The philosophy in that sentence was completely beyond what an eleven-year-old should be able to say. Snape stared at Vaughn and suddenly began to doubt his earlier assumptions.
Vaughn noticed his hesitation and asked, "Professor, is there something you want me to do?"
Looking at that smiling face, for some reason, Snape thought of Dumbledore—that old man always smiled like that, too.
In truth, when Vaughn followed Snape to the Quidditch field and saw the Gryffindors, he already knew what the professor wanted. This old recluse only ever left his dungeon when it involved Harry—only then would he make the effort to watch a sport he himself deemed "stupid."
Sure enough, after maintaining his cold and aloof persona for a while, Snape awkwardly asked, "What do you think of Potter's Quidditch skills?"
"Excellent," Vaughn replied, watching the little lions train in the sky. Harry's thin figure darted swiftly through wind and rain.
Turning to Snape with a mischievous look, Vaughn said, "Everyone says Harry inherited his father's talent. Gryffindors believe there isn't a Seeker in any other House who can compare."
Crack. Vaughn swore he heard the sound of teeth grinding.
Snape's hands clenched tightly, and rare, intense emotion flickered in his dark eyes. It was hard to say whether it was nostalgia or hatred.
But he no longer beat around the bush. "Vaughn Weasley, if I let you join the Slytherin team, can you beat him?"
Vaughn feigned surprise. "Professor, why? You know Harry and I are friends. Besides, I don't even like Quidditch that much."
"Heh. Friends…" Snape sneered. "Just answer me—can you?"
"Well… I suppose I can," Vaughn said with innocent confidence. "But Professor, I'm busy. My experiments with medicinal materials take up a lot of time and money. I still have to brew potions to earn a living…"
"I'll provide the materials!" Snape growled, almost spitting the words.
"And I have to keep up with my studies. You know how much I love learning. Homework takes a lot of time every day…"
"I'll speak with Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick," Snape said coldly. "With your skill in Transfiguration and Charms, I believe they'll excuse your homework. I'll even excuse mine. But don't expect to escape the other professors' assignments."
"That's wonderful!" Vaughn beamed. "By the way, I noticed the book you gave me this time doesn't include any memory-related spells aside from the Memory Charm. What about something like Legilimency Spell...?"
Snape's face turned completely black. At this point, he was absolutely certain—this Weasley brat had the same rotten personality as Dumbledore.
Greedy, shameless, and relentless! It was maddening!
Yet after a few deep breaths, he still answered stiffly, "Next summer, I'll send you a book. Don't push your luck, Weasley."
Vaughn was still dissatisfied. Such a prime opportunity to bargain...Unfortunately, judging from Snape's expression, he had already reached his limit.
Still, Vaughn added one more request: "I hope the Slytherin team can change its captain. Marcus Flint is a fool."
Snape instinctively wanted to fling his robes and leave. But when he gave it some thought, Marcus Flint was a tall, burly fellow who looked like a gorilla—strong in body, but whose brain composition remained a mystery.
Dumber than a troll. He begrudgingly admitted Vaughn had a point.
"Do you have someone in mind?" he asked stiffly.
Vaughn's expression was hard to describe. "No…"
So, even after the two of them walked off the Quidditch field through wind and rain, they still hadn't found a suitable replacement. Vaughn himself was clearly out of the question. No matter how much Snape wanted to beat Potter, he wouldn't let Vaughn waste too much time on Quidditch.
As they parted ways, Vaughn sighed, "Professor, can't the House recruit a few normal students next year? The requirements aren't high—just a bit of intelligence will do."
Snape: "…"
---
Two days later, in the morning, Vaughn—who was visiting the Gryffindor common room—received an owl-delivered package.
He was having breakfast with the trio at the time.
Recently, he had devoted most of his energy to learning new spells and brewing potions, but he still had a clear grasp of Harry's activities.
After all, one of the trio was his younger brother, and another was his "spy." As for Harry, he was practically a walking loudspeaker.
Even without actively prying, Vaughn knew Harry was tracking the package Hagrid had removed from Gringotts.
They'd even discovered the location of Fluffy. That had happened more than two weeks ago.
The night Harry completed his last detention, Ron and Hermione had gone to pick him up—but were intercepted by Mrs. Norris and Peeves.
After being taught a painful lesson by Vaughn, Peeves had reluctantly admitted defeat. Vaughn even taught Hermione a charm to deal with him.
Now feeling isolated and humiliated, Peeves had attempted to form an alliance with Filch.
At least, he thought so.
In practice, he began teaming up with Mrs. Norris—he scouted by flying through walls and tight spaces, while she alerted Filch.
When enemies meet, tensions run high. Peeves was afraid of Vaughn, but not the trio. He cackled and hollered in the corridors, working with Mrs. Norris to chase them all the way to the fourth floor—right into that room.
"You're dead meat! The three-headed dog will chew you up!" Peeves laughed as he tumbled through the air.
And that was when the trio saw the beast. Hermione also noticed the trapdoor beneath Fluffy's massive paws.
"The package Hagrid took must be hidden under there," Harry declared.
He had confided this to Vaughn just yesterday. "It's something of Dumbledore's—it has to be important. But the problem is, we don't know what it is."
Vaughn, amused, teased him: "Why don't you just ask Hagrid?"
Harry, who had become more confident during his time at Hogwarts, replied seriously, "Hagrid's tight-lipped. He won't say."
"That's not necessarily true. Just tell him you've seen the three-headed dog."
And so, early that morning, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found Vaughn again, excited.
"How did you know that would work?" Harry asked. "As soon as I mentioned Fluffy, Hagrid spilled everything!"
Vaughn only smiled, saying nothing. Where did they think Harry had learned to be such a blabbermouth?
"Hagrid said the three-headed dog is called Fluffy. He lent it to Dumbledore to guard something," Harry said breathlessly.
"It's related to Nicholas Flamel," Ron added.
"I know I've seen that name before," Hermione said, frowning. "But I just can't remember where. I searched all night but came up empty. Vaughn, do you know?"
The three of them turned eagerly to Vaughn.