The house elves were unhappy. It wasn't completely unreasonable for them to be so, but it was inconvenient for the Brothers Prewett and their mission. The half who wanted to stop them from clearing the room were easier to deal with than the half who wanted to help. All of them wanted to explain why this bench needed to be switched with the other bench, and how the entire room wasn't the same as it was under Headmaster Black.

Gideon had almost managed not to say something back. "Well, yes, luckily, my great-great-uncle-in-law is nearly a century gone. Perhaps we should plan some sort of commemoration? It was what he wanted, to get away from students."

He finished attaching the pulley to the ridge beam. There was plenty of room for his broom, but the elves had removed the chandeliers "just in case". "How gow the map-laying?," he called down to his twin. If we was done, it was time for the magic. Gideon slowly circled downward, making sure not to move the carefully placed maps as he landed. It wouldn't do to get the scrtying rong.

The floor of the Great Hall was covered with a map that had been enlarged and stretched out to fill the dimensions of the room. England and Scotland and Wales and Ireland were all represented, as there were reasons to believe that the Four Founders had each come from a different area. And who knew where their artefacts might be. "Thank you," Fabian said politely to the elves who had pinned down the corners properly and moved the tables to the edges of the chamber.

"Ready when you are," he called up to his twin. "At least for the part where we find out how much of a Gryffindor you really are." He turned to the Headmistress for the next part. "Let's see what he can do with it."

While Minerva still didn’t quite feel like this was her school, she was just as protective as at least half of the house elves underfoot. “Should all this go horribly wrong, I will disavow any knowledge or approval of this entire experiment.” And yet, she was quite excited to see if this worked, because it was a rather impressive feat of magic. “However, I have promised you a hat.” She offered up the Sorting Hat to Gideon.

Gideon solemnly took the hat. It didn't weigh much, but it was easy to believe it was a thousand years old. "Hello, Hat," he said, someone diffidently. He was at a loss. Gideon wasn't sure if any Gryffindors had really needed the Sword in many, many years. What if it didn't work? What if it did? He normally wasn't one to hesitate, but this was big, big magic.

The hat rose out of his arms and hovered just above him, in a way that hats normally do not. It made a sound that could only be called throat-clearing if the throat in question was upholstered. "Oh Merlin, it's going to …"

Do not fear me, Gideon Prewett
A Gryffindor must brook no bullshit!
The sorting hat is never wrong
I told you that in my very first song!

You to the tower with your sister
Fabian down to the under-cloister
Two strong reeds I helped you grow
I am the infallible sorting chapeax!

"If it's all the same, I think you can stop singing." replied Gideon.

"Prewett doesn't rhyme with bullshit", said Fabian.

The hat looked as if it might sing another few verses, but didn't. "Fine. I was improvising. I don't get out much, you know. Reach into me, and if you are a true Griffyndor, the Sword you will find and be able to draw forth. And yes, I can still read your minds;it's where I get my vocabulary, so stop thinking what you're thinking and get on with your task. I shall be happy to see you hanging from the roof. There's not much that thousand-year-old headgear gets to see for the first time anymore."

Gideon reached inside before the hat could ramble further. He found that the action was really all it took to quiet his inner voices, as well as the hat's outer voice. The cool hilt slid into his grip and he drew the sword like the ancient weapon it was. With rubies glinting in the hilt and the name of the founder on the ricasso, the sword gleamed. "I'm glad this was never turned into a horcrux. Fabs, please help me into my harness."

"Good job," Fabian told his twin and proceeded to prepare him for the hanging, as it were. Once he made sure all the ropes were in place, he secured them magically and cast the leviosa variant that was meant to hang Gideon roughly from the ceiling.

The dowsing spell was his to cast this time. Fabian remembered the way Caradoc had done it before his disappearance, the precision of his Welsh and the way his accent was so much more clear and perfect than Fabian's own. Nothing for it but to do the spell himself now, and hope for the best. He chanted the spell and let Gideon fly free, keeping the thoughts of the locket first and foremost in his mind. Now it was on Gideon again.

Gideon for his part let himself be neutral in this casting. It was difficult not to do so, since he was tied by the ankles to the end of a 65 foot rope with his arm hanging below his head and a bloody silver sword held in both hands. Clear thinking would be too much to ask. Not passing out was about the best Gideon could manage. Besides, Fabian had the tie to Salazar Slytherin's house. The tie of the sword and the tie of his brother would make the task doable. He let himself swing and let the sword hang loose from his arms. He felt the blood in his cheeks and let the weight of the sword keep him as a conduit. It wasn't the most comfortable he'd been that day. "Where's it pointing?" He asked.

"London," Fabian answered. "Let me focus the map in." It was a bit of complicated charm work but Fabian knew how to enlarge one section of the map without either damaging it or expanding the rest. It took him fifteen or twenty seconds to do that and then: "Hang on, I'm going to send you spinning again. Don't get sick on the map!"

"I don't want to get sick anywhere," Gideon replied, feebly. "Why couldn't they have hidden it in someplace more centrally located?" Fabian pushed and Gideon swung, singing "round round, right round," in a show of anti-sick bravado. He let the pointer point where it would. "Alright, I at least see the Thames. So, Islington? By Aunt Muriel's unwashed unmentionables, why there?"

Fabian looked a little green round the gills to match Gideon now. He said one word before he started expanding that section of the map to prove his answer right: "Grimmauld."

Gideon sighed. "Aunt Lucretia?"

"Worse," Fabian said as he tugged and folded sections of the map. "Walburga."

“12 Grimmauld Place.” Minerva repeated the name. “I am not surprised that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black might have in their possession an heirloom from one of the founders. Young Mister Black might be able to provide us further insight.” It might even help him to have something else to focus his attention.

“Now, is that all your map does? Or might we be able to gleam two other locations?”

Gideon grinned. "They're all connected to the sword, so worth a shot. Maps back out, Master Prewett, and they can call me the hangin' judge one more time."

Fabian started to unravel the folding charms and spatial distortions on the map with several wand passes and incantations and a little assistance from the house elves.

While Fabian undid his tidying, Gideon spent a few enjoyable minutes right-side up. "Hey Hat, do you know The Limerick Song? Let me teach you the chorus...It goes

'I-Yi-Yi-Yi
In Cornwall, they do it for chili
So let's have another verse that's worse than the other verse
And waltz me around again, Willie'

. After that, each verse is a limerick." The hat paid attention, at least as much to what Gideon sang as the other lyrics Gideon only thought.

If they were going to swing him again, he was going to at least have some fun. Gideon had no idea if the hat would remember it, but this year's opening feast might just be one of the most memorable yet.