TAKE TWO

* * *

May 19th, Tuesday, 9:45 am. Hogwarts

Tuesday morning was even worse. It was so far the worst morning this spring and felt more like late November than mid-May. It was cold, damp, grey and misty, strong wind swept his hair back, and although Harry's magic prevented him from feeling the cold, the pressure that came with the frequent gusts was making his skin, especially the scarred portions of it, very uncomfortable. He hated it. He hated it probably even more than the fact that he was once again strolling up the path from the gates to the Hogwarts front doors. Bloody castle. He really had been hoping to never see it again. 

Although the school did look quite miserable in its current state, providing some small and twisted sense of satisfaction despite the wind, because now Harry did not feel like of the two of them he was the one who always came out the worst. It was downright moronic to compete with the building, and even more so to find out who's most ruined, but Harry could not help it, not that he wanted to. 

He was quite preoccupied as it were, because the moment he crossed the perimeter wall, his whole body almost went into seizure from sudden whiplash as the magic of once carefully layered and structured wards thrashed around in complete disarray. It took Harry several minutes to get a grip on himself once more and force his legs into motion. 

As he went, he carefully scanned the area, attempting to assess the damage. McGonagall's accusations the other day forced him to reevaluate the present situation. He realised that people were very unlikely to leave him be as long as there was even the slightest reason not to, so Harry resolved himself to postpone the peace he was so desperate for and finish what he started. At least the major points, the rest he could easily ignore. He was the root cause of the castle's destruction? He'd put it back together or build it anew if it came down to it. Goblins had their knickers in a twist over a breach of their security system? He wasn't sure yet what to do about it, but would undoubtedly do something nonetheless the moment he discovered what. And so on. It’ll probably take months, but Harry will dispatch all the bothersome ties to the past. He will. 

Starting with the blasted school, which magic was slowly but surely dawdling away, Harry couldn't help but notice. It was only two and a half weeks after the battle, but the difference was noticeable nonetheless. He should warn Snape about it today, although, being the headmaster, he should be able to feel it himself.

The front doors were open. He hated those doors and this sort of gatherings with a passion… Old farts seated around a large round table, basked in their own self proclaimed importance and talked in circles about anything that caught their fancy, but with nothing to show for it as a result. Why did he agree to be a part of this circus?

The meeting was quite strategically held in the Great Hall — it missed a giant chalk of the outer wall as well as two of the stained glass windows behind the dais as far as Harry remembered. About a dozen people were already there. Harry attempted to calm the magic around him enough to be able to sense who was already present before he entered: Snape and McGonagall sat together opposite the door. They were the easiest. Then there was Frederick Brown Sr, a great second uncle of the late Lavender Brown's father, who sat across from the Headmaster and his deputy. A very old, very rich, and mostly senile, but incredibly tempered and opinionated family heirloom. If Dumbledore was to be believed, Mr. Brown sat on the Board for as long as even he could remember, and was an unofficial leader of them all. If one managed to convince Brown, one could count the vast majority of the rest in. On his left and right respectively were Augusta Longbottom and Chadwick Farrington — a ridiculously pompous but largely unimportant old man who spent all his days working in the ministry's archives. Next to him were Grizelda Cooper and Audrey Davidson — just as old but not quite so senile (not that it improved anything much) best friends. As far as Harry could tell, they were at school together, then at the same day married two wizards a couple of years older than them who also happened to be best friends, had children approximately at the same time, always shared opinions, views, etc, and now they sat at the Board in place of their late husbands… together still. Quite revolting. Silvanus Yalden was the youngest member of the Board — sixty-three — and had very little idea of what it meant and even less wish to be here. He sat to Augusta Longbottom’s left. Irwin Nelson — a distant relative of the notorious Preston Nott Senior who starting yesterday joined the ranks of Azkaban braindead zombies — was a little further, closer to McGonagall. And that was it so far. By Harry's estimation, they were missing six remaining members of the Board and one minister of magic. 

“Oh, joy…” he mumbled under his breath and made the final several steps to the Great Hall's entrance. The wait promised to be spectacular. 

The moment he set one foot inside, Snape's eyes snapped to him and the man froze mid-sentence. McGonagall's eyes followed the same path, and the rest of the attendees one by one stopped talking and joined in with the staring. Not one to be deterred by such a thing, though, Harry proceeded further into the room, heading straight to still slightly stunned Snape.

“Headmaster,” he said, holding out his hand.

Snape also stood up and shook it. His magic seemed to be calmer this morning, although it looked like the man was not breathing regardless of that fact… Harry doubted anyone else noticed, and the way Snape continued to react to him was almost funny if nothing else, but come on… It was not the time to have a breakdown. Still, it perked up his mood a little.

“Breathe,” he whispered, looking straight into Snape’s eyes, and took a seat right next to him, as was offered. He nodded politely to McGonagall and turned to look at the rest of the Board members. Everyone seemed… perplexed would be the kindest term. Though why was a great mystery to Harry, it wasn’t like he just came here completely out of the blue. He was practically forced to attend, after all. His newly revealed beauty might be the true culprit, but he didn't care about it one wit, to be honest. Or more precisely he didn't care how everybody else was taking it. 

Finally Snape seemed to push himself out of whatever and cleared his throat loudly.

“Gentlemen, ladies, may I present to you the one and only… Mr Harry Potter.”

Instead of the cheers that Harry half-expected, the room sank into even more deafening silence. For two full minutes the “governors” just continued to stare at him. Not in the eyes, though. None of the old wankers seemed to be able to look at his face. It was becoming ridiculous. 

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Audrey Dumb Davidson asked in her usual manner.

Snape’s and McGonagall’s eyebrows made a perfectly synchronised jump. 

“Mrs. Davidson… Are you asking whether I recognise my own student?”

That was all it took for Snape to regain composure — a dunderhead. Brings a sense of normalcy right home, it does. Hah.

“I’m just saying… He looked different in the photos in the Daily Prophet, that’s all,” the witch drawled apparently a bit too patronisingly for Snape’s liking, and then turned to Harry. “Are you truly Harry Potter?”

“I am,” Harry replied simply.

“I’m just saying… There’s so many lies and imposters these days.” She squinted, leaning forward. “Are you quite sure, my dear?”

Harry raised both eyebrows.

“Yes, he is,” sounded from the entrance. Kingsley walked toward the table, nodding and shaking hands as he went, then took a vacant seat at McGonagall's right. Everyone stared at him now.

“You knew?!” exclaimed McGonagall, turning to look at the new minister.

“Time turners are forbidden, I’ll have you know, minister! ” It was Yalden.

“Relax, all of you. I was the one who signed off an official permission for Potter to have and use a Japanese trinket that he bought there several years ago. It’s not a time turner, though it is rumoured to be able to act like one. Nobody’s ever proved it, so we had no grounds for prohibiting it. I take it, you’ve found the way then?” he asked Harry.

“We did.”

“You are uncharacteristically monosyllabic today, Mr. Potter…” stated McGonagall, looking straight at him. She was clearly annoyed, but Harry had no intention of playing by her rules. He held her gaze steadily.

“Am I?”

Somebody — either Longbottom or Yalden — snorted loudly.

“I fail to see what’s so funny, Augusta!”

“Leave the boy be, Minerva. Minister Shacklebolt already told you that the authorities are aware of this. The rest of us have no right to poke our noses in his personal business. I always teach my Neville: be aware of the goings-on around you, boy, but steer clear of it, unless somebody invites you to poke your nose in it.”

“Yes, it’s all well and good, but this is a serious matter!” Cooper continued digging. Harry leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms on his chest, focusing on why he should keep his temper in check… As the conversation progressed and more people joined in, unable not to add their two cents, the reasons were melting one by one right in front of his eyes, but before the last drop fell and Harry blew up, the rest of the missing governors walked in and took their seats.

Instantly everyone fell quiet, and Snape stood up again.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending this meeting, I understand that it’s not always easy to clear off a morning on such short notice.”

Bullshit. These specimens of a moving mould have nothing but “annoying shuffling” on their schedules.

Snape gestured to Harry. “Some of you already know, but for those who don’t, this is Mr Harry Potter. He is here by my personal invitation. Mr Potter generously agreed to make a donation to the school to help its restoration. Now, we have three topics on our agenda—”

“Right,” interrupted Nelson and every pair of eyes turned to him. “I would presume that the headmaster issue would be the first and foremost to cover,” he said with the sweetest of smiles on his face. A couple of people nodded, listening.

Snape's hand twitched, but with a deep breath, he sat down without another word.

Foolish man. He should be fighting for himself now, not impersonating a sighing wallflower. If Harry were to actually do what he was gearing himself up to, he would've vastly preferred Snape to be in the round office, mostly for convenience's sake, and the stupid man was thwarting his plans before he even started putting anything in motion.

“Really?” Harry said before anybody else had a chance to utter a word. “You guys don’t like Headmaster Snape or something?” He tried to sound somewhat like the Boy-Who-Lived, but without the puppy-dog eyes.

“Now, wait a minute!” McGonagall snapped, glaring daggers at Nelson. “This man here is a national hero!”

“It doesn’t mean that he’ll be good at raising our children,” Brown rasped. It was the first time he opened his mouth.

Harry attended a couple of these meetings in the past, mostly to annoy Dumbledore, which never failed to be fun. He was hidden, of course, but the late headmaster new he was there nonetheless — Harry made sure of it. Mr Frederic Brown seemed like your typical extremely old man, but more often than not he served as the only voice of reason among the governors.

Which was quite sad, if you think of it.

And also not a reason to follow him blindly like a flock of sheep.

“Whyever not? He’s not going to deal with children directly, after all, he’s going to do tons of paperwork and sit at various meetings.”

“Mr Potter, you’re young, you’re yet to start discovering all the intricacies of this life…”

“It’s not about ‘intricacies of life’ though, it’s about administrative work. And about understanding how this school works, understanding the world we’re living in. Severus Snape is the best candidate you have.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do. I also think that discussing it right in front of him is not exactly polite , is it?”

As if on cue, all the puppet heads turned to look at Snape. He was paler than usual and sat, resolutely staring down at the numerous scrolls and papers strewn on the desk. His magic, though… it was doing quite a roller coaster. Another episode was imminent, Harry could tell. 

Just brilliant.

To prevent the show, Harry reached forward with his magic to Snape's, enveloping it from all sides and calming it down. The moment it happened, Snape's gaze snapped to his, although no word was said.

“Maybe so, young man,” said Brown. “But the question must be resolved one way or another and the sooner the better. Let’s get back to the matter at hand, lest we be stuck here until dusk. Why Severus Snape, Mr Potter? Why not Minerva McGonagall, for example?”

Harry sighed and glanced at the two professors, quickly thinking through the merits of several different approaches to the situation.

“Well…" he said at last." I just think that — objectively — Professor Snape would be a better choice for the school. He’s younger, for one.”

“Which makes Professor McGonagall older.”

“So?”

Lady Longbottom huffed. “And wiser, more experienced.”

“Not necessarily,” Harry insisted. “I know quite a few very old but very foolish or immature people in both muggle and magical worlds. Age does not guarantee wisdom, just as it doesn't guarantee extensive life experience. Professor Snape is relatively young, yes, but he has a lot of skills and knowledge that Professor McGonagall doesn’t. Besides, I’ve spent six years with her as my head of a house, and I’m not trying to say that it was bad, but Gryffidnor house was a complete mess during all that time.”

“Really? And you think Slytherin wasn’t?”

“Of course it wasn’t. Slytherin house is a different universe altogether, and Professor Snape ruled it with precision. I’ve heard some stories, I know what I’m talking about. Besides, he was a spy. He knows the dark side. Knows how easy it is to get there and how hard it is to get out, which makes him an expert in how to keep young foolish children from making the worst mistake of their lives. Furthermore, he invested his whole life into this school, into the students' lives. He bled for us more than once, it’s in his best interests to see to it not being in vain. In addition, he knows this place. And he knows people, both here and in general. Knows how to control them, how to make them do their best, how to make them want to do their best. In a tough situation he knows how to find several ways out, how to make the impossible happen. He can think five steps ahead… I can go on for hours. 

“If you'd rather hear analogies, I think, It’s like running,” he continued, glancing at the Cooper-Davidson pair, then gliding his gaze over the rest of the circle. “Have any of you ever run? I did. A lot of time. And I think that there are two types of running: for pleasure, and for your life.

“When you run at your leisure, like a marathon or something, you know that when it gets really hard, you can stop. You can take a break, take a moment to breathe and decide whether you even want to continue. But you have a goal, and you're not a weakling, so of course you decide that you do, and in a moment, or five, or ten you are running again, only this time it’s somehow harder. But you pull it together, and you continue moving through the pain because of your goal, and because you’re not weak, of course, but mostly because deep down you know that you can stop at any moment regardless. And you do stop, this time earlier than before. If you made your first break after fifteen minutes, now you could barely make it to ten, then to six, four, one… In the end, your rest is your only goal, and you can barely move.

“If you’re stubborn enough, eventually you will be able to cover all of the distance in one go, and even take pleasure in the movement itself, in the wind, in a sense of freedom it all gives, but if you decide to suddenly take on a larger distance, you’ll most likely have to learn it anew, gradually increasing it or once again making a lot of stops. That’s how Professor McGonagall, and thousands of others with her, has been living and working.

“Professor Snape, though, he’s been running for his life. And when you run for your life, you’re in a certain mindset. Pain doesn’t matter, your collapsing lungs, your burning throat, your wooden legs… they don't matter. What’s a little discomfort compared to the fact that if you stop, you’ll die? And not just drop dead because your heart stopped, but die a horrible, horrible death when you wish you had an opportunity to die of a heart attack while running. Because no one runs for their life from fluffy kittens or something equally harmless. And when you do that kind of running every day for a very long period of time, everything else is child’s play. Your body learns how to survive on a minimum, your pain tolerance is sky high, your mind can switch off every uncomfortable feeling, allowing you to concentrate solely on your goal, because it knows that your goal, whatever it is, is the most important thing at the moment. All this, it gives you strength, and when you have that kind of strength, you can move a mountain. You can do anything, become anyone, no matter what it takes. Because you have your goal, you've seen the price tag, and it's goddamn worth it.  

“I’ve felt the weight of the world on my shoulders for some time, and I decidedly did not like it. My situation is different, of course, some would argue that it’s nothing compared to Professor Snape's, and maybe it isn't. It doesn’t matter now. What does, though, is if he were to continue in charge of the school, for him it would be restful. He’d be able to run this place for many years nonstop. Add to it his relatively young age, his experience, his skills, his knowledge, his creativity, think of hundreds of ways that he can come up with to improve the students education and life quality, and subsequently our society in general.

“I’m not saying that Professor McGonagall won’t be good. She really is the right person for that kind of job, but in this case, for her it won’t be restful, I think… It would be more work, more responsibility, not less. She’d have to up her game, increase the distance, which means that she’d have to either learn it anew, making a lot of stops, or imagine that there’s a monster behind her back and start running for her life at a neck breaking speed. The problem is — she’s not used to it.” Harry paused and looked right at the red-faced McGonagall. “And it's a bit late to start learning, don’t you think?”

His gaze shifted once again, landing square on Brown. The man seemed shocked, as did the rest of the governors.

“You’re not planning to steal my job, are you, Potter?” Kingsley tried to make a joke, but nobody paid him any mind.

“I think, Mr. Potter, that you’re quite a wise young man yourself,” Brown praised, dragging himself out of his stupor. And Harry went for a kill. The wind outside started blowing with increased force, making something nearby flap maddeningly, annoying Harry to no end.

“And I think that it’s a load of sentimental horseshit. It’s not the time to wax lyrical, Mr Brown. Look at my face. We’re sitting here for almost an hour and you did not look me in the eyes once. ”

“I did not want to seem rude.”

“You did not want to see reality. I said LOOK AT MY FUCKING FACE!” His voice boomed around the Hall coupled with the howling of the wind, turning sixteen pairs of astonished eyes towards Harry as he stood up leaning on the table top. “I’ll tell you what the reality is, you bloody useless gas bags. It’s hundreds of people scarred for life by a war that might have been prevented if not for someone’s overwhelming ambitions. It’s a ministry that does nothing to move the society out of the nineteenth bloody century because it’s clinging to foolish mediaeval traditions that allow them to wield more power and money. It’s a school that doesn’t teach a single fucking thing about the real fucking world to its students! All your persistence in living in a wonderland does is help us crash further down.”

Harry's voice dropped to barely audible soft tones. “Why did this war happen, Mr Brown?”

Flap, flap, flap…

“Because V-Voldemort was a bloodthirsty monster.”

“V-Voldemort,” Harry repeated mockingly. “His name was Tom Riddle, and that’s not the correct answer.”

He waited a little. “Anyone? No?”

He glanced at Snape, but the man was staring down again, and Harry left him be. This tirade wasn't directed at him anyway. He turned his blazing gaze toward the governors, burning each of them one by one. 

“Let me enlighten you then. The war happened because instead of pushing the school and the ministry to live in their own age, to open their eyes and see the prejudice, the corruption, the sheer ignorance that is thriving in this country, you people were sitting here — still are — mimicking bloody ornaments and collecting money. This Board of Governors is a useless organisation with only a nominative function. A bloody joke. ” Harry took a breath and  continued more calmly. 

“Tom Riddle was a muggle-raised halfblood, and yes, he had every reason to hate certain muggles, but that's not why he started this civil war. I can't vouch for whether or not he would’ve killed anyone, because he clearly was mentally unstable, but either way he was far from stupid, Mr Brown. He used the ideas that were already there so readily available to appease his inner demons, getting a lot of followers as went along, which only further inflamed his already enormous ego. ”

“He might've still hated muggles.”

“Have you ever met a single muggle-raised halfblood who hated all muggles just for the heck of it? I sincerely doubt that.

“No, blood purity is a wholly magical highly arrogant idea. We need to raise our children with their eyes wide open. That's why I'm choosing Severus Snape over every person in this room, over every person any of you could bring. He is the only one who is capable of dragging this so-called school out of the shithole that you allowed it to fall into in a timely fashion, more so, he’s the only one who wants to!”

He so wanted a drag.

“Frankly, this whole conversation is highly insulting. Instead of doubting Snape yet again, you should beg him to be here. Humiliating him, making me of all people defend him is not a great way to do so.” Harry was truly seething by this point, not just pretending to, and god how good it felt . “If nothing changes, I don't see any point in wasting my time and my money to rebuild this ruin,” he added as an afterthought, looking at McGonagall. “Polysyllabic enough for you?”

The poor woman gulped and nodded reflexively. Nobody knew what to say or do in this situation. Funny, McGonagall most likely imagined a completely different scenario when she invited Harry here. So did he. 

Such a pity, really.

“I’ll be outside if you decide to talk business after all,” Harry said quietly, and calmly walked out, not looking back. He stopped just outside the front doors, put his hands in his trousers’ pockets, and looked ahead for some time. The castle’s magic still scratched unpleasantly on his nerves (he was long used to it, but come on), and the blasted wind still blew, but overall it was quite a peaceful picture. Almost as peaceful as it felt the first moments after Riddle’s death, when he stood over the ashen corpse and watched that first beam of the rising sun dancing. The peace is always different when it comes after a storm. More deep somehow. 

Feeling restricted all of a sudden, Harry let all of his magic roam free, feeling it entwine with the Hogwarts’ like in the old times. It meant that he was no longer warm and that he once again could sense everything that was going on at the school, but he did not mind it. Lightning up a cigarette he watched over the steep hill and the swaying branches of trees in the Forbidden Forest, glanced at the Quidditch pitch, wanting to catch even a tiny, long lost feeling of nostalgia for the place where he spent so much time, where he lived through so much. He was relatively sure that nostalgia was a good feeling, that it was something light but with a touch of sadness, and wasn’t all that surprised when he couldn’t detect any such thing inside him. In fact, he couldn't detect any remotely warm feeling toward the school. All he felt was a quiet contentment at finally being free of this place, and it was a nice feeling, but not what he was looking for.

Everyone in the Great Hall still stayed put, talking over his little impromptu speech, Harry presumed. He was almost confident in the outcome: all present governors, except maybe Nelson, were easily swayed in needed direction — a weakness often explored in the past by certain Board members which shall remain nameless. Harry decided to give them more time and shifted his attention to the Hogwarts magic. 

“Merlin, it’s freezing out here…” mumbled Snape, when he walked out of the Entrance Hall a couple of minutes later and stopped next to Harry, also looking ahead. “It's supposed to be May.” 

Not changing the direction of his gaze and without a single word Harry took out another cigarette for himself and then held out his pack and a lighter, inviting his companion to do the same. 

Snape took one, ignited it, and for almost a minute they stood in silence. The man's magic felt agitated again. 

“The governors want you to claim one of the vacant seats on the Board.” 

Harry almost choked on his own saliva, but immediately recovered. He knew the risks of doing righteous long-winded speeches in front of these people… And went on anyway. Ugh. He'll deal with it in a moment. The sole point of his presence here today, according to his agreement with McGonagall, was to help her keep Snape in his position if need be. Manipulating the herd of these old goats was kind of fun — to a degree — but did it work? 

He turned to look at Snape. “I hate this place, Severus,” he said simply. Silence fell again. 

“Well, this is a chance to help morph it into something you would be able to like, isn't it?” 

Harry snorted and turned away again, taking another deep drag. 

Peace, he just wanted peace , for God's sake, was it truly so much to ask? 

“Are you going to refuse?”

“Do you want me to?” 

“I'm not going to make a decision for you here, Potter.”

“I have a name. Use it.” 

“I can't call you that…” 

“I'm not asking you to make a decision. I just want to know whether the Headmaster is going to work with me if I agree.”

Silence stretched once more. Judging by the fact that Snape did not deny the title, Harry's speech was a resounding success. Excessively so. What to do with it, however? 

Harry finished the cigarette and was about to vanish the butt when Snape replied softly:

“I don't know…”

Without bothering to reply to this stupidity, Harry turned around and strode back inside the castle, replacing the warmth ‘spells’ on himself. Snape followed shortly, not trying to catch up with him, though. 

The atmosphere of the meeting was a little gloomy and subdued: nobody chirped about the latest nonsense, nobody huffed condescendingly at those who chirped, nobody sat feeling inordinately important or pleased with themselves. All in all — quite nice. 

“Mr Potter!” exclaimed Brown with fake joviality. “We were afraid you wouldn't return.” 

“Well, I'm here. What is it?” Harry said, taking his seat.

“Didn’t the Headmaster explain the matter to you?”

And rob you of an opportunity to do your job? Hardly. 

Harry raised both eyebrows. “He just said you wanted to talk with me.”

“Well, son,” Longbottom drawled. “We were very impressed with your intelligence and the wisdom of your words, well done.”

“Exactly,” Brown continued. “You probably are not aware, but the Potter family always had a seat at this Board until the beginning of this century, and we'd like to offer you an opportunity to reclaim it. We think you would be able to do great things here.”

Harry was aware, and most likely knew even more about the issue than the Board did. However…

“I'd still like to hear all the details first, if you don't mind.”

And stall. He needed time to make this decision…

Brown nodded and droned away about the duties of a member of the Board: the annual donations, the meetings, the responsibility, the paperwork, and so on. Harry nodded in all the right places, but didn’t really listen. He knew all that already. 

He didn't lie when he told Snape that he hated this place. It brought him nothing but pain and misery. And scars. So many scars. 

But he knew it from top to bottom as well as the back of his own hand. Every corridor, passageway, every room, every nook, every statue, painting or person be they dead or alive. He knew this place's magic as intimately as his own. 

Maybe Snape was right, and this was an opportunity to make the castle represent what it should have been representing to him from the very beginning — a second home. A place to feel that pang of nostalgia. And the duties wouldn't be extremely bothersome, not really.

Only what about his wish to get rid of all ties to the school? 

As a member of the Board he'd be able to do it quicker, though… 

He could not believe he seriously contemplated this. 

But. Nobody said he must stay here until the day he died, did they? He would just do what he resolved himself to and then leave. Right? 

“So, Mr Potter,” Brown called, bringing him back to the present. “What do you say?”

Harry took a deep breath and glanced at the faces around.

You're a fool, Potter. Life never teaches you much, does it?

Oh, shut it. 

“Fine,” he said. “I accept the position.”

Brown beamed, Longbottom did too, as well as most of the rest. Nelson was the only one who wasn’t impressed, but Harry didn't expect him to. The man mostly supported his cousin in supporting Riddle’s reign of terror, although he never had the guts to actually join the Death Eaters.

Snape stayed mostly impassive, but McGonagall positively vibrated with joy for whatever reason. Harry decided not to bother with that particular silliness. 

The next couple of minutes were spent battling off congratulations, and then the meeting resumed. 

Same day, 8:40 am

Severus was going through the hallways of Hogwarts at a brisk pace, not wishing to look too closely at the damage done to the school. He was the first one to arrive, because he was the only one who could enter — there weren’t many wards still standing, but those that did needed to be unlocked from inside and only by a headmaster — the castle was completely empty since the 3rd of May, save for the ghosts. Everybody was moved out: the wounded to St. Mungo's, the dead to the cemetery, the Death Eaters to the holding cells, the rest to their homes, and the house-elves to McGonagall's family estate — and the castle was closed until further notice. Some corridors where Argus had time to clean on the 2nd seemed better than the others, but in general the picture was depressing: stone dust, mixed with rubble and in places with dry blood, covered a worrying percentage of every surface Severus had laid eyes on so far, some walls were half ruined, some were missing entirely, two of the hallways he usually took to get to his office were essentially eliminated. The wards informed him that the Astronomy tower was razed to the ground, the Divination tower was on the verge of collapse, part of the outer wall in the Great Hall was destroyed, which placed the roof above in a somewhat precarious position and broke the famous centuries old enchantment on the ceiling, half of the windows in the entire castle were missing… Minerva was right in at least one thing — they did need Potter and the ungodly amount of money he supposedly agreed to donate. Severus could rebuild the towers with magic and ask Minerva, the other professors, and house-elves for help with the interior, but everything else… Only the portraits' restoration would cost a small fortune, furniture — another small fortune, rare plants from the ruined greenhouses — about thrice more, and so on. And they would have to plan the budget very carefully, because he wanted to give the trio’s year students a proper chance to finish their education (the rest of them too, of course), which would increase the number of students in attendance, which would, in turn, increase the expenses. So he really-really needed Potter. 

The only hindrance in this plan was that Severus had to meet with him again and talk with him one on one in order to get it all done, but he wasn't sure how he felt about that prospect.

Finally Severus got to the seventh floor… and found a giant hole, through which he could see the school grounds, where the entrance to his tower used to be. The view was spectacular, as it always had been — if one squinted and ignored the state of the territory — but it did pose a little bit of a problem. It was a miracle the tower was even standing.

Severus hated flying like this, but there was no other way… He had to get inside his office to unlock the wards. So he flew very slowly and carefully through the hole and up along the round staircase. He opened the door to the office with magic, flew in, and extremely carefully landed in the middle, not moving or touching anything for fear of collapsing the tower around him. Time was of essence however, so Severus held out his wand and set to work. 

Ten minutes later he was finished and descended to the Great Hall, because that was where they decided to hold the meeting. Despite its relatively destroyed state, it still was the most clean and usable area in the castle. And it was helpfully illustrative, which, in truth, was his main objective for suggesting it.

Ignoring his raging emotions, Severus set to conjure the usual ring-shaped table and twenty-two chairs around it, then stopped and removed five. There would only be thirteen out of twenty Governors, Potter, Shacklebolt, Minerva, and himself today.

Done with it, Severus sat down on the chair directly opposite the door, stapled his fingers on the table, and waited. 

Fifteen minutes later the first person arrived at the gates, and Severus suddenly felt his guts being tied in knots. What if it was Potter? Would he come as his true self or would he pose as a seventeen-year-old? Would he acknowledge what happened on Saturday? Should Severus do it himself? He felt like a bloody fearful teenager, was pissed at himself for such a stupid reaction, but simultaniously couldn’t imagine reacting any other way in this situation. And thankfully he had the foresight to have a cup of the Japanese tea before coming here, which helped a lot.

The person who entered wasn’t Potter, thank Merlin. It was Minerva. She sat down to Severus’ right and immediately started some benign conversation, distracting him. At some point she extricated several scrolls of parchment with reports and numbers and other numerous useful for the meeting things out of her robes and the two of them became dead to the world as they debated some last-minute changes under a Muffliato. He resolutely ignored the wards that tingled at each newcomer.

The next time Severus raised his eyes, they landed on an angular figure of Harry bloody Potter that stood in the doorway in all his battered glory, watching them all with a neutral expression. His gaze landed first on him, then on Minerva, and then on the gathered governors. Potter just stood there for several endless seconds and without a word walked in, heading — to Severus’ horror — straight to him. Minerva bumped his boot with her own, prompting him to stand up.

“Headmaster,” Potter said calmly, holding out his hand.

Slightly dazed, Severus shook it without a word, feeling his thoughts becoming to swim in his head. His hands moved.

“Breathe,” Potter whispered, sliding out of his line of sight, and Severus inhaled automatically, only belatedly realising that he had stopped doing so at some point. It was probably the reason for dizziness and swimming thoughts…

“So fucking stupid! Pull yourself together, you moron!” flew through Severus’ mind as he was retaking his seat.

For a couple of minutes the Great Hall was deathly silent as every governor present stared at Potter, caught in different degrees of confusion. When Severus regained his composure as best as he could, he cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen, ladies, may I present to you the one and only… Mr Harry Potter.”

What happened next was a blur… Severus was… He had difficulties understanding what exactly he was feeling after hearing all this… whatever it was, and a strong urge to occlude almost devoured him whole. He watched Potter’s calmly retreating figure with rising panic, hearing snatches of the man’s phrases echoing around his long-suffering mind and watching the pack of wolves that surrounded him slowly come out of their stupor. Their reactions could very well be fatal for Severus, and he dreaded it, but mostly he was just in shock of his own over something that occurred to him at that moment clear as day.

He felt safer with Potter’s overwhelming larger than life presence in the room, even knowing that at the same time it made him a nervous wreck.

And as Severus watched him walk out of the door, feeling the rising panic fighting to take hold, feeling so small and so foolish as he didn’t feel in decades, he realised another important thing: at that moment he absolutely loathed Harry fucking Potter.

Not the remainder of his first love-slash-obsession or his school tormentor that he represented to him in the past. At that moment, for the first time ever, Severus hated him.

“Quite an explosive young man he is…” a woman’s voice on his left said.

“He has a point,” Shacklebolt’s booming one replied quietly.

Severus realised that he was staring into nothingness and that Minerva was gripping his forearm tightly and shook her off.

“Does he?” Lady Longbottom piped in.

“Yes.” — Shacklebolt.

“What do you propose then, minister?” 

Kinsley sighed and rubbed his face with both of his large hands. “No idea. I’m just as shocked as you are, Mr Nightingale. But Potter does have a point. This whole blood supremacy ideology stinks to high heaven. Muggles have long ceased to be dimwitted apes from the dark ages. They’ve become so developed that it’s we who are looking like apes now, magic or no magic. Burying our heads in the proverbial sand would not do any good to us. 

“Be grateful that Voldemort was stopped before he was able to truly get his paws onto the muggle world. If he — and this country by extension — were considered to be a real threat to the rest of the planet’s population, our whole island might’ve been erased to the deepest pits of Hell in a few minutes. Our ignorance will get us killed sooner or later. It’s imperative that we don’t give ourselves away. We do need to stop stagnating, accept the fact we are a part of something far larger and finally start acting like it.”

Everyone was silent for a couple of minutes after that. Personally, Severus didn’t think that anyone would dare drop a nuclear bomb or something along those lines on the British Isles because of the Dark Lord’s actions, although if they became truly desperate… Who knows what might’ve happened then.

“Well…” Mr Brown said uneasily. “In that case I think we should start by offering our sincerest apologies to Headmaster Snape for our moment of doubt and hesitation.” He stopped and all faces turned to Severus. It made him highly uncomfortable, and not trusting himself to speak just yet, he just nodded.

“Good. Now, our second step should be, I think, to offer one of the vacant seats to Mr Potter. His family always held one in any case, and this particular young man can be a great asset to the school. He seems like he has a functioning brain and a certain amount of experience in both muggle and magical worlds alike. And he proved to be willing to work in tandem with the current school administration. What do you all think? We’ll still be here to guide him if need be, after all, but a fresh pair of eyes would never be amiss.”

Severus very much doubted that Potter would agree.

He couldn’t decide whether he himself could agree to it.

The discussion went back and forth for several more minutes until Mr Brown worked his way through everyone who disagreed with his point of view. At last, the Board of Governors was ready to welcome a new member into the fold. Minerva already voiced her agreement with the development, and, once again, every fucking person in the room turned their attention on him. Severus hated it. He did not know what to say. He didn’t even know what to think… But judging by how often he kept finding himself on the verge of another episode this morning, it was a good thing that he didn’t.

But everybody was still waiting, and for a lack of a better idea he just got up from his seat.

“I’ll go find him then,” his mouth announced without consulting his brain, and Severus shut it, heading for the exit.

Potter stood a few paces away from the front door, looking at the Forbidden forest. The weather was in agreement with Severus’ mood today. It helped to clear his head a little, but still…

“Merlin, it’s freezing out here… It's supposed to be May.”

Severus stopped at Potter's right, trying to calm down his bleeding nerves that fluttered again at the sight of him. 

Damn that fucking Occlumency to Hell and back.

Quite insultingly, Potter didn't acknowledge him in any way, he just kept staring ahead, which was a relief… In an insulting kind of way.

A minute later Severus somehow found himself taking a deep drag of Potter's cigarette alongside the man himself and wondering what the heck he was doing… He quit smoking five years ago and swore to never start again. 

But bloody Potter screwed things up one more time. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

He wanted to snap, to vent his anger, but remembered the moment of that terrifying paralysis, Potter's soft threatening tone, his eyes full of cold fury, and the feeling of his pulse immediately speeding up changed his mind. So Severus resolved himself to stew in silence. 

Another couple of minutes went by until Severus managed to wrestle his nerves and remember why he was even here. 

“The governors want you to claim one of the vacant seats on the Board.” 

Potter made a strange almost choking noise and sighed as if it was an unpleasant thing that he expected to happen, but hoped it wouldn't, and after a moment turned his intense bone-shattering gaze at him. “I hate this place, Severus,” he said simply. 

Silence fell again.

A flutter of hope and disappointment fought inside Severus. 

“Well, this is a chance to help morph it into something you would be able to like, isn't it?” he once again found himself saying. What the fuck? Where did the bloody filter go? 

Potter snorted and turned away again, taking another deep drag. Severus mirrored the motion. Smoke burned his lungs pleasantly, helping him to maintain a tight grip on his equilibrium. 

Peace, he just wanted peace , for God's sake, was it truly so much to ask? 

“Are you going to refuse?”

“Do you want me to?”

The hell if he knew… 

“I'm not going to make a decision for you here, Potter.”

“I have a name. Use it.”

Pff…

“I can't call you that…” 

He couldn't even think straight when Potter was near, calling him anything other than ‘Potter’ was out of question. 

“I'm not asking you to make a decision. I just want to know whether the Headmaster is going to work with me if I agree.”

Silence stretched once more. Another good bloody question. Everything in Severus screamed to shove Potter as far away as possible and never interact with him again in any way, but there was another small treacherous part of him that was also acutely aware of that strange feeling of safety that Potter aroused in him. He felt it even now. It was so confusing… How could he hate someone who brought such a nice albeit foreign feeling?

“I don't know…” Severus whispered, watching Potter extinguish the butt of his cigarette and vanish it into thin air. Not bothering to reply, he turned around and strode back towards the castle, leaving Severus alone in the wind.

“Right, don't mind me, your highness…” he mumbled under his breath and made to follow. 

Severus made it back to the Great Hall on autopilot, still thinking furiously about this new predicament he had found himself in. With Potter as a member of the Board he'd be answering to him in a sense, which was downright degrading, but at the same time, whether deliberately or not the man demonstrated a remarkable ability to operate these old buffoons, which in theory gave Severus a chance to run the school the way he wanted to. 

If he managed to come to an agreement with Potter first. 

“Mr Potter!” exclaimed Mr Brown. “We were afraid you wouldn't return.” 

“Well, I'm here. What is it?” Potter said, taking his seat.

Severus sat down and glanced at Minerva questioningly. She shook her head. 

“Didn’t the Headmaster explain the matter to you?”

“He just said you wanted to talk with me.”

Well, well… Liar, liar, pants on fire. It was a sure sign that Potter was indeed manipulating these fools however, which boded well in perspective.

“Well, son, we were very impressed with your intelligence and the wisdom of your words, well done,” Augusta piped in, looking somewhat smug, and Severus felt a strange sort of satisfied amusement at her antics, as someone included in a joke usually does.

“Exactly,” Brown continued. “You probably are not aware, but the Potter family always had a seat at this Board until the beginning of this century, and we'd like to offer you an opportunity to reclaim it. We think you would be able to do great things here.”

“I'd still like to hear all the details first, if you don't mind.”

Mr Brown nodded and droned away about the duties of a member of the Board, but Potter clearly didn’t bother listening to him. Severus watched him watching the table intently and wondered what he was thinking. It went on for several minutes — one of the longest waits he had ever experienced — until Mr Brown finished.

“So, Mr Potter, what do you say?”

Potter took a deep breath.

Severus held his own. 

“Fine,” he said. “I accept the position.”

* * *