The Sorting Hat: You Presumptuous Fellow!

Along the way, Isaac's resemblance to Grindelwald had already shocked Vinda many times, so she quickly shook herself free from her memories.

Watching Dumbledore lost in thought, the corners of Vinda's mouth curled upward.

She did not intend to let Dumbledore wake up on his own, so she said softly, "I am a bit curious. Since Ravenclaw left behind her Diadem, what did the other three founders leave behind?"

Vinda's words roused Dumbledore, and after a moment of reflection, he replied, "Gryffindor left his sword, and Hufflepuff crafted the Cup. As for Slytherin, he likely left the Locket."

"Then are these three items all at Hogwarts?"

Vinda's question received no answer, and at this moment, the French witch was finally shocked.

"So you all just watched as Voldemort took the relics of the Hogwarts founders and desecrated them into Horcruxes???"

This world truly proved that there is always someone worse!

Vinda had thought that Beauxbatons in France was bad enough, with its current headmistress being a half-giant.

That's right, in Vinda's view, the current headmistress of Beauxbatons, Olympe Maxime, could not even be considered a wizard.

What was Harry's first impression of the Beauxbatons headmistress in the original timeline?

"Harry had only ever seen one person whose bulk compared to this woman's, and that was Hagrid; he suspected there was less than an inch difference in their heights."

So the question arises: just how tall is Hagrid?

Eleven feet, six inches—nearly three and a half meters.

And what about Olympe Maxime? She was at about that same level—if Maxime were only two meters tall, Vinda could have convinced herself that the headmistress just had a large frame.

But three and a half meters? Even if Vinda abandoned her conscience, she couldn't bring herself to call that a person.

Who would have thought, who would have thought—when it came to being the worst, they French wizards were actually not the worst of the lot?

No matter how much of a non-human Maxime was, at least she hadn't let anyone take her school's founding relics to be desecrated.

Looking at it this way, could it be that Maxime, despite not being human, was actually better than Dumbledore?

At this moment, Isaac felt it was necessary to salvage some dignity for old Dumbledore.

"This... actually, not all the founders' relics were desecrated. For instance..." Isaac said, walking toward the Sorting Hat in the Headmaster's Office.

The Sorting Hat looked to be steeped in history, but it looked incredibly ragged and was covered in patches.

Not only was it patched, but the entire hat looked filthy.

Isaac once wondered if this thing had ever been cleaned since it was created.

When the Sorting Hat sensed Isaac approaching, a wide slit suddenly opened along the brim—that was its mouth.

"Wait, wait! What are you doing, kid???" The Sorting Hat's voice was visibly panicked.

The entire hat was trembling, seemingly trying to back away.

Unfortunately, it was just a Sorting Hat; as everyone knows, hats don't have legs, so it had no way to escape.

"Kid, I know what you want to do. Let's make a deal, just listen to me!" The Sorting Hat regretted it deeply at this moment; it should have asked Dumbledore for a few books on eloquence when it had nothing to do!

That way, it wouldn't be so at a loss for words.

"Hehehe, Mr. Waldore, please calm down. Perhaps we can converse in a more peaceful manner. Peace and love, can we, sir?"

Isaac flashed a highly deceptive smile at the Sorting Hat, and just as the hat's body settled slightly, Isaac suddenly reached out and hoisted it up.

"Wait, ouch~~~~"

Although the Sorting Hat didn't have a very distinct set of facial features, it didn't matter. Judging by its blurred hat-body and that soul-stirring sound, everyone in the office could tell that the Sorting Hat's physical sensation at this moment was perhaps not very pleasant.

"Damn you, you reckless little wizard! Although Gryffindor's sword is inside my body, it's not something just anyone can pull out!"

The old hat began to mutter incessantly at Isaac, seemingly intending to use this method to avenge the "stabbing" Isaac had just inflicted upon it.

Isaac unilaterally blocked out the muttering old hat and searched inside it with his focus. A moment later, his eyes lit up.

"Wait, you wouldn't..."

Isaac grinned, and then with a "shing" sound, he drew the sword—a gleaming silver blade was pulled out from the hat.

Once drawn, Isaac saw that the hilt of the sword was inlaid with a dazzling, egg-sized ruby.

Without a doubt, this was the sword of Godric Gryffindor.

Forged from pure silver and inlaid with rubies—the very color that represented Gryffindor in the Hogwarts hourglasses.

On the blade, just below the hilt, the full name of its first owner, Godric Gryffindor, was engraved.

"Is this right? This isn't magic! Merlin's old trousers, how could this sword be pulled out so easily?"

Isaac showed the sword in his hand to Vinda, then intended to put it back in its original place.

Everything has its place; Isaac had developed this good habit since he was a child in his previous life.

Although he couldn't understand why the sword had to be stabbed into a hat, he decided to respect it.

In truth, seeing the sword of Gryffindor left Isaac quite tempted. No man could ever resist the allure of a weapon.

Not to mention, this was the personal blade of Gryffindor himself.

Regardless of the sword's actual quality, its narrative weight and legendary status were maxed out.

If not for the fact that Isaac wasn't quite tall enough yet and had never studied swordsmanship, he might have just swiped the blade right then and there.

Why wouldn't it count as finding it if I picked up the sword of Gryffindor from inside the Sorting Hat?

It only had Gryffindor's name engraved on it; surely it belonged to whoever found it?

A pity, what a pity.

With Dumbledore watching him right now, it probably wouldn't fly if he didn't return it.

Just as Isaac intended to put the sword back in its original place, the old hat suddenly shrieked in a panic.

"Wait, you naturally wicked little wizard! What are you doing??? Dumbledore, can't you control him!"

The Sorting Hat screeched with a voice like a broken gong, sounding like a chicken about to be plucked.

It's just stabbing it back in, isn't it?

If he could pull it out just a moment ago, what was the problem with shoving it back in? Why did a raggedy hat have to be so difficult?

"Alright, Isaac, spare the poor Sorting Hat." Dumbledore finally spoke up to rescue the Sorting Hat.

Unfortunately, the Sorting Hat had no eyes and could not see the look in Dumbledore's gaze. At this moment, Dumbledore's expression toward the hat was far more than mere sympathy.

Oh, you old hat, you old hat, of all the people you could have offended, why him?

The entire Headmaster's Office knew that Isaac was petty; what would it have hurt to let him stab you once?

Who hasn't been stabbed a few times in their youth?