Enchantments, over time, gain quirks, magical items, especially in a magic-rich environment, gain sentience over time. This is well demonstrated by the Hogwarts castle, whose classrooms, secret passageways and stairs seem to change on the castle’s whim, often seeming to play pranks on its inhabitants, or, sensing a person’s distress, providing them with an until now hidden room where they could find comfort and rest. The Sorting Hat, too, grew in personality as the years went by. And this phenomenon could be observed also in the Sword of Gryffindor. Long hidden until a worthy person needed it, the Sword rested in its hiding place. However, it well remembered its wielder, the bold Godric Gryffindor and the many battles it had fought in his hands. After all, sentient it may be, but as a sword it had relatively straightforward priorities. Fighting is what it was made for, and with each fight it became stronger. And it thirsted for adventure! The Sword rejoiced when young Harry Potter grasped it in the Chamber of Secrets. The lad even stabbed through the venom pouches and brains of a giant basilisk! What a natural talent! It better stick to this one! And so it was that when Harry tried to return the Sword of Gryffindor, he found it sheathed on his hip soon after. After repeated attempts, the Headmaster decided not to stand in the way of such magic. If the Sword decided to follow Harry, Dumbledore claimed, who was he to decide otherwise. Harry quickly found out, to his relief, that the Sword could change its form, as long as it remained an edged object, and so he was accompanied to the Dursleys by a new butter knife. To the Dursleys, Harry seemed quieter than normal, something they rather enjoyed, but what they didn’t know was that Harry was busy having mental conversations with his new “Battle Brother” as the Sword called itself.
Rather than offering sage advice and wisdom of the founders, the Sword tried to drive Harry to “Seek out Adventure! Win Battles! Conquer Maidens!’ while Harry exasperatedly protested that he was just thirteen. Though, he had to admit, he felt a certain temptation to see if the Sword’s blade would come out her other side, should he decide to stab through Marge’s prodigal gut. The third year at Hogwarts, Harry found himself training fighting with the blade, finding it a welcome reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the school surrounded by Dementors. It should be said, however, that once they found Harry to be in possession of the famed weapon, the Dementors kept a respectful distance, not wishing to taste its keen edge. But, when the Sword of Gryffindor let out a mental whoop of joy at Harry being entered into a tournament famous for its death toll, Harry could not stop himself, his palm met his forehead at a rather high speed. And when the Sword started badgering him even more, Harry just knew that this year he would be hard pressed to keep sane. Even in his dreams, he could hear the Sword yelling. “Chin up, Battle Brother! A maiden! And a Veela too! And she is French! Do not hesitate! Woo her off her feet!”