His leg bounced. The thick set of parchment sheets in his hands flopped back and forth, rattling loudly. His mouth was dry. His heart pounded in his chest.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The old grandfather clock, which had intricate carvings of elaborate dragons, ticked endlessly in his ears. Harry sat on the edge of the sofa, glancing up at the clock every few moments. Time was inching too slow and far too fast. The staff lounge room was empty except Harry and Snape. In a few minutes, they would enter the staff meeting room where Harry would have to present all his plans to the other professors of Hogwarts.

Right. No pressure.

Absolutely no pressure there. None whatsoever.

This wasn’t going to be a big waste of everyone’s time. Nope. Not the teachers. Not his friends, who had helped him make copies. No waste of time.

Someone put me out of my misery already.

“Harry James, I suggest you hold that leg still before I chop it off. There are a handful of potions that would benefit greatly from the leg of a fidgety teenager.”

“Are there really?” asked Harry nervously, looking over at Snape. He bit his lower lip. He glanced down. He couldn’t hold still. Well. The leg would have to go. Would it go at the hip or the knee?

There was a deep sigh. Harry heard movement. The sofa sank as Snape sat next to him. The man rested his hand on Harry’s knee. The leg stopped moving. Something eased inside Harry’s chest, the tension breathing out with an exhale – all from a single, steadying touch on the knee.

Harry swallowed and looked over at Snape. The man took a deep breath and returned the gaze.

“Are you prepared?” asked Snape with a raised eyebrow. Those dark eyes were filled with reassurance. Strength poured inside Harry’s heart.

Harry nodded.

“Have you done your research?”

Another nod.

“Have you worked hard on this?”

“Of course,” whispered Harry. “We all have. I couldn’t have done it without my friends. I couldn’t have done it without you either. A lot of hard work went into this.”

“Then, you will do well,” said Snape. There was a light squeeze of Harry’s knee. “Have confidence in yourself. You’ve done all that you can, considering the circumstances. You know your professors won’t bite,” he added with a smirk. “Well… except one.”

Harry let out a soft laugh. His hands lightly crinkled the edges of the parchment papers in his hands. A large, callused hand overlapped one of his own.

“You will do well,” whispered Snape. 

The hand withdrew. The weight beside Harry disappeared.

Yet, he didn’t feel the weight of that disappearance.

Harry’s gaze slowly lifted; he took in the wide back, the fluttering robes. The man’s head was turned slightly, showing the profile of the hooked nose. There was something strong, powerful within the man’s stance – there was an unyielding elegance there. Harry couldn’t imagine that he would’ve ever found something inviting in this man. He’d always been someone to hide from, to avoid – instead, Harry looked to him for strength and assurance.

A dad…

My Dad.

Harry looked down. His heart expanded with warmth at the thought. He wasn’t an orphan any more. He wasn’t alone any more. He was part of a family who cared for him. He could find support in this man.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that. When would he get used to this? Would he ever get used to it?

Snape turned around and gave him a raised eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Nothing,” he whispered, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

He received an odd look at that, but the man didn’t say anything about it. Snape motioned towards the clock, just as it struck the hour. A light chime echoed through the room.

“It’s time.”

Harry nodded and stood up. With trembling hands, he brought the parchment stack to his chest. He lifted his chin and walked forward, stepping into the staff room first. The other professors were all seated at the long rectangle table. It seemed far longer and bigger than Harry had thought it would. He looked at all of the other professors, feeling small and awkward. Some of them didn’t look happy about this.

Lovely start, that.

I just have to act like I know what I’m doing.

Yeah… that’ll work.

“Thanks for coming,” said Harry, his voice timid. He coughed, clearing his throat.

There was an imperceptible pat on his back. Snape swept by, his robes fluttering behind him, and sat down at the long table. A chair was at the end of the table, empty: waiting for Harry.

He felt even smaller.

Harry walked to the chair and sat down, sinking deeply into it. His collarbone reached the top of the table. He sent a pleading glance towards Snape, who snorted. With a light flick, the chair adjusted itself, raising Harry to sit at the proper height of the table.

Well, this was just a fantastic way to begin this.

“Um,” began Harry. He cleared his throat and spoke stronger. “Thanks for coming. We’re here because there are some things that I think need to be changed.”

There were a handful of derisive snorts. The other professors glanced between each other, exchanging looks.

“Mr. Potter,” said Professor Sprout, studying him with scrutiny. “Forgive me if I sound negative, but you must understand. While you are an improvement from Dolores Umbridge, you’re not the best improvement for this school. Personally, I think you should step down and let Minerva take your place until Albus returns.”

“I agree with Pomona,” said Professor Flitwick with a bob of the head. “Understand, Mr. Potter, we have nothing against you, but you are a child and shouldn’t be in this position of immense responsibility.”

Harry swallowed. This will be harder than he thought. He looked to Snape once more, but the man refused to look at him. There was a tiny shake of the head.

I can do this.

“I understand,” said Harry with a nod. He smiled weakly at the professors. “I know I’m fifteen and I have no business being the Headmaster. But—” His breath caught. Power flooded through his voice, overtaking his words and making them her own. “No, enough of this. I have chosen this boy. Stop wasting precious time. He shall be your Headmaster until he is no longer needed. Let him make his mark. Leave my child be.”

There were multiple sharp inhales of breath. Snape’s head snapped to Harry, concern flecking inside his eyes. His lips thinned.

The presence faded from his voice. Harry sagged in his seat, drawing in a deep breath. With each time Hogwarts spoke with him, it was getting easier for him to handle her weight. He could feel her encouragement burn through him.

“I… I didn’t really think I was going to be the Headmaster for long,” said Harry with a soft sigh. “But this castle has different ideas about that. So, I’m going to take this time to make a few changes while I have the power to do so.”

“The rumors were true, then,” whispered Professor McGonagall. “The portraits kept talking about the castle speaking again, but I didn’t think…”

They were looking at him differently now. There was a sense of reverence in their gazes, yet they still needed convincing. Harry set his papers down. He knew what he wanted to say.

“Professor Dumbledore once told me,” said Harry softly, his voice low. “That sometimes we have to choose between what is easy and what is right.” Harry took a deep breath. “I know this isn’t easy. I know changing centuries of tradition is super hard, but… Was any of it working in the first place?”

A few of the professors shifted in their seats. Their eyes were unwavering as they looked at him.

“We’ve had centuries of dislike towards one house and have glorified another for no reason,” said Harry, his voice growing in volume with each word. “We’ve had decades of poor or just outright terrible Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. We can’t keep doing this. How are we supposed to stand against Voldemort—” A number of the teachers sucked in their breaths, while Trelawney squeaked and dramatically fell out of her chair. “—when we can barely cast third year spells?”

Harry paused, giving Trelawney a moment to collect herself.

“We’re defenseless. We’re divided,” said Harry, looking between each of the teachers. His heart soared at the glittering light in Snape’s eyes. Approval. It pushed him onward. “We hate each other based on the color of our house and the blood of our parents. Pureblood, blood traitor. Gryffindor, Slytherin. It’s all fake. None of it matters in the end. I’m tired that our entire culture and way of life is cemented in this.”

He dragged a hand over his face and sighed deeply. Harry looked up; his hand clenched into a fist.

“It’s time for a change, Professors. It’s time to stop looking at the past as unshakable tradition, but as something we should evolve from and become better as a people. We can’t be strong against evil, against Dark Lords like Voldemort, if our own hearts are weak and brittle with senseless prejudice.”

Harry let out a slow exhale, looking for their responses.

Silence.

It unnerved Harry’s fortitude, but he didn’t show it. If he couldn’t convince them, what made him think he could convince an entire wizarding culture? The Ministry of Magic?

“Well said, Mr. Potter,” said Professor Flitwick with a nod of his head. “I agree with you. Our world does need a change. But… what makes you think you have the answer?” A dark, serious light entered his gaze. “You are, after all, just one more who has tried – a youth, at that. Others have failed with far more wisdom and experience than you. Change is hard, but nearly impossible to foist upon a whole society. What makes you different?”

“I have plans here,” said Harry a little breathless, grabbing the stack of parchment. He had made them by hand with the help of Hermione and Luna – even Draco had helped with a few. Ron had been their personal cheerleader. Harry passed them to the side. Professor Burbage took one and passed them to Professor Babbling, and onward until everyone had a copy.

“This is an extensive list,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding shocked. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t just get Miss Granger to do this for you, correct? You did this?”

“I didn’t do it alone,” said Harry, swallowing nervously. “Hermione did help me with logistics, but most of them are my ideas and plans.”

“Impressive,” said Professor Sinistra, thumbing through the papers.

“He’s certainly put in the work and effort,” said Professor Vector with a nod. “Much more than I have to say about many of my students.”

“This isn’t a class project, though,” said Professor Sprout. She sighed. “This is… a lot to take in.”

“No house points?” asked Professor McGonagall, her head snapping up. “No Quidditch?!”

Harry remained impassive as best as he could at the look of horror on her face.

“How in Merlin’s name are we supposed to keep the order?” demanded Professor McGonagall. “There’s no motivation for hard work. There’s no house unity. How do you expect to replace all this?”

“Hard work should come from within, shouldn’t it?” said Professor Grubbly-Plank lightly. Professor McGonagall huffed at her.

“It’s there in the plans,” said Harry in a timid voice. “Line eight.”

“Yes, I can read, Mr. Potter,” snapped Professor McGonagall. “This isn’t a good enough explanation.”

Snape snorted.

“Have something to add, Severus?” asked Professor McGonagall, sending Snape a withering glare.

“Minerva, listen to the boy,” said Snape in an even tone. He smirked at her. “What you’re truly protesting about is the fact there will be no more house Quidditch. Pity.” McGonagall puffed up, looking indignant. Snape’s expression grew serious. “There are many good points in this. I have read through them multiple times. I gave him my most scathing critiques and he produced this with my approval. Stop complaining so loudly and just read it with an open mind.”

The man looked over at Harry. Snape gave him a short nod before looking down at the parchment. At his words, the other teachers began to read, with the shuffling of the parchment sheets the only thing breaking the silence.

Snape was on his side.

Severus Snape was on Harry Potter’s side – he was more than a shadowed protector, more than a hidden supporter.

Harry smiled. He felt a bit more confident now.