The journey to Snape's office felt endless. Each step Harry took seemed to sink deeper into the dungeon's cold stone, the walls pressing in like an oppressive weight. The flickering torches cast twisted shadows that crawled across the floor, as though the very place was alive with ominous intent. Every breath of air he took felt colder than the last, and his thoughts raced, tangled in a hundred dark possibilities. Why had Snape specifically summoned him? Was it related to his new, inexplicable role as Head of House Potter? Or was something darker, more sinister, at play?
The corridors of Hogwarts seemed to stretch on forever, their familiar curves now a maze of uncertainty. Head of House Potter. The title still felt foreign, as though it had been thrust upon him like an ill-fitting cloak. It weighed on him in ways he didn't fully understand—more responsibility, more pressure, more expectations. But what did it mean, really? Was it just about prestige, about sitting at the high table at feasts and overseeing the House's welfare? Or was there something more? His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp echo of his footsteps as he approached Snape's office door. It loomed ahead, tall and imposing, the gleaming brass knocker gleaming faintly in the dim greenish light. The three sharp raps of his knuckles on the door seemed to reverberate through the stone walls, each one heavier than the last.
"Enter," came Snape's voice, cold and commanding, from the other side. Harry's chest tightened at the icy sharpness in his tone, but he didn't hesitate. He had no choice but to face whatever was coming.
With a push, the door creaked open, and Harry stepped inside. The familiar scent of potions and ancient parchment hit him immediately. The room was exactly as it had always been—dim, shadowy, and filled with shelves stacked high with vials of strange, unknown brews, their colors ranging from dark crimson to almost luminescent silver. The air was thick with the acrid bite of brewing herbs, the bitter taste almost tangible. The atmosphere was stifling, a far more oppressive version of the classroom that had always made Harry feel uneasy.
Behind his desk, Snape stood like a dark specter, his black robes flowing around him like the wings of a bat. His pale face was a study in unreadable tension, his dark eyes sharp and intense, studying Harry with a disquieting precision. For a fleeting moment, Harry couldn't shake the thought that Snape might be something more than human—an embodiment of the very darkness that seemed to permeate the dungeons. He had never felt more out of place. But Harry quickly steeled himself. Whatever Snape wanted to discuss, it wasn't going to be pleasant.
"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harry asked, his voice steady but carrying the faintest tremor, one he couldn't quite conceal.
Snape's lips curled into something like a smile, though there was no warmth in it. "Yes, Potter. I have asked you to come for a reason." His voice was low and measured, but there was something in the way he spoke that made Harry's skin prickle, an unsettling weight behind every word. "Sit."
Harry obeyed, lowering himself into the chair across from Snape's desk, his mind racing. There were too many questions and too little time to ask them. Whatever was coming, it was far from straightforward. He needed to be prepared.
Snape's fingers drummed against the desk, the rhythmic tapping filling the space like the ticking of a clock. His eyes never left Harry's, studying him with an intensity that made him feel as though his very thoughts were being picked apart. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, as Harry began to feel an uncomfortable weight pressing down on his chest. Something inevitable was coming, something that would change everything.
Finally, Snape spoke again, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"You are now the Head of House Potter," he said, each word carrying a weight that made Harry's stomach tighten. "I trust you are aware that this title is not just a formality. It is not some trinket to wear proudly in the halls of Hogwarts." Snape's gaze sharpened. "It comes with responsibilities, responsibilities that extend beyond these walls."
Harry nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of Snape's words. He had known, at least in some abstract sense, that there was more to this role than he'd initially realized. But now it felt more real, more suffocating. It wasn't just about authority at Hogwarts—it was about power, influence, and something much larger than he had ever imagined.
Snape leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You were raised in the Muggle world," he continued, his voice cool and clinical, as though he were discussing something far less personal. "Your magical abilities may be impressive, but you remain... inexperienced in the ways of pure-blood society." His words hung in the air, biting. "You may think you understand, but there is much you have yet to learn. Much that you must do."
Harry frowned, the confusion deepening in his chest. "What are you getting at, Professor?" he asked, unable to mask the unease in his voice.
Snape's lips twisted into a smile, but it was cold, calculating. "There are factions, Potter," he said, letting the word linger in the air, heavy with meaning. "Old factions. New factions. And all of them shape the political landscape of the wizarding world." He paused, letting Harry absorb the weight of his words. "House Potter is connected to several of these factions. As its head, you will need to navigate these alliances carefully—alliances that are rarely as straightforward as they seem."
Harry's mind reeled. Factions? Political alliances? He was barely coming to terms with his role as Head of House, and now Snape was speaking of larger, darker currents that extended far beyond Hogwarts. What did all of this mean? What was Harry supposed to do with this new knowledge, this newfound power?
Snape's gaze sharpened. "You must learn to wield that power, Potter. You may not have chosen this path, but it is yours now. You will need to make decisions—not just as a wizard, but as a lord of the wizarding world." He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled before him. "There is a vote today, Potter. A vote on a bill that could change the future of our society. As Head of House Potter, your participation is mandatory. Normally, a secretary would handle such matters. But seeing as you have yet to appoint one, this task will fall to you."
"What bill?" Harry's voice was tight, the gravity of the conversation starting to sink in. "And why do I need to vote?"
Snape's expression darkened. "The bill proposes that it be made unlawful to free a house-elf outside of a duel." His voice turned venomous, each word laced with disdain. "It would formalize the conditions under which an elf's servitude could be broken. And those conditions would be severely limited."
Harry's stomach lurched. "Unlawful to free them?" His voice faltered, disbelief making his words feel too small. "But that's... wrong. It's completely wrong."
Snape's gaze turned cold. "Yes, Potter," he said, almost pityingly. "But the question is not whether you agree with it. The question is how you will vote."
Harry's heart began to hammer in his chest, the injustice of it all surging through him. But Snape's words held him in place, as though the weight of his responsibility was something he couldn't escape.
"You see," Snape continued, his voice soft yet suffused with cold finality, "your vote will not be taken lightly. Every decision you make will have consequences. The alliances you form, the enemies you make—they will all be shaped by the choices you make."
Harry swallowed hard. He had a responsibility now—one that extended far beyond Hogwarts. The weight of that responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders. He could no longer just be Harry Potter, the boy who had survived. He was someone else now—someone with power, with influence, with a stake in the future of the wizarding world.
"I'll do what's right," Harry said firmly, his voice steady but resolute.
Snape's lips curled into something that might have been a smile, though it was too cold to be comforting. "We shall see," he said. He stood, his shadow stretching across the room, and gestured to the door. "Go and prepare yourself. The vote will take place just before lunch at the Ministry. You may want to eat something before then—meetings of this nature tend to run long."
Harry didn't hesitate. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but he didn't look back as he left Snape's office. Outside, he found Draco and Pansy waiting at the base of the stairs. They eyed him with silent expectation, but Harry couldn't bring himself to acknowledge them. His mind was still spinning.
As he made his way to the Great Hall, he could feel the oppressive weight of the upcoming vote bearing down on him. He needed advice. He needed direction. Hermione... Dumbledore... someone who could help him understand the true cost of the decision he was about to make.
But as he reached the Great Hall, the sounds of murmured conversation drifted from within. The hall was already buzzing with students, the usual chatter and clatter filling the air. Harry slipped inside, making his way to the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione looked up as he approached, concern evident on their faces.
"Harry," Hermione said softly, "what happened? We heard you were summoned to Snape's office."
Harry hesitated, but then, his voice steady, he said, "There's a vote today, Hermione. And it's about something... horrible.
Snape just told me about a vote today. A vote to make it against the law to free house-elves unless it's during a duel."
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth in shock. "That's terrible," she whispered. "But why are you voting on it?"
"Because of the Head of House stuff," Harry explained, feeling the weight of his new position more heavily than ever before. "I've got to represent House Potter."
The two of them exchanged a look that Harry couldn't quite decipher. It was a mix of pity, understanding, and a hint of something else—respect, perhaps? They knew the burden he carried now, and the gravity of the decision before him.
"You do know what to do, don't you, Harry?" Hermione asked gently.
He nodded firmly. "I do." He thought of his friendship with Peeny. The thought of her being forever enslaved made him feel ill almost to the point that he wanted to hit something. But instead he took a few calming breaths and picked a few rolls, starting to eat. They had a plan to make, and he needed to keep his strength up.
"We need to talk to Dumbledore," Hermione said urgently. "He can help us understand the implications of this bill, and what we can do to fight it."
Ron nodded in agreement. "And maybe Professor McGonagall too. She's always been fair about house-elf rights." Ron said before he was shoved aside by two older boys that Harry guessed were Ron's brothers. Ron had spoken of them back on the train, but seeing as they were from different houses, he hadn't really had an opportunity to meet them. They were both tall and thin, with enough freckles on their faces that Harry was sure he could make a detailed map of the Weasley family tree if he had a marker and enough time.
"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" one of them asked.
"Yes, I am," Harry replied, his guard up.
"We heard you've got a vote today," the other brother said, a glint in his eye. "On the house-elf bill."
"How do you know that?" Harry asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
They shared a knowing smile. "Things have a way of spreading around Hogwarts. Especially important things."
The brothers sat down across from Harry, their demeanor more friendly than Harry had expected. "Listen, Harry, the name's Fred Weasley, and this here is my brother George. We're on the Quidditch team." Fred said, as if he fully expected Harry to be astonished by that. When it became clear Harry had no clue what Quidditch even was, Fred's face fell slightly, but he recovered quickly.
"Don't worry, Harry," George said, slapping him on the back. "We know you're not from around here. But we've got something that could help you out with that vote."
Fred pulled out a small, battered book titled A Brief Guide to House-Elf Emancipation. "This is a cheat sheet of sorts, everything you need to know about the bill and the arguments against it. We've been following this closely because, well, we have a bit of a soft spot for house-elves ourselves."
Harry took the book with a mix of surprise and gratitude. "Thanks, guys," he said, flipping through the pages. It was clear the Weasley twins had done their homework—there were notes in the margins and underlined passages that highlighted the most important points.
"Don't mention it," George said with a wink. "We're all in this together, after all."
The conversation was cut short by the sound of the bell ringing for the start of classes. Harry thanked them again and tucked the book into his bag, feeling a little less alone in this new, overwhelming world. As he hurried off to find Dumbledore, he couldn't help but wonder who else at Hogwarts might be an ally in this fight for justice.
After his Astronomy class, Harry made his way through the crowded halls, his mind racing with the weight of the upcoming vote. The words Snape had said echoed in his mind: "A vote today, a vote to make it illegal to free house-elves unless it's during a duel." Harry knew that the decision before him wasn't just about standing up for what was right; it was about taking a position in a struggle that had existed for centuries, a struggle that had so many layers of politics, tradition, and deeply ingrained prejudice.
He had to act—and act wisely.
As he approached the portrait of a snow-covered cabin, he saw Dumbledore standing before it, his hand poised to open the door. The headmaster's eyes twinkled as they met Harry's gaze, and he smiled knowingly when he saw the battered book in Harry's hand.
"Ah, Fred and George have been busy, I see," Dumbledore remarked with his usual warmth, though there was an underlying seriousness in his voice.
Harry wasted no time. He quickly explained the conversation he had with Snape, and how the vote regarding house-elves was imminent. His voice faltered slightly as he relayed how his new position as Head of House Potter made him a crucial player in this decision.
Dumbledore nodded, his expression turning grave. "You must understand, Harry, that what you are about to face is not merely an academic or trivial matter. This vote, though it may seem like a small part of the school's politics, is a reflection of the larger forces at play in our society."
Harry frowned. "But Professor, it's just not right to treat them like that. They're living beings, not property."
Dumbledore's gaze softened, yet there was an intensity in his eyes. He leaned closer, his voice quieter now. "I agree with you, Harry. I have seen much in my lifetime, and the plight of house-elves has weighed heavily on me as well. But what you must realize is that societal change, especially one as deeply rooted as this, does not come without resistance—often violent, often fierce. You are not just voting on a bill; you are challenging the very foundation of how our world has been built."
Harry swallowed, feeling the weight of Dumbledore's words sink into his chest. "But if no one ever stands up for them, how will anything ever change?"
Dumbledore gave him a long, thoughtful look before speaking again. "Change begins with people like you, Harry. But remember, you have been given a great responsibility, and with it comes the burden of making decisions that will have consequences far beyond the walls of Hogwarts. What you decide today will affect not only your house, but the lives of countless house-elves—and, perhaps, even the future of the magical world itself."
With those words heavy in his mind, Harry made his way to Snape's office as he had yet to properly learn how to use the floo network. Once there Snape took hand of him and in a flash of green fire he stood in the middle of a wide hallway with black stone.
By the time they had turned down what must have been the sixth hallway, Harry's legs were beginning to ache from the long walk. His mind was already racing ahead to the vote, his thoughts tangled with worry and uncertainty. The weight of his responsibility as the Head of House felt heavier with every step, and he had to keep reminding himself that this was his moment to make a difference—if only he could figure out what the right decision was.
Just as he opened his mouth to voice his thoughts, Snape stopped abruptly before a door adorned with a dragon knocker. The dark stone walls seemed to absorb the sound of their footsteps, creating an eerie silence in the corridor. Snape gave the knocker a series of quick, deliberate taps—four short knocks, then two, then four more. Harry watched intently, wondering if there was some sort of spell embedded in the rhythm, but before he could ask, the dragon's eyes began to glow a faint red. With a creaking groan, a lock disengaged from the door.
"Come, Potter," Snape said, his voice low and commanding, as he pushed the door open. "It's best you find your seat before the room fills up."
Harry followed him inside, the air growing colder as they crossed the threshold. The room was vast and dimly lit, with high, arched ceilings that stretched far above them. Large, heavy tapestries hung from the walls, their faded designs depicting scenes of ancient wizards and witches in battle. The long wooden table in the center was already crowded with figures Harry recognized from the older houses. They sat in an uneasy silence, the tension thick in the air, waiting for the vote to begin.
"You may be a Head of a powerful house," Snape continued, his tone colder now, "but you are still but a child. A first year at that. So unless spoken to, say nothing and do nothing. You're here to cast your vote, not to talk to anybody."
Harry nodded, his stomach knotting with a mix of nerves and indignation. He understood the importance of the vote—his vote—but the idea of being treated like a child in this room full of influential wizards and witches made him feel small, insignificant. Yet, he held his tongue, remembering Dumbledore's words about the gravity of the decision he was about to make.
As he found a seat at the far end of the table, Harry tried not to meet anyone's gaze. The room was filled with whispers, the hum of anticipation hanging in the air like an invisible weight. He caught the eye of one of the older students—a Ravenclaw—who gave him a polite nod, but Harry quickly looked away, not wanting to make any waves.
His fingers tightened around the book Fred and George had given him, its contents a small but powerful lifeline in this sea of unfamiliarity. He flipped through it again, trying to memorize the key points, the arguments for and against the bill. But the words blurred as his mind raced. This wasn't just a test of knowledge—it was a test of his character.
The room grew quieter as the door behind them opened, and more people filed in. The air seemed to crackle with the weight of unspoken expectations. Harry felt the eyes of the older students upon him—curious, skeptical, perhaps even mocking. They had likely seen many first years come and go, all with their own sense of idealism, none of them really understanding the intricacies of what was at stake.
Then, the door at the far end of the room opened, and a tall figure entered, casting a long shadow across the floor. Headmaster Dumbledore, resplendent in his robes of deep blue, gave the room a brief, measured glance before settling into the chair at the head of the table. The room fell silent.
"Let us begin," Dumbledore said softly, his voice carrying easily across the space. He glanced at Harry, his eyes filled with an unreadable expression, and Harry felt the weight of that gaze even as the headmaster turned his attention to the room at large.
Harry's heart hammered in his chest. It was time. This was it—the vote that would determine the fate of house-elves, a choice that could ripple through the very fabric of wizarding society. He knew what he thought was right, but now he had to act on it. He had to make his decision, and in that moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.
He couldn't afford to hesitate.
One by one, the witches and wizards rose to their feet, each making their case with varying degrees of flair. Some spoke with the weight of centuries behind their words, delivering long, dry speeches filled with convoluted reasoning and arcane references. Their voices were like the slow drip of water from an old faucet, persistent but devoid of passion. Others, however, cut through the air with brief but powerful declarations, their words sharp and purposeful. They spoke with conviction, their arguments clear and unyielding, almost as if they had already made up their minds long before stepping into the room.
Harry tried to focus on the speeches, but it was hard. His nerves were fraying with every passing moment. His throat was dry, his palms slick with sweat. His mind raced over what he wanted to say—how he could possibly make a case for the house-elves, for what was right. But the weight of the decision, the pressure of the room, made it feel like the words were slipping through his fingers.
By the time the last speaker sat down, Harry's heart was hammering in his chest, and his mouth felt as dry as a desert in the middle of summer. He reached down to adjust his seat, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the cold, hard chair. But as he shifted, the small, battered book Fred and George had given him slipped from his lap and fell to the floor with a loud thud.
The sound seemed to echo around the room, amplified by the silence that followed. All eyes turned toward Harry, and in that moment, he felt the weight of their scrutiny, each gaze piercing him like a thousand needles. His face flushed, and he scrambled to pick up the book, but the damage was already done. The attention of the room was now fully on him, and the judgment was swift and merciless.
A cold voice broke the silence.
"This is the Head of House Potter," came the sneering tones of Atharod Von Kyuss, an older wizard known for his scornful demeanor. "A boy so weak that he can't even hold onto a book. Vote yes and be gone, child, lest you embarrass yourself and that of your name beyond repair."
Harry's stomach dropped at the words, the sting of them sharp and cruel. His cheeks burned with humiliation, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he considered retreating—running out of the room, back to the safety of the hallways, where he wouldn't have to face the judgment, the expectations. He felt small, insignificant, like a bug being crushed under the weight of a boot.
The whispers started almost immediately. The older students murmured among themselves, some with smirks, others with raised eyebrows. Even Dumbledore, seated at the head of the table, looked at him with an unreadable expression, his face a mask of carefully controlled neutrality. Harry had no idea if it was sympathy or disappointment in that look, and the uncertainty made his nerves fray even more.
"Well?" Von Kyuss's voice was dripping with condescension as he leaned back in his chair, waiting for Harry to respond. "Are you going to speak? Or will you simply sit there like the child you are?"
For a moment, Harry didn't know what to say. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel his mouth drying up further. The words that had seemed so clear in his mind now felt like lead, heavy and unmovable. But then, a thought cut through the panic. He remembered the house-elves—the ones who had been bound to their masters for centuries, the ones who had been denied their freedom, their dignity, and their rights. He remembered Peeny, her kindness, and the look in her eyes when she spoke of freedom, even if she didn't know what that freedom could truly look like.
Slowly, Harry stood up, the weight of the moment settling over him. His hands shook slightly as he placed the book back on the table, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him—expectant, judgmental, waiting for him to either fall apart or rise to the challenge.
He cleared his throat. His voice came out softer than he intended, but it was still firm, steady.
"The treatment of house-elves is wrong," he said, each word deliberate, weighing the cost of the decision as he spoke. "They deserve the right to be free, to live with dignity. If we can vote to make that happen, then we should. If we don't... we will have failed them. And we will have failed ourselves."
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was silence. Harry could feel his heart racing, his hands clammy as he waited for a response. Atharod Von Kyuss's sneer deepened, but Harry didn't look away. He held his ground.
Then, with a deep, deliberate breath, he made his decision.
"I vote no," Harry said, his voice gaining strength. "This bill should not pass. It's time for change. For all of us."
He sat back down, his hands still trembling, but his resolve clearer than it had been when he first entered the room. There would be consequences for this choice, he knew that much. But in his heart, Harry was certain it was the right one.
Atharod Von Kyuss stood slowly, his robes billowing around him as he rose to his full height. He raised one hand, fingers splayed wide, and began to clap, his slow, deliberate applause echoing in the cavernous room. The sound was mocking, patronizing—an audible sneer at Harry's words.
"So, the boy has some iron in his blood after all," Von Kyuss said, his voice thick with condescension. "Good. But by my count, the votes are tied, and I'm the last. So tell me, boy, why should we upend thousands of years of tradition? Because you don't like it? Because you think it's unnecessary and wrong? You were raised outside our world, and now that you've returned, we are supposed to wait and bow to your whims?" He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto Harry. "No, I say. This is the way things have been for as long as there have been people living on our fair Isle. And it has worked fine—for us."
His words stung, cutting through Harry's resolve, but Harry clenched his fists at his sides, pushing back the rising tide of doubt that threatened to pull him under. He thought of Peeny again—the way she worked tirelessly, without reward or thanks, and yet had never once complained. How could he stand by and allow that to continue? How could he let someone like her remain bound, enslaved, simply because it was easier for others?
Harry stood tall, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He met Von Kyuss's gaze squarely, refusing to back down.
"But that doesn't make it right," Harry said, his voice cutting through the tension. "Yes, it's tradition, but that doesn't make it right. We outlawed human slavery over a century ago, didn't we? Were those who fought for that change wrong? Were they foolish for wanting to end the suffering of those who had no voice? You say this is how things have always been done, but that's precisely the problem. It's been wrong for so long and we've just allowed it to continue without question. But we have to change. We must change."
Harry's words came faster now, the fire building within him. "Are you willing to stand here and defend slavery, just because those who suffer are smaller than you? Just because they don't have the voice to argue? You would let them remain bound forever, as nothing more than tools for your convenience, because tradition says so?"
The room was deadly silent now, every head turned toward Harry. He felt the weight of their eyes upon him, but he didn't flinch. Instead, he pressed on, his voice growing stronger, more confident.
"If you vote yes, then you, sir, are less than human," Harry continued, each word punctuating the air with clarity and conviction. "By doing so, you forsake any right to say I'm in error for not doing so. You would be condemning not just the house-elves, but yourselves to a world where cruelty is justified because of convenience. And that is not the world I will stand for. I won't. I can't."
A few murmurs rippled through the room. Some faces were set in stone, resolute in their beliefs, while others seemed to soften, perhaps reconsidering the weight of Harry's words. But Von Kyuss's face remained impassive, the lines of his age and arrogance etched deep.
He stared at Harry for a long moment, his eyes piercing, assessing. Harry stood his ground, feeling the tremor of nervous energy beneath his composure, but not willing to let it shake him.
Von Kyuss finally broke the silence, his voice low and dangerous. "You are a child, Potter," he said, almost growling the words. "You know nothing of the burden of tradition, of the necessity of control, of what it takes to maintain order." He stepped forward, leaning in closer. "You think this is wrong, but you are blind to the bigger picture. Without control, without order, there is chaos. And chaos is far worse than what you call slavery. You've never lived long enough to understand that, but you will. I will not bow to your childish idealism."
Harry could feel the weight of the man's words, the cold logic that Von Kyuss was trying to use to break him. But Harry didn't flinch. He had heard this kind of argument before. His own parents had fought against such notions—the idea that the status quo must remain unchallenged because it was easier, because it was tradition. But his parents had given their lives for what was right, not what was easy. And Harry had learned from them.
"Maybe I don't know everything," Harry said, his voice steady, unwavering. "But I know this: this—this is wrong. It's time for it to stop. If you think that standing for what's right makes me weak or naïve, then so be it. But I won't stand by and let you use that as an excuse to justify cruelty."
For a long, drawn-out moment, there was nothing but silence. The tension was thick, hanging in the air like smoke. Then, slowly, Von Kyuss turned away from Harry, his eyes cold and calculating. The older wizard gave a sharp nod, as if reaching a decision, and sat back down.
"Very well," Von Kyuss said, his voice laced with bitterness. "You may have your moment, Potter. But this battle is far from over." He flicked his hand dismissively as if swatting away an insignificant insect.
Harry didn't let his guard down. He knew this wasn't the end, not by a long shot. But for now, it was a victory. And it was enough.
As the votes were tallied, Harry's heart pounded in his chest, but he held his breath. The room waited in tense silence, the weight of the moment hanging heavy over them all.
Finally, the result was read out. The motion had been defeated, and the bill would not pass.
The room erupted into a flurry of whispered conversations, some in anger, others in surprise, and a few in reluctant admiration. Harry exhaled slowly, relief flooding his veins, but even in the victory, he knew the war was far from over.
As the room began to empty, Harry stood frozen in place, his heart still racing from the tension of the vote. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the relief of victory mingling with the cold knowledge that this was just one battle in a much larger war. He'd won this fight for the house-elves, but he could already sense the consequences beginning to ripple out around him.
Snape's voice cut through the noise of retreating footsteps, and Harry turned to find the Potions Master standing beside him, his expression unreadable. Snape's gaze was sharp, though not unkind, and his hand rested briefly on Harry's shoulder in an almost paternal gesture.
"You did better than I would have expected," Snape said quietly, his voice low and clipped. Harry raised an eyebrow at the rare praise, but Snape's face remained impassive, as ever. "But maybe next time, you'll learn to pick your battles a bit more carefully. You've just upset one of the oldest German houses living here. Atharod Von Kyuss has far-reaching connections, and he won't take this lightly."
Harry's stomach sank at the mention of Von Kyuss. The older wizard's harsh words still echoed in his mind. The thought that someone of his stature might now be actively working against him made Harry feel uneasy. He couldn't deny the truth of Snape's warning—Von Kyuss was no ordinary opponent. His influence would stretch far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.
Snape's eyes darkened as if reading Harry's thoughts. "He'll no doubt be writing about you to the German Ministry," he continued, his voice colder now. "You've made quite an enemy today, Potter. I hope for your sake this doesn't cause a problem for us. Politics in our world have a way of becoming... tangled. I'd hate to see your noble ideals entangle you in something far worse than you can handle."
Harry bit back a retort, his mind racing with the possibilities. A letter to the Ministry? What did that even mean for him, for his family's name, for House Potter? And yet, despite the warnings, he couldn't regret his actions. Not when he knew in his heart that standing up for the house-elves was the right thing to do.
Snape didn't give him a chance to respond, already turning toward the nearest Floo Network, his robes trailing behind him as he made his way across the stone floor. Harry watched him go, the Potions Master stepping into the green flames without another word. In the blink of an eye, Snape was gone, the faintest traces of smoke lingering in the air where he had been.
Harry stood there for a moment longer, lost in thought, his mind whirling with the implications of what Snape had said. The room around him was mostly empty now, only a few scattered wizards and witches lingering to discuss the results or perhaps console one another. The weight of his new role in this world—this vast, complicated, and often treacherous world—felt heavier now than it had when he first stepped into that chamber.
But Harry knew one thing for sure: he couldn't let fear dictate his actions. Whatever consequences came from today's vote, he would face them head-on. If standing up for what was right meant making powerful enemies, then so be it. It was a burden he would carry, and one he would never shy away from.
Taking a deep breath, Harry gathered his belongings and started toward the door. The weight of the day, the gravity of what he'd just done, settled in his chest like a stone, but he refused to let it break him. There was still much to be done. And if this was the beginning of the fight, he was ready for it.
As he exited the chamber, the corridors of Hogwarts stretched before him, a familiar maze of stone and shadow. The world outside might be filled with uncertainty, but Harry knew one thing with absolute clarity—he would keep fighting for what was right. And nothing, not even the looming threat of Von Kyuss and his connections, would make him back down.