Harry Potter entered the Office of the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry quietly. There was a sad little smile on his face as he solemnly walked forward. He still moved with the grace of the Quidditch star he’d been some twenty years earlier, despite that old limp that no Healer had ever been able to remove. He carried the Hat before him like an offering to a deity; without looking to either side, he placed it on the large desk in the center of the room, bowed his head slightly again, as though at an altar, and turned to leave, his robes whirling around him in a dramatic fashion that brought a reminiscent smile to more than one of the faces looking on.

At the door, Harry paused, and, taking a deep breath, he spoke, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. This is a... difficult... time for me. Once the funeral is over and her successor chosen, and...and her portrait unveiled, it will no doubt be easier. But in the past several years, I guess I’ve grown accustomed to people I love not dying. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Harry. You go ahead, you don’t want to be late. We’ll talk to you later, when Minerva’s successor is chosen. I think you’ll be pleased. And you’re right, you’ll get to talk to Minerva’s portrait. That will be some comfort to you, as I like to think our chats have been a help?” Professor Dumbledore’s kindly old eyes twinkled at Harry the full-grown wizard much as they had at Harry the eleven year old boy. At the moment, Harry thought he was feeling like that eleven year old boy, one who’d lost another mother figure. The woman who’d been such a role model for personal discipline, showing him that sternness could also be kind, and strength did not have to be cruel, was gone, and it hurt more than he’d thought it would. Nodding to the other portraits but still wishing to keep his thoughts to himself he let himself out of the room.

The portraits looked at the hat, placed on the large desk by Harry Potter so reverently before he left to attend the funeral of its former owner. Slowly the classic form of a witch’s hat appeared – wide circular brim, tall point – black, of course, and it looked ready for Minerva McGonnagal to place it firmly upon her neat bun. Which, said witch, would never do in this world, again.

Agatha Agenella, Headmistress of Hogwarts from 1586 to 1655, sighed gustily. “I miss the old dear sometimes. She was the best hat, really. Though, of course, in my day, she was not quite so black. Purple was my color, and...”

“And it looked lovely on you, my dear.” Albus smiled and bowed to the elder witch. He wanted to discuss a few topics with the portraits closer to his era, and knew that if each of his predecessors got to talking about their memories of “the Hat” they’d all be there all day and nothing would be accomplished before the new leader of Hogwarts showed up! He’d only been able to preside over one such proceeding of this nature previously, Severus having taken charge under very irregular circumstances, and Minerva’s selection was such an obvious one, that the hat had chosen it’s new form almost before the day was done.

Most people thought that the Board of Governors selected the Headmaster of Hogwarts. In some sense, that was true. But, just as the Sorting Hat had the final word on what House a student was placed in, the Hat had the final say in who was the new Master of Hogwarts, and without the Hat, well, a witch or wizard could act as temporary Headmaster under authority of the Board of Directors, but only for a very short time, until the true Master or Mistress was found. Much like Excalibur, destined to wait in stone for the rightful heir to the throne of Britain to claim it, the “Becoming Hat” could only be worn by the rightful head – a double entendre that Dumbledore at least had always enjoyed – of the famed school of witchcraft and wizardry.

“Well, I don’t know what the big mystery is, it’s got to be Malfoy, the younger, of course, who is half Black, I’m sure I don’t need to remind all of you,” Phineas Nigellus Black pronounced, causing more than a few of the portraits to roll their eyes. They all looked to Dumbledore to derail a detailed discourse on the near divinity of descendants of the Black line–as though....

“You don’t need to remind them, my dear Phineas, the worry here is that they can’t forget that undiluted Black produces a Belletrix...and in this case, where the dilution agent was a Malfoy, one does have to wonder what type of creature young Draco really is?”

Rowena Ravenclaw entered her portrait frame majestically, Helga Hufflepuff ambling in behind her, a bag of knitting supplies on one arm and her wand tucked into the bun of her hair. The two female founders shared a large mural, which was furnished with a comfortable sofa, side tables and a bookshelf, from which Rowena could be seen picking up books and browsing through the pages even as she listened to the conversation. A multi-tasker from way back, Albus noted, the founder of the “smart” House sometimes carried on several different activities within the same portrait! Indeed, she motioned for Phineas to come over and set up the chess board that stood in the corner. Ignoring his pique at her comment, he jumped to do her bidding. Rowena was still a lovely woman–even if only two dimensional.

“You’re much too harsh, Weenie,” she chided, causing a spasm of irritation to cross her friend’s lovely features at the use of her childhood nickname. Helga pretended to miss it but Albus saw the twinkle in the smaller woman’s eyes and suspected she did it on purpose. “Draco can be a perfectly lovely boy – and smart too. He’d make a good Headmaster. Why Salazar was telling me just the other day....”

“Ah, priming the pump, was he? Or stuffing the ballot box, more like,” Godric Gryffindor strode into his portrait, his sword clattering in its scabbard. “Get in here, Slytherin, and hiss your whispers in the open.”

“Whatever would be the purpose to that, my dear fellow? And must you be so loud? The castle is in mourning, you realize, show some decorum for once.” The Princely looking Salazar Slytherin made his elegant entrance, and bowed to the ladies, each in turn, and then to Albus.

“My condolences to the House of Gryffindor, Albus. Minerva was a courageous witch, who served Hogwarts with distinction, especially in the dark days, against that foul monster that I am ashamed to say came from my house. I mourn her loss even as I look forward to her joining us in the Great Adventure.”

“Well said, Salazar! And so we all should have said as we entered, we get so careless in our ‘old death’.” Helga smiled at Albus. “Salazar reminds us of our manners. Please, accept my condolences...we’ve been dead so long, we truly ask, death, where is thy sting?”

“Well, had you seen young Harry Potter, you wouldn’t ask it. He is feeling the sting quite sorely,” Agatha told them. “It is so important that the Hat choose the right Headmaster to guide Hogwarts. I thought Harry, but seeing how saddened he is, I just don’t know....”

“We don’t need to know,” Albus gently reminded her. “That is the beauty of the Becoming Hat.”

“What’s that? A becoming hat? Well, it’s a good sturdy hat, but never thought it was all that becoming myself!” Mrs. Longbottom woke up from where she’d been dozing in her portrait. She’d been invited in to watch the unveiling of the portrait and the selection of the new head of Hogwarts. She’d decided to do that instead of trying to catch a glimpse of yet another funeral. She remembered Minerva McGonagall as a very nice young witch, who’d taught her Frank when he was at Hogwarts so many years ago. That the nice young Scottish witch had only outlived her by a handful of years...sad thing. The world needed more firm minds like hers to guide the young, that’s what she thought!

“It’s not ‘a’ becoming hat, my dear, but ‘The Becoming Hat,’” Albus gently told her, guiding her over to a more comfortable seat in his own frame.

“A becoming hat, the becoming hat, same difference,” Mrs. Longbottom muttered, secretly pleased, however, that the great Albus Dumbledore was showing her such distinction. Perhaps her boy Neville was going to rise higher than she’d ever dreamed? In truth, he’d done quite well for himself since the War ended, taking over as Herbology Professor when Professor Sprout died. Youngest ever to be a full professor at Hogwarts! That had to count for something! Hardly ever stuttered anymore. Probably not at all since she died, she thought ruefully.

There was a clattering on the wall from the cloth covered portrait. With an arch of his slim dark brow, Salazar asked dryly, “Should I do the honors or you, Godric, old chap? I believe the guest of honor is growing weary of waiting. Once a Gryffindor....”

Godric laughed and despite the protests over decorum and procedure from Rowena Ravenclaw, he strode from portrait to portrait, bowing and smiling his charming way, until he was in position to survey the situation better. He looked at Dumbledore, who’d been watching his progress with amusement.

“Well, Godric, what are you going to do now?” Albus asked, his eyes twinkling madly.

The handsome Gryffindor frowned but then he smiled and putting two fingers to his lips, whistled. A moment later, a brilliantly colored Phoenix burst into view.

“Lovely solution, Godric!” Helga approved enthusiastically and even Rowena and Salazar smiled, while the others exclaimed. Albus’ familiar had not be seen for many years.

“Would you mind, Ffawkes?” Albus nodded toward the covered portrait and the brightly colored bird trilled its agreement to the task.

Ffawkes flew over and drew away the cloth, uncovering a handsome portrait of Minerva McGonagall. She looked around the room and after nodding in greeting to the many familiar faces – she’d been looking at them and conversing with them for the two decades or so that she’d held the office of Headmistress of Hogwarts after all - she turned to the Founders.

“My Lords, Ladies, it is indeed an honor to have the Founders present today. I am humbled and I thank you.”

She curtsied, her stiff black bombazine dress rustling as stiffly as her knees, Godric thought, but didn’t dare whisper the errant thought to his partner, Salazar, who was very fond of such formalities.

Minerva was looking around the group. “So, have you all decided who you think should try on the Hat first? I really think it would be kindest to keep it quiet, and only have the likeliest candidate try it, so word of its significance doesn’t become widespread. You wouldn’t want another Eldar Wand situation, Albus.”

The Founders looked at each other in surprise. They’d been so pleased with their creation of the Becoming Hat, they’d never thought that it could cause turmoil. But then, so many of the magical artifacts they’d been so proud of had given rise to situations they’d never dreamed of! Why, you just had to look at the Four Houses for an example of a good idea gone very wrong – instead of fostering what was best in each student, the system led to divisiveness, and, yes, even wars, when the rivalries of childhood followed young witches and wizards into adulthood.

“Maybe...” Helga mused.

“Could we possibly....” Godric pondered.

“It is only a hypothetical,” Rowena hesitated.

“But one which must concern,” Salazar conceded.

“Maybe we should consider letting the Board of Trustees...interview candidates for the job?” Albus suggested, just to stir the cauldron.

“Pish! You all know that Hermione Granger is the best candidate for the position! Brightest witch in her generation and I daresay in any other since Lady Ravenclaw’s!”

Privately, Minerva suspected Hermione was brighter, but she knew better than to suggest such a thing in front of Rowena Ravenclaw, who could be, if one were completely honest, a bit of a witch about such things. You’d find yourself with orange hair for a month or robes that had static cling that just wouldn’t go away and you’d be fated to look like a Weasley until her temper died down.

Salazar Slytherin was giving her a sly smile and Minerva tried to remember if portraits could retain the ability to perform legiliminancy.

“Professor Granger-Weasley is indeed a most impressive witch, Minerva...May I call you Minerva, we’re all equals now, surely?” The charming smile of the Prince of Slytherin made even the stern long-time Mistress of Gryffindor blush. “But I do think all this talk of relative children is a bit misplaced, isn’t it? They are a courageous lot, undoubtedly...but to run a school of this complexity requires a wizard of skill and strength, a man who can....”

“He wants Snape...” Godric told the others in a stage whisper.

“And why not?” Salazar asked indignantly. “The man gave his all for the school. And for you, Albus. He almost died when Nagini bit him, if it wasn’t for that little Lovegood witch being clever enough to have an antidote ready...and of course, the unicorn, that was clever....”

“Well, I rather thought the thestral was the saving grace in that situation, since it enabled her to spirit Severus away,” Albus said mildly.

No one listened, however, as they all started arguing over who each thought would make the best candidate for the new head of Hogwarts. It was always like this, Helga thought, as she placidly sat, knitting a scarf. They argued and argued, but the Becoming Hat decided. It sat there, getting more shapeless as the moments passed, but when the new owner reached out to put it on, it “became” exactly the kind of hat it should be. And just as quickly, the owner became the kind of Witch or Wizard she or he needed to be.

The portraits fell silent when there was the sound of voices outside the door. It swung open suddenly to the surprise of all inside, and in stepped Luna Lovegood, helping a bent over Severus Snape.

“You got too much chill, Professor, you know it isn’t good for you! I cast as many warming charms as I could but I really don’t think it is the same as real warmth, do you?” Luna’s light voice floated across the chamber and those who knew Severus, which was pretty much everyone, by reputation if not personally, winced, waiting for the arctic blast that was sure to come from the man’s cruel tongue and flay the small woman.

But...it didn’t. Instead, he merely said, “I’m sure that there is a difference to someone who is as perceptive as you, child. I thank you for your help in getting inside but don’t you think it was a bit presumptive, coming inside the Headmistress’ office at this time?” Severus’ keen eyes had already noted that the cover was off Minerva’s portrait, but he naturally thought that was Potter’s fault. Dratted boy couldn’t wait for the official ceremony for a chat. He should at least have had the courtesy to replace the cover when he was done, Severus thought. Although, in all truth, his exasperation was mainly out of habit. He’d grown rather fond of the “dratted Potter brat” ever since he’d shown the good sense to divorce the Weasley wench and shack up with Draco, shocking the Wizarding world...for all of five minutes.

Severus, with a circumspect nod to Albus and Minerva, as well as a short bow to the Founders – like the Founder of his house and all true Slytherins, he was particular about manners - turned to his companion and said, “Miss Lovegood...would you entertain me during our wait for the others with an account of your recent work?”

Luna smiled. “Professor, that would be so boring for you. Research on rare species of magical animals is important...but I know that you have read every one of my articles, because you write such wonderful letters to the editors in the journals when they are published. I thank you for letting me reprint them in The Quibbler.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “Seems you never post any of your critiques to father’s paper.”

“Well, um.” Severus searched for another topic, but was satisfied that his first spell had hit home. Rowena Ravenclaw had sat up and taken note that Luna, for all her seeming airheadedness, was a true daughter of the House of Ravenclaw. She was one of the most widely published and scholarly of the graduates of Hogwarts from the past thirty years – out-publishing the erudite Professor Granger, who obsessed over every detail so much she rarely ever finished a paper.

“How is your work with the Thestrals going, Luna?” Albus interjected a question, smiling kindly.

“Quite well, sir. They have been a bit difficult, but one must learn to approach them with care....”

“You go up to Thestrals?” Godric Gryffindor asked in surprise.

“Well, how else, sir, could I help their young, if I didn’t go right up to them? The Thestrals suffer tremendously from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I’ve found, and if not given the proper nutrients and supplements in their diet, will not feed their own young, leading to deaths of whole herds.”

“Brave and kind,” Helga murmured. She noticed that the Becoming Hat was beginning to sink down.

“Child...,” It was Phineas Black who addressed Luna now, and he looked down his cold thin nose at her, every inch the image of a Pureblood Wizard. “Slytherins were very cruel to you when you were at school here. They mocked you, even physically abused you, and the students of your own house weren’t much better. You had to find refuge with the students of Gryffindor. Don’t you feel any resentment, and wish to get back at those who wronged you, perhaps even at their children. It would only be natural.”

Luna’s pale face grew the tiniest bit pink and she paced a little bit in agitation, surprising Severus, who thought he knew Luna quite well after twenty years of friendship. In astonishment, he watched her reach out unconsciously and grab the muddle of cloth from the desk and start waving it around as she answered Phineas Black, former Headmaster of Hogwarts.

“No, sir, I most certainly do not wish for...for...revenge or any type of...of...getting back! That would be despicable! I would want to be friends with those students now just as I did then! And I would show them how to be a friend to all! How to be brave and loyal and smart and shrewd....all the best of each one. That is what Hogwarts is about.”

She smacked the cloth onto her head for emphasis and it rose higher, becoming a lovely purple witch’s hat.

The portraits all cheered while Luna looked around her in surprise.
“Congratulations, my dear,” Severus told her. “Headmistress Lovegood, the Hat becomes you very well.”
 

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