Harry Potter: Archmage of Another World

The Potions class was held in an underground classroom, colder and gloomier than the main castle above. Glass jars lined the walls, containing various preserved animal specimens.

Like Professor Flitwick, Snape began the class by taking roll. When he reached Augustus' name, there was a noticeable pause. As the Head of Slytherin House, Snape was well aware of the house's tradition of selecting a student leader, and Augustus' exemplary performance had already reached his ears. For a Slytherin first-year this outstanding, Snape's typically rigid expression softened ever so slightly.

"Oh, yes," Snape's voice suddenly shifted as he called Harry's name. "Harry Potter, our new—celebrated arrival." Augustus raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the stark contrast to the general admiration Harry seemed to receive from most professors. Snape's tone was laden with sarcasm, so much so that it was impossible to miss. Draco Malfoy and his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, muffled their snickers behind their hands.

Snape finished the roll call and looked up at the class. His dark eyes, cold and empty, reminded one of two bottomless black tunnels. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began in a voice barely louder than a whisper, yet every word carried clearly. Like Professor McGonagall, Snape had an effortless authority that ensured order in the classroom.

"Since there will be no silly wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I do not expect you to truly understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper on death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

To Augustus, an almost-demigod mage who had weathered countless rises and falls, these words lacked substance. While other students seemed captivated, their hearts racing, Augustus remained unmoved. For him, the only pursuit worth his time was uncovering the essence of magic itself. As for halting death? Even as someone who had nearly ascended to godhood, Augustus knew better than to claim mastery over one of the universe's most terrifying truths.

After this speech, the class sat in stunned silence. Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Hermione Granger leaned so far forward in her seat she was nearly falling off, desperate to prove she wasn't one of the "dunderheads."

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

"I don't know, sir," Harry replied.

Snape sneered. "Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's eagerly raised hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, if I asked you to find me a bezoar, where would you look?" Harry glanced around helplessly. Hermione's hand shot up even higher. Most Gryffindors looked clueless, while the Slytherins were clearly enjoying the show. Augustus, who had been frowning since Snape started targeting Harry, seemed mildly annoyed. When Harry's eyes met his, a flicker of hope crossed Harry's face, perhaps recalling Augustus' intervention on the train.

By the time Snape posed his second question, Augustus had had enough. He was here to expand his magical knowledge, not listen to a professor berate a student.

"Professor Snape," Augustus said calmly, "if Harry doesn't know, why not ask someone else? Miss Granger, perhaps. Or I could answer instead."

The entire class froze. Augustus' voice, steady and distinct, carried across the room. Students turned to gape at him, shocked by his audacity. Questioning Snape in his own classroom was almost unthinkable. Even the Slytherins were bewildered—why would Augustus stand up for a Gryffindor?

For a moment, an icy fury flashed in Snape's eyes, but it quickly faded into a look of measured contemplation. His expression smoothed as he studied the composed Augustus.

"Very well, Mr. Augustus," Snape said, his voice chillingly neutral. "Answer the questions."

Unfazed, Augustus calmly gave the correct answers. Snape nodded curtly, refraining from his usual cutting remarks, and turned back toward his desk. The class was left in awe, uncertain whether to admire Augustus' courage or marvel at Snape's unexpected reaction. Meanwhile, Harry felt a surge of gratitude toward Augustus, who had now come to his aid twice.

The lesson continued, with Snape pairing the students to brew a simple cure for boils. Augustus was partnered with Moyan, the Slytherin he had easily defeated during the house's selection duel. Moyan was thrilled to be paired with Augustus, who had become an object of admiration among Slytherin first-years.

As Augustus focused on preparing ingredients with precision, Neville Longbottom managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a twisted mess. The spilled potion burned through the stone floor, forcing students to scramble onto their stools to avoid it. Frowning, Augustus drew his silver wand and cast a spell that cleaned up the mess instantly.

Snape, impressed, awarded Slytherin ten points before turning on Neville with a roar. "Idiot boy! I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire, didn't you?" he bellowed, disgusted by the sight of the boils now covering Neville's nose. "Take him to the hospital wing," he ordered Seamus.

The chaotic class finally came to an end. As students filed out, Hermione trailed behind Harry and Ron. Watching Augustus surrounded by Slytherins, his calm demeanor unchanged, she remarked smugly, "I told you, even in Slytherin, Augustus wouldn't turn out like the rest of them."

Ron muttered something incomprehensible, while Harry, lost in thought, couldn't help but agree. The white-robed boy from the train had remained unwaveringly true to himself.

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