Harry entered the Headmaster’s office. He slouched against the door and looked down at the floor. He couldn’t stop thinking about Euan and how lonely he had looked beside his parents. The emotions inside were strange. He wanted to feel rage, yet he felt empty. He wanted to feel sorrow, but there was a void there. He wanted retribution. He wanted to join the other students in cursing the woman to oblivion.

But he couldn’t even do that.

He didn’t have the time to figure out what his magic was doing any more. He was an overburdened OWL student and a fledgling Headmaster.

He was powerless.

It was odd to be in a position of power, yet he still couldn’t stop bad things from happening. Was this how Dumbledore felt sometimes? Another death had occurred in the span of mere months – first Cedric and now little Euan. 

Life moved on without them. Classes would resume tomorrow. Teachers would instruct; students would learn – the passage of time slipped on without a thought of those lost to memory, their presence felt yet never seen. Soon, they would be forgotten, like Myrtle had been forgotten.

But their loved ones, Euan’s parents, would never forget. They would always be missing their little boy. How had Cedric’s parents felt? How had Myrtle’s parents felt? How had they lived on?

Death was a cruel concept.

This was all the ministry’s fault – their very own government. The death hadn’t been caused by Voldemort nor had it been caused by a follower. For so long, the evil had been on the outside looking in, but now the evil had grown from within. An agenda, a political pursuit – this had been the ‘curse’ that had felled an eleven year old boy.

Harry dragged a hand over his face. He stared through his fingers, catching sight of the large desk at the back of the room. Piles of paperwork adorned the surface of the desk. The chair seemed huge, like it would dwarf his presence. How could he fill Dumbledore’s shoes here? This had turned out bigger than he had dreamed.

He knew – Harry knew he could relinquish the position. McGonagall could take his place. Snape could take his place. Any one of the other teachers could do a better job than he could – even Trelawney.

I should give up being Headmaster, shouldn’t I? Snape would be better than me. He’d know what to do.

‘No, child. You must be the one. You will not be the Headmaster forever. There are things only you have the power to accomplish. Your power gives me power. Bring about a new era. Then, you may step down.’

Harry sighed again.

All right. Where are those books?

Harry stepped into the room, looking around to see what would be a good place to put forbidden books.

‘In plain sight.’

He looked up and his heart fell. That’s right… Behind the desk was an enormous personal library. Shelves of books filled the curved walls, expanding further to a second floor. It would take him forever to find anything of use. He could enlist Hermione’s help – he knew she’d be eager to get her hands on any one of these books – but then he might have to explain why he wanted to look through them.

I don’t supposed you know where these books are on these shelves?

‘I do.’

Harry waited.

Amusement seeped through the stone. ‘I shall direct you to one. You must seek out the rest. Knowledge is to be sought after. You should work for your answers.’

Fair enough.

Harry walked towards the nearest shelf, but felt led to something behind the desk, furthest in the back – a shelf hidden from public view. Harry skimmed through the titles; chills slid down his back. They all seemed to be books about dark magic.

1000 Ways to Torture Your Enemies, Magick Moste Evile, and Poisons Thru the Ages jumped out at Harry first. He was quickly drawn to the latter, figuring it had to be a potions book. Snape would kill me. He stood there, staring, his fingers twitching. He exhaled and dragged his eyes away. He couldn’t. He really couldn’t…

Maybe later.

Another title caught his eye: Anatomy of a Soul. A hum breathed through stone. Harry reached for the book and pulled it off the shelf. He waited nervously, wondering if there would be a similar experience as he had when he’d snuck in the restricted section as a first year. He opened the book. Thankfully, the book didn’t express its displeasure at him.

Harry skimmed through the contents. It looked interesting enough. He turned to a page about the Jewish tradition of the soul. He read a line of, “It was believed the soul didn’t pass on into the next world for three days, leaving the possibility for someone to return to their body during that time.” He didn’t have much time to look into it further, however.

Something shimmered in the corner of his eye. Harry looked up as a silvery Lynx burst into view. A deep, smooth tone echoed through the voice. Harry recognized it as Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Harry Potter. Fudge is on his way with two aurors. Officially, they’re here to speak with the Abercrombies. Unofficially, he’s here to restore Umbridge as the Headmistress. If you resist, he intends to have you arrested.”

The Patronus faded away to mist. Fiery rage exploded in his heart. The book in his hands slammed shut. Harry smiled, a terrible grimace gripping his features. His hands shook. Any and all uncertainty that had plagued his heart burned to ashes with the blaze of a phoenix. 

Let him come. Let him see. If Fudge thinks he can get away with this, he has another thing coming.

Let him try.

The castle’s magic flooded through the room, thickening the air. It condensed around Harry, like arms wrapping around him in a soft embrace.

Peace, child.

“Don’t let the aurors through the gates,” said Harry, swirling around. He swept to the desk and stopped in front of the plush seat of the previous Headmaster. For a moment, he stared at it.

He sat down in the Headmaster’s chair.

“Keep those aurors off the grounds, but let Fudge through,” said Harry, putting the book aside. Power surged through the air, sweeping out of the room. His hands clenched into fists on the surface of the desk.

Let him come.

By the castle’s indignation, Harry knew Fudge had entered the castle. He waited, thinking of the parents of Euan. He remembered every tear. He remembered the sorrow in their expressions. He remembered their pain.

He might not be Albus Dumbledore. But he didn’t have to be.

He was Harry Potter.

“HARRY POTTER!”

He sneered. He inhaled deeply and let the fury flow away. Like before, he would play a part. He would be in control. Harry would outsmart this man. He waved a hand.

“Come in.”

The door flung open and an irate Cornelius Fudge stood in the doorframe.

Harry brightened in fake sincerity. “Minister!” he cried, gesturing for the man to enter. “Come in, come in, I’ve been hoping you would visit.” He looked a bit sheepish. “I have to admit I’m a bit new to this. Any advice would be welcome.”

And so it begins.

“Resign,” snapped Fudge.

Harry laughed good naturedly. “Oh, nice try, but you know I can’t do that.”

Fudge growled under his breath. “Why couldn’t my aurors enter the grounds?” he demanded. “And just why is Dolores in a stockade in the courtyard?!”

Harry dropped the act.

“What, you really thought I’d let your aurors anywhere near us after what you’ve done?” whispered Harry, darkness emanating through his tone. His eyes narrowed. “Your aurors can’t get on the grounds because I and the castle won’t allow it. We will protect these students, unlike you!”

Fudge flinched.

“I beg your pardon—”

“You will have to do more than beg here, Minister,” said Harry, his smile slipping into ice. “Sit,” he said, his tone clipped and demanding. The castle supplied a hard, unappealing chair.

Fudge sat.

“You are a child in an adult’s seat,” said Fudge, his chest puffing up. “Relinquish it before you get yourself further in trouble.”

“No.”

“You—”

“Hogwarts herself has accepted me as the headmaster,” said Harry, his tone sharp. It cut over the man’s objections. “By right of the magic that the founders placed here, I can be the headmaster as long as I want or until I die.”

“I’ll have you forcibly removed!” snapped Fudge, bolting to his feet. His bowler hat wobbled precariously on his head. “I had Albus Dumbledore himself removed! You don’t think I can’t have you, a foolish lying little brat, removed? I have aurors and ministry officers at my disposal, Potter. After everything the Ministry has done for you… We can and will rip your ungrateful self from that seat.”

Ungrateful?

“Not to bad mouth the previous Headmaster,” began Harry, leaning his elbows onto the desk. “But I am not afraid to piss off the Ministry.” Fudge bristled. “Anyone who dares to harm another child here will be met with the full power of this castle.”

Fudge went purple.

“And what would the parents say, I wonder,” said Harry in a light tone. “When they hear the ministry is waging a war against their children.”

“What?” squawked Fudge.

“It wouldn’t look good for your reelection, now would it?”

“Now see here—”

Harry slammed his hands against the desk, rising to his feet. The magic thrummed around him; the very stones of the walls hummed in harmony. The blood drained from Fudge’s face.

“You have to understand something,” said Harry, his gaze unwavering. “You are not welcome here. Your aurors are not welcome here. The entire school is out of your power. The students, the very castle herself, all support one fact: we will not answer to a corrupt government. You’ve harmed us deeply. You’ve killed one of us. We don’t trust you. In a time where you were supposed to protect us, you did nothing but sabotage our very survival.”

“Excuse me—”

“NO!” shouted Harry.

Magic flared in the air. With a whoosh, all the papers on the desk scattered. Fudge’s eyes widened; he leaned back, the fear prevalent there.

“He’s dead,” said Harry, his tone dropping. “Don’t you understand that? His name is Euan Abercrombie. He’s a first year Gryffindor. He didn’t even get to experience more than three months of Hogwarts. Umbridge and you are responsible for that boy’s death.”

Fudge slowly lowered himself in his chair. The anger hadn’t left his features. He inhaled, his chest puffing out again, as if trying to regain some of his position in the balance of power. Harry didn’t give him a chance.

“Consequences. Do you know what those are?” Harry smirked grimly. “Professor Snape taught me that one. They are the results of one’s choices. There’s no avoiding them. You pick up one end of the broomstick, the other end will follow. Always.”

Harry sat down. The magic calmed and all the papers slowly returned to the desk, sorting themselves back into their original order.

“Mr. Fudge. The consequence of your ambitions is the death of an eleven year old boy. Good luck explaining yourself to his parents. They’re in the hospital wing now, grieving over their little boy. I wonder why you’ve come here first instead of offering your condolences… One would think your priorities were off.”

This time, Fudge went pink.

“Get out of my office,” hissed Harry. “Don’t come back until you’re ready admit your mistakes and are ready to atone for them.”

“How dare you—”

Fudge cut off as the pressure in the air grew heavy. The portraits on the wall grew hushed, awe in their countenances.

“It happens again,” whispered Dippet.

Tendrils of magic curled around Harry’s throat, whispering her wishes into his ears. The accented tongue lilted his words – words not his own. It wasn’t one consciousness. It was the voices of thousands upon thousands of those who had once stepped within these halls. It was magic. It wasn’t magic.

“I have stood for centuries here, watching the corrupt poison seep through my stone walls. I have watched the rise and fall of many Dark Wizards and Witches. Helpless I stood, unable to stop those, with a heart thirsty for blood, lure my children away into the void.”

Harry was vaguely aware of the words spoken through his mouth. It was a strange feeling, yet it wasn’t invasive. It was warmth and power encapsulating his own.

“I am not helpless today. The blood of a child – my child – stains your hands, Cornelius Oswald Fudge. I demand restitution. Do not war against my appointed Headmaster. You would not like the outcome. Hogwarts stands by her choice.”

The magic calmed, dissipating. Exhaustion seeped into Harry’s body, but he refused to show the man any weakness. He glared at Fudge.

“Get out of my office, Fudge,” snapped Harry. “You may only come back when you’re ready to arrest Dolores Umbridge for child abuse, child endangerment, and for the murder of Euan Abercrombie. I’ll also consider your resignation as Minister of Magic as another step in the right direction.”

And with fury burning through every stone, Hogwarts forcibly threw Cornelius Fudge out of her Headmaster’s office.