The next moment, Vaughn cast another Expelliarmus.
The black-robed man's Shield Charm collapsed instantly, but that brief moment was enough for him to prepare a counterattack. As his shield shattered, his wand fired back a red bolt of light.
To his shock, the spell broke apart into harmless sparks before it could reach Vaughn, blocked effortlessly by a Shield Charm far more refined than his own.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Under the protection of a Level 4 Shield Charm, Vaughn unleashed a barrage of spells. Crimson bolts slashed through the dark corridor, forcing the black-robed man into a hasty retreat.
No one could have guessed how rattled he truly was.
Not just by Vaughn's masterful spellwork, but by the overwhelming strength of his magical power, nearly matching that of a fully grown wizard.
Driven back in disarray by the unrelenting Disarming Charms, the black-robed man let out a shrill, twisted cry: "I'm sorry, Master—help me!"
The moment he spoke, the corridor echoed once more with that hoarse, snakelike hiss that had faded earlier. A different, more sinister magic stirred within him.
It was palpable—the flickering torchlight on the walls paled, dimming as though being swallowed by a spreading ripple of shadow.
The black-robed man writhed and shrieked, caught in a storm of agony, as if something was not only tormenting—but controlling—him.
Harry screamed too, his head splitting with pain.
The horrifying vision returned, stronger than before. His sight dissolved into a whirl of distorted light, and through it, he saw the terrible figure lift his wand.
Vaughn's expression turned grim.
"…Voldemort…" If it weren't for Harry and Hermione, he wouldn't have crossed paths with this person, not out of fear, but due to his natural caution.
He had never feared anyone.
A storm of thoughts flashed through his mind as he stared down at the terrifying black-robed figure. Summoning every ruthless instinct, Vaughn shouted:
'Sectumsempra!(SEC-tum-SEM-pra)'
No flash. No sound. Just ripples in the air—a silent, deadly spell slicing forward like a phantom.
From the ground, Harry, vision warped and pain-stricken, watched the scene unfold in a dreamlike blur. He saw Vaughn cast a spell he'd never heard of. The shimmering ripple pierced straight through the black-robed man's shield and stabbed into his shoulder.
The man screamed. Then the tip of his wand lit up with a sickly, radiant green:
"Avada—" But before the cloaked figure could finish the spell, Vaughn pulled a fiery red feather from his pocket and hurled it into the air.
He raised his wand.
"—Kedavra!"
Flame and death collided—green light clashing with blinding fire.
Far away, Fawkes sensed the call from within Hogwarts. The moment he appeared, he was struck by the searing green light, unable to even react.
It was probably the worst possible outcome. Fawkes recognized the spell instantly, and even as he thought Oh no, there was a loud crack. His feathers exploded.
He hit the ground with his backside, now a bald, scorched phoenix—more chicken than majesty.
At that same moment, another immense magical force surged upward from below, Dumbledore.
The black-robed man felt it too. With a howl of fear and rage, he clutched his injured shoulder and vanished in a swirl of black smoke.
Only then did Vaughn—having pulled Harry and Hermione into the Charms classroom just as the phoenix feather ignited—finally breathe again.
Thank Merlin for the caution. And for telling Ron before heading upstairs. Thank you, Fawkes!
It wasn't until then that Vaughn realized—his robes were drenched in sweat, and his wand hand was trembling slightly.
This wasn't like the troll—it had been an actual duel.
A battle between wizards.
His first… and his opponent had been the infamous Dark Lord—Voldemort. Even if it was just a weakened form.
He subconsciously ignored Quirrell. That man had been completely useless.
Still panting, Vaughn collapsed to the floor and glanced at Harry, who was still limp, and Hermione, pale-faced but eyes burning with light. He had no intention of scolding them.
The professors would handle that part.
He looked out toward the corridor, where Fawkes still sat on the floor, bare and stunned. The phoenix stared into nothingness, clearly lost in its own personal tragedy.
Vaughn crawled over, gently scooped it into his hands, and murmured with heartfelt gratitude, "Thank you, Fawkes. I knew you'd come."
Fawkes finally stirred, blinking up at Vaughn in disbelief, his tiny pink beak trembling.
If he could speak human language, he'd probably be cursing right now.
Was this something a human was supposed to do?! Why had he responded so eagerly the moment someone summoned him? Right now, he desperately wanted to rewind time, to the day Vaughn picked up his feather for the first time. That day, he'd stood proudly on a beam, watching the frail little wizard treasure his fallen plume.
If he could go back, he'd kick his own feathered backside, then perch on Vaughn's head and peck him senseless!
Just then, a wisp of white mist swept in and coalesced. Dumbledore landed.
He rushed to Vaughn's side.
The old man's eyes scanned the scene—Vaughn, Harry's unconscious body, Hermione—and saw that all three were alive.
Then he turned toward the corridor, scorched and torn by wild spells. He finally exhaled.
And then… his gaze fell upon Fawkes. The bald, stunned phoenix, cradled in Vaughn's arms.
Dumbledore's lips trembled.
---
"I just can't believe it," Professor McGonagall said, pressing a hand to her chest in the headmaster's office. "Two of you missed dinner, snuck off, and ran into a troll. Two of you realized your friends were missing, and rather than telling a prefect or professor, you ran off to find them yourselves! You…"
She paused to catch her breath, trying to keep from shouting again.
Vaughn, Ron, Harry, and Hermione stood in front of her in a line, like misbehaving students at a disciplinary hearing. She had been lecturing them for ten minutes already, but what made her angriest of all was—
None of them looked remotely sorry.
Vaughn glanced around. Ron's face was beet red. Harry looked spaced out and unfocused, glancing at the professors from time to time. Even Hermione, usually the picture of discipline, seemed distracted.
Snape looked distracted, too. He was staring at Vaughn, his eyes hollow and unreadable.
Until Dumbledore turned to him. "Severus, please assist Filius in cleaning up the troll. Our dear Vaughn blew its head off—there's blood everywhere. The scene is… quite tragic."
Professor Flitwick nodded and left the office with a silent Snape.
Dumbledore turned next to McGonagall. "Minerva, please take Harry, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger to Madam Pomfrey for a checkup. Oh, and fetch Professor Quirrell from the Great Hall as well."
McGonagall, still fuming, finally relented. She turned to bark at the students—but then stopped as Dumbledore added, "Vaughn, stay here."
She hesitated. Her gaze met Dumbledore's calm, steady eyes, but she said nothing.
Ron supported the dazed Harry as they left with McGonagall. Hermione looked back, clearly worried. Vaughn gave her a slight nod, and only then did she reluctantly follow the others out.