In this world, werewolves and vampires seemed destined to be enemies. Yet, from Augustus's perspective, these dark creatures should form alliances. Their strength was already negligible compared to the wizarding world, and internal squabbles only weakened them further. It was no wonder they were so easily dismissed. Only Voldemort, with his unique charisma, had managed to unite vampires, werewolves, giants, and other dark creatures under one banner, creating a force capable of standing against the Ministry of Magic. Like grains of sand combining to build a towering structure, these dark beings could only hope to survive by standing together. But by fighting among themselves and failing to recognize the greater threat, they doomed themselves to be picked off, one by one.
The classroom remained silent until Hermione abruptly stood up, unable to contain herself.
"But, sir," she protested, "we aren't supposed to be learning about werewolves yet! We're supposed to start with Hinkypunks—"
Lilian smirked slightly. Hermione clearly didn't grasp the situation. This wasn't Lupin's class anymore, where she could speak freely. Talking out of turn in Snape's lesson was asking for trouble.
"That's the second time you've spoken out of turn, Granger," Snape said coldly. "For that insufferable know-it-all attitude, Gryffindor loses five more points."
Hermione flushed red, her hand dropping to her side as tears welled in her eyes. Malfoy's face lit up with a smug grin, clearly savoring the moment. It seemed all the frustration he'd endured in Lupin's class had finally been avenged. Only Professor Snape could keep these unruly Gryffindors in check.
The rest of the class glared at Snape, showing their collective disdain. Yet everyone in the room had, at some point, called Hermione a know-it-all themselves—Ron did so at least twice a week.
"She answered your question!" Ron burst out. "If you don't want answers, why even bother asking?"
"Well, well, another stubborn little cockroach," Malfoy quipped, clapping mockingly. "Looks like we're in for some fun."
Augustus shook his head slightly. Ron had gone too far this time. Snape had only given Hermione a mild reprimand, yet Ron dared to openly challenge a professor, blatantly disregarding Snape's authority.
Snape slowly approached Ron, and the room collectively held its breath.
"Stay after class, Weasley," Snape hissed, leaning close. "If I hear another word about my teaching methods, you'll regret it."
For the remainder of the lesson, no one dared to make a sound. The class sat in silence, taking notes on werewolves while Snape patrolled the rows, reviewing their previous work from Lupin's lessons.
"Except for Mr. Augustus's thorough analysis and flawless narrative, the rest of these reports are appallingly disorganized. Is this how you've been studying? Lupin certainly taught you well," Snape remarked with biting sarcasm, his face expressionless as he looked at the scowling Gryffindors.
"Terrible explanations... This is incorrect. Kappas are more prevalent in Mongolia... Lupin claimed it was 80%? I'd say it's barely 30%..."
Finally, the bell rang, but Snape didn't dismiss the class.
"Each of you will write an essay on how to identify and kill werewolves. Two rolls of parchment, due Monday morning. Someone needs to take this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind. We'll discuss your detention."
The first Quidditch match of the term had arrived. At Slytherin's request, Gryffindor was set to face Hufflepuff. Augustus was well-acquainted with Hufflepuff's new captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory. Their duel in the Dueling Club had been impressive; Cedric's skills were formidable. Without Augustus's expertise, few in the school—perhaps no more than three—could best him. Even Loki and Thor, without employing Augustus's techniques, would likely struggle against Cedric.
The weather was atrocious. Rain poured relentlessly as students and staff made their way to the Quidditch pitch. Gusts of wind tore umbrellas from their hands, forcing them to run across the lawn with their heads down. Augustus, along with Lilian, Loki, and Thor, efficiently guided the Slytherin students to their seats, demonstrating the advantages of Slytherin's system of appointing discreet prefects for each year. Other houses, overwhelmed by their larger numbers, always struggled with seating arrangements.
The wind was so fierce that by the time they reached the pitch, everyone was staggering against the gale. Thunder rumbled overhead, drowning out the cheers of the audience. Hufflepuff's team approached from the opposite side of the field, clad in bright canary-yellow robes. The captains stepped forward for the customary handshake. Cedric smiled warmly at Wood, but Wood, looking as though he were suffering from lockjaw, merely gave a stiff nod.
Harry saw Madam Hooch mouth the words: "Mount your brooms." Pulling his muddy foot from the ground, he mounted his Nimbus 2000. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, its sharp sound barely audible over the storm, and the match began.
The sky was crowded with players darting back and forth like shadows. Under the dark, stormy clouds, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fought fiercely. As the match wore on, the sky grew even darker, as if night had decided to arrive early. Rain fell in torrents, blurring visibility. Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the first flash of lightning.
"What's going on?" Malfoy asked, puzzled, as players began descending.
"Gryffindor called a timeout, obviously," Loki replied disdainfully, casting Malfoy a withering glance. "It's astounding you were ever a Seeker for Slytherin."
"I never saw a timeout in my matches! How should I know?" Malfoy retorted, his face reddening slightly, though the storm masked it well.
"Even so," Loki replied with biting sarcasm, "as someone raised in the magical world, you should know better. Never eaten pork but haven't seen pigs run? Your lack of observation is pathetic."
Loki's gaze shifted back to the pitch, where the players huddled in discussion. His expression made it clear he found the sight beneath his notice.
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