The morning after the late-night library raid dawned mercilessly. Stephen struggled to open his eyes, his brain throbbing from the colossal volume of information that now seemed to weigh no less than the castle itself. He smoothed his disheveled hair, which resembled some complex magical formula, and headed to the Great Hall. Breakfast was routine: he mechanically measured out portions while his mind, in the background, processed every page, every symbol from the Restricted Section. Words merged with magical currents, secret spells, and ancient diagrams. Every detail from there seemed like a key to something much larger than he had anticipated. Sleep? An inefficient use of time when the universe was full of unsolved mysteries.
The first lessons passed in a blur, requiring effort to maintain focus. In Charms, he completed all assignments with ease. In Transfiguration, McGonagall cast a few scrutinizing glances his way but didn't comment on his semi-somnolent state. Perhaps she was simply accustomed to Ravenclaws looking as if they'd just been pulled from a swamp of textbooks.
After lunch came Potions class. Professor Snape's classroom was in the dungeons, and Stephen felt an abrupt drop in temperature and an increase in humidity. The air was heavy, saturated with the smell of mold and unknown reagents. An ideal environment for magical experiments requiring controlled conditions. Or, as Stephen thought, just a very old and poorly ventilated room that perfectly suited Professor Snape.
Professor Snape, a tall, thin man with greasy black hair and a hooked nose, greeted them with an icy stare. He began his lesson with a grim speech on the intricacies of potion-making.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began, his voice a barely audible whisper, yet somehow it pierced through every student. "There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class as there is in the lessons of that buffoon Flitwick. I don't expect you to understand the beauty of the cauldron, simmering over a slow fire, with its shimmering vapors, dancing like ghosts… that subtle power that can be bottled, brewed, poured into vials… capable of enchanting the mind, ensnaring the senses, bottling death… if you are not, of course, as idiotic as some who have come to learn at Hogwarts!"
His gaze swept across the classroom, lingering for a moment on Stephen before sliding to Harry Potter.
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory," he continued, "or even stopper death… if you aren't, of course, the dunderhead I usually have to teach."
Stephen listened to Snape's every word with exceptional attention. The professor was caustic, sarcastic, but behind that mask, Stephen clearly saw a sharp, systematic mind. Unlike most teachers, Snape tolerated no inaccuracies, preferring logic and precision over any, even the most brilliant but unsystematic, magic. This aligned with Stephen's own approach. Snape seemed to be the only one who understood that magic was not just enchantment but also a strict science where every action had precise consequences. In this classroom, smelling of mold and herbs, Stephen felt almost comfortable. Almost. If it weren't for that persistent smell of old socks and something burnt.
On the blackboard, Snape wrote the name of the potion: Draught of Forgetfulness. The students were to brew it. Stephen set to work with methodical precision. He weighed ingredients using portable scales, ignoring the school's. "Accuracy 37.4% above standard," he murmured to himself. He measured liquids with precision pipettes, his movements calculated and economical, optimized for maximum efficiency, so as not to waste a single drop of precious, and possibly terribly smelly, ingredients.
While other students repeatedly made mistakes, creating something in their cauldrons that suspiciously resembled muddy puddle broth, Stephen worked silently. His cauldron emitted clean, steady steam, and the potion acquired a perfect hue. Hermione, sitting nearby, cast quick, appraising glances at him, noting his extraordinary precision. And, perhaps, a hint of envy for his seemingly innate ability to immediately grasp complex instructions.
Snape slowly paced between the tables, his dark eyes scanning each cauldron. He paused to deliver scathing remarks about students' clumsy attempts, especially towards Neville Longbottom, whose concoction became frighteningly similar in color to Snape's robes.
When Snape approached Stephen's cauldron, his face remained impassive. He leaned over, examining the potion carefully, then scooped out a small amount.
"Hmm," was all he said, then turned to the class. "Mr. Strange is the only one who brewed this potion perfectly. A model for imitation."
A faint whisper went through the class. Draco Malfoy and his cronies looked particularly displeased. Stephen noted their negative emotional reaction, but it had no practical significance for his current goals. He simply logged this parameter in his mental database under "irrelevant stimuli."
After class, as everyone was leaving the dungeons, Snape stopped Stephen.
"Mr. Strange," Snape's voice was unexpectedly quiet, devoid of its usual acerbity. He looked at Stephen searchingly. "You… do not appear entirely rested. Do you not think sleep is important for mental clarity? Or perhaps you find more engaging ways to spend your nights than following the schedule?"
Stephen turned, his gaze as penetrating as Snape's.
"I am aware of the risks, Professor. My potential is a result of active study. Lack of sleep is a side effect. Currently, acquiring information is more important. My sleep regimen is optimized for learning."
Snape's eyebrow, usually immobile, lifted slightly. He studied Stephen. A second later, Snape nodded, as if having decided something, and dismissed Stephen. For Stephen, this exchange was not merely a conversation but a verification: Snape saw something more than most, and this made him a potential, albeit unpredictable, resource. Perhaps even someone who would appreciate a well-brewed potion, even if it was intended for oblivion.
Later that evening, Stephen sat in the Ravenclaw common room, analyzing information from the Restricted Section. He was engrossed in reading a thick, antique leather-bound book, spectacles with thin gold frames perched on his nose, lending him an even more refined beauty. He appeared calm and incredibly focused, and there was a particular, captivating beauty in his complete immersion in the world of knowledge. So captivating that had his brain not been so occupied with information, he might have caught the lingering glances of some Ravenclaw witches who quietly whispered, pointing at him. A second-year Ravenclaw watched Stephen from a distance. His concentration was almost palpable, and there was something in this complete dedication to knowledge that attracted her own Ravenclaw curiosity. "He's like an encyclopedia come to life," she thought with a slight smile, "only much more interesting."
"Hello, Strange," Zhou said, her voice soft but confident. "I'm Zhou Chang. I heard you answer the eagle's riddle on the first day. And how you... well, you know. With the Hat. It was amazing. Some even thought you broke it."
Stephen looked up from his notes, his gold-rimmed eyes clear and perceptive. He didn't notice her slight blush, completely focused on her words. "My methods are based on optimization. Analyzing variables, eliminating errors. With the Hat—a simple demonstration of mind protection. Probability of breakage: 0.003%."
Zhou smiled, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Not 'simple' for ordinary people, believe me. And 0.003% doesn't sound very reassuring. But that's not what I'm here for. I've seen you work. And I've noticed that you... read a lot. Especially at night."
Stephen looked at her with a slight, almost ironic smile, a rare expression for him. "Seriously? Someone staying up at night? Oh dear, I can't believe it. That's a breach of routine. How outrageous. I am deeply concerned about the long-term decrease in average body performance."
His sarcasm was so dry and devoid of emotional subtext that Zhou froze for a moment. Then, seeing a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, she laughed. "Alright, alright, Strange. But Filch was really angry this morning. He swore someone broke in last night. I think he even promised to lock up that 'scoundrel' in some cupboard until the end of the semester."
Stephen slowly blinked, feigning genuine bewilderment. His gaze was clear and detached, as if he truly didn't understand what she was talking about. "Filch? In the library? But why? Perhaps he was looking for his cat, Mrs. Norris? That's logical from the perspective of animal behavioral psychology. Or perhaps he discovered a discrepancy in the library's inventory system?"
Zhou was silent for a moment, trying to figure out if he was truly that naive or brilliantly pretending. Her blush deepened slightly. "Uh... yes, probably," she said uncertainly, deciding that a direct accusation wouldn't work with this person. "But I suspect you found something very interesting there. There's a lot of whispering about it in the upper years. Some even say you found a treasure map."
The mention of important information didn't provoke any visible emotional reactions from Stephen, but his internal algorithms noted that Zhou had access to information circulating among experienced students and had a tendency for slight exaggerations. "Your hypothesis has a high degree of probability. I did indeed examine some documents concerning this artifact and its protection systems. Unfortunately, there was no treasure. Only bare facts."
Zhou moved closer. "Listen, Strange," her voice dropped to a confidential whisper. "I didn't just come over for no reason. You clearly found something very valuable, and such discoveries in the Restricted Section are rarely simple. I'm quite good with ancient legends and the history of Hogwarts. There are things you won't find in ordinary textbooks, but they're passed down through generations, especially here in Ravenclaw. I can help you decipher what you found. Plus, I know some secret passages and hidden rooms in the castle that might be useful."
The mention that Cho Chang had noticed his nightly excursions was critically important to Stephen. He showed no visible emotional reactions, but his internal algorithms immediately flagged this as a significant deviation. The fact that someone from his own house was now aware of his activities required an immediate adjustment to his strategy. He needed to become even more cautious in his future nocturnal forays, to develop new methods of disguise or distraction to maintain the maximum level of stealth. Ensuring the confidentiality of his research was priority number one. He was already actively calculating how to minimize the risks of detection, contemplating new routes, timings, and potential diversions. Every detail of his future actions had to be optimized for imperceptibility.