Weekends at Hogwarts were freedom.
Freedom from early classes.
Freedom from lectures.
Freedom from Professor Binns' voice echoing in his skull.
Alexander handled his responsibilities first—homework completed perfectly, essays written perfectly too, but at the end of every essay, he also added his own personal opinion. Even if he lost points, he did not care. Then came the real agenda.
Exploration.
By now, he'd mapped a good portion of the castle—shortcut staircases, hidden alcoves, portraits that talked too much, and which corridors Mrs. Norris patrolled most frequently.
But there was one place he still hadn't accessed.
The Headmaster's Office.
More specifically—
The Sorting Hat's current residence.
Alexander stood at the top of the spiral staircase corridor, staring at the large stone gargoyle blocking the entrance.
It was… ugly.
"Are you supposed to be a griffin?" Alexander asked it. "Because if you are, something went wrong."
The gargoyle did not respond.
Alexander cracked his knuckles.
He knew the system.
Dumbledore loved passwords—especially wizard sweets.
So he started guessing.
"Lemon Drops."
Nothing.
"Chocolate Frogs."
Nothing.
"Fizzing Whizzbees."
Nothing.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Sherbet Lemons?"
Still nothing.
The gargoyle remained stubbornly still.
Alexander folded his arms.
"Alright. New approach."
He leaned closer.
"You and I got off on the wrong foot. Let's be friends."
Silence.
"I'm here on important business."
Silence.
"I brought… emotional support."
He held up a random sweet from his pocket.
The gargoyle did not move.
Alexander's eye twitched.
"Okay," he muttered. "Threats it is."
He pointed at it.
"If you don't move, I'm filing a complaint. Structural discrimination. Statue harassment. You're obstructing student development."
Nothing.
He stared.
The gargoyle stared back.
Finally—
Alexander sighed.
"Physical force it is."
He shoved it.
It didn't budge.
He shoved harder.
It didn't budge.
He tried pushing, pulling, and even kicking the base.
All he accomplished was hurting his foot.
Alexander limped back a step, glaring up at the statue.
"…You're lucky," he muttered darkly.
He jabbed a finger toward the ceiling beyond it.
"I know the Stupid Hat is in there. Once I get in, it's over for him."
The gargoyle, unmoved by revenge plots, remained perfectly still.
Alexander tried again the next night.
Different passwords. Different tactics.
Bribery. Persuasion. Mild insults. Severe insults.
Nothing worked.
By Sunday evening, he stood there one last time, arms crossed, defeated—for now.
"Tch."
He turned away.
"Fine. I'll be back next weekend."
The gargoyle said nothing.
The weekend had flown by.
Alexander hadn't reached Dumbledore's office.
Hadn't confronted the Sorting Hat.
Hadn't enacted revenge.
Yet.
But he wasn't worried.
Hogwarts was a long game.
And Alexander Chen was patient—
When revenge was involved.