Hermione gravitated toward a chest of jewels and floated them out one by one to examine. She checked the frame of every painting, unrolled every rug, turned over every chalice.

Taking a deep breath, she checked on Draco. He was still working through the clothes, turning them inside out to inspect the pockets and linings. Above his head on top of the wardrobe, a series of brightly-colored hats caught her attention. She scanned the feathers and wide brims, the pointed wizarding hats, and the Muggle top hats. And there at the top, lording over them all—

The Sorting Hat.

Hermione gasped, and the necklace she'd been floating clattered to the ground. Draco spun to her as it splintered, diamonds rolling across the stone floor.

"That's it." Her eyes flicked to him, then back up to the wardrobe. "That's the Horcrux."

Draco stepped backward to stare up at it. Surprise crossed his face when he recognized it.

The cave seemed to shiver in the silence.

"Are you sure?"

There was a certainty in her blood that Harry had always told her about — the faintest of whispers in her ears, like a chant only she could hear. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

"Positive." She walked over to him like she was treading thin ice, her eyes never leaving the Hat. Draco's muscles tensed in the periphery of her vision. "The Sorting Hat was Godric Gryffindor's," she said softly, when she was standing just beside him. "We should—"

"Right you are, Miss Granger," a thick voice croaked from the wardrobe, and her stomach lurched.

Hermione and Draco's wands shot up, aiming at the Sorting Hat as it chuckled — oily and darker than it had back in school. It quivered, as if waking up from a long sleep. The tear along its brim turned up into an eerie grin.

It was like staring at a familiar painting that had been defaced. There was something she recognized, but also something tainted.

Perhaps some of the Hat was still in there.

Hermione cast a sideways glance at Draco, and found him looking at her. Waiting to follow her lead.

"Sorting Hat," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "Tell me the last thing you remember. Before you woke up here."

"The death of the first Gregory Goyle," it hummed. "Slytherin. Sorted 1964."

Draco moved quickly, gripping the fang in one hand and stretching for the Hat with his other—

A crackle of energy sliced through the air, and with a great gust of wind, Draco was flung across the room. Hermione screamed as he slammed into a gold chest, and thumped down onto the cavern floor. The wind swept through the room, swirling her hair around her face and pulling lighter items into a twister. The light from her Lumos Maxima flickered, and they were plunged into darkness.

The Sorting Hat cackled, its voice suddenly thin and high like Voldemort.

Hermione conjured a ball of light in the middle of the ceiling, then whipped back to aim her wand at the Sorting Hat just as it soared through the air, landing at the far end of the room. The wind died out. She stumbled after it, freezing when she saw Draco on his feet — clutching the fang in one hand, and his wand in the other. He strode toward the corner, his eyes determined, and Hermione followed.