Vaughn wasn't being narcissistic. It was just that Dumbledore had a track record.
The greatest white wizard of this century was revered not only for his power, but also for his willingness to guide the younger generation. Unfortunately, he was equally famous for his fondness for riddles, feigned madness, and an incurable love of being mysterious.
For more than a week, Vaughn tried sounding him out from different angles. Each time, Albus Dumbledore merely smiled kindly and refused to give a single clear response regarding the Ilvermorny invitation.
After several attempts, Vaughn gave up.
The main reason was simple: as Easter approached, first-year coursework became increasingly brutal.
All these lessons were tailored for the promotion exams two months away. Even Vaughn—normally granted a fair number of privileges—had no choice but to return to the life of an ordinary student, memorizing key points, revising relentlessly, and writing essays according to the professors' plans.
By April, summer seemed to arrive overnight.
Young witches and wizards shed their fur-lined robes for lighter clothes, but it did little to ease the suffering brought on by the intensifying sun. Heatwaves baked the ground, flooding Hogwarts classrooms with stifling warmth.
Worse still were the overcast days. Without sunlight, the air became thick and humid, like a sauna—every pore clogged, every breath heavy.
With the change in weather, insects that had vanished over winter returned in force. Cicadas began chirring outside the greenhouses, their noise gnawing at everyone's patience.
Time drifted along amid this universal restlessness until the final holiday before summer break arrived.
Easter.
In England, Easter was a grand celebration, and tradition-bound Hogwarts was no exception. The holiday lasted a full two weeks.
Yet there wasn't a single student who didn't wish it away.
"I can't take this anymore!"
In the library, Ron Weasley stared at his homework with such intensity he was nearly drooling. For the tenth time, he tried to guess answers using "wand divination."
For the tenth time, he was wrong.
With a furious shout, Ron flung his quill aside and pounded his wand on the table.
"You stupid thing! How do you manage to avoid every correct answer? Thirty questions—not one right!"
Across from him, Harry Potter, faced with a stack of homework three feet high, forced his numb brain to respond.
"Maybe you should try rolling dice. I heard that works."
Ron slumped forward miserably.
"I did. Yesterday. Didn't help at all. I finally get it—dice, wand divination, all of it's rubbish those older students made up. If I believe them again, I'm a pig."
Harry winced. He had clearly suffered similar losses.
Even though first year was nearly over, compared to a full seven-year Hogwarts education, they were still complete newcomers. They never imagined professors could become this merciless when exams approached.
Nor did they ever expect to hate holidays.
Halloween and Christmas had been wonderful—feasts, games, laughter. Every day of those breaks was joy. Compared to that, Easter felt like hell itself.
Only now did they understand why older students looked increasingly desperate as the holiday drew closer.
Ron collapsed across the desk like a puddle of mud, once again reminiscing about the glorious freedom he'd enjoyed the previous month after accidentally eating the twins' Skiving Sweet and spending three carefree days in the hospital wing.
"I've never missed Fred and George—and their pranks—this much!"
"Yeah…" Harry sighed.
Harry missed them even more. At least Ron had been hospitalized and rested. He hadn't had a single truly relaxed day in ages.
And it wasn't just homework.
There was also—
"Harry!"
When you think about something unfortunate—or someone unfortunate—they usually appear immediately.
At the sound of Oliver Wood's all-too-familiar, headache-inducing voice, Harry buried his face in his arms.
But Wood had no intention of sparing Gryffindor's greatest asset.
Dodging Irma Pince's knife-sharp glare, he seized Harry by the arm and dragged him away.
"Come on, Harry! Training's about to start. I finally secured the pitch today—we need to drill a few more tactics!"
After Harry's first match loss to Vaughn last year, some teammates—Alicia Spinnet included—had questioned his reputation. But Wood never did.
He took full responsibility, blaming his own tactical mistakes and his failure to notice Harry's broom malfunction.
Harry had been deeply moved. And in matches against Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, he repaid that trust—beating both teams that had long threatened Gryffindor's Cup chances.
Against Hufflepuff, he even set the Hogwarts record for the fastest capture of the Golden Snitch.
It was one of the brightest moments in Harry's twelve years of life, sending Gryffindor back to the finals for the first time since Charlie Weasley left.
Everything would have been perfect—
If Wood hadn't gone mad.
After beating Ravenclaw, witnessing Gryffindor's revival firsthand, Wood grew only more hungry.
From wanting to reach the finals, he progressed to wanting the Cup itself.
And the one who suffered most was Harry.
Learning from last year's loss to Slytherin—when Harry had been forced to break formation due to lack of practice and teamwork—Wood prepared countless strategies and personally supervised every session.
Vaughn encountered Harry in the courtyard.
At the time, Harry looked like a helpless doll, being hauled toward the Quidditch pitch by the tall, broad-shouldered Wood.
"Wood, I've still got loads of homework. Can we train tomorrow?"
"Homework can be done anytime, Harry! Compared to Quidditch, it's worthless. Just wait—I've designed new tactics that'll turn you into the greatest Seeker—"
Then they saw Vaughn.
Wood grew instantly wary. Harry, on the other hand, looked overjoyed, frantically blinking at Vaughn for help.
Unfortunately, Vaughn merely nodded politely and greeted Wood instead.
"Heading to Quidditch practice?"
"Yes, Weasley."
"You can call me Vaughn, Oliver."
"…Very well. Vaughn—if you don't mind, I'll be taking Harry now. With the match approaching, Slytherin's been hogging the pitch. We can't afford delays."
Faced with Wood's barely concealed provocation, Vaughn smiled.
"Ah, apologies. Marcus is rather sensitive. He considers Gryffindor a mortal enemy—especially since you have a prodigy Seeker in Harry Potter."
Wood lifted his chin proudly.
"You're a prodigy too, Vaughn. But I believe Harry will surpass you. Even though he lost to you last time—I'll help him go beyond you!"
Harry flushed, wanting to protest but unsure how.
Wood was defending him, after all—even if Harry himself doubted he could ever be stronger than Vaughn. Months of training had only made him more aware of how terrifying Vaughn had been, already integrated into Slytherin's offensive system in his very first match.
And months later—no one knew how much Vaughn had improved.
Except Wood.
He remained unfailingly optimistic.
As they left, Wood continued encouraging Harry.
"Don't be afraid of him. Vaughn Weasley hasn't been on the pitch for months—wasted all his time on that werewolf… werewolf what?"
"Werewolf Affairs Committee," Harry replied. "And that's a noble cause, Wood. You shouldn't—"
"There's nothing nobler than Quidditch!"
Wood's expression turned solemn as thin sunlight filtered through the clouds onto his face, making him look almost sacred.
"Quidditch is the most meaningful thing in the world. Your thinking is dangerous, Harry. I'll have to train not only your skills—but your mind as well!"
Harry: "…"
After parting ways with Wood and Harry, Vaughn went to the library, borrowed several books, and settled by a window, idly flipping pages in the sunlight.
Soon, a faint fragrance—ink and parchment mingled—approached.
Hermione Granger bustled over with a stack of books.
"Vaughn, how's your revision—Merlin, why are you reading alchemy? And magical plants?"
Her voice was loud enough to draw Madam Pince's glare. Even Ron, sitting alone in the distance, craned his neck to look.
Caught reading extracurricular material by the top student, Vaughn was utterly unfazed.
"I've finished my assignments. My revision wrapped up yesterday. This is my free time."
Hermione puffed her cheeks.
"Why are you always so fast?"
"Mm-hm." Vaughn glanced up at her. "Never say a man is fast, young lady. It's an insult."
"?"
Hermione tilted her head, completely lost.
Vaughn sighed inwardly. Youth had its downsides—half his jokes landed nowhere. He really did want to grow up faster.
"All right. These aren't really extracurricular. I'm heading into the Forbidden Forest later—just doing some last-minute prep."
"The Forbidden Forest?" Hermione immediately stiffened.
Vaughn flipped a page lazily.
"Relax. Dumbledore approved it—and Hagrid's coming along."
That eased her a little.
"Are you gathering potion ingredients? I saw you borrowed alchemy books too—alchemy materials?"
Vaughn considered it, then nodded.
"Both."
Given the scale of mechanisms Dumbledore had prepared for Harry—covering potions and alchemy alike—the materials required were enormous. It wasn't inaccurate.
After a few more pages, Vaughn noticed Hermione had fallen silent. Looking up, he saw her biting her lip, hesitating.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing…" She glanced at him, then at the books.
Realization dawned.
"You want to come with me?"
"…Yes." A faint blush spread across her cheeks. "May I?"
Recently, with coursework so heavy, they were often together—but usually working separately. Even their conversations revolved around studying.
She suddenly wanted to go on a proper outing again.
Seeing her hopeful expression, Vaughn grinned mischievously.
"Did I hear that right? Miss Granger—the model of rules and order—wants to enter the Forbidden Forest with me?"
Hermione puffed her cheeks.
"…If not, forget it—"
She stood to leave. Vaughn caught her hand, smiling brightly.
"Then, Miss Granger—may I invite you to break a school rule for my sake, just once?"
"Merlin, that smile is greasy."
From afar, Ron shuddered.
"Is it?" a voice behind him said. "I think they look quite good together."
It was Neville Longbottom.
Ron didn't turn around.
"How long have you known Vaughn? I bet he's feeding Hermione love potions and sweet talk—he's been charming silly girls like that since childhood—why are you looking at me?"
Neville scratched his head.
"Ron… I think you might be jealous."
"Jealous? Don't be ridiculous!" Ron scoffed, shoving Neville away. "What's there to envy? That bloke better never talk to me again—and Hermione better not come crying to me about Vaughn tricking her… jealous? As if!"
Neville hesitated.
"…I didn't say you were jealous of Hermione."
Ron: "—You're insufferable!"
Only by entering the forest did one truly feel how early summer arrived in the Scottish Highlands.
At the forest's edge, Vaughn and Hermione looked up at towering trees, their dense canopies blotting out the sky. Thick vines twisted down from trunks and branches, disappearing into lush undergrowth below.
The bushes thrived with wild, untamed vitality, fed by sunlight and rain in the perfect growing season.
Leaves and scattered blossoms filled the spaces between trees so completely that soil and paths vanished. A thin mist drifted above the undergrowth, winding through the forest and adding a dreamlike hue to the green.
"It's beautiful…"
"Yes. A bit like when we first arrived at Hogwarts last year—but different. Back then, there weren't so many bushes, and the light wasn't this dim. Now it really deserves the name 'Forbidden Forest.'"
Hermione caught details others might miss.
"So you came here often last year?"
Before Vaughn could answer, the bushes rustled behind them. A large black dog burst out, tail wagging furiously.
"Hey, Fang!"
"Woof!"
Fang bounded up to them. Behind him, the undergrowth shook again, and Rubeus Hagrid's enormous figure emerged.
"Sorry I'm late, Vaughn… Hermione? You came too?"
"Hagrid! Long time no see."
Hagrid carried a cloth sack and an axe. Given his size and the gloomy surroundings, he was an imposing sight—but when his bearded face broke into a grin, his warmth and simplicity erased all fear.
"Welcome, Hermione! Harry and Ron were just talkin' about you the other day—always buried in books. Nearly read yourself silly. You're on a date with Vaughn, eh? Good! Kids should get out and see nature more—"
He rambled on, unintentionally selling out Harry and Ron. Hermione's smile grew sweet—and tight—while her teeth clenched. Oblivious, Hagrid waved them along.
"Come on. Lot to do today—patrol the forest, and then head deeper to gather some things for Dumbledore…"
He stopped short.
Hermione tilted her head.
"Gather what?"
"Oh—just some materials. Nothin' worth mentionin'. Vaughn knows." He coughed, then barked, "Fang! You coward, get up front!"
"Whine—"
Fang flattened his ears and tail until Hagrid gently kicked his backside. Reluctantly, the dog pushed ahead, forcing a path through the brush.
Fang led. Hagrid followed with sack and axe. Vaughn and Hermione came next—Vaughn holding her hand.
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"So you're helping Dumbledore, not gathering for yourself. No wonder he approved this. You're quite close…"
There was a hint of jealousy in her voice.
Not because Vaughn helped Dumbledore—but because she'd sensed something shared between them. More than once, while she studied with Vaughn, Dumbledore's phoenix Patronus would appear, whisper something in Vaughn's ear, and take him away.
Once or twice was fine.
Almost every day was not.
Vaughn smiled teasingly.
"Hermione—do you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
"Something sour in the air. A little girl's jealousy."
"Hey!" Hermione blushed and punched him lightly.
Hagrid glanced back, frowning through his beard.
"All right, you two—no foolin' around in the Forest. Keep it down."
The Forbidden Forest—also called the Black Forest—earned its name not only from the lack of sunlight beneath the towering canopy, but from its danger.
Countless magical creatures lived here, many rated XXX or higher by the Ministry—dangerous, potentially lethal, requiring experienced wizards.
Vaughn had been here before, patrolling with Hagrid and observing many creatures. Hermione, however, was visiting for the first time. Everything was new to her.
As boyfriend and potions expert, Vaughn naturally took over as guide.
"See those yellow flowers? Rue. Its sap neutralizes toxins. Madam Pomfrey's most important antidotes rely on rue extract."
"Dittany—you learned that in first-year Potions. It's in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Most commonly used to heal Splinching injuries."
"Deadly nightshade—don't touch it. Highly poisonous…"
After a few explanations, Hermione's love of learning kicked in. She pulled out her notebook—from the small satchel Vaughn had given her a few days earlier, hidden inside an Easter egg—and began writing furiously.
"I should've brought my camera!"
Watching them, Hagrid felt a twinge of regret for coming at all. Vaughn and Hermione were inseparable; he could only squat nearby, staring into Fang's eyes.
For once, he was the third wheel.
Fortunately, when they reached a small clearing, Hagrid finally found his moment.
Pointing proudly, he said, "You'd never guess what that place is. I found it recently—a unicorn nesting ground! Incredible stuff. Those proud little blighters hid it with magic. If you and Dumbledore hadn't taken them away and broken the enchantment, I'd never have known."
Hermione instantly seized on the key point, gripping Vaughn's arm.
"Wait—you and Dumbledore took away unicorns?"
Vaughn covered his face.
Hagrid realized his mistake too late.
"Er—what I meant was—oh! Look—fairies!"
The diversion was atrocious.
Even so, to spare them, Hermione looked.
From a shrub covered in blue blossoms, several tiny creatures with dragonfly-like wings fluttered out.
Fairies.
Ministry Classification: XX
Humanoid in appearance, but only four or five inches tall, they hovered casually, waving twig-like wands and chattering in rapid, insect-like sounds.
Hermione had never seen live fairies—only the ingredients harvested from them, such as fairy wings, a key component in many potions, including Vaughn's famous Beauty Series.
After watching them argue heatedly, she asked,
"What are they doing?"
"They're arguing," Hagrid replied quickly.
Vaughn added, "Fairies look pretty, but they're extremely short-tempered. That chirring noise means they're fighting."
Hermione eagerly took notes.
"So they have a language?"
"No consensus," Vaughn said, gesturing Hagrid to stay quiet. "Some believe it's language; others argue the sounds are too simple—more like instinctive cries."
"And why are they fighting?"
"No idea. They're naturally irritable. Anything humans wouldn't even notice can set them off—and they do resort to violence."
As if on cue, a fairy with iridescent wings shrieked and swung its twig.
"Almost forgot—those twigs function like wands—"
Pew.
A faint rainbow streak shot out, slamming into another fairy. It screamed, knocked aside, and retaliated. Soon the air was a chaos of rainbow flashes.
Then the first casualty fell.
The instigator was swarmed; a transparent-winged fairy bit through its wing, sending it tumbling down.
Cute creatures inspired sympathy.
Hermione forgot Vaughn's warning entirely. She shoved her notebook into his arms and rushed forward.
"Hermione—wait—"
Too late.
Catching the fallen fairy, Hermione cried out as it bit her finger viciously.
The injury barely broke skin, but it was enough to hurt—and to crush her goodwill.
"I'm sorry," she said, crestfallen. "I let its appearance fool me."
"Don't be sad, yeh meant to help," Hagrid comforted. "But yeh saw it—these things ain't got brains. Beasts. Can't tell your intent."
He reached for the fairy, ready to deal with it his way.
Hermione's eyes pleaded. Even Hagrid noticed and looked to Vaughn.
Vaughn shrugged. He knew Hermione well—sharp-tongued, quick-tempered, but fundamentally kind.
He had no intention of correcting that kindness.
Nor were fairies truly dangerous.
Instead, he chose to teach her something unusual.
He motioned for Hagrid to release it and smiled at Hermione.
"Fairies have another interesting trait—besides their temper."
He picked up a leaf and transfigured it into an elegant glass bottle, hollow-patterned and crystal-clear, like carved art.
Bringing it close, the fairy released Hermione's finger, stared blankly at the bottle, and—dragging its injured wing—climbed inside, finding a comfortable pose and pressing itself flat against the glass.
Like a living relief.
Even more astonishing, its chirring halted the others. One by one, the fighting fairies descended, crowding into the bottle, arranging themselves in what they deemed the most beautiful positions.
Hermione was speechless.
"Fairies are vain," Vaughn explained. "Give them something beautiful and shiny to live in, and they'll happily pretend to be decorations."
"Last year we missed it, but Professor Flitwick usually catches fairies to decorate the lanterns at Christmas. Bill told us—since then, my family does the same."
They left the abandoned unicorn ground. Hermione cradled the bottle, listening eagerly as Vaughn explained more.
Even Hagrid was fascinated.
"Merlin's beard—I never knew that. Fantastic Beasts never mentioned it."
"Newt wrote to raise awareness and protect creatures. He'd never explain how to catch them."
"Newt?" Hermione perked up.
Hagrid replied without a shred of caution, "Newt Scamander—author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. A great man… Vaughn, when you visited him, did you see his basement?"
Hagrid's beetle-like eyes gleamed.
Vaughn, resigned, answered calmly,
"I did."
"Is it really that big? Papers say hundreds of species live there—Occamies, Thunderbirds, Nifflers—oh! And Erumpents!"
Hermione didn't recognize a single name—but she knew Hagrid. If he loved them, they were rare and dangerous.
She tugged Vaughn's hand, eyes shining.
Sighing, he explained.
"An Occamy can change size—small enough for a teacup, large enough to fill Hogwarts' biggest classroom…"
"Thunderbirds control weather—but you'll be disappointed. They're rare even in North America. Newt rescued one long ago and released it decades back."
"What about Erumpents?"
"They exist—but I didn't see them. Nor the Poisons Leopard or the Hidebehind. Either too dangerous or near extinction."
Hagrid sighed deeply.
"If yeh ask me, Dumbledore sent you to the wrong place. Should've sent you to Scamander's basement! Imagine borrowin' his Poisons Leopards and Hidebehinds—"
"Ahem!"
Vaughn coughed loudly.
Hagrid shut up at once.
Hermione squeezed Vaughn's hand, smiling sweetly.
"So the fairies we caught are for Dumbledore too? I thought you said we were only gathering potion and alchemy materials."
"…We need everything."
"Is that so?" Hermione's dimples showed—but she didn't press.
She sensed Vaughn was hiding something important. But she forced herself not to dig.
A year of isolation had taught her that being too sharp—too probing—could hurt relationships.
With those she valued, a little ignorance was sometimes kinder.
After nearly spilling secrets twice, Hagrid stayed silent for the rest of the trip.
Experience did the talking.
That afternoon, Hermione watched Vaughn capture numerous magical creatures she'd never even heard of:
Veela-like Fox Spirits, distant cousins of fairies.
Lumos Bugs—floating, glowing like Muggle lightbulbs.
Diricawls—birds that vanished and reappeared elsewhere. Hermione learned they were the "dodos" Muggles thought extinct; wizards had hidden them after Muggles first grasped environmental protection.
She gathered odd materials too—including a shed fang from an Acromantula.
When she suggested capturing one, Vaughn looked at her with such pity that she felt she'd proposed something monstrous. Hagrid, however, seemed intrigued.
In the end, no Acromantula was taken.
As dusk fell, the trip ended with one final experience—
Apparition.
Not wizarding—but magical.
Dumbledore's famous phoenix, Fawkes, appeared when Vaughn ignited a tail feather.
Hermione sensed Fawkes watching Vaughn warily, as if on guard. She remembered last Halloween—when Vaughn had used Fawkes to block the Killing Curse.
A memory she thought had faded resurfaced.
Before parting, she asked about the cloaked figure they'd been investigating.
Vaughn answered simply,
"No leads. He vanished after Halloween. I've narrowed it down to two suspects—the same ones you suspected."
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