The air in the Great Hall was thick with a peculiar blend of celebratory relief and the quiet melancholy of transition. Professor Horace Slughorn, rotund and beaming, stood on the dais delivering his final, effusive farewell. He was a man who genuinely loved life, good food, and, above all, successful students, even if his definitions of 'success' often involved celebrity and influence.
"...and so, my dear, talented students, I pass the bubbling ladle to a younger, undoubtedly sharper mind!" Slughorn finished with a theatrical bow, the ample folds of his velvet waistcoat nearly touching the mahogany table.
The enthusiastic, appreciative applause that followed was genuine. Slughorn was arrogant about his connections, yes, but he was fundamentally a kindly, avuncular figure who had always rewarded ability with generosity.
However, the warm atmosphere did not extend to the staff table. Severus Snape sat rigid, his black eyes narrowed and fixed with unwavering intensity on one spot: Anduin Wilson. The moment the Headmaster had announced his new dual roles—Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House—Snape had been fighting a losing battle to maintain his composure.
His new Head of House. His new Professor. Anduin felt the cold pressure of that gaze and knew exactly what it meant. That morning's confrontation—the duel that had nearly sent Snape crashing into the wall—was now a professional score to settle, an indelible offense committed by his own student.
Anduin cursed his luck and his own quick temper. He was in for a very, very long year. He could only look down and wish he could sink through the stone floor.
"Honestly, Anduin, do you recognize him?" Vivian whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. She glanced over her shoulder at the staff table. "The new Head of Slytherin. He hasn't stopped staring at you since he sat down. It's… intense. Like he wants to brew you into a particularly nasty fever cure."
Anduin forced a dry chuckle. "I wouldn't doubt it, Vivian. And no, I don't want that kind of 'love' or attention."
Vivian shrugged, picking at her mashed potatoes. "Well, the school is definitely more fun now. It's like a prolonged holiday. Everyone's running wild. Did you hear how much extra pudding the House-Elves made last night? They're celebrating too."
"I've been… preoccupied," Anduin admitted, his mood still dark. He didn't want to talk about Harry or Sirius. He wanted to understand the deeper dynamics of the student body. "Tell me, how have the purebloods reacted to all this? The ones who followed the Dark Lord? Are they finally accepting reality?"
Vivian made a face, nodding towards a group of older Slytherins who were attempting to look somber but failing due to the general merriment. "It was mixed. A lot of the ones whose parents were in the Ministry and only pretended to support Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are suddenly very cheerful. But the hardliners? The ones who believed in the ideology? They're still defiant."
"And who is leading that defiance?" Anduin inquired, already guessing the answer.
"Oh, Raleigh Axley, of course," Vivian confirmed, confirming his suspicion. "He stood up during breakfast yesterday, looking like a martyr, and basically declared that the Dark Lord isn't truly vanquished, only temporarily indisposed. He said they would continue to uphold the 'pure-blood vision' and promised that anyone who laughed now would be crying later."
"He is not entirely wrong, I suppose," Anduin mused, knowing that even in defeat, Voldemort had anchored himself to existence. "The man is not dead; merely delayed."
"Well, whatever his status, the fear is gone. Even Vanessa's clique has toned it down," Vivian continued. "Speaking of which, you haven't been down to the common room for ages. They still gossip about you, of course, but it's less intense without their figurehead of power, you know? Why don't you come back? You're always stuck alone in the forest. You're missing all the school news."
Anduin shook his head. He knew the type. Their malice didn't require a Dark Lord; it was inherent. "Some people need no external reason to cause trouble. They do it because they enjoy the power of causing discomfort. We must observe them. The removal of the top predator only reveals the secondary skirmishes and the true intentions of those who remain."
The joyous dinner ended, a striking juxtaposition of universal relief versus Anduin's private suspicion and the cold, professional antagonism that now stared him down from the Head Table.
The next morning, the mood shift was immediate and brutal.
The classroom was the Potions dungeon, subterranean and filled with the eternal chill of stone. The usual, comforting aromas of sulfur and boiled herbs were already subtly overlaid with a sharper, more clinical, and altogether less forgiving odor.
Anduin and Vivian took their seats at the front, setting up their cauldrons and scales. Anduin felt the familiar, cold knot of dread in his stomach. His first lesson of the day: Potions, taught by his new, hostile Head of House.
The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was expecting the genial, anecdote-heavy style of Slughorn. Instead, a figure appeared in the doorway like a silent bat emerging from a cave—black robes, long black hair, an expression of utter, chilling disdain.
Severus Snape swept into the room, his arms folded tight against his chest, his eyes scanning the terrified students with slow, agonizing deliberation.
His gaze finally—and inevitably—snapped onto Anduin. The black eyes held a promise of retribution that made the air around Anduin suddenly feel heavy, viscous, and difficult to breathe.
Snape didn't bother with introductions. He launched straight into his monologue, his voice a low, chilling, precise murmur that somehow carried to every corner of the dungeon.
"You may have enjoyed the lax, frivolous curriculum of my predecessor," Snape began, the word 'predecessor' dripping with contempt. "Professor Slughorn, despite his passing interest in the subject, was overly lenient. He allowed certain… intellectual infants to repeat the same elementary mistakes, fostering a culture of sloppiness and mediocrity."
He paused, sweeping his gaze across the assembled students, making sure the insult landed on everyone before continuing.
"Potion-making is not stirring colored water. It is a profound, exacting science and a delicate, precise craft. To those who possess the requisite discipline and skill, I can teach you the manipulation of molecular instability and the capture of alchemical reactions. I can show you how to confuse the mind and captivate the senses. I will teach you the path to fame, the method of creating genius, and even, for the truly exceptional, how to manipulate the boundaries of mortality."
He stopped again, his eyes lingering on Anduin. The subtle shift in his tone suggested he was addressing someone specific now.
"However, there are some among you who already possess an elevated, perhaps unwarranted, confidence in their own intellectual superiority. They believe their raw power excuses them from the meticulous standards required here."
Snape unfolded his arms, the movement slight but dramatic. He began to stalk slowly down the aisle, his black robes flowing silently behind him until he stopped directly in front of Anduin's desk.
"Mr. Wilson."
Anduin let out a resigned mental sigh. Here we go. The lesson is about to become a very public execution. He stood up straight. "Professor."
Snape's voice was cold steel. "Tell me, Wilson, what precise effect is achieved when one combines powdered Asphodel root with an infusion of Wormwood?"
Anduin knew this was the classic opening question designed to terrify first-years, but Snape's tone imbued it with malice. "You create a powerful sleeping draught, Professor. The Draught of Living Death."
Snape gave no reaction. "Correct. Now, if I wished to concoct a highly volatile Euphoria Potion, describe for the class the correct preparation of the main ingredient, focusing on the preservation of its volatile oils."
"The main component requires two Datura berries," Anduin replied instantly, keeping his voice even. "One must be added whole and unpeeled, for the binding agents. The second must be peeled and thinly sliced into strips, to release the active euphoric compounds over time, preventing an immediate, toxic overload."
Snape's mouth twitched, not quite a sneer, but close. He moved closer, towering over Anduin. "Impressive, Wilson. Let's try a more esoteric challenge. If I were to provide you with a sample of highly contaminated Dragon's Blood—let us say, corrupted by a recent exposure to a particularly unstable basilisk venom—what theoretical potion could be concocted, and what would be the predictable, unwanted side effect?"
Anduin frowned. This was not a standard textbook question; it dipped into advanced, experimental toxicology, far beyond N.E.W.T. level. He had studied the properties of corrupted magical substances but had never seen this specific combination documented. He had to rely on his extensive knowledge of Magical Pathology and his own research notes.
"Contaminated Dragon's Blood, particularly with basilisk venom traces, becomes highly unstable, rapidly converting its chemical structure. Theoretically, it could be used as the base for a volatile Dragon Blood Essence—a potion that rapidly amplifies the drinker's magical core capacity."
Anduin spoke slowly, piecing the knowledge together. He hesitated, then added, "However, this particular contamination would almost certainly induce irreversible, catastrophic magical psychosis, driving the drinker to an immediate and permanent madness."
Snape regarded him with a long, chilling look. "The answer was 'Dragon Blood Essence,' Wilson. I did not ask for your unnecessary commentary on the ethical outcomes of said concoction. Your answer, while correct in its primary assertion, was verbose."
Snape paused, letting the silence hang, then delivered the cutting remark he had been waiting for. "It seems some people have too much time for self-congratulatory research and not enough time for brevity. Sit down."
Anduin ignored the insult, his expression calm, and sat. He knew the verbal sparring was only the beginning.
"What are you doing? I thought he liked you! You just saved yourself, but I swear he was going to bite your head off!" Vivian whispered frantically, clutching her quill.
Anduin nodded slightly, meeting Snape's lingering glare for a split second before looking away. He had to think. A direct, public confrontation would only result in public, painful failure. But letting Snape walk all over him would set the precedent for the year. He needed a strategy, a way to show his capability without triggering another, more serious magical confrontation.
The class shifted to practical work. Today's assignment: the relatively simple, yet mistake-prone Swelling Potion, which caused any touched body part to swell instantly.
"You will follow the instructions on the board precisely. Any deviations will result in immediate, catastrophic failure and subsequent disciplinary action. Begin."
The oppressive atmosphere ensured total silence save for the clatter of weights and the bubbling of cauldrons. Anduin, now on high alert, became meticulously focused. He used his knowledge to streamline the process, guiding Vivian with the precision of an experienced alchemist.
"Vivian, prepare the pufferfish eyes immediately. We are adding them after the third clockwise stir. Time that precisely," Anduin calmly instructed.
They worked in perfect, efficient synchronization. Anduin began the third stir, his movements fluid and exact.
Suddenly, a cold, silken voice materialized directly behind them, making Vivian jump so violently she nearly dropped her beaker.
"Are you certain of your timing, Mr. Wilson?" Snape's voice was laced with contemptuous suspicion. He had approached with the silent grace of a predatory animal. "Perhaps you should check the volume of the crucible against the required temperature? Carelessness leads to dilution. You seem far too confident in your assistant's timing."
Vivian stammered, clutching the tweezers holding the pufferfish eye. But Anduin did not even turn around. His gaze remained locked on the bubbling liquid, his concentration absolute.
"Yes, Professor," Anduin replied calmly, his voice ringing with quiet certainty. "I am quite certain. Vivian is following instructions perfectly, and the materials are being entered at the precise moment of optimal reaction stability, which is now."