swayed.

Emerged from the second floor, a soft voice called to me. "Hello, my dear. Your father is not here yet."

"Yes, sorry, sir. I like to be early for things," I answered, trying to step away from any objects within his room.

His subtle chuckle directed my attention to a tall, slender figure emerging from a shadowy stack of books near the staircase. Dumbledore commanded the space with an air of wisdom. His silvery locks cascaded perilously close to the floor, framing a regal countenance marked by time—a slightly crooked nose, bearing two distinctive bumps hinting at past tales. His dexterous fingers moved with elegance, punctuating the air. Half-moon spectacles rested precariously at the bridge of his nose, revealing eyes of unearthly brilliance, their piercing azure depths seemingly reaching into one's soul. Adorned in vibrant purplish robes, each hue in harmonious dance, his attire was a captivating kaleidoscope of colour.

Due to being distracted by Headmaster Dumbledore's presence, I had not realised my father had entered until I felt a firm grip on my shoulder, pulling me backwards slightly. "Dumbledore! How fabulous it is to see you again," my father exclaimed while realising my shoulder to give him a handshake. They both exchanged their courtesies, Dumbledore offering him to sit down in an empty chair, which my father gladly takes.

"So what seems to be the problem, Mr Warwick. Is it Miss Warwick being placed into Gryffindor?" Dumbledore calmly asked, leaning back into his own large chair which resembled a thrown.

"Well, I see you get straight down to business as usual Albus. Yes, it is. She belongs in Slytherin, which you must know already. I am asking kindly to place her in the House she belongs," my father demanded, already replacing his charming smirk with a scowl.

"Now, Aldridge. You know that the hat decides. He is never wrong," Dumbledore replied, not feigned by my father's attempt at intimidation. "You were once a student here."

"Well, everything has a fault, even the old sorting hat," my father replied, clenching his jaw slightly. "What would it take to place her in the house she belongs?"

"Well, let's sit her on the stool right there," Dumbledore removed the pile of papers from the stool with his wand and nodded towards the seat for me to sit. I got up, clenching my fists as my hand continued to get more sweaty and sat on the stool. I felt that same feeling I had on the first day, that gut-sinking feeling. I was about to vomit despite not having eaten anything. "And I'll go place the hat on her head. If it reconsiders her place in Gryffindor, she'll move. Is that not fair? But, I must warn you: the hat is never wrong."

I closed my eyes as the old, raggedy hat came into contact with my head. I felt it infiltrate my thoughts and memories, syphering them all to figure out the person I was and the person I will become.

"Long time no see, you Warwick," the hat greeted with its signature cocky tone which infuriated me to no end. I didn't reply to its greetings, which I could hear it tut.

"Why have I been placed on your head again, hm?" he asked.

"Well, we are reviewing whether if she belongs in Gryffindor," Dumbledore answered, smiling as usual.

"Who's questioned whether I am wrong? I am never wrong!" the hat exclaimed, getting rightfully annoyed at the strong accusation towards its character.  "She was rightfully placed in Gryffindor. She will not only benefit from the House now but will be given the future opportunities to become a fine young wizard that she is meant to be. She belongs in Gryffindor!" the hat bellowed once again, going docile after the series of sudden outbursts. I began to shake under the hat, feeling my father's glare at me. I had not ventured to look up at him in terror he'd start screaming with blind rage. Knowing him and his temper, his eyes were probably filled with a raging fire.

"So, Aldridge, that's settled. She is to remain in Gryffindor for the foreseeable future of her Hogwarts career. Is that all you had wished to discuss with me?" Dumbledore inquired, interrupting the death glare I was receiving. My father stood in a tall, defensive manner, an indignant look in his eye and had not moved for what felt like hours but in reality, was just a mere second.

"Yes, that will be all, Albus. Thank you for your assistance in this fiasco. Olympia, run along to class now!" he demanded, pointing towards the door. I did not move an inch from the stool, looking towards Dumbledore to tell me what I can do. He gave a small nod, with a comforting smirk and I leapt from the seat, almost running out of the room, and headed to classes.

I Instead, I stationed myself outside, waiting for my father's arrival. "Yes, Olympia?" My father's voice echoed as he descended the stairs. "I thought I made it clear you should return to your class."

"Of course, Father, I know you did. I just wanted to apologize for not informing you or Mother sooner," I admitted, my voice laced with uncertainty.

My father's eyes bore into mine as he replied, his tone measured, "I can appreciate your hesitation, my dear. Embarrassment can be quite challenging to endure. But, you see, this situation might just be the key to our advantage." His gaze drifted past me, fixating on the stained window overlooking the Black Lake. "I need you to embrace the red and gold, darling. Only then can you be truly redeemed." His words carried a sinister undercurrent, hinting at an insidious plan waiting in the shadows.