#hjpev

like minds

i'm pretty sure you'll enjoy stage7 just as much as i do ;з

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1drM1eKKa1pmylI26xyEc0mM2s0ahiF8BCaRb2ut8dU0/edit

Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres Aesthetic

The awesome thing was how fast he'd been able to escalate the chaos once he started doing it deliberately.

Harry sat in his office; he'd been given the authority to order furniture from the house elves, so he'd ordered a throne, and curtains in a black and crimson pattern. Scarlet light like blood, mixed with shadow, poured over the floor.

Something in Harry felt like he'd finally come home.

Before him stood the four Lieutenants of Chaos, his most trusted minions, one of whom was a traitor.

This. This was what life should be like.

"We are gathered," said Harry.

"Let Chaos reign," chorused his four Lieutenants.

"My hovercraft is full of eels," said Harry.

"I will not buy this record, it is scratched," chorused his four Lieutenants.

"All mimsy were the borogroves."

"And the mome raths outgrabe!"

That concluded the formalities.

"How goes the confusion?" Harry said in a dry whisper like Emperor Palpatine.

"It goes well, General Chaos," said Neville in the tone he always used for military matters, a tone so deep that the boy often had to stop and cough. The Chaotic Lieutenant was neatly dressed in his black school robes, trimmed in the yellow of Hufflepuff House, and his hair was parted and combed in the usual look for an earnest young boy. Harry had liked the incongruity better than any of the cloaks they'd tried. "Our Legionnaires have begun five new plots since yesterday evening."

Harry smiled evilly. "Do any of them have a chance of working?"

"I don't think so," said Neville of Chaos. "Here's the report."

"Excellent," said Harry, and laughed chillingly as he took the parchment from Neville's hand, trying his best to make it sound like he was choking on dust. That brought the total to sixty.

Let Draco try to handle that. Let him try.

And as for Blaise Zabini...

Harry laughed again, and this time it didn't even take an effort to sound evil. He really needed to borrow someone's pet Kneazle for his staff meetings, so he'd have a cat to stroke while he did this.

"Can the Legion stop making plots now?" said Finnigan of Chaos. "I mean, don't we have enough already -"

"No," Harry said flatly. "We can never have enough plots."

Professor Quirrell had put it perfectly. They were pushing the boundaries further, perhaps, than they had ever been pushed; and Harry wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he'd turned back now.

There came a knock at the door.

"That will be the Dragon General," Harry said, smiling with evil prescience. "He arrives precisely as I expected. Do show him in, and yourselves out."

And the four Lieutenants of Chaos shuffled out, casting dark looks at Draco as the enemy general entered into Harry's secret lair.

Chapter 18: Dominance Hierarchies

Even J.K. Rowling knew that children can be insufferable.

"That does sound like the sort of thing I would do, doesn't it?"

It was breakfast time on Friday morning. Harry took another huge bite out of his toast and then tried to remind his brain that scarfing his breakfast wouldn't actually get him into the dungeons any faster. Anyway they had a full hour of study time between breakfast and the start of Potions.

But dungeons! In Hogwarts! Harry's imagination was already sketching the chasms, narrow bridges, torchlit sconces, and patches of glowing moss. Would there be rats? Would there be dragons?

"Harry Potter," said a quiet voice from behind him.

Harry looked over his shoulder and found himself beholding Ernie Macmillan, smartly dressed in yellow-trimmed robes and looking a little worried.

"Neville thought I should warn you," Ernie said in a low voice. "I think he's right. Be careful of the Potions Master in our session today. The older Hufflepuffs told us that Professor Snape can be really nasty to people he doesn't like, and he doesn't like most people who aren't Slytherins. If you say anything smart to him it... it could be really bad for you, from what I've heard. Just keep your head down and don't give him any reason to notice you."

There was a pause as Harry processed this, and then he lifted his eyebrows. (Harry wished he could raise just one eyebrow, like Spock, but he'd never been able to manage.) "Thanks," Harry said. "You might've just saved me a lot of trouble."

Ernie nodded, and turned to go back to the Hufflepuff table.

Harry resumed eating his toast.

It was around four bites afterward that someone said "Pardon me," and Harry turned around to see an older Ravenclaw, looking a little worried -

Some time later, Harry was finishing up his third plate of rashers. (He'd learned to eat heavily at breakfast. He could always eat lightly at lunch if he didn't end up using the Time-Turner.) And there was yet another voice from behind him saying "Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said wearily, "I'll try not to draw Professor Snape's attention -"

"Oh, that's hopeless," said Fred.

"Completely hopeless," said George.

"So we had the house elves bake you a cake," said Fred.

"We're going to put one candle on it for every point you lose for Ravenclaw," said George.

"And have a party for you at the Gryffindor table during lunch," said Fred.

"We hope that'll cheer you up afterward," finished George.

Harry swallowed his last bite of rasher and turned around. "All right," said Harry. "I wasn't going to ask this after Professor Binns, I really wasn't, but if Professor Snape is that awful why hasn't he been fired?"

"Fired?" said Fred.

"You mean, let go?" said George.

"Yes," Harry said. "It's what you do to bad teachers. You fire them. Then you hire a better teacher instead. You don't have unions or tenure here, right?"

Fred and George were frowning in much the same way that hunter-gatherer tribal elders might frown if you tried to tell them about calculus.

"I don't know," said Fred after a while. "I never thought about that."

"Me neither," said George.

"Yeah," said Harry, "I get that a lot. See you at lunch, guys, and don't blame me if there aren't any candles on that cake."

Fred and George both laughed, as if Harry had said something funny, and bowed to him and headed back toward Gryffindor.

Harry turned back to the breakfast table and grabbed a cupcake. His stomach already felt full, but he had a feeling this morning might use a lot of calories.

As he ate his cupcake, Harry thought of the worst teacher he'd met so far, Professor Binns of History. Professor Binns was a ghost. From what Hermione had said about ghosts, it didn't seem likely that they were fully self-aware. There were no famous discoveries made by ghosts, or much of any original work, no matter who they'd been in life. Ghosts tended to have trouble remembering the current century. Hermione had said they were like accidental portraits, impressed into the surrounding matter by a burst of psychic energy accompanying a wizard's sudden death.

Harry had run into some stupid teachers during his abortive forays into standard Muggle education - his father had been a lot pickier when it came to selecting grad students as tutors, of course - but History class was the first time he'd encountered a teacher who literally wasn't sentient.

And it showed, too. Harry had given up after five minutes and started reading a textbook. When it became clear that "Professor Binns" wasn't going to object, Harry had also reached into his pouch and gotten earplugs.

Did ghosts not require a salary? Was that it? Or was it literally impossible to fire anyone in Hogwarts even if they died?

Now it seemed that Professor Snape was going about being absolutely awful to everyone who wasn't a Slytherin and it hadn't even occurred to anyone to terminate his contract.

And the Headmaster had set fire to a chicken.

"Excuse me," came a worried voice from behind him.

"I swear," Harry said without turning around, "this place is almost eight and a half percent as bad as what Dad says about Oxford."

Harry stamped down the stone corridors, looking affronted, annoyed, and infuriated all at once.

"Dungeons!" Harry hissed. "Dungeons! These are not dungeons! This is a basement! Abasement! "

Some of the Ravenclaw girls gave him odd looks. The boys were all used to him by now.

It seemed that the level in which the Potions classroom was located was called the "dungeons" for no better reason than that it was below ground and slightly colder than the main castle.

In Hogwarts! In Hogwarts! Harry had been waiting his whole life and now he was still waiting and if there was anywhere on the face of the Earth that had decent dungeons it ought to be Hogwarts! Was Harry going to have to build his own castle if he wanted to see one little bottomless abyss?

A short time later they got to the actual Potions classroom and Harry cheered up considerably.

The Potions classroom had strange preserved creatures floating in huge jars on shelves that covered every centimeter of wall space between the closets. Harry had gotten far enough along in his reading now that he could actually identify some of the creatures, like the Zabriskan Fontema. Albeit the fifty-centimeter spider looked like an Acromantula but it was too small to be one. He'd tried asking Hermione, but she hadn't seemed very interested in looking anywhere near where he was pointing.

Harry was looking at a large dust ball with eyes and feet when the assassin swept into the room.

That was the first thought that crossed Harry's mind when he saw Professor Severus Snape. There was something quiet and deadly about the way the man stalked between the children's desks. His robes were unkempt, his hair spotted and greasy. There was something about him that seemed reminiscent of Lucius, although the two of them looked nothing remotely alike, and you got the impression that where Lucius would kill you with flawless elegance, this man would simply kill you.

"Sit down," said Professor Severus Snape. "Now."

Harry and a few other children who had been standing around talking to each other scrambled for desks. Harry had planned on ending up next to Hermione but somehow he found himself sitting down in the nearest empty desk next to Justin Finch-Fletchley (it was a Doubles session, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff) which put him two desks to the left of Hermione.

Severus seated himself behind the teacher's desk, and without the slightest transition or introduction, said, "Hannah Abbott."

"Here," said Hannah in a somewhat trembling voice.

"Susan Bones."

"Present."

And so it went, no one daring to say a word in edgewise, until:

"Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."

"The celebrity is present, sir."

Half the class flinched, and some of the smarter ones suddenly looked like they wanted to run out the door while the classroom was still there.

Severus smiled in an anticipatory sort of way and called the next name on his list.

Harry gave a mental sigh. That had happened way too fast for him to do anything about it. Oh well. Clearly this man already didn't like him, for whatever reason. And when Harry thought about it, better by far that this Potions professor should pick on him rather than, say, Neville or Hermione. Harry was a lot better able to defend himself. Yep, probably all for the best.

When full attendance had been taken, Severus swept his gaze over the full class. His eyes were as empty as a night sky without stars.

"You are here," Severus said in a quiet voice which the students at back strained to hear, "to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins," this in a rather caressing, gloating tone, "bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses," this was just getting creepier and creepier. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as great a pack of fools as I usually have to teach."

Severus somehow seemed to notice the look of skepticism on Harry's face, or at least his eyes suddenly jumped to where Harry was sitting.

"Potter!" snapped the Potions professor. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry blinked. "Was that in Magical Drafts and Potions?" he said. "I just finished reading it, and I don't remember anything which used wormwood -"

Hermione's hand went up and Harry shot her a glare which caused her to raise her hand even higher.

"Tut, tut," Severus said silkily. "Fame clearly isn't everything."

"Really?" Harry said. "But you just told us you'd teach us how to bottle fame. Say, how does that work, exactly? You drink it and turn into a celebrity?"

Three-quarters of the class flinched.

Hermione's hand was dropping slowly back down. Well, that wasn't surprising. She might be his rival, but she wasn't the sort of girl who would play along after it became clear that the professor was deliberately trying to humiliate him.

Harry was trying hard to keep control of his temper. The first rejoinder that had crossed his mind was 'Abracadabra'.

"Let's try again," said Severus. "Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"That's not in the textbook either," Harry said, "but in one Muggle book I read that a trichinobezoar is a mass of solidified hair found in a human stomach, and Muggles used to believe it would cure any poison -"

"Wrong," Severus said. "A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat, it is not made of hair, and it will cure most poisons but not all."

"I didn't say it would, I said that was what I read in one Muggle book -"

"No one here is interested in your pathetic Muggle books. Final try. What is the difference, Potter, between monksblood and wolfsbane?"

That did it.

"You know," Harry said icily, "in one of my quite fascinating Muggle books, they describe a study in which people managed to make themselves look very smart by asking questions about random facts that only they knew. Apparently the onlookers only noticed that the askers knew and the answerers didn't, and failed to adjust for the unfairness of the underlying game. So, Professor, can you tell me how many electrons are in the outermost orbital of a carbon atom?"

Severus's smile widened. "Four," he said. "It is a useless fact which no one should bother writing down, however. And for your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite, as you would know if you had read One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Thought you didn't need to open the book before coming, eh, Potter? All the rest of you should be copying that down so that you will not be as ignorant as him." Severus paused, looking quite pleased with himself. "And that will be... five points? No, let us make it an even ten points from Ravenclaw for backchat."

Hermione gasped, along with a number of others.

"Professor Severus Snape," Harry bit out. "I know of nothing which I have done to earn your enmity. If there is some problem you have with me which I do not know about, I suggest we -"

"Shut up, Potter. Ten more points from Ravenclaw. The rest of you, open your books to page 3."

There was only a slight, only a very faint burning sensation in the back of Harry's throat, and no moisture at all in his eyes. If crying was not an effective strategy for destroying this Potions professor then there was no point in crying.

Slowly, Harry sat up very straight. All his blood seemed to have been drained away and replaced with liquid nitrogen. He knew he'd been trying to keep his temper but he couldn't seem to remember why.

"Harry," whispered Hermione frantically from two desks over, "stop, please, it's all right, we won't count it -"

"Talking in class, Granger? Three -"

"So," said a voice colder than zero Kelvin, "how does one go about filing a formal complaint against an abusive professor? Does one talk to the Deputy Headmistress, write a letter to the Board of Governors... would you care to explain how it works?"

The class was utterly frozen.

"Detention for one month, Potter," Severus said, smiling even more broadly.

"I decline to recognize your authority as a teacher and I will not serve any detention you give."

People stopped breathing.

Severus's smile vanished. "Then you will be -" his voice stopped short.

"Expelled, were you about to say?" Harry, on the other hand, was now smiling thinly. "But then you seemed to doubt your ability to carry out the threat, or fear the consequences if you did. I, on the other hand, neither doubt nor fear the prospect of finding a school with less abusive professors. Or perhaps I should hire private tutors, as is my accustomed practice, and be taught at my full learning speed. I have enough money in my vault. Something about bounties on a Dark Lord I defeated. But there are teachers at Hogwarts who I rather like, so I think it will be easier if I find some way to get rid of you instead."

"Get rid of me?" Severus said, now also smiling thinly. "What an amusing conceit. How do you suppose you will do that, Potter?"

"I understand there have been a number of complaints about you from students and their parents," a guess but a safe one, "which leaves only the question of why you're not already gone. Is Hogwarts too financially strapped to afford a real Potions professor? I could chip in, if so. I'm sure they could find a better class of teacher if they offered double your current salary."

Two poles of ice radiated freezing winter across the classroom.

"You will find," Severus said softly, "that the Board of Governers is not the slightest bit sympathetic to your offer."

"Lucius..." Harry said. "That's why you're still here. Perhaps I should chat with Lucius about that. I believe he desires to meet with me. I wonder if I have anything he wants?"

Hermione frantically shook her head. Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was all on Severus.

"You are a very foolish boy," Severus said. He wasn't smiling at all, now. "You have nothing that Lucius values more than my friendship. And if you did, I have other allies." His voice grew hard. "And I find it increasingly unlikely that you were not Sorted into Slytherin. How was it that you managed to stay out of my House? Ah, yes, because the Sorting Hat claimed it was joking. For the first time in recorded history. What were you really chatting about with the Sorting Hat, Potter? Did you have something that it wanted?"

Harry stared into Severus's cold gaze and remembered that the Sorting Hat had warned him not to meet anyone's eyes while thinking about - Harry dropped his gaze to Severus's desk.

"You seem oddly reluctant to look me in the eyes, Potter!"

A shock of sudden understanding - "So it was you the Sorting Hat was warning me about!"

"What?" said Severus's voice, sounding genuinely surprised, though of course Harry didn't look at his face.

Harry got up out of his desk.

"Sit down, Potter," said an angry voice from somewhere he wasn't looking.

Harry ignored it, and looked around the classroom. "I have no intention of letting one unprofessional teacher ruin my time at Hogwarts," Harry said with deadly calm. "I think I'll take my leave of this class, and either hire a tutor to teach me Potions while I'm here, or if the Board is really that locked up, learn over the summer. If any of you decide that you don't care to be bullied by this man, my sessions will be open to you."

"Sit down, Potter!"

Harry strode across the room and grasped the doorknob.

It didn't turn.

Harry slowly turned around, and caught a glimpse of Severus smiling nastily before he remembered to look away.

"Open this door."

"No," said Severus.

"You are making me feel threatened," said a voice so icy it didn't sound like Harry's at all, "and that is a mistake."

Severus's voice laughed. "What do you intend to do about it, little boy?"

Harry took six long strides forward away from the door, until he was standing near the back row of desks.

Then Harry drew himself upright and raised his right hand in one terrible motion, fingers poised to snap.

Neville screamed and dived under his desk. Other children shrank back or instinctively raised their arms to shield themselves.

"Harry don't!" shrieked Hermione. "Whatever you were going to do to him, don't do it!"

"Have you all gone mad?" barked Severus's voice.

Slowly, Harry lowered his hand. "I wasn't going to hurt him, Hermione," Harry said, his voice a little lower. "I was just going to blow up the door."

Though now that Harry remembered it, you weren't supposed to Transfigure things that were to be burned, which meant that going back in time afterward and getting Fred or George to Transfigure some carefully measured amount of explosives might not actually have been such a good idea...

"Silencio," said Severus's voice.

Harry tried to say "What?" and found that no sound was coming out.

"This has become ridiculous. I think you've been allowed to get yourself in enough trouble for one day, Potter. You are the most disruptive and unruly student I have ever seen, and I don't recall how many points Ravenclaw has right now, but I'm sure I can manage to wipe them all out. Ten points from Ravenclaw. Ten points from Ravenclaw. Ten points from Ravenclaw! Fifty points from Ravenclaw! Now sit down and watch the rest of the class take their lesson!"

Harry put his hand into his pouch and tried to say 'marker' but of course no words came out. Had he known sign language he could have experimented with sending non-verbal commands to the pouch – which could have resulted in highly-positive consequences if he ever needed to retrieve something without anyone finding out – but alas, as a 10-year-old Anglo-Saxon raised in an ethnocentric community, he had not even bothered with studying a foreign language, let alone learning to communicate with the deaf.

He needed to escape fast, or risk his classmates’ assumptions that he’d been foiled by this insufferable madman. All eyes were on him: his anger was quickly clouding his vision, his fists began to shake.

“Now then,” Severus almost whispered, his eyes fixed on Harry’s trembling body, a smile hiding in the corners of his mouth, “the rest of you, I said, page 3.”

 Before he could think, Harry reached for the nearest shelf and with one broad swipe of his arm knocked over as many jars as he could onto the ground, not caring what inside any of them. The students startled and stared, and Harry quickly began to assault the full contents of the shelf. Vials broke, potions flew, liquids landed on a nearby Hufflepuff’s robe which immediately began to disintegrate, bursts of color-filled smoke were permeated in the classroom.

"You're insane, Potter," Severus said with cold contempt.

Aside from that, no one spoke.

The last thing Harry remembered was turning to face Severus with an accusing look on his face, you caused this you maniacal bully, at the same time that a flash of light burst from Professor Snape’s wand and blackness turned off his world.

It was when Harry woke up in an unfamiliar room with a note elegantly written with: Come in, when you’re ready, that some of the anger drained away and he realized what he'd just done.

What he'd just done.

Harry's face was frozen in absolute horror.

He'd antagonized a teacher three orders of magnitude beyond anything he'd ever managed before. He'd threatened to walk out of Hogwarts and might have to follow through on it. He'd lost all the points Ravenclaw had and then he'd used the Time-Turner...

His imagination showed him his parents yelling at him after he was expelled, Professor McGonagall disappointed in him, and it was just too painful and he couldn't bear it and he couldn't think of any way to save himself -

The thought that Harry allowed himself to think was that if getting angry had gotten him into all this trouble, then maybe when he was angry he'd think of a way out, things seemed clearer somehow when he was angry.

And the thought that Harry didn't let himself think was that he just couldn't face this future if he wasn't angry.

So he cast his thoughts back and remembered the burning humiliation -

Tut, tut. Fame clearly isn't everything.

Ten points from Ravenclaw for backchat.

The calming cold washed back through his veins like a wave reflected and returning from some breaker, and Harry let out his breath.

Okay. Back to being sane now.

He was actually feeling a bit disappointed in his non-angry self for collapsing like that and wanting only to get out of trouble. Professor Severus Snape was everyone's problem. Normal-Harry had forgotten that and wished for a way to protect himself. And let all the other victims go hang? The question wasn't how to protect himself, the question was how to destroy this Potions professor.

So this is my dark side, is it? Bit of a prejudiced term that, my light side seems more selfish and cowardly, not to mention confused and panicky.

And now that he was thinking clearly, it was equally clear what to do next. He had already realized that he was in a room adjoining Headmaster Dumbledore’s office – he could hear him, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape talking quietly – and all he had to do was open the door and, in perfectly rational terms, demand Snape’s expulsion from the school.

Minerva McGonagall waited in the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore sat in his padded throne behind his desk, dressed in four layers of formal lavender robes. Minerva sat in a chair before him, opposite Severus in another chair. Facing the three of them was an empty wooden stool.

They were waiting for Harry Potter, who was asleep in a supply room next door.

Harry, Minerva thought despairingly, you promised you wouldn't bite any teachers!

And in her mind she could see very clearly the reply, Harry's angry face and his outraged response: I said I wouldn't bite anyone who didn't bite me first!

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Dumbledore called.

The door swept open, and Harry Potter entered. Minerva almost gasped out loud. The boy looked cool, collected, and utterly in control of himself.

"Good mor-" Harry's voice suddenly cut off. His jaw dropped.

Minerva tracked Harry's gaze, and she saw that Harry was staring at Fawkes where the phoenix sat on its golden perch. Fawkes fluttered his bright red-golden wings like the flickering of a flame, and dipped his head in a measured nod to the boy.

Harry turned to stare at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore winked at him.

Minerva felt she was missing something.

Sudden uncertainty crossed Harry's face. His coolness wavered. Fear showed in his eyes, then anger, and then the boy was calm again.

A chill went down Minerva's spine. Something was not right here.

"Please sit down," said Dumbledore. His face was now serious once more.

Harry sat.

"So, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I've heard one report of this day from Professor Snape. Would you care to tell me what happened in your own words?"

Harry's gaze flicked dismissively to Severus. "It's not complicated," said the boy, smiling thinly. "He tried bullying me the way he's been bullying every non-Slytherin in the school since the day Lucius foisted him off on you. As for the other details, I request a private conversation with you concerning them. A student who is reporting abusive behavior from a professor can hardly be expected to speak frankly in front of that same professor, after all."

This time Minerva couldn't stop herself from gasping out loud.

Severus simply laughed.

And the Headmaster's face grew grave. "Mr. Potter," the Headmaster said, "one does not speak of a Hogwarts professor in such terms. I fear that you labor under a terrible misapprehension. Professor Severus Snape has my fullest confidence, and serves Hogwarts at my own behest, not Lucius Malfoy's."

There was silence for a few moments.

When the boy spoke again his voice was icy. "Am I missing something here?"

"Quite a number of things, Mr. Potter," said the Headmaster. "You should understand, to start with, that the purpose of this meeting is to discuss how to discipline you for the events of this morning."

"This man has terrorized your school for years. I spoke to students and collected stories to make sure there would be enough for a newspaper campaign to rally the parents against him. Some of the younger students cried while they told me. I almost cried when I heard them! You allowed this abuser to run free? You did this to your students? Why? "

Minerva swallowed a lump in her throat. She'd - thought that, sometimes, but somehow she'd never quite -

"Mr. Potter," said the Headmaster, his voice now stern, "this meeting is not about Professor Snape. It is about you and your disregard for school discipline. Professor Snape has suggested, and I have agreed, that three full months of detention will be appropriate -"

"Declined," Harry said icily.

Minerva was speechless.

"This is not a request, Mr. Potter," the Headmaster said. The full, entire force of the wizard's gaze was turned on the boy. "This is your punishme-"

"You will explain to me why you allowed this man to hurt the children placed in your care, and if your explanation is not sufficient then I will begin my newspaper campaign with you as the target."

Minerva's body swayed with the force of that blow, with the sheer raw lese majeste.

Even Severus looked shocked.

"That, Harry, would be most extremely unwise," Dumbledore said slowly. "I am the primary piece opposing Lucius on the gameboard. For you to do such a thing would strengthen him greatly, and I did not think that was your chosen side."

The boy was still for a long moment.

"This conversation grows private," Harry said. His hand flicked in Severus's direction. "Send him away."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry, did I not tell you that Severus Snape has my fullest confidence?"

The boy's face showed the shock of it. "This man's bullying makes you vulnerable! I am not the only one who could start a newspaper campaign against you! This is insane! Why are you doing this?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry. It has to do with things that you are not, at this time, ready to hear."

The boy stared at Dumbledore. Then he turned to look at Severus. Then back to Dumbledore again.

"It is insanity," the boy said slowly. "You haven't reined him in because you think he's part of the pattern. That Hogwarts needs an evil Potions Master to be a proper magical school, just as it needs a ghost to teach History."

"That does sound like the sort of thing I would do, doesn't it?" said Dumbledore, smiling.

"Unacceptable," Harry said flatly. His gaze was now cold and dark. "I will not tolerate bullying or abuse. I had considered many possible ways of dealing with this problem, but I will make it simple. Either this man goes, or I do."

Minerva gasped again. Something strange flickered in Severus's eyes.

Now Dumbledore's gaze was also growing cold. "Expulsion, Mr. Potter, is the final threat which may be used against a student. It is not customarily used as a threat by students against the Headmaster. This is the best magical school in the entire world, and an education here is not an opportunity given to everyone. Are you under the impression that Hogwarts cannot get along without you?"

And Harry sat there, smiling thinly.

Sudden horror dawned on Minerva. Surely Harry wouldn't -

"You forget," Harry said, "that you're not the only one who can see patterns. This grows private. Now send him -" Harry flicked a hand at Severus again, and then stopped in mid-sentence and mid-gesture.

Minerva could see it on Harry's face, the moment when he remembered.

She'd told him, after all.

"Mr. Potter," said the Headmaster, "once again, Severus Snape has my fullest confidence."

"You told him," whispered the boy. "You utter fool."

Dumbledore didn't react to the insult. "Told him what?"

"That the Dark Lord is alive."

"What in Merlin's name are you on about, Potter? " cried Severus in tones of sheer astonishment and outrage.

Harry glanced briefly at him, smiling grimly. "Oh, so we are a Slytherin, then," Harry said. "I was starting to wonder."

And then there was silence.

Finally Dumbledore spoke. His voice was mild. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, Albus," Minerva whispered.

Severus and Dumbledore turned to look at her.

"Professor McGonagall didn't tell me," said Harry's voice, swiftly and less calm than it had been. "I guessed. I told you, I can see the patterns too. I guessed, and she controlled her reaction just as Severus did. But her control fell a shade short of perfection, and I could tell it was control, not genuine."

"And I told him," said Minerva, her voice trembling a little, "that you, and I, and Severus were the only ones who knew."

"Which she did as a concession to prevent me from simply going around asking questions, as I threatened to do if she didn't talk," Harry said. The boy chuckled briefly. "I really should have gotten one of you alone and told you that she told me everything, to see if you let anything slip. Probably wouldn't have worked, but would have been worth a shot." The boy smiled again. "Threat's still on the table and I do expect to be briefed fully at some point."

Severus was giving her a look of utter contempt. Minerva raised her chin and bore it. She knew it was deserved.

Dumbledore leaned back in his padded throne. His eyes were as cold as anything Minerva had seen from him since the day his brother died. "And you threaten to abandon us to Voldemort if we do not comply with your wishes."

Harry's voice was razor-sharp. "I regret to inform you that you are not the center of the universe. I'm not threatening to walk out on magical Britain. I'm threatening to walk out on you. I am not a meek little Frodo. This is my quest and if you want in you will play by my rules."

Dumbledore's face was still cold. "I am beginning to doubt your suitability as the hero, Mr. Potter."

Harry's return gaze was equally icy. "I am beginning to doubt your suitability as my Gandalf, Mr. Dumbledore. Boromir was at least a plausible mistake. What is this Nazgul doing in my Fellowship?"

Minerva was completely lost. She looked at Severus, to see if he was following this, and she saw that Severus had turned his face away from Harry's field of vision and was smiling.

"I suppose," Dumbledore said slowly, "that from your perspective it is a reasonable question. So, Mr. Potter, if Professor Snape is to leave you alone henceforth, will that be the last time this issue arises, or will I find you here every week with a new demand?"

"Leave me alone?" Harry's voice was outraged. "I am not his only victim and certainly not the most vulnerable! Have you forgotten how defenseless children are? How much they hurt? Henceforth Severus will treat every student of Hogwarts with appropriate and professional courtesy, or you will find another Potions Master, or you will find another hero!"

Dumbledore started laughing. Full-throated, warm, humorous laughter, as if Harry had just performed a comic dance in front of him.

Minerva didn't dare move. Her eyes flickered and she saw that Severus was equally motionless.

Harry's visage grew even colder. "You mistake me, Headmaster, if you think that this is a joke. This is not a request. This is your punishment."

"Mr. Potter -" Minerva said. She didn't even know what she was going to say. She simply couldn't let that go by.

Harry made a shushing gesture at her and continued to speak to Dumbledore. "And if that seems impolite to you," Harry said, his voice now a little less hard, "it seemed no less impolite when you said it to me. You would not say such a thing to anyone who you considered a real human being instead of a subordinate child, and I will treat you with just the same courtesy as you treat me -"

“Enough.” The Headmaster paused, his face turning serious.

He spoke softly, but directly: “Harry, you must know, at a rational level, that you are, in fact, still a child – a child of great intelligence, who knows a great many deal of facts – but nonetheless still a child.”

Harry’s mind began to race furiously, if he thinks I’m just going to –

“Harry, my dear boy, think rationally at the facts you know about yourself: a ten-year-old boy is in his first plateau of neuronal development, and cannot be expected to begin his second round of neuron production until about twelve years old; you haven’t even reached puberty yet! The prefrontal cortex awaits the nourishment and refinement of adolescence, creating the much needed ‘area of sober thought.’

“Consequently, research shows that ten-year-olds score horribly in tasks designed to override a normal impulse to attend to new information and curiosity about something forbidden; they have a fifty-fifty chance of avoiding this stimuli, a toss of a coin’s chance. Already, in just this week, we have seen you fail spectacularly at controlling your impulses in every area of your new life, and my previous conversations with Professor McGonagall show that you seek out the forbidden regardless of any consequences. And we haven’t even discussed your lack of impulse control in dealing with authority!”

“I will not be bullied by a madman - !”

“My point exactly! Unrepentant in your inability to control your urge to lash out in anger. This conversation is no-longer about Professor Snape, Harry, we shall address that momentarily, this conversation is about you. Your choices prove that you are completely driven by self-interest, typical of a ten-year-old in a pre-conventional level of moral reasoning. No, no, we have enough evidence; from your pranks on poor Mr. Longbottom (yes, Harry, I heard about that as well), to your curious courting of Mr. Malfoy: everything is done for your interest only. I cannot pretend that you are considerate to our social contracts as a wizarding community, I cannot pretend that you are empathetic to our new culture you are just beginning to explore, it is obvious that in your wisdom you do not consider our age as bringing far more experimental anecdotes about how the world works, and it is foolishness to think that at your age you could rationalize your behaviour by claiming to care about universal ethics.

“No, Mr. Potter, what matters most to you is that everyone see how right you are and how wrong they are, from bullies you have encountered to allies like Professor McGonagall; you are indiscriminate in how you deal with your peers. Particularly in your treatment of Professor McGonagall, Harry, who entrusted you with a dear gift of a Time Turner to treat your restless sleep, you have behaved most irresponsibly, to both our disappointment, using the device as you wish while ignoring every rule about its use that she set forth with your best interest in mind.

"You see, my dear boy, you are perfectly average for a ten-year-old boy. Above average in knowledge, certainly a real human being, but not a peer, not an adult, not a subordinate child, but yes: a child, nonetheless.

“And so, it is at this point that we must decide what to do about you.”

Harry scrambled for a reply, but it was hard to argue against scientific research regarding the human brain’s development from childhood to adolescence. He had read all the literature concerning it, of course, but had quickly dismissed it as inapplicable to himself since his intellect surely proved that his brain had already developed beyond his peers’, and obviously matched any full-grown adult’s. Surely this was the case with him, right? Surely he magically possessed the brain development of a grown adult, had somehow already made whatever extra neurons all people make in adolescence, and could match, no, better, an adult’s ability for good judgement?

Headmaster Dumbledore leaned back into his throne and casually put his arms behind his head, then stared wistfully at the enchanted ceiling for a very, very long time.

Harry Potter. No, Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, to be exact. Even that, already, was a deviation from his plan. And what had he been planning, exactly? To protect the Boy Who Lived using the most effective resources he could imagine, for he knew the Dark Lord had not been completely vanquished and might find a way to come back. His first objective, of course, would be to destroy the Boy who first destroyed him.

The enchantments to protect him during childhood, the endless charms he had conjured for his unequivocal protection at Hogwart’s, his protection as an under-age wizard which should last for another seven years, all carefully thought-out to give him as much mobility as possible with guaranteed protection.

Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres was alive and well, right here in this room, exactly because Albus had protected him so.

But plans are nothing; planning is everything. And so, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore confronted the foolishness of his plans. It didn’t matter that he had left the child in the care of loving kin, far away from scrutiny in the wizarding community for the child’s sake, so that he could have a full and happy upbringing, no, this boy lacked even the most basic empathy imaginable for a child his age, and was so completely absorbed by himself that he could not comprehend the sacrifice so many had made for him. He was the most dangerous child to set foot at Hogwarts since Tom Riddle, and was well on his way to becoming the most dangerous wizard since in just three weeks’ worth of knowing that magic even existed.

He had failed to plan for that.

Albus thought back to the war, to the terror of so many years, friends lost, good wizards who’d fallen, unlucky ones tortured into madness barely hanging by at St. Mungo’s, the camaraderie of fighting for what was right but the draining, dulling hardship of endless uncertainty.

And then - the Boy Who Lived. How many good wizards had put themselves in harm's way to protect him? How many were willing to risk it all for this child? How many looked to him as a sign of hope, hope for a better future, hope that so many lives lost had not been in vain?

All to ultimately defeat the Dark Lord, and end the tyranny that had gripped the British Isles.

(Dumbledore was not foolish enough to hyperbolize England’s troubles into The Most Dangerous Time In All The World, when Voldemort had barely traveled abroad in his lifetime. How wrong it would be to pretend that Anglo-Saxon problems engulfed the whole world, that the problems of English-speaking countries affected the whole world, that the dark times of Britain superseded what was happening on the other side of the world).

So what to do about Harry Potter? The child was a horcrux of Voldemort, that much Dumbledore already knew, and while he’d planned to keep the child at Hogwarts for his safety, he also wanted to keep this particular relic close by his side while he figured out what to do about the rest. At the very least, he had seven years to figure out exactly how many other horcruxes there were, what they were, and where to find them.

He had planned on grooming Harry into the powerful wizard prophesied, and instill in him a love for others, the same love that he speculated had spared his little life, and a deep connection to the wizarding community, his community, his true self.

He could not cast him out of Hogwarts, away from protection, to die in the real world. Already there were so many bounties on his head, and many more on other parts of his body. But to keep him here at Hogwarts…? The child was a menace to himself, and to his classmates, and to the faculty, possibly even to the ghosts and perhaps even to the physical school itself. The institution could not be run with this Chaos Magnet running freely amok. Children had to learn. Magic had to be passed down. Society had to continue.

Albus sighed deeply, wearily; he opened his eyes, gently placed his hands on the black oaken desk, and finally acknowledged Minerva, Severus, and the Boy.

“I have reached a solution.”

It had been so long since any sound had been heard, that the three were startled even though they knew full well he was about to speak. He addressed Harry directly.

“You are not expelled, Harry, you will remain at Hogwarts.”

Severus and Minerva both visible winced.

“However, we must alter your education to better suit your needs. The first order of business is to fix your disastrous impulse control. You hereby lose all privilege to the Time Turner, Professor McGonagall will collect it immediately following - ”

“BUT - !”

“Silencio. Immobulus.”

Albus was done humoring the child. Any adult, really, would have been done humoring him far earlier than he’d allowed. He continued in a soft, quiet voice.

“As I was saying, Professor McGonagall will collect the Time Turner lent to you immediately following this meeting. I had thought to ask you to hand it over to her, but at this point I suspect the better solution is that she fetch it herself.

“You are hereby removed from all of your classes; I cannot have you disrupting your teachers and I will not jeopardize your classmates’ education. Here-forth, your education will be administered via private tutoring, and will be overseen by one person. That private instructor will be…”

Severus and Minerva were panicking, the former shooting daggers at the Headmaster and the latter having a visible anxiety attack from her chair.

“…the only faculty member with enough patience to handle your… eccentricities.”

Resigned, Albus continued: “I fear, the only one suited for that task, is me.”

Both Professors let out a long, loud sigh of relief. A little too loud, too real. Harry could but turn his eyes to look at them, and it dawned on him, just then, how much he was already disliked.

“I will send out an owl to the Wizengamot,” continued Dumbledore, “alerting them that I have taken on a special assignment and will not be able to advise them for the next couple of months. The sacrifice this will require, and how negatively this will reflect on my character, will no doubt be lost on you, Mr. Potter.

“We will meet for private tutoring at nine in the morning every day in a private hall, on the seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

“As a trial run, you will continue to sleep with your House and dine with the others, but all your belongings will be confiscated and you will have access only to your school clothes in a replacement trunk we will provide. Your books and textbooks will remain in our improvised classroom, your pouch and extra supplies will be kept under my watch. If you learn to control your impulses better, we will consider mainstreaming you with the rest of your classmates, though I fear you would consider their presence a step backwards in your education.

“We will consider what to do about the winter holidays at a later point in time.”

The Headmaster paused, and gathered his thoughts once more. “Severus, Minerva, our previous conversations has to wait for a later time. For now, let us begin preparations for Mr. Potter’s new accommodations.”

Harry’s mind was reeling. He should have been upset, no, furious, but then he thought at how relieved both Professors had been when they learnt they wouldn’t have to deal with him, anymore. A part of him was suddenly very, very sad. He thought about his angry side, the one he’d seen the day before. Was that his true self? Was he... was he really that bad?

Harry’s body levitated behind the three adults, all silently traversing the castle on their way to the Ravenclaw common room to confiscate Harry’s prized possessions.

As the Sorting Hat would have noted, Albus thought, that day had been a great fork in his destiny. There had been no choices beyond it, and only in hindsight could he see the road-signs set, marking the last place he could have turned back.

Ten years had passed since that fateful meeting.

Ten long, long years, years that drained him emotionally, nightmares he himself would only ever know.

Watching the boy turn ever more menacing in private lessons.

Students joining the army he had crafted after his chilling portrayal of normalcy had lulled them all into thinking they were winning his soul.

Terror when the students saw his true colors at the Hogsmeade riots.

And last, the pact with Malfoy, the secret meeting with Lucius, and the plot to replace him as Headmaster.

The realization that he couldn’t make the same mistake again, that madness would be trusting this boy as he had trusted Tom Riddle, all while expecting a different result.

Seared into his mind: the chill of winter suffocating their classroom, the morning light casting a soft glow, the first-year boy’s back turned to him as he devoured another one of his Machiavellian books, his Methods as he called them.  

Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality.

It had a nice ring to it.

Nice is different than good.

The icy metal of the glock as he pointed at the back of the child’s head, and pulled the trigger.

A muffled sound, followed by a soft splat, grey matter spotting the ground.

No magic used meant no warning to the Ministry, exactly as Albus had planned.

And now, Godric’s Hollow, at the tomb of Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, next to his – what did he always call them? – genetic parents’ graves. He pushed the memories of the fools who would forever mourn this boy’s death, fools for believing him, when any rational adult could see the truth.

Enough. It was done.

Some loose ends: he still had some horcruxes to track down, even now ten years later, just in case, but he had all the time in the world.

The greatest threat to the wizarding community,

the greatest threat to the memories of so many people,

the greatest threat to everything that so many held dear,

was dead.