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Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the door followed by hurried footsteps.
Moments later, Professor McGonagall burst into the room, Snape right behind her—and a pale-faced Quirrell trailing at the end of the line.
Quirrell took one glance at the pile of troll remains on the floor and went deathly pale. He slumped onto a toilet, clutching his chest like he might pass out.
Snape's gaze swept around the wrecked bathroom before he crouched to examine what was left of the troll. McGonagall stared at Augustus with a strange look in her eyes.
"Would someone care to explain what on earth is going on here?! What kind of ridiculous stunt were you all trying to pull?" she snapped, her gaze sharp as she looked at Harry and Ron, who seemed like they wanted to speak but couldn't. Then her eyes landed on Hermione, who was still crouching on the floor, her expression unreadable.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Snape stood up and looked at Augustus, a faint smirk flickering in his otherwise cold eyes. "Young Mr. Augustus, sole heir of the Julius family—this extensive destruction was your doing, correct? While I'm unfamiliar with any spell capable of such damage, Harry and Ron clearly aren't capable of anything this powerful."
"You did all this?" McGonagall looked at Augustus, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes.
"Please don't blame him, Professor McGonagall—it was me they were looking for. I came here to face the troll because I—I foolishly thought I could handle it on my own. You see, I've read about them, and I mistakenly believed I knew enough. In the end, it was Mr. Augustus who saved me. It was my reckless behavior that caused all of this," Hermione said, finally struggling to her feet.
"Well then, it's all clear now," Snape drawled lazily. "Miss Granger, overconfident as ever, decided to take on the troll alone, and Augustus just happened to rescue her in the nick of time. A convenient narrative, wouldn't you agree?"
Hermione turned pale. Harry and Ron looked down, ashamed. If they hadn't locked her in, Hermione wouldn't have been in danger. They never expected her to lie to protect them.
McGonagall's lips trembled slightly. Why did it so often feel like Gryffindors lost all sense when Augustus was around? "Miss Granger, you foolish girl," she said, her voice laced with disappointment. "How could you possibly think you could take on a troll of that size by yourself? Because of this serious lapse in judgment, I'm docking fifteen points from Gryffindor. I am very disappointed in you. If you're not injured, you'd better head back to the common room. Everyone else is enjoying the Halloween feast."
Hermione quietly left.
McGonagall gave Harry and Ron a disappointed glance, then turned to Augustus. "Mr. Augustus, to face a considerably large troll as a first-year—it took remarkable courage, and your magical talent is clearly impressive. Slytherin will be awarded twenty points. Now, all three of you, go back to the castle."
" She turned and left. Snape gave Augustus a satisfied look before walking off too.
The last to leave was Professor Quirrell. Before he stepped out, Professor Quirrell stared at Augustus with a strange, unreadable expression lingering on his face.
"Why was Quirrell looking at you like that?" Ron asked curiously as the three of them walked out of the girls' bathroom, Harry and Ron glancing back towards the door.
"Maybe he's embarrassed," Harry guessed. "I mean, a first-year student beating the troll that scared him into running back to the Great Hall? That's gotta sting his pride."
Augustus didn't say anything, his mind racing. He had felt it clearly—an unusual and unsettling energy radiating from Quirrell earlier, a strange power that felt ancient and potent, almost probing him. So the stammering, seemingly weak Quirrell had been concealing something significant all along. Augustus had harbored a strong suspicion about him from the start—and it looked like things were about to become very interesting. A small smirk curled on his lips.
Once November arrived, the weather turned freezing. The mountains around the school were coated in icy mist and snow, and the lake looked like cold-forged steel—hard and freezing. Each morning, the ground sparkled with frost.
From the upstairs windows, you could see Hagrid bundled up in a long mole-skin coat, wearing rabbit-fur gloves and giant beaver-fur boots, out on the Quidditch field defrosting the brooms.
Lately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had become a trio. Outside of classes, they were always sneaking around together. Augustus, who still liked visiting the library, often bumped into them there. Every time he saw Harry, the boy looked tense, like he had something heavy on his mind. Augustus never asked—teenage troubles were like poetry. No need to meddle.
Quidditch season had started. As the hidden class leader for Slytherin, Augustus had no choice but to show up to supervise the new students' behavior, even if he thought flying around on broomsticks was a total waste of time.
That morning was cold but sunny. The dining hall was filled with the mouthwatering smell of roasted sausages. Everyone was buzzing with excitement about the match. By eleven o'clock, it felt like the whole school had packed into the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch. Lots of students brought binoculars. The seats were so high up they nearly touched the clouds—but even then, it was hard to follow the action.
"Everyone on your brooms!"
Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle hard.
Fifteen brooms lifted off and soared into the sky. The match had begun.
To most of the school, it was thrilling. But to Augustus, it looked like fifteen ugly brooms flying around randomly while a bunch of oval balls got tossed around. Not exactly riveting. He watched the players zoom back and forth while half-listening to Malfoy's non-stop whining.
Halfway through the game, Harry's broom suddenly started jerking and twitching violently. It zipped left, then right, shaking so hard it looked like it might throw him off. Then, it started spinning wildly. Harry clung to it with one hand, dangling precariously in the air.
Augustus narrowed his eyes. Someone was clearly cursing Harry's broom. He was just about to use his Eye of Insight spell to scan the entire pitch when Hermione suddenly pushed urgently through the crowd to get to him.
"It's Snape! Snape's cursing Harry!" she said urgently, shoving her binoculars at him and pointing towards the teachers' stand.
Augustus didn't take the binoculars, his wand already in his hand. Instead, he cast a basic detection spell directly at Snape, wanting to identify the nature of the magic being used.
But the feedback surprised him—Snape wasn't cursing Harry. In fact, the magic felt defensive, like a protective shield. Almost simultaneously, Augustus subtly cast a Stabilizing Charm on Harry's broom, momentarily steadying its erratic movements.
He activated his Eye of Insight again, his gaze sweeping over the teachers' section, and soon the true culprit became apparent—just above the teachers' seats. Professor Quirrell was chanting under his breath, his eyes fixed intently on Harry. Augustus cast another detection spell to confirm his suspicion. This time, the magical signature matched what he had sensed earlier: Quirrell was definitely the one targeting Harry with a dark curse.
Now that the source of the curse was clear, Augustus knew exactly what to do.
Without a sound, he subtly flicked his wand and cast Fear, a low-level necromancy spell, aiming it directly at Quirrell. It hit the professor without warning. The man shuddered violently, then began trembling visibly on the spot, and the dark curse on Harry's broom abruptly broke.
What surprised Augustus, though, was Quirrell's rapid recovery. Most individuals with less developed magical resilience would have been significantly affected for at least five seconds. Quirrell snapped out of it in just two. Had his hidden power already reached near-legendary levels? After regaining his composure, Quirrell looked around in a flash of panic, quickly concealed his wand within his robes, and hastily fled the stands.
Harry's broom finally calmed down. Up in the air, Harry, his broom now stable, managed to pull himself back onto it. Hermione gave Augustus a grateful nod and returned to the Gryffindor stands.
Harry dove down toward the ground like a bullet. Everyone saw him clutch his mouth as if he were about to be sick—then he landed, hard. He coughed—and a small golden object dropped into his hand.
"I caught the Snitch!" he shouted, holding it up high.
The game ended in chaos.
Augustus looked around at the cheering Gryffindors, Professor McGonagall's beaming face, and the distinctly unimpressed Slytherins. He supposed Quidditch really was a significant event here. Blending into the background, Augustus remained quiet, his thoughts still occupied by Quirrell.
"....."