The aftermath of the Chamber incident wasn't neat.
The governors had barely finished congratulating themselves over Dumbledore's removal before they were forced to drag their smug faces back to Hogwarts and reinstate him. Cassian had the pleasure of watching most of them avoid eye contact like children caught misbehaving and told to apologise.
He stood at the front of the chamber, next to Dumbledore, with the Sorting Hat perched on a stool just to his right. Fudge sat nearby, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Magnus Rosier sat beside him.
Lucius was first to speak, of course. His voice dripped with the same venom he used to lace school governors' policies with. "Why did you summon us here, Rosier?"
"This archaic form of governance has created too many problems already," Cassian said, tone casual but his face was serious. "I'm sick of it."
The room stirred. A few patriarchs shifted in their seats, whispering under their breath. Magnus just sat there silently, and because of that, most of the others also didn't raise their voice.
The Greengrass patriarch leaned forward slightly. "It has always been like this," he said. "This nation was built by the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The founders entrusted the Sacred Twenty-Eight with certain powers in case a Headmaster proved... unsound."
His eyes flicked to the Hat. The Hat nodded.
"That's true," it said, cheerful as ever. "Terribly boring reason, but yes, that's what they said."
Cassian clicked his tongue. "Well, time's moved on, hasn't it? High time we stop running a thousand-year-old castle as if it's still the bloody twelfth century."
Lucius's hand smacked the table with enough force to jolt parchment. "You are overstepping your post, Professor."
He spat the last word like it had dirt on it.
Cassian grinned, slow and wide. "Mr Malfoy, you were keen enough to throw me, the Headmaster, and Hagrid out of this castle with not so much as a proper hearing. You acted without evidence. Without due process. You tried to send an innocent man to Azkaban and exile the only people who stood between your son's schoolmates and a sodding basilisk."
He watched their faces for a second, before continuing, "And now you want to talk about overstepping?"
Parkinson shifted uncomfortably.
Cassian turned toward Fudge, not bothering to soften the words. "I warned you, Minister. Hagrid was innocent. I said it plainly, three times, if memory serves."
Fudge rubbed at his temples but didn't interrupt.
"Still," Cassian went on, "you chose to follow Mr Malfoy's theatre. You removed the Headmaster and chained Hagrid. And while you lot squabbled over policy, a twelve-year-old nearly died under this castle."
He stared at them, then eyes locked on the blonde git. "Mr Malfoy, there are things I cannot prove, but don't think for a second I forgive or forget them."
Lucius's lip curled. "Are you threatening me?"
Cassian grinned faintly. "I'm catching you up."
He turned to the board of governors, eyes sweeping across the semicircle of stiff-necked faces. "Your incompetence nearly killed a student. It would've been a full-blown catastrophe if it hadn't been for a twelve-year-old and, lucky you, me."
Several members bristled. Cassian carried on.
"I don't give a damn what the Founders wrote in some enchanted charter a thousand years ago. If they came back today, I'd ask them to sit down and take notes." His gaze flicked sideways. "Sorting Hat. Please be a dear and read the clauses."
The Sorting Hat twitched on its stool, looking far too pleased with itself for a sentient hat. "Oh, I thought you'd never ask."
Lucius muttered something under his breath. Cassian didn't bother pretending he hadn't heard.
The Hat cleared its nonexistent throat. "Clause Eighty-Two, Addendum to the Foundational Decree, penned in the third year of Godric's tenure, which was a spicy one, by the way, states: Should the will of the Head be broken by the vote of the Board, and that ruling place our charges in peril, then by steel and by oath the Head, or one they name, may unsheathe the Founders' Right of Severance. For no commander marches blind into battle bound by the folly of councils, when the lives of their host lie in the balance. In such an hour, the Head shall strike free of every chain, to guard the young within these walls as a shield raised against the storm.'"
Several members of the board shifted. The Parkinson Matriarch leaned sideways, muttering furiously to the Goyle beside her. Greengrass's brow had creased, and even Fudge looked up now, eyes narrowed.
Cassian tilted his head, voice light. "Which means?"
The Hat gave a cheerful hum. "Means the Headmaster can dissolve the Board's authority temporarily, pending Ministry inquiry. Or permanently, if the Ministry fails to act. Of course, none have fumbled as badly as you just did."
Lucius's voice cut through. "That clause has never been enforced."
Cassian turned back to him, smiling like a man who'd waited years for this exact conversation. "Doesn't mean it's not there."
"We've governed Hogwarts for centuries—"
"Yes," Cassian interrupted. "Want me to repeat what you've done with that power? You ignored every warning. Your plan, when children turned to stone? Wait. Hope the next didn't die. Brilliant."
Lucius shot to his feet. "Minister Fudge, surely you're not going to let this stand."
Fudge looked distinctly uncomfortable. "There must be some process—"
"There is," Cassian said. "It's called accountability. I know you lot don't hear it often."
Magnus, who hadn't said a single word, finally made his move, "You acted too quickly. You let fear guide your hand, and in doing so, endangered this institution. Do not complain now that the laws you clung to so tightly are biting back."
Cassian gave him a quick glance then turned back to the room.
One of the older governors, the Selwyn patriarch, groaned so loudly it drew a wince from someone in the back row. "You're too arrogant, boy," he snapped. "Magnus, control your cur. This is not a place a professor can come barking about centuries of law—"
Magnus's eyes cut to him without moving the rest of his head. The shift in air was immediate. Magic lifted off the elder Rosier like heat off stone. A few of the closer governors drew back in their chairs.
"Ignatius," Magnus said, and the name sounded like a warning. "Don't run your lousy mouth. If you've forgotten what happens to those who insult my family, ask the earth that covers your son's grave."
The entire chamber seemed to hold its breath.
Ignatius's face twisted, all colour draining from it until the man looked like he might vomit rage on the spot. Cassian, watching from beside the Sorting Hat, thought the man looked halfway through shedding skin.
"Uncle Magnus!" Fudge rose to his feet so quickly his chair nearly toppled. "Please, sirs. This is not the time—"
Cassian chuckled, not bothered by the taut atmosphere. "Selwyn patriarch," he said, "it seems old age's catching up with you. Memory slipping already? Listen to this."
He gestured lazily to the hat.
The Hat gave a jaunty little wiggle, clearly in its element. "Oh, this is the good part," it said. "Clause Eighty-Three, penned by Helga, bless her fondness for food-based metaphors, states that if Severance shows the Board's gone stale, crumbly ethics, underbaked judgment, and no regard for student safety, then it's time to review the whole recipe. The Founders were quite clear: governance isn't a one-time bake. It should rise, evolve, and not be left to mould in the cellar."
That drew more than a few narrowed eyes.
Cassian didn't give them a moment to interrupt. "Go on."
"Clause Eighty-Four," the Hat continued breezily, "adds that Hogwarts was never meant to be run by heritage alone. A proper school, it says, should be stirred by wisdom, spiced with service, and baked through with vigilance. Otherwise you end up with a half-cooked mess, no matter how posh the crust."
That did it. A few seats scraped back slightly.
The corners of Cassian's mouth twitched.
"Now," he said, "seeing as blood alone got us nearly killed, again, I'd say we're due for a review."
Lucius scoffed. "You can't be serious—"
"I'm applying Founders' law," Cassian said, holding his gaze. "You taught me to respect it, now live with it."
He turned to face the room fully. "Clause Eighty-Three demands we rebalance power after systemic failure. Eighty-Four defines that balance. And since the Founders weren't daft enough to write precise numbers into the margin, we get to interpret."
"Interpretation is not rewriting," Greengrass said.
"No," Cassian agreed. "But it is application. And unless you'd like me to drag out the testimonies from petrified students, I'd say the current application isn't working."
Selwyn made a show of rolling his eyes, but didn't speak.
Cassian looked to the Hat. "Say it plainly. What's a balanced board supposed to look like, by those clauses?"
The Hat gave a thoughtful hum. "Well, if we're applying Helga's logic, which is the only kind of logic anyone here can agree on, she wrote that power should be split across 'heritors of magic, guardians of learning, and the steward of the castle.'"
Cassian nodded. "So, Sacred Families, teaching staff, and the Headmaster's office."
"Indeed," said the Hat. "Three points of balance. Each essential. None absolute."
Cassian looked back at the room. "Thirty percent for the Sacred Families. Thirty for Hogwarts' academic staff. Forty for the Headmaster. Majority sits with the one charged with running the castle, as it should. No one gets full control, and if two of the three disagree, the third can't steamroll them."
He stepped forward, one hand bracing on the table. "You lot abused the old structure. You cut corners. Lied to yourselves. Turned a school into a stage, and used children as props. The Founders built this place to last a thousand years. If they could see you now, they'd boot you into the lake."
His eyes flicked across the semicircle. "And if you think I'll let you drag it back into the Dark just to cling to your little throne, try me."
No one spoke. Not even Fudge.
Cassian stepped back, hands casually at his back. "This isn't a debate. It's law. Passed down, enchanted into the very bricks of this castle. Don't like it? Get a time-turner, go argue with Rowena herself."
He walked to the doors and threw them open with a sweep that was probably more dramatic than necessary. "Come on in, come on in," he said brightly, waving the professors forward like they were guests to a dinner party instead of about to watch him publicly dismantle what little patience Lucius Malfoy had left.
The professors were waiting just outside. Most had probably been eavesdropping shamelessly. Bathsheda stepped in first, brows arched, just gave Cassian a once-over, checking for scorch marks and then took the seat to his left. The others followed.
"Right then. There's still one thing left to settle."
The governors shifted, clearly not thrilled about more talking. Tough.
Lucius looked like he was chewing nettles.
"Now that we're all settled, let's get to it, shall we?" Cassian said with a grin, "I move to remove Lucius Malfoy from the Board of Governors, effective immediately."
Lucius stiffened. "You cannot be serious."
"Oh, I'm deadly serious," Cassian said. "You've shown a remarkable lack of judgment, manipulated decisions, endangered students, and tried to exile staff who challenged you. I think that covers the basic criteria for 'shouldn't be anywhere near a school.'"
Lucius turned to the others. "You're going to let him dictate terms now?"
"I'm not dictating," Cassian said. "Motion's been made. All in favour?"
Bathsheda's hand went up immediately.
Sprout followed. "Aye."
Flitwick nodded once. "In favour."
Sinistra raised her hand without a word. Vector gave a sharp little "Yes," like she'd been waiting weeks.
Even Hooch, who barely got involved in these things, lifted her arm with a muttered, "Should've happened ages ago."
Greengrass shifted in his seat, then raised his hand slowly. Another looked vaguely ill, but his hand twitched upwards too. Two more followed. The others hesitated, caught between Lucius's glare and Magnus Rosier's silence.
Didn't matter.
Lucius turned to Fudge, but the Minister was suddenly very interested in the clasp of his briefcase.
Cassian stood. "Done and dusted, then. Lucius Malfoy is no longer on the Board."
Lucius didn't leave quietly. He muttered something under his breath, probably a curse or two, and swept out the chamber like a man who still thought capes were a symbol of dignity.
Cassian waited until the echo of his boots had faded, then glanced at the Hat. "Still not going to sing?"
The Hat yawned. "Thought I'd save it for the students. Something cheerful about governance reform. Maybe a march."
"Make it a funeral march," Cassian grinned.
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At this point, your reactions are a rare magical creature. I read about them once.
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