Isaac's resemblance to Grindelwald had already shocked Professor Vinda many times along the way, so she quickly pulled herself out of her memories.
Watching Dumbledore lose himself in reminiscence, Professor Vinda's lips curled slightly.
She had no intention of letting Dumbledore snap out of it on his own, so she said softly, "I'm rather curious. Since Ravenclaw left behind her Diadem, what did the other three heads leave behind?"
Professor Vinda's words brought Dumbledore back to his senses. After a moment's thought, he answered, "Gryffindor left behind his sword, and Hufflepuff made the Cup.
As for Slytherin, he probably left behind the Locket."
"Then are all three of those things at Hogwarts?"
Professor Vinda received no answer to her question. This time, the French witch was truly shocked.
"So you simply stood by and watched Voldemort desecrate the Hogwarts Founders' relics by turning them into Horcruxes???"
There really was always someone out there who could outdo you!
Professor Vinda had thought Beauxbatons in France was already bad enough, with a half-blood giant as its current headmistress.
That was right. In Professor Vinda's eyes, Beauxbatons' current headmistress, Olympe Maxime, did not even qualify as a wizard.
What had Harry's first impression of the Beauxbatons headmistress been in the original timeline?
"Harry had only ever seen one person whose size could compare to this woman's, and that was Hagrid;
he suspected there was less than an inch's difference in their heights."
Which raised the question: just how tall was Hagrid?
Eleven feet six inches, or roughly three and a half meters.
And Olympe Maxime? She was about the same—if Maxime had only been two meters tall, Professor Vinda could have convinced herself that the headmistress was merely big-boned.
But three and a half fucking meters—even Professor Vinda couldn't call that human with a straight face.
Who would have thought it? In this race to the bottom, the French wizards actually weren't the worst?
However inhuman Maxime might be, at least she hadn't let anyone take her school's founder's relics and desecrate them.
Looking at it that way, aside from not being human, Maxime was actually a slightly better headmistress than Dumbledore?
At this point, Isaac felt it was necessary to salvage a little of Dumbledore's dignity.
"Well... not all of the Founders' relics have actually been desecrated. For instance..." As he spoke, Isaac walked toward the Sorting Hat inside the Headmaster's Office.
The Sorting Hat looked positively steeped in history, but it was also terribly battered and covered in patches.
Not only was it patched, but the whole hat looked filthy.
Isaac had often wondered whether the thing had ever been washed since it was made.
When the Sorting Hat noticed Isaac approaching, a wide slit suddenly opened along its brim. That was its mouth.
"Wait, wait! What are you doing, kid???" The panic in the Sorting Hat's voice was unmistakable.
The entire hat trembled constantly, looking as though it wanted to back away.
Unfortunately, it was only the Sorting Hat, and as everyone knew, hats had no legs, so it couldn't escape.
"Kid, I know what you're trying to do. Let's talk this over—hear me out!" At that moment, the Sorting Hat was filled with regret. It should have asked Dumbledore to get it a few books on eloquence when it had nothing better to do!
Then it wouldn't have been at such a loss for words.
"Heh heh heh, Mr. Waldore, calm down first. Perhaps we can communicate in a more peaceful manner.
Peace and love, all right, sir?"
Isaac gave the Sorting Hat a thoroughly disarming smile. Just as its whole body began to settle down, Isaac suddenly reached out and picked it up.
"Wait, owwww!"
Although the Sorting Hat had no clearly defined facial features, that hardly mattered. Judging by its vaguely shaped body and that exquisite cry, everyone in the office could tell that the Sorting Hat probably wasn't feeling particularly good right now.
"Damn you, you reckless little wizard! The Sword of Gryffindor may be inside me, but not just anyone can pull it out!"
The old hat began nagging Isaac, seemingly intending to avenge the jab Isaac had just given it through this method.
Isaac tuned out the nagging old hat and concentrated on feeling around inside it. A moment later, his eyes lit up.
"Wait, you can't possibly..."
Isaac grinned, then drew the sword with a shing—a gleaming silver sword emerged from the hat.
Once he had drawn it, Isaac saw that the sword's hilt was set with dazzling rubies the size of eggs.
There was no doubt that this was the Sword of Gryffindor.
Forged from pure silver and set with rubies, it bore gemstones of the very color that represented Gryffindor in Hogwarts' house hourglasses.
On the blade, just below the hilt, was engraved the full name of its first owner, Godric Gryffindor.
"Is this right? That's not how magic works! Merlin's old underpants, how could the sword be pulled out so easily?"
Isaac showed Professor Vinda the sword in his hand, then prepared to put it back where it belonged.
Everything had its proper place, after all. Isaac had developed that good habit as a child in his previous life.
Although he couldn't understand why the sword had to be shoved into a hat, he decided to respect the arrangement.
In truth, the sight of the Sword of Gryffindor had tempted Isaac. No man could resist the allure of a weapon.
Especially not Gryffindor's own sword.
Whether it was the sword's quality, its history, or its legendary status, every aspect was as impressive as could be.
If Isaac hadn't been a little too short right now, and if he had actually learned swordsmanship, he might really have pocketed it on the spot.
How does finding the Sword of Gryffindor in the Sorting Hat not count as finding it?
It only has Gryffindor's name engraved on it. Doesn't that make it finders keepers?
What a shame. What a shame.
With Dumbledore watching him right now, he probably couldn't get away with not returning it.
Just as Isaac was about to put the sword back where it belonged, the old hat suddenly cried out in panic.
"Wait, you inherently evil little wizard! What are you doing??? Dumbledore, will you please do something about him!"
The Sorting Hat screeched in its cracked voice like a chicken about to be plucked.
I'm only shoving it back in, aren't I?
It came out just fine earlier, so what's wrong with putting it back now? Why does a battered old hat have to make such a fuss?
"All right, Isaac, leave the poor Sorting Hat alone." Dumbledore finally spoke up and rescued the Sorting Hat.
Unfortunately, the Sorting Hat had no eyes and couldn't see Dumbledore's expression. The look Dumbledore was giving it now held far more than sympathy.
Oh, you old hat. Of all the people you could offend, why him?
Everyone in the Headmaster's Office knows how petty Isaac is. What's so bad about letting him poke you once?
Who hasn't been poked a few times in their youth?