Chapter 3 – Gifts and Applications

"Well, I don't know that it will work with everything." Harry said, even as he smiled at the Hat's enthusiasm. "The tickling charm is also quite low-powered."

The hat seemed to be speechless, for once, which basically meant he was a normal hat for a bit.

'Oh, ha-ha.' the hat replied to the unvoiced thought. 'But, seriously, Harry, this is fantastic! You can cast that one spell, faster than anyone else could even try, and repeatedly! If you could do that with a stunner…' the hat went silent as a thought popped up in Harry's head. 'Yes, you could machine-gun cast spells.' it said, in awe. Frankly, if Harry had Dumbledore's stores of power, he could do a lot of damage with such a skill.

"Or chain a few and make combinations." Harry allowed. Still, he was more realistic than that. "Well, let's get another spell in there, before we celebrate, yeah?"

'Of course.' the hat said, seemingly calmer, now. 'Levitation, next?' the hat asked.

"Makes sense." Harry agreed. Conjunctivitis could follow that. It didn't kill, and could disable an opponent, quickly.

'Indeed.' the hat said. 'I like the fact that you're not considering lethal attacks at this point.' it joked. They both knew Harry didn't know any of those. They both also knew that that was a lie. Harry had already discovered that a levitation charm could, in fact, cause massive damage, when used in a certain way. Or, perhaps, if used correctly, it could also be used to knock out. 'Still, better not to experiment with physically rattling an opponent's brain, don't you think?' the hat asked, having followed the thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah." Harry said, not needing to be warned again. Still, an instant levitation charm would be useful.

They ran into another issue, there. Lifting a feather was one thing, but lifting something bigger, required more power. His spell-system, didn't take into consideration the power-requirements, only casting with the amount of power specified in the original imagining.

'Try a volume-control interface?' the hat suggested.

Harry considered that. "So, I can then turn it up, from, what, 'one' to something like 'ten'?"

'Why not?' the hat asked. 'Just make sure to-'

"Don't start telling me how to use my brain, please?" Harry requested, interrupting the hat. He realised the hat was just trying to be useful, and excited, but still, he'd switch the hat's connection off and block his connection to his eyes, if the hat kept on almost spoiling his fun.

The hat seemed to sulk, as he'd followed that thought easily enough.

Harry snorted, in amusement, before he focussed on the idea. A volume control wasn't a bad idea. Instead of volume of sound, however, it would indicate the amount of magic, the volume of power. That was rather logical. Considering magic like a substance, he looked at the volume control that he'd just made, and assigned normal power, enough to lift a feather, along with a mental image of a feather, to one. Then, he considered one of the beds in the room. He pointed his wand and cast the spell at the bed. At first it didn't work, and he turned the volume control, which was, for now connected to the amount of magic he was actually using with his wand, to two. The bed rattled for a moment, before settling. Harry sighed. The bed wasn't light, and it was taking a bit of power. Turning it to three, he finally saw the bed lift. He dropped the spell, quickly, and sighed as he breathed heavier, for a moment.

'So, three, for the bed, and likely also the limit of your magical throughput, at this point.' the hat said. He'd talked quietly, and he wasn't insulting Harry. The bed was already an achievement, at Harry's level of experience and power.

"Seems like it." Harry allowed. "To be fair, these beds weigh an actual ton." Harry guessed.

'That's likely an accurate estimate.' the hat agreed.

"Still, it could be useful, and this volume control idea was a good one." Harry said.

'Well, I try to be helpful.' the hat said. 'I wasn't trying to spoil your fun.'

"I know." Harry said. "And I don't blame you. I was having fun, too. Sorry if I reacted a little quickly, there."

'No need to apologise.' the hat said. 'We were both excited, and you are right to want to discover things on your own.'

"Now I just need to figure out how to cast wandlessly, and I'd be set." Harry said.

'That might take you a while yet.' the hat said, apologetically. 'Magic takes a while to get to know the wizard. Only the truly remarkable and experienced casters can even try.'

"Says a hat." Harry scoffed. "Children do accidental magic all the time. It's undirected, but it does respond to the desires of the wizard or witch. For that reason, I call your hypothesis bunk, and refuse to be limited by your assumptions."

That shut the hat up, again, for a whole two seconds. 'You're way too smart to be eleven.' the hat finally said, realising that he was, in fact, carrying pre-established beliefs into their relationship, even considering what Harry had already achieved. 'I apologise for stating my opinions and likely misconceptions as fact.'

"It wasn't malicious, so I forgive you." Harry said, even as he closed his eyes, and started creating his next recording of a spell.

Since it was holiday, and because Harry wanted to be as capable as possible, he'd done the work, and by the time Christmas morning happened, he'd actually been able to incorporate the entire years' worth of spells, including transfiguration. Transfiguration had been a bit trickier, but Harry had relished in the challenge, and had eventually succeeded in incorporating a targeting feature.

He needed to know the shape he was changing, after all. The image of what he wanted to change something to, using the spell-system, needed to be displayed alongside what he was changing, and he'd quickly added a selection feature, for when he used those spells. Before the spell would activate, it would target the spell-target, then it would offer him from a selection of images he'd pre-prepared.

He could also imagine a new one, but he needed to have a clear picture of that, as well. Fortunately, McGonagall tended to make an example first, which would make it simpler, because Harry could just copy an image of before, and then after. His visualization skills, therefore, were beyond the norm, since he could actually see what he was turning something into, at the same time, and his magic, could focus on it, even if he wasn't looking, after he'd set a target. He'd tried it multiple times, too, closing his eyes and specifically thinking of something else, after the process was set and ready to go.

He woke up with a smile, that Christmas morning. He'd finally succeeded in turning his delusion, into an actual unique attribute, and then, he'd turned it into a massive asset.

'Good morning, Harry.' the Hat's voice said to him.

"How long have you been waiting for me?" Harry asked, as he flicked the image, activating the connection.

'I haven't.' the hat said. 'Using your examples, and the limited capacity of my mind, I simply set a sound in my head, which lets me know when you wake up. It's not completely automatic, like you use, but I can read a book, and keep a small part of my concentration on the feeling of your conscious mind becoming aware. I still can't read you without your side of the connection, but I can just sort of tell.'

"Great, now you're just waiting to talk to me in the morning." Harry said, sarcastically. "I'm sure everyone loves the idea of someone keeping tabs on them like that."

'Oh, stop being a child.' the hat said. 'Or would you like me to remind you that you're basically the only intelligent conversation I have these days.'

"I am?" Harry asked.

'Well, not really, but the geezers up here, in the headmaster's office, don't really tell me anything I don't know, already, and the headmaster himself is quite boring to watch, as he does his paperwork.' the hat said.

"Fair enough." Harry said. He wouldn't begrudge the hat a friend, or a way to keep his boredom at bay. He hated boredom, himself.

'Thank you, Harry.' the hat said. 'I would be honoured to consider you a friend, and I hope you consider me one, as well.'

"Too much sentimentality, for this early in the morning." Harry groaned.

The hat chuckled. 'Well, something tells me that you want to get up, anyway. I have a suspicion that you likely have some gifts.'

"Who'd give me any gifts?" Harry asked, actually shocked at the idea.

'Well, I do know you have at least one.' the hat said, as he watched through Harry's eyes, as he sat up, and spotted a few wrapped gifts on his trunk. 'See?' the hat said, smugly.

"But I didn't get anyone anything?" Harry asked, frowning.

'A true gift is never given in expectation of one, in return.' the hat said, wisely.

"But I'll feel guilty." Harry said, anyway, as he walked to the packages. The hat left him in peace, as he slowly opened his gifts. The Weasley mother, Molly, had sent him a festive hand-made woollen jersey, with an H on the front, along with a box of fudge. He wondered why she did that.

'Best be careful of edible gifts from unknown sources.' the hat said. 'I doubt you have to worry about these, but it's good advice for the future. I've heard that it is a very useful way to deliver things like potions, to unsuspecting victims.'

"Noted." Harry said, nodding and filing away the thought that he needed to find a spell to check for potions.

Next, a rectangular parcel, form Hermione. It was a book, which wasn't a surprise. 'Psychology of friendship.' "Why do you think she gave me this?" Harry asked.

'Likely because you described yourself as a bit of a loner, and she probably sees some of that in herself.' the hat said. 'To be fair, you are probably also her best friend, considering the whole… saving her life, incident.' he finished slightly sarcastically.

"I didn't do it, for that." Harry said.

'A gift given, with nothing expected in return, then, don't you think?' the hat asked.

Harry considered that, and realised it was likely true, too. "I suppose." It was a thoughtful gift, and he was interested in the mind. This book sounded like one that he could enjoy.

'Mind adding that to the collection?' the Hat asked.

Harry shrugged. "Sure."

The last item was a soft parcel. Opening it up, revealed a piece of silvery cloth. "What's this?" Harry asked, as he felt the soft material.

The hat was silent, for a moment. 'It's a cloak, of a kind.' he said. He sounded strange, to Harry.

"What's wrong, Gryff?" he asked.

'It's nothing.' the hat said. 'But, I suggest you stop speaking aloud.'

Harry frowned at that. 'Okay.' he said, in his head. 'You think someone is listening?'

'I can't tell you.' the hat said, still sounding stiff. 'Put on the cloak, look in a mirror, and use that brain of yours.' it hinted.

Sighing, at the fact that the normally jovial hat was suddenly quite tight-lipped, Harry pulled out the fabric and inspected it. It wasn't difficult to find the hood, and then the inside. Harry pulled the cloak over his shoulders and pulled up the hood. Then he walked to a mirror. Nothing. "Wait." he said, aloud.

'In your head.' the hat said.

'It's an invisibility cloak?!' Harry exclaimed in his head, as he pulled off the hood, and saw only his head. No answer. Harry quickly went back to the package.

-Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.-

'No name.' Harry said. No answer. 'The script is neat, and I can't think it was from one of my friends. Someone in the magical world, obviously. Older, too, because they knew my father. There's no postage, but the others didn't have that, either. That doesn't matter, though, because the fact that you can't tell me tells me all I need to know. Dumbledore, right?'

Still there was no answer, which basically confirmed it for Harry. 'Why not speak aloud, though?' he pondered. 'Could it be… some sort of monitoring. The headmaster gave me this, but won't allow me to do as I please, would he? That would be irresponsible. So… tracking is obvious, but also, possibly, he can hear what is said, around it?'

No answer.

Harry considered it. 'How about, hypothetically, can magic allow people to listen to distant locations?'

'Oh, it's entirely possible.' the hat said, internally smiling. The lad was a wonder.

'I know tracking magic exists.' Harry continued. 'So… hypothetically, do you think, if anyone was listening, that is, that they heard me speaking to you?'

'It would likely be muffled, through the packaging.' the hat said. 'But it is likely that someone heard you talking, and that you know it's an invisibility cloak.'

'One that apparently belonged to my father.' Harry said, frowning. 'Wait, why didn't he have this, if he knew Voldemort was after him? Why would the headmaster have it?'

Nothing.

'Hypothetically?' Harry offered.

'Well, hypothetically, if that is the case, one would assume that the cloak would be useful to someone that was often in the forefront of fighting the dark lord.' the hat said. That one wasn't the truth, but he needed to play the game. 'It is also possible, that the person who had it, not that we know for certain who that is, considering this is all hypothetical, wanted the true owner not to be able to use it, when it would be most useful. Hypothetically, of course.'

Harry frowned at that. The hat was playing, they both knew it. He was doing his best to give Harry a clue, but he couldn't outright say it. He couldn't break his own rules of existence, so he literally couldn't tell Harry. What he'd just done, was not tell him anything. He had two entirely possible, and probable causes. One just stank to high heaven, and Harry's instincts told him that the prior option was likely the true reason, while the former was probably the one that was given, at the time.

'I'll not confirm anything.' the hat said, as he finished his thoughts. God bless this kid! He'd figured it out in one go!

'So, Dumbledore is dark?' Harry asked.

'No. He is most definitely on the side of the light.' the hat said.

'But, he's not clean.' Harry stated. No response. Sometimes, he knew, one needed to do bad things, for good reasons. Keeping his new spell-system a secret, might be considered keeping a secret from his friends, but it wasn't bad, in and of itself. He was allowed to have secrets, just like anyone. He didn't go into details about his abuses at the hands of the Dursleys, and that could be considered bad, because they got away with bad things. He just couldn't get to the point where he did that. He didn't have a home, only a cupboard. A cupboard that he feared he might miss.

'If I had a body, I swear I would wring the necks of all your relatives, myself!' the hat exploded. 'By God, I would kill them all and go to hell with a smile on my face!'

'Fortunately, you can't tell anyone.' Harry said, his mood levelling out. He'd need to consider things a bit further.

'But you don't have to do it now.' the hat reminded him. 'It's Christmas. Get down to breakfast and enjoy the food. Then, do something physical, for once, it's not healthy to be stuck in your dorm all that time. Take the nimbus out for a flight.' The hat knew that Harry enjoyed flying. He even had an inkling of an idea, about achieving personal flight. He couldn't wait for the boy to achieve all his dreams, and by Merlin, he'd ensure the kid got to do that.

That was a good idea, Harry decided. He kept his connection with the hat, though. Something told him the hat would likely also enjoy the festivities. And apparently, he did. The hat recounted Christmas stories from throughout the ages, telling Harry about some of the things the Founders had done to spread the yuletide joy. Frankly, when magic was involved, Christmas did sound like it could be a magical time.

Harry remembered some of the gifts he'd received over the years. A button, a slice of toast. A sock. When he was a young boy, he was still quite grateful. Now, however, those memories simply soured the experience for Harry. There was very little chance that Christmas would ever be magical for him again. He spent what time was polite, engaging in conversation with a few of the students that stayed at the castle, over the holiday, and then he decided to take the hat's advice, and went for a fly.

In Dumbledore's office, the Sorting Hat had started seething, as he saw those memories with Harry, and did something it hadn't ever done. It screamed, a guttural war-cry that made the headmaster's paintings jump in shocked fear, before they quickly retreated to the far side of the office.

"When I find a way, I'll have those filthy muggles drawn and quartered!" it exclaimed. It had watched in Harry's mind, as a sweet little boy thanked his aunt and uncle for what even the hat realised was meant to break his spirit. A small boy that didn't remember the love of a parent. A small boy, who was still so broken. A little boy, who now had friends.

"Call the headmaster!" the hat exclaimed, then. "I will have words with him."

A single suit of armour, usually thought of as a curiosity, since it had been with the castle, almost since its founding, but was too small to be worn by any human being, twitched, before its eyes flashed.

"What is going on!?" Dumbledore said, urgently, as he walked into the office.

"Take a seat." the sorting Hat said, in a baritone voice that the headmaster had never known.

"What?" Dumbledore asked.

-In the sky above the quidditch pitch-

'Harry, I need your permission to do something.' the hat asked.

'What do you need?' Harry asked.

'I can't tell you, but I ask that you trust me. I swear, I'm just trying to do something to help you.' the Hat promised.

Harry did a few loops, as he considered it. He did trust the hat, but he still needed some sort of assurance. He knew what had been going through his head, and he knew the hat had been connected at the time. 'Don't break my trust.' was all he said, giving his permission, and his trust, with a mental nod, before he closed the connection.

-Back in Dumbledore's office-

"Albus, I'm going to ask you, just one time, are you aware of how young Harry Potter has spent his every Christmas, since you left him on his relatives' doorstep?" the hat asked, still in the deep baritone.

"Um." Dumbledore said, having no idea where this was coming from. "No." he said. He didn't really care what the hat thought, however, since he knew that Hat couldn't tell him what he'd found in Harry's head, during the sorting. He'd tried over the years, but there was no getting to that information. The personality of the hat was similarly incapable, or unwilling, to divulge anything.

"Put me on." the hat said. It was not a request. It wasn't even a demand. It was an order. The hat looked down on the foolish old wizard, and if it had eyes that you could actually see, Dumbledore would think that it had been staring into his soul.

Still. It was a powerless hat. "I don't think so, old friend." Dumbledore said. "You know as well as I that I have secrets I can't tell even you." he added. "Now, what has you in such a foul mood?"

"Are you refusing to do as Hogwarts commands?" the hat asked.

"Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked. "You're the sorting hat, not the school." Had the sorting Hat's enchantments started failing? Is this what that looked like?

"Very well, then." the hat said, as a suit of armour, a strange short suit, walked in.

The headmaster stood up, and pulled his wand. "What's happening?" he asked, pointing a wand. He recognized the armour, and tried to simply levitate it, but it just continued marching towards him. He tried transfiguring the floor up, to catch the armour, but the floor flowed off the armour like it was water, breaking against a cliff. "Stop it, or I'll be forced to destroy it." Dumbledore said, as the suit neared. It was just five steps away.

The hat said nothing, as the armour continued.

Dumbledore sighed, casting a bombardment hex, intent on blowing it away. He did not expect his magic to simply flow into the metal suit, disappearing as it did so. And then, it was on him. Dumbledore was a spry old man, however, and rolled aside. He did not expect the armour to mimic his movements, also rolling, and still nearing, and then, it was on top of him. It pried his hands apart and removed the wand, throwing it aside, and then, it stood up, with one hand still in his grip, lifting the headmaster to his knees.

Then, it walked towards the hat, pulling Dumbledore with him. Dumbledore was trying everything he could. Wandless magic did nothing, like the suit was blocking it, or absorbing it, and it didn't stop, until it reached the hat. Its other hand lifted up, and picked up the hat.

"What are you doing!?" Dumbledore demanded. He looked around at the paintings, but in the strangest thing the old man had ever seen, all of the people in the portraits had their backs turned to him, seemingly unwilling to participate, or even look. "What is happening!?" he demanded.

"This is the wizard killer armour." the hat said, as it approached Dumbledore. "External magic cannot touch it. It was commissioned by the founders. Us. The goblins who made it, made it to fit a goblin, thinking that they were tricking us. They did not know our intent, but you will." the deep baritone said, as the hat was forced onto not Dumbledore's head, but his face.

All was darkness, for Albus Dumbledore. His last moments were clear to him. He remembered the struggle, the armour, the Hat, the strange voice, and the darkness.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." the familiar baritone voice said.

"You're in deep shit, 'Headmaster'." the familiar voice of the Sorting Hat said.

"Language, Gryff." a female voice said, then. She sounded kind, but firm.

"We didn't make you, in the hopes that you'd speak such foulness in our presence." another female voice said. She sounded aristocratic.

"I don't really mind." said a sneer of a voice. Deep, but scathing, more than baritone.

Dumbledore looked for the voices, but it was still complete darkness. Then there was a click, and a single tongue of flame appeared, hovering in front of the old man. Then, the flame moved, slowly duplicating as it went, with the duplicates standing still, while the original kept moving.

Slowly, Dumbledore was able to start seeing. Before him, stood four large figures, indistinct at first, but slowly becoming more visible, as the flame continued around them. He suspected their stature was a representation, not that they were giants in life.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked. He suspected, but he would not easily believe.

"We are who you think we are, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." The baritone said, again.

The flames, now completely around them, started increasing in size, and Dumbledore could start seeing familiar shapes. There were a few portraits, and some likenesses of the founders, but he'd never seen them like this. They were young, all of them. Likely barely twenty, but he could still see who they were.

"What's happening?" Dumbledore asked again.

"The hat." Salazar Slytherin sneered. "It was enchanted to house some of our memories. It's how we read the children. It's very dangerous, to bring us here, like this."

"But it was necessary." Helga Hufflepuff said. "That's why I initiated the process."

"It's for a single boy!" Slytherin objected.

"A single boy, who was going to stand alone against a dark lord, due to the machinations of this imbecile." Ravenclaw objected.

"True." Slytherin said, rolling his eyes. "It's just one prophecy. I had two in my life." He sounded sulky.

"Enough." the first female speaker said. "Let us sort this out, before our unity unravels." Dumbledore was certain that this was Helga Hufflepuff.

"Indeed." the baritone said. This was obviously Godric Gryffindor. "Albus Wul- You know what? You have too many names. Albus Dumbledore, you have orchestrated the abuses of a single child, after ensuring that he was left with no parents or true guardians to care for him."

"What?!" Dumbledore objected. "I did no such-"

"SILENCE!" all of them exclaimed.

"You do not speak until your betters are done speaking." Slytherin said, firmly.

"My hat has watched you over the years. Everything he knows, we know." Gryffindor said, continuing. "It is unfortunate that the hat cannot read all of the memories of a child, which is why we have not been moved to action until now. My Heir, Harry Potter, is the last of the line Peverell, my daughter's line. I know you know the story. I know you know it's real. I therefore also know that you know, what a betrayal you have committed against my own house."

"I-"

"Still shouldn't speak." Rowena Ravenclaw said, sternly, with a glare that could put McGonagall to shame.

"As of this moment, Harry James Potter, is reinstated into my house, as the head of Gryffindor, my daughter's family's line of Peverell and his mother's biological ancestor's house of Hufflepuff." Gryffindor said.

"My own blood." Helga Hufflepuff said. Her eyes looked sad, but in them, there was a fire that threatened to burn Dumbledore till his soul was consumed.

"Peace." Rowena said, as she put an arm around Hufflepuff. "We are fixing it, now."

"Hear my words, Albus, if you should withhold one single iota of support for the boy, something you should have been doing, since you know his destiny, we will revoke our oath of secrecy, and the boy will have every single one of your past misdeeds laid bare before him." Gryffindor said. Then a grimace of a smile appeared on his face. "And that godforsaken 'family' of his, shall never lay a single eye on him again, or so help me God, I will rise from the dead and destroy them, and you, myself. Do you understand me?"

"But…" Dumbledore tried. He halted himself, not knowing if he was allowed to speak.

"Make it quick." Slytherin said. "He may not be my heir by blood, but he is by conquest, and I'll honour my sacred oaths, too. Those filthy muggles have already gained my ire, and my curse is already set in motion."

"He's a relation of mine, even if he's not an heir. I am proud to know that he is quite the intellect." Rowena added, like she wanted Dumbledore to know that all of the founders had a link to the boy.

"If you know the prophecy, you know why Harry Potter needs to confront the Dark Lord." Dumbledore said. "He's created…" he hesitated.

"Horcruxes, yes." Hufflepuff said. "Simple phylacteries. A single soul-expelling charm will release them."

"Soul-expelling?" Dumbledore asked. This was valuable information.

"They call it the Killing Curse, now." the Hat chimed in. "They forbade its use, when used on a human."

"Why?" Hufflepuff asked, frowning. "I created that charm, to end the suffering of the dying, swiftly and without pain."

"What do you think happened?" the hat asked. "They used it for killing enemies."

Helga seemed to deflate further. "To think, my legacy isn't peace, but death." she sobbed.

"Your intent was never misunderstood, dear Helga." Ravenclaw said. "It was the warlike magicals who corrupted it."

"You, created the killing curse?" Dumbledore asked, shocked that Helga Hufflepuff could be the one that made that spell.

"I created the soul-expelling, painless death charm!" the woman exploded, as she suddenly turned from sobbing, into vengeful rage. "My legacy! My history! My children! My descendant! You!" she exclaimed, pointing a hand at Dumbledore. "You have brought my line to near ruin! You must pay!" Her voice was changing as she ranted. It gained a reverberating quality that Dumbledore could swear he felt in his very soul.

Dumbledore had never heard of this side of Hufflepuff. The other founders had stepped slightly away, fear in all their eyes.

"Albus Dumbledore, I curse you with life!" Helga exclaimed. "You will live until you have gained forgiveness from all your victims, or you will never die, but know decay, and pain, alone." she finished, in a harsh whisper, her eyes blazing with fury and hatred. "Know this Albus Dumbledore, if you should fail my last heir, I will visit upon you a thousand deaths, and you will not need to see hell, because I will make you live it in the mortal plain! Your suffering will know an end, only at the end of days!"

Dumbledore felt no magic, but he didn't need to. Something was wrong. This woman was not just a memory.

"Helga, please?" Rowena tried, as she slowly approached.

"Oh, Rowena!" Helga sobbed, as she fell to her knees, changing from a vengeful giant, into a sobbing mother.

Dumbledore didn't know what had just happened, but the two men walked forward, Gryffindor picking up his hat, as he went, and bent down in front of Dumbledore. They were smiling wicked smiles. For a moment, they looked like brothers.

"You really… what's the saying, these days?" Slytherin asked, looking at the hat.

"Screwed the pooch." the hat said.

"That's repugnant." Gryffindor said, pulling a face.

"Kind of the point." the hat said.

"Listen, little wizard." Gryffindor said. "Helga has a… unique situation. She's not purely human. Her spirit allows us to actually be here, from the hereafter. It is not done without cost, but she's seen the wickedness you allowed to befall our last heir, and her curse is one of the soul. I would suggest you heed her words and do as she says, because she is quite capable of stopping you from passing on. With her curse, you will linger, and age. Death may claim you, but your soul is bound, so you will not pass."

"The last people to piss her off, are what you now call Dementors." the hat said, smirking.

Dumbledore paled.

"That's right." Slytherin said. He'd never lost his evil smirk. "I hear that they cannot be killed. I wonder how that happened?" he mocked.

"Merlin." Dumbledore swore.

"Swear not by a man's name, little wizard." Gryffindor said. "Swear now, by your own soul, for it is what is on the line, should you fail to fix your errors. And remember, I wasn't making idle threats. My heir will know the joy of family again. He will never be allowed to feel the cold embrace you forced upon him, again, or I shall sacrifice any soul, to return to the land of the living, and wreak my own vengeance. I might be able to convince your sister to sacrifice her own, even." he threatened.

"Separate the shred of my last heir's soul, from the boy, with the spell we both know you know." Slytherin said, as Dumbledore paled at Gryffindor's threat. "As long as your intent is pure, he will be safe. The magic for that charm was not dark, when Helga made it. It was meant to be a boon, not a curse."

The lights started fading out, then.

"Wait, I have questions!" Dumbledore said, as he started losing sight of them. The founders were all bent down by Helga, now, chanting something he couldn't make out.

And then, the darkness vanished, as the hat was lifted from Dumbledore's face. The armour unceremoniously dropped Dumbledore, and then went to place the hat on its stand, again.

Dumbledore was rubbing at his aching wrist, while the suit of armour walked from his office. The portraits still had their backs to Dumbledore.

It took him a minute, before he felt he was ready to get up. When he did, he looked at the Hat.

"Could you not have just spoken to me?" he asked the hat.

There was no response, unfortunately. The hat seemed to be inert, at the moment.

"He told us that he'd be asleep for a while." one of the paintings said. Dumbledore didn't know which one, though. "You are a disgrace, Headmaster. You're meant to protect these children, not send them to be tormented, after ensuring the child lost his parents."

As one, all the paintings started voicing their agreement to the statement.

"Don't you see? I had no choice, the prophecy clearly states-" Dumbledore started.

"I don't recall the prophecy stating that the child should or needed to lose their parents." one of them said. "Why did you make that happen?" More sounds of agreement.

"It's not that simple!" Dumbledore tried.

The portraits decided to ignore the old man, then.

"I didn't want that either!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Do you think I wanted James and Lily to die?! They were my friends! I'd have died for them, if I could! I'd have saved the boy, myself! But the prophecy stated clearly that the dark lord would mark him. There would be no force on this planet, no power that could stop that from happening. His parents would always have stood in his way." he wound down.

"You're an idiot." the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black said. Dumbledore knew that voice well. "Marks left on a person, could be anything from emotional, to a mere impression. You chose to believe what you wanted. You wanted a weapon, to stop the dark lord, and you made him yours. You guarded him in a hateful prison, and allowed him to be tormented, because it suited you, because until you needed him again, it was best to leave him to suffer, so that you could come to the rescue and be his hero, so that he'd be willing to die for you. Your ego needs to be checked. Your balance will come due."

"Here-here!" the other portraits agreed with the man.

"Come on, headmasters, headmistresses." Phineas said, as he walked deeper into his portrait. As one, the other headmasters and headmistresses left their portraits and went to his, through which they all disappeared.

"I didn't mean to do all that." Dumbledore said, to himself. "It was the prophecy." he added, lamely.

Dumbledore felt a heat in his chest, as Fawkes flew into the office, likely back from feeding himself. Dumbledore looked up, a sad smile on his face. "Surely you know I'm not a bad person?" he asked his familiar.

The bird stopped, and hovered, flapping a few times, as it looked at the headmaster, seemingly inspecting him. Then, as if it didn't want to be near him, it turned, and left.

'You will live until you have gained forgiveness from all your victims, or you will never die, but know decay, and pain, alone.' Helga's voice seemed to echo in his mind, as he remembered her words. He was already old. His bones already ached. And now, he was alone.

Harry had noted that the hat's image was faded, like it was there, but muted. He did remember him asking permission for something. He'd thought that the hat would be discussing his past Christmases with someone. Maybe the Portraits. He had a funny image, of the portraits coming together, and convincing someone to go speak to his relatives, or to actually send a portrait, to mess with them, by popping from picture to picture, or maybe even directly in the wallpaper. To haunt them. Now, he didn't know what to think.

He focussed on the image for a bit, not trying to contact him, necessarily, but just to get a feel for Gryff. The hat could feel his mind, without him opening the connection, but it described it as a feeling, so with nothing better to go on, he felt for a feeling. Maybe a sleepy thought, or a temperature, or something.

After a while, all he got was a feeling of bone-weary tiredness. He wasn't even sure that that was what he was feeling. It felt cold, low, like something barely holding on to life, or not having enough energy to continue. Shrugging, as he did when he decided on an action, he made a new dial, and connected it to the hat, setting it at a low power, to slowly feed the hat his own magic. It was little more than a trickle, really, but he felt guilty. He'd given permission for something, and now the hat was suffering. Despite his worry about what may have happened, he still trusted the old hat.

After setting that up, he felt for the hat again. There was a little bit more of a response, which was good, but it was still tired, and would likely take a while to have any sort of affect, if it was even really helping. Harry ensured to monitor the draw, as he felt his magic slowly leaving him.

Then, he had an idea. He knew he had magic, and that it could run out, but he didn't know how much he had. Seeing some sort of indicator, with a number, or maybe a bar that ran out, like the house-points hourglasses, would be very useful to him. He started setting that up and kept his mind on the trickle of his magic leaving him and going to the hat. He imagined a glass container, with a blue substance, for his magic. He'd seen mana represented this way on the tele, once, and thought it was neat.

It took him a while, before he realised, he had no idea how full he was to begin with, so he settled in and waited. He'd wait until he felt like he was at about half his maximum power, something he also couldn't equate, but just had a gut feel for, since he started working with his automatic spells. He'd done quite a bit with that, using a lot of power, as he set that up, so he had a general idea.

He put that feeling into the representation, and connected the dial to it, so that it could represent the power going from there, to the dial, and then to the hat. That seemed to make the whole thing come together, and suddenly, the liquid that filled the imaginary measuring glass, started changing colour. It wasn't simply blue, but multi-coloured, like a strange rainbow, with colours he had no name for, and sometimes even ones he couldn't see, showing what looked like empty spaces that he could actually tell had something in there, because it still mixed with the other colours.

"Awesome." Harry said, as he watched the representation of his magic.

Then, just because he could, he set a new function. He made a mark, that should then stop the flow of power that went to the hat. Once it refilled a bit, it should start again. That one was quite simple, considering the other things he'd put in place to date. He watched it stop, and then slowly refill a bit, before it continued with the trickle, to the hat.

Having confirmation of his theory, Harry moved the indicator down, to about a quarter. He didn't want to be left powerless, but he wanted to help his friend, so he didn't mind. Having set that in place, Harry smiled. Since he couldn't play around with his power, anymore, trying to save some for the hat, Harry decided to just go over his books again.

Opening the folder, had a surprise for him. Something colourful, that he didn't recognize. Frowning, Harry mentally tapped the colourful thing, and it popped up, displaying as a present. It even had a card. Harry smiled. The hat was the only one that could have done that. He mentally tapped the card, and it opened.

'Merry Christmas Harry.

I don't have what you would call financial capabilities, but I do know you, so I thought I'd get you something I know you'd appreciate. I had one of the portraits go and take a book from their library. It's one you've been looking for, too. The pictures are a little shoddy, I admit, but I hope you find a use for this.

All the best,

Your friend,

The Sorting Hat, Gryff.'

Harry read the message twice, before he struggled to focus on the picture. Blinking, he realised that he had tears in his eyes.

"You better be alright, you big idiot." Harry said, as he wiped his tears. "I'm going to mock you for all this sentimentality. And I know you'll be looking at this memory later, so I'll just say now, that there was obviously something that blew into my eye." he said, to himself. He could almost hear the Hat's snarky reply.

He tapped the package, and the colourful representation faded. It wasn't like he could unwrap it in the normal sense of the word, so even fading must have taken the hat some time to figure out, seeing as how Harry hadn't made a fading function. The cover had Harry smile again. It was a book on Occlumency.

He didn't have the emotional strength to start that, just then, so he just flipped through the book, and looked for words that his reference could start going through. Some of the pictures, that made up the pages, weren't stellar, but fortunately, once Harry figured out what was written, they started clarifying themselves, as the book seemed to become more focussed, and maybe even a little newer, in his head.

Having started that process, Harry decided to rather just go to bed. Maybe the hat would be back, in the morning.

Harry didn't feel like getting up, when he did awaken. He was tired, and he felt groggy, like he had no power to function, but something was blaring at him to wake up, and be aware. Opening his eyes, he awkwardly moved his hand, revealing his interface. His eyes widened, slightly, when he noticed that his power meter, his power reserve, was almost completely empty. The feed to the book had kicked off, but it wasn't the thing that was draining him, now.

What was taking all his magic? He couldn't see straight, but he knew he was somehow doing this to himself, so he needed to identify it. He focussed as best he could on the reserve, and visualised the power, as it went… somewhere. He couldn't find where that was, but he got a feeling of power going somewhere, in his head. He needed to stop it. Automating his mind, in some ways was obviously not a smart thing to do. Especially if it took his own magic to work. He didn't know where the power was going, but that didn't mean he couldn't switch whatever it was off. Focussing on the bottom of the reserve, Harry imagined putting a stopper there, stopping the flow, and allowing his power to build up again. He waited just long enough, to see that it was working, before he closed his eyes again, and fell asleep, again.