Hogwarts Loan Magic System!!!! Chapter 19: Dumbledore’s Inquiry, The Headmasters’ Portraits

"Old friend, care to have a chat about young Lucien?" Dumbledore asked the Sorting Hat with a genial smile.

The Sorting Hat shifted its hollow, eye-like sockets to glance at the bearded old man, its stitched mouth twisting. "Nope."

The blunt refusal froze Dumbledore's smile in place. After a long mont, he gave an awkward chuckle and shook his head. "I only wanted to know what traits Lucien has that made you hesitate so much."

The Sorting Hat tilted its pointed tip. "How many years have you been Headmaster of Hogwarts, kid?"

Caught off guard by the unrelated question, Dumbledore didn't take offense. Instead, he pondered thoughtfully. "I took over in 1956, so that makes… thirty-five years this year."

"Oh," the Hat replied curtly, then fell silent.

Dumbledore frowned, puzzled by the Hat's odd mood. Could Lucien's Sorting really have rattled it that much?

"In those thirty-five years," the Hat continued suddenly, "why haven't you once cleaned ?"

The unexpected accusation left Dumbledore blinking. "Er, what?"

Sensing his confusion, the Sorting Hat grew more indignant, its mouth flapping furiously. "Oh, rlin's hat, I can't even rember the last ti I was properly cleaned! You Headmasters and professors only think of when it's ti for the Sorting Ceremony, then toss back on the shelf! Every year, I hear students' thoughts complaining about how grubby I am! I'm the smartest hat in the world—how can I be treated like this?!"

Dumbledore listened, baffled. The Sorting Hat was usually quiet, tucked away in a corner, maybe humming next year's Sorting song on occasion. But now, post-ceremony, it seed… unusually lively. Was it because of Lucien's record-breaking, history-making Sorting?

Dumbledore tugged at his beard, eyeing the Hat suspiciously. Is it… malfunctioning?

"What're you staring at, kid?" the Hat snapped. "Want to know about Lucien? Clean properly first!"

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Ten minutes later, Dumbledore sat at his desk, ticulously brushing the Sorting Hat with a small brush.

"Yes, yes, right there—put so elbow grease into it!" the Hat instructed. "Use warm water! You're not scrubbing stains like that. Over a hundred years old, and you can't even clean a hat properly?"

The Hat reveled in being pampered by the greatest wizard of the century while simultaneously criticizing his technique. Dumbledore, far from annoyed, just smiled. The Hat had insisted on a manual cleaning—no magic allowed—and he figured it was a novel experience worth trying.

"Alright, old friend," Dumbledore said, still brushing. "Can we talk about Lucien now?"

The Hat, clearly enjoying the spa treatnt, replied lazily, "Sure. He's a great fit for Ravenclaw."

"Obviously," Dumbledore said. "Anything else?"

"He'd fit in Slytherin, too."

Dumbledore's heart sank slightly. Another prodigy with raw talent and ambition? He suppressed a sigh.

"And Hufflepuff?" the Hat added.

Dumbledore paused. "Hufflepuff? Really?"

The Hat tipped its brim smugly. "Of course. I never get it wrong. Oh, and Gryffindor wouldn't have been a bad choice either."

Dumbledore's brush stopped mid-stroke. He stared at the Hat, half-convinced it was broken.

"Why'd you stop?" the Hat demanded. "Fine, I'll level with you. I've never seen a young wizard with so many traits that fit all four houses."

Dumbledore resud brushing, intrigued. "So why Ravenclaw in the end?"

The Hat shrugged its brim. "Because he—I an, I—felt that pursuing wisdom and craving knowledge is Lucien's core. In the wizarding world, knowledge is power. And in his pursuit of it, he shows dedication, hard work, courage, and conviction that are impossible to ignore."

Dumbledore nodded, his brushing growing more vigorous as his worries eased. "Thank you. Sounds like Lucien will be an excellent student. Did you get a sense of where his particular talents lie?"

Before the Hat could answer, a portrait on the wall interrupted with a sharp, haughty voice. "You've been blabbering for ages—can't even sleep with all this noise! If this Lucien didn't end up in our Slytherin, his talents can't be that impressive."

Dumbledore massaged his forehead, reluctant to engage with Phineas Nigellus Black, the insufferable forr Headmaster and pure-blood supremacist. But soone else beat him to it.

A portrait of a burly, imposing man stirred, his gruff voice booming. "Phineas, I'd love to shut that irritating mouth of yours. 'Our Slytherin'? Have so sha!"

Phineas twirled his mustache disdainfully. "Morgan, I don't waste words on reckless lions like you."

He continued, "When I was Headmaster, I couldn't stand those Ravenclaw students—always chasing their precious 'knowledge,' acting like they're right about everything."

"Oh, Phineas, ready to feel the weight of 'knowledge' again?" A graceful woman's portrait ca to life, her silver-frad glasses glinting. She hefted a thick book, the kind that could knock soone out if it hit their head.

Dumbledore, listening to the bickering portraits, pinched the bridge of his nose. Phineas Nigellus Black, holder of the title "Hogwarts' Most Unpopular Headmaster," was living up to his reputation.

"Black, pipe down," the Sorting Hat cut in, silencing the squabble. "Compared to Lucien, your talents are like a troll's brain—barely visible without a magnifying glass."

The room erupted in laughter. The Gryffindor Headmasters roared the loudest, but even the Slytherin ones chuckled. Phineas was an outlier, a Headmaster who cared little for education and whose priorities were anyone's guess.

Dumbledore didn't laugh aloud, but his bushy white beard hid a grin. The Sorting Hat, noticing his paused brush, snapped, "What're you smirking at? Lucien's talents outshine yours, too!"