Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 916: Another Headmaster, Harry Skips School

Just as Professor McGonagall cast the Imperius Curse to subdue the Death Eater, Kyle found his attention drawn to Fawkes’s perch across the room and turned to look.

What a beautiful perch—it was clearly crafted from fine pearwood, wrapped in delicate golden coils. Whether they were meant to be decorative or for grip, Kyle was certain of one thing: that was real gold. Trust Dumbledore to own something so extravagant.

But surely he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. The phoenix had already moved into Kyle’s suitcase—leaving the perch here was pointless. Maybe he should take it off McGonagall’s hands... save her the trouble of figuring out what to do with it?

That seemed fair enough. Kyle kept these thoughts to himself, pretending not to hear the chatter from the portraits behind him.

Minerva McGonagall using the Imperius Curse...? That had to be a mistake. Maybe he’d misheard. Or maybe Headmaster Armando Dippet had been at the fake wine again and was rambling nonsense.

He remembered that Violet—one of the Fat Lady’s close friends—was known for her love of drinking and brewing. Her portrait almost always had a wooden cask in it. She and the Fat Lady would sometimes drink themselves into a stupor in the middle of the night, much to the misery of Gryffindor students roaming after hours.

More than once, someone on a late-night kitchen run would return to find the Fat Lady passed out cold, impossible to wake.

And if the Fat Lady didn’t wake, no one could enter the common room. They’d end up crouching by the portrait hole, hugging their snacks and shivering in the corridor.

If they were lucky, she’d groggily come to after an hour or two. But most of the time, they had to sit there until dawn, risking being caught by Filch.

Clearly, Violet’s wine packed a punch.

But she was just a painting—what kind of real alcohol could she possibly brew? It had to be fake.

That must’ve been what Dumbledore and Dippet had gotten into. Probably both drunk on imaginary wine, babbling nonsense about Unforgivable Curses in the headmaster’s office. As if. That would never happen.

Kyle kept his eyes locked on the perch, his neck stiff as iron, determined not to turn around.

Not until everything above him finally went silent.

“Kyle, you—”

“Ah, I just remembered—I haven’t watered the vegetable patch yet.”

Kyle smacked his forehead and, not giving Professor McGonagall the chance to say anything else, quickly added, “If there’s nothing urgent, I’ll be going now. Goodbye, Headmistress McGonagall!”

Without turning back, he strode forward, snatched up the perch in passing, opened the door, and walked out of the headmistress’s office with long, purposeful strides.

As for whatever McGonagall was planning to do, Kyle didn’t ask. He’d find out soon enough.

...

After crossing the castle and grounds, Kyle made his way back to the little garden outside the wooden hut.

His eyes drifted instinctively to the small stool near the door. Back when Dumbledore was hiding out here, he’d often sit there.

But the stool was empty now. Dumbledore still hadn’t returned. Ever since the funeral, he’d disappeared completely.

Kyle had no idea where he’d gone, or what he was doing—but he suspected it had something to do with Voldemort.

Still, time had passed, and Hagrid seemed to be doing much better these days. His familiar silhouette had returned to the garden.

Thud!

With a heavy crash, Hagrid was knocked several steps back by a tail swipe from the Hungarian Horntail he’d tried to comfort. He slammed hard into a tree.

“Ow... cheeky little thing,” Hagrid groaned, limping toward Kyle. “Swear I just saw a bit of Grawp from two years ago in it.”

“Hagrid, I think there’s a difference between dragons and giants… for one, giants don’t have spikes on their fists.” Kyle glanced at Hagrid’s bleeding thigh. “I suggest you get some Essence of Dittany on that, quick.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Hagrid said, tearing a strip of cloth from his sleeve and tying it around the wound. “She probably knows I need a bit of pain right now—bless her, so considerate, eh?”

Kyle gave a dry laugh and offered no comment on Hagrid’s odd affection for the dragon.

Whatever made him happy.

…

The next day, a completely unexpected notice appeared in the Hogwarts entrance hall.

The headmaster had changed—again.

Professor McGonagall, who had only recently taken up the role, was once more demoted to Deputy Headmistress. Severus Snape, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, had officially assumed the position of headmaster.

What was going on? Was this some kind of joke?

Students exchanged bewildered looks, suspecting it might just be a prank posted by some bored student.

It wasn’t until Professor McGonagall formally announced the change again at dinner that everyone had no choice but to believe it.

At the Slytherin table, it might as well have been Christmas. Cheers and celebration erupted across the house.

Snape, however, was just as confused as everyone else. He had no idea what was happening.

He hadn’t gone to the Great Hall for breakfast or lunch that day, and so hadn’t seen the notice—meaning he learned the news later than most.

From Snape’s perspective, he had simply gone about his usual day of teaching—how had he suddenly become headmaster?

No wonder students had been looking at him strangely during lessons. Some had even said things that sounded oddly like congratulations.

Snape had assumed they were talking nonsense—and docked them points accordingly.

Now that he thought about it, maybe he’d been too hasty.

But no—something still didn’t add up. How had he become headmaster? Had the Dark Lord invaded Hogwarts?

That couldn’t be it. If Voldemort had taken over, the school wouldn’t be this calm.

Then what was going on?

Snape’s expression shifted rapidly... It was that same, unbearable feeling of being out of control again.

“Headmistress McGonagall, what is the meaning of this?” he asked, rising quickly as Minerva McGonagall returned.

“Oh, you should still call me Professor,” she said coolly. “After all, you’re the headmaster now.”

She gave him a pointed look. “As for why—didn’t your colleague tell you?”

“He came to me today, representing the Ministry of Magic, and threatened me into handing over the headmaster’s post to you. Otherwise, he said the entire school would suffer.”

Though she kept her voice level, her tone was biting.

She had already discovered the short man’s identity—a bona fide Death Eater.

And if a Death Eater was insisting Snape be made headmaster, well... it didn’t take much imagination to understand what that meant.

Obviously, Snape was a Death Eater too. Not just any Death Eater, but one whom Voldemort trusted deeply—someone he believed could keep Hogwarts under control.

Truth be told, she’d suspected Snape’s affiliations for years—since over a decade ago, when they’d seen him fighting on Voldemort’s side with their own eyes.

But Dumbledore had trusted him. He’d often implied there were unshakable reasons for doing so.

So McGonagall had chosen to trust him as well.

And now? It turned out he’d betrayed Dumbledore.

In that short Death Eater’s memories, the order to make Snape headmaster had come directly from the Dark Lord himself—and it had been the very first command issued after the Death Eaters seized half of the Ministry.

That couldn’t just be because Voldemort was fond of Snape—he was clearly one of them.

McGonagall even suspected that Snape had something to do with Dumbledore’s death. It was hard to believe Malfoy could’ve pulled it off alone. Under normal circumstances, the moment Dumbledore sensed his intentions, he’d never have let him raise his wand.

There had to have been help. It was the only way their plan could have gone so smoothly.

And when Malfoy was rescued by an unknown wizard, Snape had been the only professor whose whereabouts were unaccounted for.

McGonagall pressed her lips together.

Unfortunately, she had no proof. When she heard the phoenixʼs cry, Snape had been behind her the whole time—his alibi was airtight.

Besides, the attack on Filius had been carried out by two people. Snape had been alone. The numbers didn’t match.

Still, as she met Snape’s increasingly uneasy gaze, her own grew colder.

The moment she’d mentioned his “colleagues,” Snape had thought of the Death Eaters within the Ministry. What surprised him was how quickly they had turned their attention to Hogwarts.

He’d thought they’d wait until they controlled the entire Ministry before making a move.

Even more shocking was that McGonagall had agreed to go along with it... but no, of course she had.

Snape walked forward and glanced at the students filling half the Great Hall.

They were the reason she’d yielded to the Death Eaters’ demand.

Now that he understood, he steadied himself and quickly accepted the reality of the situation.

Besides, becoming Hogwarts headmaster would actually make it easier to carry out his plan.

Yes—his plan.

Dumbledore, the unreliable old man, hadn’t left him any sort of plan before he died. Not even a final word. And he’d been the only one who knew Snape’s true allegiance.

Since the funeral, Snape’s Death Eater identity had become impossible to shake.

So now, he had to find his own way to bring down Voldemort. He hadn’t figured it all out yet—only part of it.

The Malfoy family would be key.

And so would Potter.

He had heard Dumbledore say it countless times—Potter was the key to defeating the Dark Lord, and Snape must protect him at all costs.

That arrogant, reckless fool?

Snape quickly spotted that infuriating face across the Great Hall.

But clearly, Harry—who could hardly accept Snape as headmaster—was just as confrontational. His glare was practically shouting insults, as if the words were scrawled across his face.

Their eyes met for only a moment, but both walked away feeling insulted.

“Just look at him,” Harry finally snapped, his voice loud and unrestrained. “Who knows what kind of tricks he used to become headmaster of Hogwarts. I bet heʼs feeling pretty smug about it.”

As more and more students turned to stare, Ron and Hermione looked horrified, nudging and kicking Harry under the table in a desperate attempt to shut him up.

“Stop it, Harry! You’ll get expelled!” Hermione whispered, her voice trembling. “He heard you—he definitely heard you!”

“I don’t care!” Harry sneered, raising his voice even more. “So what if I get expelled? If Snape’s the headmaster, I’d rather have never come to Hogwarts at all!”

Snape’s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint, but surprisingly, he said nothing—almost as if he hadn’t heard Harry’s outburst at all.

That silence kept Hermione on edge until dinner finally ended, when she let out a long sigh of relief.

“I thought for sure you were going to be expelled right then and there,” she muttered as they walked back toward the Gryffindor common room.

“I meant it,” Harry said. “You think I was exaggerating? If Snape really is headmaster, even if he doesn’t expel me, I’ll leave on my own.”

“If you’d looked carefully at the staff table, you’d have noticed someone was already gone.”

“Huh?” Ron blinked. “Someone missing?”

“It was Kyle,” Hermione said quietly. “He didn’t come to the feast—but Professor McGonagall specifically asked everyone to attend.”

“He must have sensed something was wrong,” Harry said firmly. “You know Kyle—he’s a Phoenix...”

“Hey, Harry Potter.”

A small voice interrupted them.

“Potter, the new headmaster wants you in his office.” The speaker was a Slytherin student, probably a second-year by the looks of him.

“Don’t go,” Hermione blurted out.

Ron nodded. “Think about what you just said in the Great Hall. I doubt he’s calling you in for a friendly chat.”

“No—I’m going,” Harry said.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I’ve never been more clear-headed.” Harry turned to the messenger. “Go back and tell Snape I’ll be there. He can wait for me.”

The boy frowned. “You should learn to respect the headmaster, Potter.”

“I could say the same to you, pipsqueak. You ought to show some respect to seventh-years—or you’ll get smacked.” Ron stepped forward with a scowl and gave him a shove. “Move it. You’re in the way.”

The boy stumbled, nearly falling, and shot Ron a venomous glare before turning on his heel and walking off.

Ron didn’t take him seriously at all. Just a second-year brat—he could take on three like him with one hand.

“Are you really going to Snape’s office, Harry?” Ron asked worriedly. “He’s definitely up to something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” Harry suddenly chuckled. “You really think I’d go see Snape alone?”

“Then just now you…”

“I was bluffing—so he’d stop tailing us,” Harry said, lowering his voice. “Listen, now that Snape, that Death Eater, is headmaster, more Death Eaters are bound to follow. I don’t think I can stay at Hogwarts anymore. I need to leave. Now.”

“But that’s just our assumption, isn’t it?” Hermione said hesitantly. “There’s no solid evidence that Professor Snape is a Death Eater.”

“Oh, come on, Hermione.” Harry gave her a look. “Didn’t you hear what Professor McGonagall said to him? She called them ‘your colleagues.’ I heard it.”

“And the way she looked at Snape—it was cold, distant. Isn’t that enough to tell you who he really is?”

Hermione said nothing, her expression conflicted.

“I’m coming with you,” Ron said, thumping his chest with loyalty. “When do we make our move?”

“No, Ron. I’ll go alone.” Harry shook his head. “You’re a pure-blood. There’s no reason for you to run. Even if the Death Eaters come, they won’t target you.”

“You mean the disgrace of pure-bloods?” Ron shrugged with a bitter smile.

The Weasleys were famously labeled as the disgrace of pure-bloods—some had even struck them from the pure-blood family registers. It wasn’t exactly a secret in the wizarding world.

“You two go. I’ll stay,” Hermione said, lifting her chin, eyes growing resolute. “Someone needs to stay and gather information. That way, even if the Death Eaters take over Hogwarts, we won’t be completely in the dark.”

“Then... I’ll stay too,” Ron said suddenly. “Like you said, I’m pure-blood. They won’t kill me—not right away, at least.”

“You two...” Harry started, but Hermione gave him a firm shove.

“Get moving. But once you leave Hogwarts, have you thought about where you’ll go?”

“Of course. I’ll look for Sirius,” Harry said without hesitation. “Or maybe Kyle. He must know a lot more than we do.”

“Oh, right.” Harry jogged ahead a few steps, then turned back. “Be careful. If you ever decide to escape, the secret passage under the Whomping Willow is a good option.”

“I’ll leave the Invisibility Cloak in the Shrieking Shack—oh, wait, no, that’s an ice cream shop now. Heard Sirius lost a fortune on it.”

Now that he’d made the decision to leave school, Harry felt surprisingly light, even in the mood to joke.

“No, Harry, you need the Invisibility Cloak more than we do.”

“I’ve got the Firebolt,” Harry said. “They won’t catch me. But you guys... you’re really not coming?”

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione replied with a forced smile. “I’ve spent seven years preparing. I’m not giving up my N.E.W.T.s now.”

“All right, then. Just be careful.”

Harry didn’t press them. He turned, slipped on the Invisibility Cloak, and merged into the crowd, heading for the edge of the castle grounds.

Up to now, it was all just guesswork. He was leaving more out of fury that Snape was headmaster than anything else. He had savings, and his godfather had nothing but Galleons—he could manage just fine without a diploma.

But Hermione and Ron were different. It wasn’t fair to drag them along based on a hunch.

Besides, if Hogwarts really did fall to the Death Eaters, he trusted Hermione’s wit. She’d get Ron to the secret passage under the Whomping Willow before things got too dangerous.

And with the Invisibility Cloak he left behind, they’d have a decent shot at escaping safely.

With that thought, Harry didn’t hesitate any longer. While Snape was still unaware, he darted out of the castle.

What he didn’t notice was that, high in one of the castle’s towers, a pair of eyes was watching the open grounds below.

Whether that person had seen through the Invisibility Cloak or not was unclear—but one thing was certain: someone else had come to the same conclusion as Harry.