The moment Sterling crossed the "gate", sky and earth twisted violently together.
Countless complex colours swirled and merged in disorienting chaos. Up, down, left, right—all spatial sense shattered completely. Sometimes his feet found purchase on cotton candy-like clouds that dissolved beneath him; sometimes thick earth layers pressed in from all sides, suffocating. The sensations blurred together until finally, a familiar voice cut through the dizziness and awakened Sterling from the maelstrom.
"Professor Page, I've completed my potion!"
Professor? What professor? Professor Page? Me? A professor?
Sterling's eyes snapped open, startling Seamus standing before him. The potion bottle in the boy's trembling hand nearly slipped from his fingers.
"Professor? What's wrong?"
Sterling had no time to respond properly. He immediately checked himself with growing alarm—he'd grown considerably taller, his face more angular and mature, looking like a twenty-something version of himself.
He wore elegant black robes with sky-blue base fabric, gold-framed glasses perched on his nose, and sat behind the Potions classroom lectern with students like Seamus queued patiently before him.
Which meant Sterling was now Professor Page, Potions Master at Hogwarts.
Sterling also sensed a massive pile of unfamiliar memories stuffed forcibly in his head, pressing against his consciousness. He carefully set them aside temporarily, returning attention to Seamus's expectant potion after making the boy wait uncomfortably.
"Look at your product yourself. Does even one aspect match the Potions textbook description?"
Sterling regarded with a complex expression this yellowish-brown solid-liquid mixture vaguely resembling a potion in charitable light.
Not having immediately accepted the foreign memories, he didn't yet know what specific potion this lesson required brewing, but he felt absolutely certain—whatever potion it should be, it definitely couldn't have incompletely melted lizard claws still floating conspicuously in the supposedly finished product.
This wasn't a quality issue—this was completely unfinished work!
Sterling desperately wanted to dock house points—if Snape were here witnessing this travesty, twenty points minimum, with no upper limit whatsoever.
But he hadn't figured out yet whether he was someone who habitually liked docking points—or rather, in Harry's perception and construction of this world, whether he was naturally a strict disciplinarian or lenient teacher.
So he suppressed his inner critical thoughts with effort, simply returning Seamus's disastrous potion for complete redoing without further comment.
Next came Hermione's submission... wait. The robe's inner lining displayed scarlet and gold?
Remarkable! Actually assigning Ravenclaw's know-it-all miss to Gryffindor! This wasn't ordinary saviour-level wish fulfilment—this required decisive imaginative action!
Sterling accepted the seemingly flawless potion bottle. Worthy of Hermione's usual standards—even reassigned to Gryffindor house, she made absolutely no mistakes. A genuinely excellent work. Sterling awarded her an "Outstanding" grade without hesitation.
Sterling paid no particular mind to this "Hermione". She'd shown no recognition or abnormality whatsoever, conclusively proving she was thoroughly "fake", not the real Hermione who'd descended into this constructed world alongside him.
"Seamus! What are you doing?!"
The suddenly developing scene nearly made Sterling's heart stop. He drew his wand instantly, preparing for emergency intervention.
Seamus had adopted a sprinter's starting stance, leading dramatically with his head, building momentum with bouncing preparatory movements, then charging forward at full speed—the head's destination was the actively boiling cauldron.
Sterling produced a sharp, involuntary cry of alarm.
A Stunning Spell exploded from his wand faster than conscious thought, striking Seamus and knocking him sideways in the opposite direction from the dangerously hot cauldron.
He abandoned the queue of young wizards waiting patiently for grades below the lectern, walking straight to where Seamus lay sprawled on the stone floor rubbing his head with confused hurt.
"What exactly were you doing?" He repeated the question with forced calm.
Seamus's wide eyes filled with confused, genuine incomprehension. He said pitifully: "Professor Page, I'm just brewing potions?"
"What brewing method requires sprint running? Don't tell me you actually intended to headbutt the cauldron to make it spin?"
Sterling tried his absolute best approximating Snape's devastatingly sarcastic tone, though this might truly be an innate talent—anyway, Sterling felt his imitation resembled an ill-fitting costume rather than a natural performance.
"Right. Didn't you teach us this technique yourself, Professor?"
In Sterling's sky-falling expression of pure horror, not just Seamus but nearby young wizards all nodded in vigorous agreement.
"Me? I personally taught you to headbutt boiling cauldrons?"
Sterling asked with profound incredulity, silently swearing that whoever could immediately end this nightmare, he'd gladly award five hundred house points—
Unfortunately no miracle materialised. Hermione approached confidently, holding detailed notes covered in neat handwriting.
"Professor Page stated explicitly in the first lesson that potion brewing isn't limited to fixed traditional techniques. Any posture making the potioner comfortable can be legitimately used for brewing potions."
Hermione flipped through several pages with practised efficiency.
"You've already taught us hand-spinning cauldrons, head-butting cauldrons, foot-kicking cauldrons, and hugging cauldrons to spin together with the potions inside—four distinct rotation-requiring potion-brewing techniques so far this year."
"Incidentally, hand-spinning suits potions with short brewing cycles and simple raw material processing; head-butting suits potions brewed from easily fusible materials; foot-kicking suits potions with larger material fragments requiring direct potioneer physical intervention; lastly, hugging and spinning together is theoretically the absolute best brewing technique, but prerequisite warning: users must master both Temperature-Regulating and Shield Charms flawlessly, otherwise they might cook themselves before the potion finishes."
Sterling desperately wanted to facepalm with both hands.
He never could have imagined he'd experience a moment finding others genuinely "heretical" regarding potion-brewing methodology.
Hand-spinning and foot-kicking were marginally acceptable techniques—but head-butting red-hot cauldrons? Completely ignoring the pain and heat transfer issues, directly hitting with concentrated skull force meant impact concentrated at one point, only causing the entire cauldron to fly upward, letting scalding potion inside pour catastrophically all over someone.
As for the last technique—hugging cauldrons and spinning together... Sterling strongly suspected influence from Eastern cultivation novels borrowed by Cho Chang that he'd enthusiastically shared at Utopia meetings, which mentioned a "person-pot unity" cultivation concept.
Sterling sighed deeply with profound weariness.
He realised temporarily not accepting the foreign memories had been a terrible strategic move. He'd arrogantly thought he understood what idealised world Harry Potter would construct, but from current evidence, he'd been far too presumptuous.
Heaven only knew how much fundamental difference existed between the world Harry considered genuinely happy and the real world—no more such dangerous chaos!
"Well, actually I'm just testing whether you properly remembered what I said previously. Ah, Professor McGonagall seems to be looking for me urgently. Practise what I taught you first independently. Leave all finished potions on the lectern for grading when I return."
Sterling hastily manifested a white translucent phantom cat outside the classroom door that leaped gracefully inside, creating a plausible pretence of having urgent business requiring his immediate departure.
The classroom's young wizards exchanged meaningful glances with raised eyebrows.
"Do you think the Professor might be—" Seamus tapped his own head suggestively.
"No speaking ill of professors behind their backs!" Hermione knocked his head sharply with her thick textbook, then wrote her name on the bottled potion with careful script, placed it properly on the lectern, walked back to her cauldron station, and immediately began practising next lesson's assigned potion.
Facing the preheated cauldron, Hermione raised her Shield Charm-wrapped foot with determination—
On the other side, Sterling fled into the Potions office and slammed the door.
The environment here naturally differed dramatically from Snape's austere office—a very large, warm fireplace crackled invitingly, and other life-filled decorations created a welcoming atmosphere.
On the desktop's top lay a paper covered with Ron's very familiar enthusiastic handwriting.
"Professor Page! We're planning another duelling club activity tonight. We've decided to formally invite you to observe and advise!"
This phrasing... wasn't Ron's usual casual tone, though. The feeling seemed—
Sterling rubbed his aching temples with both hands—he still felt somewhat dizzy and disoriented, plus that enormous unaccepted memory block lying dormant in his head, his current condition could honestly be described as extremely poor.
After casually placing several warning mini-spells at the door for privacy, he collapsed gratefully in the soft sofa chair, releasing all restrictions on those foreign memories. They instantly merged and integrated into Sterling's original authentic memories like mixing water.
Sterling felt he'd just watched an immersive first-person biographical film. In this "movie", he was a brilliant Muggle-born Ravenclaw genius who researched many ancient magical traditions, showing extraordinary brilliance during student years, winning numerous international academic awards, and setting an unprecedented record learning Animagus transformation in the first year—
So Harry apparently interpreted his mysterious powerful magic as rediscovered ancient magic traditions?
Then after graduation, he conquered the then-tyrannical Potions Association Chief Snape with revolutionary unique potion-brewing methods, leading innovation throughout the entire magical world's Potionology discipline. As for the defeated Snape, he spent his remaining days contentedly tending Flobberworms—
Sterling momentarily didn't know what to say about this characterisation. Saying Harry disrespected Snape—before "Sterling" acted, Snape had undoubtedly been acknowledged as number one in the field. Saying he respected Snape—Snape's ultimate fate seemed...
Finally, Hogwarts summoned him back as Potions Professor and Ravenclaw Head due to his growing international fame and accomplishments. Poor Professor Flitwick was inexplicably usurped from Ravenclaw to Slytherin, becoming Slytherin Head instead—and in Sterling's first teaching year, he was supposedly moved by Harry and others' passion, becoming their student duelling club's faculty advisor.
Oh... Sterling thought grimly that if he showed these specific memories, especially Professor Flitwick's altered origins, to actual upper-year Ravenclaws in reality—
Too terrifying to contemplate. Harry would suffer immediate coordinated school violence.
No Ravenclaw genuinely disliked the interesting, responsible, and most importantly, truly capable Professor Flitwick.
Sterling rubbed his temples trying to ease the building pressure. Suddenly absorbing such extensive, lengthy memories caused disorienting waves rippling through his own authentic memories.
After all, he himself was merely a first year currently, while this constructed "Sterling" had completed seven full years plus one teaching year of accumulated experiences.
If not for this artificial memory constantly revealing subtle lingering dissonance and wrongness, Sterling might have seriously considered himself actually being this "Sterling" permanently.
"Does Harry think I'm too mature and reliable somehow?"
After prolonged contemplation, Sterling found only this reason adequately explaining why his representation in Harry Potter's idealised happy world was a full adult rather than a fellow student.
Sterling's fingers unconsciously began writing on the desk surface. Deep blue magic power flowed smoothly from fingertips, leaving a glowing line of text—or rather, a single significant name—on the desktop.
"Tom Riddle"
People knew him by other names exclusively—"Dark Lord", "Voldemort", or "You-Know-Who".
If not for Dumbledore's voluntary disclosure, Sterling wouldn't have known the infamous Dark Lord possessed such an ordinary, unremarkable name—though his own "Sterling Page" wasn't particularly extraordinary either.
Sterling's finger circled this name contemplatively.
This name and the person it indicated were completely blank, utterly absent from "Sterling's" extensive memories.
Magical history texts contained no mention of any second-generation Dark Lord whatsoever.
Since Dumbledore defeated and imprisoned the first-generation Dark Lord decades ago, the entire magical world has entered a prolonged, unprecedented peace period.
No Dark Lord, no Death Eaters, no war era. Naturally, no "Saviour", no "Boy Who Lived". Harry was simply Harry Potter, beloved child of James and Lily Potter.
He was an ordinary young Gryffindor wizard, fundamentally no different from any other first-year student.
Sterling waved away "Tom Riddle's" glowing name with deliberate finality.
This truly was a constructed world beyond Sterling's initial expectations.
He'd initially assumed Harry might eliminate his parents' deaths that Halloween night, making himself a celebrated hero, the family's child, enjoying the Saviour's social advantages while keeping parental care and love. But he'd been completely wrong. Harry truly didn't care about "Saviour" status whatsoever and was even completely unwilling to accept this particular title.
Rather than "Saviour", he probably genuinely preferred the title "Youngest Seeker Since the 20th Century".
"What a simple, unpretentious wish."
"Voldemort disappeared, so countless tragedies vanished with him."
In "Sterling's" accumulated memories, Neville's parents were perfectly fine too, both working productively in the Auror Office. With loving, supportive parents, Neville was no longer the forgetful and somewhat cowardly "fake Gryffindor", but instead Gryffindor's rising star, very popular throughout the entire house.
And Harry himself?
Sterling deliberately recalled this specific portion with focus—Harry not only didn't highlight any personal extraordinariness, but conversely, he deliberately made himself ordinary and unremarkable among crowds.
This was a world produced entirely from his deepest wishes.
If he'd wanted, he could have made himself a prodigy genius surpassing even Sterling, first year defeating Voldemort single-handedly, second year besting Dumbledore in magical duels, third and fourth years speedrunning complete mastery of the magical world—
But he didn't choose that path.
He only maintained the genuine bonds he possessed in reality. Beyond preserving those relationships, his wish contained absolutely no self-enhancement or aggrandisement.
Sterling's eyes lowered, expression inscrutable.
He also felt such a world was objectively beautiful. Everyone possessed their own unique beauty; British magical society hadn't suffered war-era birth pains and trauma—
From any rational angle, he seemingly couldn't find sufficient compelling reasons for making Harry willingly leave this paradise.
At desperate times like this, Sterling really genuinely missed Ron's presence.
Ron always somehow created new paths through shocking unconventional wisdom when problems reached apparent dead ends.
So right now, Sterling set himself a clear immediate goal.
First priority: find Ron.
Then second priority: just for British magical society's sake alone?
Successfully use Talk-no-Jutsu persuasion on Harry Potter himself.