Chapter 3: First Classes Chaos
The Potions classroom, buried deep in the Hogwarts dungeons, was a realm of eternal twilight. The air was thick with the sulfuric tang of bubbling cauldrons, overlaid with the bitter char of burnt herbs and the steady drip-drip-drip of condensation from the low stone ceiling. Alex sat at a worn obsidian workbench, its cool, smooth surface grounding him as he traced its edges with his fingers. The chill of the dungeon seeped through his robes, making him shiver involuntarily. Snape stood at the front, his black eyes raking the students like a predator sizing up prey, his presence amplifying the room's oppressive atmosphere.
Snape's voice was a low, chilling drawl, slicing through the silence. "I expect competence from Slytherins, a quality I am certain many Gryffindors lack." His gaze lingered on Alex, sharp and probing, like a scalpel. "Sterling, your… deficient background suggests a lack of refinement. Prove the Hat's judgment was not a mistake."
Alex nodded, his face carefully blank, though his fingers tightened on the workbench, the cold stone steadying his nerves. Snape assigned the Wartcap Powder Potion, a deceptively simple concoction that demanded precision. Across the room, Hermione had her textbook open, measuring ingredients with obsessive care, her lips moving silently as she recited instructions. Ron stared at his cauldron, his mixture already a hopeless grey sludge, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Alex ignored the textbook, his meta-knowledge a silent guide. He knew the exact counter-clockwise stir, the precise flame level, the subtle pause before adding crushed scarab shells. His movements were economical, almost mechanical, as he worked, the familiar rhythm calming his racing thoughts. The potion bubbled a serene lavender, its clarity perfect, its surface unbroken. He leaned back, wiping his hands on his robes, the rough fabric a reminder of his orphanage days. "Beat that, Hermione."
Snape swept past, his robe whispering against the slick floor. He paused at Alex's cauldron, his black eyes narrowing as he inspected the potion. "Competence… unexpected, Sterling," he hissed, the word laced with suspicion rather than praise. Alex's outperformance had trumped Hermione's textbook precision, her glare across the room sharp with rivalry. Snape's scrutiny settled on him like a weight, a promise of future challenges. "He's watching me now. Great."
Draco, fuming at his own murky potion, saw Harry struggling with his measurements. With a sly, mean-spirited flick of his wrist, he tossed a handful of dried lizard tails into Harry's cauldron as Snape's back was turned. The potion hissed violently, erupting in a shower of black smoke and sticky sludge that splattered the floor.
"Potter, you idiot! Look what you've done!" Draco crowed, his smirk triumphant.
Alex acted on instinct, slipping his holly wand from his sleeve. Hidden by the rising smoke, he cast a silent Scourgify on the hem of Draco's robes, leaving a slick, nearly invisible wet patch. As Snape whirled toward the chaos, Draco stepped forward to gloat, only to slip on the patch and crash into a stack of vials. The shattering glass echoed, drawing Snape's ire.
"MALFOY! Ten points from Slytherin for your deplorable lack of coordination! Potter, clean that mess!" Snape barked, his voice cutting through the smoke.
Alex tucked his wand away, his heart racing but his face neutral. His quick charm had deflected the blame, protecting Harry and humiliating Draco. He wiped his sweaty palms on his robes, a nervous tic masking his adrenaline. Snape's narrowed eyes lingered on him, the suspicion deepening. "I'm on his radar now. Gotta be careful."
The class dismissed, the students spilling into the corridor, the air lighter but still damp with dungeon chill. Alex's mind shifted to the next challenge: Defense Against the Dark Arts. The classroom was a stark contrast, its air dry and heavy with the cloying sweetness of garlic, the windows dim with dust. Quirrell stood at the front, his purple turban bobbing as he stammered through a lecture on curses. "N-n-now, class… r-reverse curses are v-vital…"
Alex's eyes fixed on the turban, the system humming in his mind. He activated a careful scan, keeping his expression bored to avoid suspicion.
[Artificer's Enigma: Analysis Engaged (Lvl 2)]
AE: 55/75 Cost: 5 AE (High-Level Obscuration Detected)
[Analysis partial… Enchantment: Obscured Presence. Secondary signature: High-level magical tether.]
CS: 15% (No change)
The psychic resistance was lighter this time, his upgraded Analysis cutting through the concealment charm. The data confirmed a powerful presence tied to Quirrell—Voldemort, no doubt. The professor yelped, dropping his chalk, which shattered on the floor. Alex leaned back, feigning disinterest, his jaw clenching to ease the mental strain.
Ron leaned over, mischief glinting in his eyes. "Oi, watch this." He mimicked Quirrell's stutter, complete with a jerky head tilt. "P-p-pay attention, or your r-robes might catch g-garlic!"
Harry stifled a laugh, his face lighting up, but Alex caught a fleeting wince—a headache near Quirrell. "Voldemort's mark, right on schedule." Ron's impression broke the class's unease, starting a running gag that promised more laughter. Alex grinned, the humor a welcome relief from the system's warning.
The flying lesson brought a burst of fresh air, the training grounds alive with the scent of cut grass and the whistle of wind. Madam Hooch stood over the first-years, her sharp eyes scanning the line of brooms. "Up!" she barked. Harry's broom snapped to his hand instantly; Alex's took a second try, the wood rough under his fingers. Neville's wobbled, sending him crashing to the grass, his Remembrall flying from his pocket.
Draco snatched it, sneering. "Forgot your brain, Longbottom?" He leaped onto his broom, soaring upward with a malicious grin.
"Give it back!" Harry shouted, mounting his broom and launching after him. Alex's fingers twitched on his wand, preparing a stabilization charm.
[Artificer's Enigma: Quick-Cast Stabilization Charm (Standby)]
[AE Cost: 10 AE CS Risk: 5%]
But Harry was a natural, weaving through the air with breathtaking grace. He dove, snatching the Remembrall in a heart-stopping arc, pulling up just feet from the ground. Alex let the charm fade, a grin spreading across his face. "He's the hero. I'm just the backup."
McGonagall's arrival sealed Harry's fate as Gryffindor's Seeker, her stern face breaking into rare pride. Alex turned to a discarded broom, running a quick scan on its handle.
[Artificer's Enigma: Analysis Engaged (Lvl 2)]
AE: 50/75 Cost: 5 AE (Propulsion Blueprint Acquired)
The blueprint was a small victory, a step toward crafting his own artifacts. As the lesson ended, Alex hefted his broom, the CS ache a dull throb in his temples. He'd protected Harry, confirmed Quirrell's threat, and earned Draco's enmity. His fingers brushed the broom's rough wood, a grounding ritual. Next, he'd plan a prank to keep Draco off balance—a system-free move to maintain his edge.
Mechanics Recap: [Analysis] at Lvl 2; CS at 15%; AE at 50/75.
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