The defeated Gryffindor players quickly landed to check on Harry, and Professor McGonagall hurried over as well. After examining him and confirming that he was unharmed, she tried to comfort everyone:
"Ladies and gentlemen, although we lost, I saw your tenacious fighting spirit. Gryffindor must have the courage to admit its shortcomings and face them head-on—"
One of the Chasers, Emily Spinnet, whispered, "If Harry hadn't fallen, we might've won."
Professor McGonagall overheard and said sternly, "How would you have won? To be frank, your performance today was terrible."
"The two Mr. Weasleys were completely at a loss, and Miss Spinnet—you and the other Chasers are all girls. Why were you trying to match the Slytherin boys in brute strength and stamina? I didn't see you using your own strengths."
As she spoke, she turned back to Harry. Her expression softened slightly as she asked, "Harry, I believe you lost control of your broom at the end, didn't you?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."
Fred hadn't caught him during the fall, but he did bring back the broom afterward.
"Leave it with me. I'll take it back and examine it. Alright, children—go and reflect on what I just said. Don't blame others. Think about it: when victory was within your grasp, your opponent chose to save Harry first."
On their way back to the locker room, Angelina turned to the twins and said, "Hey, can you introduce me to your brother?"
"Which brother?" Fred asked.
"You don't mean little Ronnie, do you?" George added.
"Don't play dumb—you know exactly who I mean!"
The twins pretended to tremble. "Merlin, is she planning revenge on Vaughn?"
"Very likely, Fred—he must've rubbed her the wrong way today."
"But hatred can blossom into love!" they exclaimed in unison, winking at Angelina.
Joking and teasing all the way back, they were in good spirits. Aside from Emily, who was slightly frustrated about her first start, the loss hadn't dampened the mood too much.
Only Wood couldn't bring himself to accept it.
When Harry left the locker room, he saw Wood—now changed—standing alone on the pitch. He was staring up at the sky, as if his soul were still flying up there, still battling for the win.
The sight made Harry uneasy. He didn't want to return to Gryffindor Tower, afraid of seeing more faces like that. It had been too long since they'd won a match, and everyone had hoped this year would finally be different.
Instead, he found Ron and Hermione on the sidelines, and the three of them decided to head to Hagrid's hut.
"You think someone cursed my broom?"
"Yes, Harry," Ron said, still shaken. "Hagrid told us flying brooms are usually very stable and heavily protected. Only powerful dark magic could make one lose control."
Harry frowned. "But who would target me? That man in black robes?"
"Of course—it was Snape—"
Before Ron could finish, Hermione shook her head and cut in, "Not him!"
She explained how she'd set fire to the Slytherin stands and burned Professor Snape's robes—but the broom's condition only worsened afterward.
"I think Professor Snape was trying to save Harry. The real curse must have come from someone else."
Harry and Ron couldn't help but look up at the sky, wondering if the sun had risen in the west.
Neither of them could believe what they were hearing.
"I bet if he had the chance, Snape would bottle Harry and keep him in his dungeon. Save him? Come on, Hermione!"
"It's true!"
"Anyway, I'll never trust a Slytherin—"
By then, they had reached Hagrid's hut. Harry knocked, and when the door opened, Ron swallowed the rest of his sentence.
His face turned red as he saw Vaughn standing there with a smile. "Ronald, what were you about to say?"
Ron groaned. "You—what are you doing here? Weren't you off celebrating?"
Hagrid appeared behind Vaughn and quickly welcomed them. "Harry, Ron, Hermione—come in, come in. Vaughn asked me earlier to help him collect potion ingredients. We ran into each other after the match, so I invited him over."
Hagrid fetched three more cups and poured everyone tea.
He then went to the back and returned shortly with a large sack. "Vaughn, take a look, is this what you needed?"
"Thanks, Hagrid." As Vaughn began checking the materials, Hermione went over to help him.
Harry brought up what they had discussed earlier on the way.
"That's right, Harry," Hagrid confirmed. "Only powerful dark magic could mess with a broom like that. They're a common mode of wizard transport. Without strong protections, who would dare fly?"
"But it definitely wasn't Snape," he added firmly. Then, as if needing backup, he turned to Vaughn. "You agree, don't you? Snape's someone Dumbledore trusts."
Still inspecting the herbs, Vaughn nodded. "Hermione is right, Harry. Your broom didn't throw you off instantly—it gradually lost control. It's likely the professor was casting a counter-curse. He wouldn't hurt you."
Harry found that hard to believe. Snape—saving him?
He really wanted to ask why Vaughn was so sure.
But Vaughn only blinked at him playfully.
"Yes, Harry, I know why. But I don't think it's my place to tell you. Maybe... you could ask Professor Snape yourself?"
Harry shook his head immediately. He didn't even have to imagine the reply. "Snape—he'd save me?"
The doubt lingered in his mind.
Then Hagrid clapped his hands. "Alright, enough guessing. Kids, how about staying for dinner tonight?"
The trio didn't mind. They had come partly hoping for some food, especially Harry, who didn't want to return to Gryffindor just yet.
Vaughn thought for a moment, then agreed. "Hagrid, did you use that seasoning I gave you for Halloween?"
"Oh, I tried it once. Brushed it on a roast and—er—" Hagrid's bearded face scrunched up like he'd remembered something unpleasant.
Vaughn sighed. "Didn't you read the instructions I left?"
"Well—it is called base sauce, isn't it?" Ron burst out laughing.
Harry and Hermione looked puzzled.
Ron explained, "It's meant for hot pot. Vaughn recreated it from a Muggle magazine—you've never had hot pot?"
Both of them shook their heads. Though raised in the Muggle world, they'd never heard of it.
Apparently, there was such a thing as hot pot in the world—and it was delicious.
That night, stuffed and satisfied, Harry and Ron leaned against each other as they made their way back to Gryffindor and flopped onto their beds with contented sighs.
They'd eaten well, skipped Occlumency practice because of the match—and if they hadn't lost the game, the day would've been perfect.
Drowsily, Harry recalled Vaughn's words: Snape wouldn't harm him.
Maybe... they were true?
Maybe Snape really was a good person?
He drifted into sleep.
---
At this time, Vaughn arrived at the headmaster's office on the eighth floor.
"—It probably wasn't Tom who cursed Harry."
"Professor Quirrell?"
"Yes." Dumbledore removed his glasses and rubbed his brow tiredly. "He's been in poor condition lately. After Tom's plan failed, he may have punished Quirrell harshly. This curse on Harry might have been his attempt to please his master."
As he spoke, he seemed somewhat absent-minded.
In truth, he had been hiding near the stands earlier today. With his magical eyes, he had seen Quirrell's life force—so fragile, like a candle flickering in the wind.
"Ah, Quirinus used to be a good lad—brilliant, full of theoretical knowledge. When I invited him to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, he accepted quickly. To gain practical experience, he even ventured out into the world—"
But it was during that journey that Quirrell changed.
Dumbledore got up and walked to the desk, where a map was spread out, densely marked with annotations.
Vaughn glanced over. "Are you trying to trace where he encountered Voldemort by following his travel route?"
"Yes—but thankfully Tom hasn't been resurrected yet. If he ever is, Vaughn, remember not to say his name so casually."
Vaughn raised his eyebrows. "You also think he cursed his own name?"
"You haven't experienced that war, Vaughn." Dumbledore shook his head, put on his glasses again, and leaned over to scribble something on the map. "Many people cursed the Dark Lord in the privacy of their homes, thinking it was safe. But soon after, Death Eaters would break in, capturing and torturing them."
"Apparently, Voldemort's name became part of some spell. Don't look at me like that—I don't know the specifics. Maybe he found the magic in some obscure spellbook from a pure-blood household. He had quite a few of them on his side back then."
Vaughn didn't ask further.
Dumbledore resumed: "For over a month, I've been secretly tracing Quirinus's path. What we know for sure is, after leaving England, he used a Portkey to enter France—"
He drew a line with a quill along the map.
But the trail ended beyond France.
Dumbledore stopped, frowning. "After that, he vanished. I doubt that's the end of the journey. More likely, he disappeared to avoid the hassle of immigration paperwork. Every country requires entry forms, wand checks, registrations—it's all very tedious."
Vaughn nodded knowingly.
Arthur had talked about that sort of thing at home. England's Ministry of Magic handled similar cases often. To avoid red tape, many wizards chose to cross borders illegally.
He stared at the map, slowly sorting through his past-life memories. Thanks to memory magic, even though he couldn't recall everything clearly, he could reconstruct vague fragments through comparison.
After a moment, he pointed toward the Balkan Peninsula.
"You might want to search these countries."
Dumbledore looked curious. "Why?"
Naturally, Vaughn couldn't give the real reason. He had a cover story ready: "There are a lot of dangerous magical creatures in that region. If Quirrell wanted combat experience, Bulgaria and Romania would be ideal."
"Bulgaria has a high concentration of vampires and Veela—both legends that originated there. Romania houses Europe's largest dragon sanctuary."
What he didn't mention was that right next to those two countries was Albania.
"Hmm..." Dumbledore considered for a moment. Then his brow relaxed and he smiled. "You've helped me a great deal, Vaughn. This will save me quite a bit of time. It seems you've learned a lot from Newt."
Vaughn rolled his eyes.
Clearly, the old man had been keeping tabs on him. Otherwise, how would he know about his connection with Newt Scamander? They'd been exchanging two letters a week, mostly Vaughn asking questions about magical creatures.
Their bond must be growing, too. In his most recent letter, Newt had invited Vaughn to visit his home for Christmas.
They chatted briefly about Christmas plans. Dumbledore found Vaughn's analysis convincing and decided to spend the holiday visiting the Balkan Peninsula.
"Perhaps you should come with me?" Dumbledore offered.
Vaughn immediately declined. "I have my own plans!"
It wasn't an excuse. He had also turned down Newt's invitation. He intended to begin brewing a new potion over the break.
He didn't even plan on going home. He'd already sent letters to Molly and Arthur explaining this.
A few days later, an owl brought him a response.
He happened to be visiting the Gryffindor table, sitting with Harry and the others. Harry wasn't in a great mood—Snape had humiliated him again in Potions class.
"Potter, I heard you lost the game. That's wonderful news. I was always worried your thick skull might get hit by a Bludger and you'd turn into a proper idiot."
Harry's forehead veins bulged.
After class, he vented to Vaughn: "I really am a fool. Before class, I was still imagining Snape might be a good person—maybe I just hadn't understood him."
"I don't care if he's a Death Eater or not. Clearly, he hates me more than they do. Sure, maybe he was casting a counter-curse that day—but probably only because he didn't want me to die at someone else's hands!"
The owl's arrival interrupted Harry's rant. Vaughn quickly opened the letter—he had no desire to be involved in their endless back-and-forth. He'd already said what he needed to.
After reading the note, he handed it to Ron. "Mum and Dad are taking Ginny to visit Charlie in Romania for the holidays. We're all staying at school."
Ron lit up. "Fantastic!"
He hadn't wanted to go home anyway. Spending the break at Hogwarts with friends sounded far more fun.
Harry brightened too—he certainly didn't want to go back to the Dursleys.
Only Hermione seemed a little down. Don't get the wrong idea, it was just a two-week break. She was only upset about not having access to the Hogwarts library back home.