Time passed quietly. November slipped by, and one morning, when Vaughn woke up, heavy snow had blanketed Hogwarts.
The castle, surrounding mountains, Black Lake, and the Forbidden Forest were all covered in thick, white snow.
The courtyard, usually bustling with young wizards, was now deserted.
Even the corridors were much quieter. The cold had seeped into the very bones of the castle, and the drafts were bone-chilling.
The fireplaces in all four houses' common rooms burned brightly every day, providing some much-needed warmth.
Everyone mostly stayed inside, bundled up in layers, and only moved sluggishly during class.
Naturally, Snape's Potions class became the most unpopular, without question. The dungeon classroom was cold, damp, and unwelcoming. The esteemed Professor Snape even refused to light a fire for the students.
He told them, "Potion ingredients like the coldness. You must learn patience and learn how to draw warmth and strength from your own greasy fat. Frankly, Hogwarts has fed you all far too well."
Ironically, his own office was always warm. The fireplace there had been lit since the start of winter.
---
On the same snowy afternoon, Vaughn was sorting materials in Snape's office.
Snape sat by the fire, warming himself as he read through Vaughn's submitted paper—more accurately, notes from Vaughn's current potion research project.
"...While isolating certain properties, I stumbled upon a fascinating discovery. The qualities of potion ingredients aren't limited to their physical composition or the magic they carry in life. Their characteristics also seem influenced by obscure, almost mystical factors—
—like the symbolic meaning assigned to them by legends."
"Take henbane petals, for instance. They've long been a key component in love potions. But henbane is not a magical plant. It doesn't possess any inherent magic related to love, and chemically, it's only effective for relieving pain (Muggles have used it as a medicinal herb for centuries)."
"That is, until I came across a record in the Hogwarts library: a prank played by a wizard hundreds of years ago. He told Muggles that henbane could charm people and confuse their minds. The Muggles believed it, and during the anti-wizard campaigns of that era, they began using it to identify witches."
"The wizard who recorded this mocked Muggles in his book. But centuries later, henbane—once used only as a sedative—actually acquired the ability to influence emotions, and thus the love potion was born."
After reading this, Snape looked up. "Is that true?"
"Which part?" Vaughn asked.
"That Muggle myths can affect an ingredient's properties."
"Oh, you mean henbane?" Vaughn paused while organizing materials, then said thoughtfully, "I can't say it's absolutely true. But based on the materials I've tested and their related plants, there's a high probability."
It was a theory that challenged conventional thinking. Even Snape, for all his experience, had never considered examining potion ingredients from this perspective.
Traditionally, potion effects were thought to come from magical properties and complex brewing rituals.
But what if...
Centuries-old Muggle folklore could somehow evolve into magic?
Snape—who strongly believed in pure-blood superiority—felt a ripple of unease. He wiped his forehead, which had broken into a cold sweat without him realizing it, and continued reading.
Unfortunately, Vaughn didn't expand further on that idea. After all, this was a potion research paper, and its focus remained strictly on potions.
"...This discovery has broadened my perspective immensely. I've started to intentionally seek out ingredients mentioned in Muggle legends, and I came across one—aconitum!"
This highly toxic plant is common in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds. In the wizarding world, it's long been used as a poison additive or as a blend component in certain potions. But in Muggle legends, it's had a specific purpose since ancient times—killing wolves.
That's why it's known as Wolfsbane or Wolfsbane Grass. I've successfully isolated this part of its properties. It might serve a special function, like suppressing the werewolf virus!"
Snape finally set the paper down.
He wanted to slam it onto the floor—but for some reason, he didn't. He wanted to lash out and question Vaughn, but he didn't know where to begin.
His face darkened, and he struggled to hold back his temper. He finally asked, "You're trying to develop a werewolf treatment? Why?"
Vaughn looked innocent and even a little annoyed. "Listen, Professor, I really think the wizarding world needs a potion like this. Fenrir Greyback is expanding his werewolf pack like a lunatic. The number of werewolves increases every year."
Snape was at a loss for words.
He wanted to challenge him again, but the words stuck in his throat. With a scowl, he turned and stormed out of the room, his cloak billowing behind him.
Vaughn wasn't bothered. He knew Snape had his own personal reasons for despising werewolves, but he also believed the professor would eventually accept the logic behind his decision.
Yes—the new potion Vaughn was developing was the Wolfsbane Potion.
What he told Snape was only part of the truth. Fenrir Greyback was dangerously ambitious. Over the years, countless families and young wizards had fallen victim to him.
He attacked them, infected them, and turned them into uncontrollable werewolves.
Then, he used the fear and discrimination wizards held against werewolves to create a marginalized underclass—impoverished and rejected.
With no future and nowhere else to turn, they were eventually forced to join Greyback's werewolf army.
That's why Vaughn was determined to develop the Wolfsbane Potion. If successful, it could save countless families—and eliminate a major threat for both the wizarding world and the Ministry of Magic.
And with it, recognition and fame would surely follow.
"If it weren't for the Wolfsbane Potion, why would I bother buttering up to Dumbledore? I just want to borrow his reputation. Fudge still listens to him for now—let's hope he stays cooperative."
As he thought, Vaughn turned back to selecting auxiliary ingredients based on the characteristics he had extracted from aconitum.
More than half an hour later, Snape—who had stormed out—returned, clearly in a hurry.
His long face was still stern, but Vaughn, familiar with him, could tell he was no longer angry.
Sure enough, after silently glaring at Vaughn for a moment, Snape asked, "You haven't tested aconitum on a werewolf virus, have you?"
Vaughn shrugged. "I haven't found any werewolves, Professor."
"—" Snape raked a hand through his hair, gritted his teeth, then finally squeezed out: "You're coming with me over Christmas break!"
"Okay, Professor. By the way, I heard you hate Potter-brand shampoo. I'm planning to invent a new formula. Want to test it?"
"Vaughn – Weasley – shut up!"
Vaughn grinned. "Yes, Professor!"
----
In the second week of December, Professor McGonagall began registering the list of students who would remain at school for Christmas. Vaughan, Ron, Harry, and the twins all signed up.
From that day on, the atmosphere at the school grew increasingly lax.
The young wizards were distracted all day, with everyone looking forward to the holidays. Finally, a week before Christmas, as the wrought iron gates of Hogwarts—closed for months—slowly opened, the Hogwarts Express rolled in from the distant mountains, trailing thick smoke.
The holiday officially began, and Vaughan, Harry, and Ron went together to see Hermione off.
When they returned, Hogwarts—now more than half empty—was as still and quiet as a wilderness after a heavy snowfall at dawn.
The twins were bouncing with energy, preparing to head to Hogsmeade. They already knew what their Christmas present would be: Vaughan was giving them 10 Galleons.
They planned to purchase materials for developing new products for "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes." Their previous creation—Canary Creams—had become a hit after Ron's very "passionate" demonstration during the Quidditch match.
Young wizards happily spent a few copper Knuts to buy these prank snacks and then "accidentally" handed them to friends, watching gleefully as their unsuspecting victim, mid-sentence or mid-page, transformed into a large, round canary.
With their combined ingenuity, the twins had successfully shattered numerous social cliques at Hogwarts from the Quidditch match all the way to Christmas. Some romantics who gave the biscuits to their girlfriends found themselves happily single soon after.
Compared to the twins' ambitious plans, Ron and Harry's idea of 'holiday fun' was far more modest. They planned to spend their days playing wizard chess in the common room.
Harry wasn't fond of it, mostly because he was terrible at it, and the pieces constantly disobeyed him.
"Stupid chess player, want me to stab my sword into your skull? Just let the damn king go! He's meant to die anyway!"
"Merlin—someone save me! My lower half's gone!"
That traumatic line came from a dramatic knight who, in defiance of Harry's command, had shattered his lower half and now crawled around with just his upper body, becoming Harry's nightmare that evening.
The chaos drove them away, leaving Vaughan alone, which suited him just fine. He liked this kind of quiet, sparsely populated Hogwarts.
He wandered the now-vast and empty castle for a while, borrowed a book from the library, and headed toward the Black Lake with Hexby.
Thanks to the plunging temperatures in the Scottish Highlands, the lake was now sealed under several feet of solid ice.
Usually, many students would be there, clumsily sliding across the frozen surface like pudgy penguins, but today, they were gone.
Vaughan conjured a deck chair, wrapped himself in a velvet blanket, and basked in the hazy winter sun, reclining in comfort.
The book he borrowed wasn't a magic text, but a poetry collection titled Songs to the Soul. The name itself hinted at strong Ravenclaw vibes—and the author's name confirmed it: Rowena Ravenclaw!
Yes, the very same Ravenclaw, one of the four legendary founders of Hogwarts School, famed a thousand years ago for her immense wisdom.
While she left behind many works, surprisingly few were magical in nature. In fact, the majority were literary.
Vaughan, knowing about the existence of the Chamber of Secrets, had developed a deep interest in the founders of Hogwarts.
If Slytherin had left behind a hidden chamber, what about the others? Vaughan had looked into their biographies. According to his judgment, Helga Hufflepuff was the least likely to have left behind a secret chamber.
She was a humble and gentle witch whose greatest joy was cooking. If she did have a secret chamber, it was most likely the Hogwarts kitchen.
It was located next to the Hufflepuff common room, concealed behind a disguised entrance that only opened if you tickled the pear-shaped doorknob.
As for Godric Gryffindor, that was harder to say. While the magical world had many records about him, they mainly portrayed his dramatic flair and hot temper, leaving his true character rather ambiguous.
In Vaughan's opinion, the one most likely to have created a hidden room or left behind an inheritance was Rowena Ravenclaw.
He opened the poetry collection, flipped to the table of contents, and found the page he was looking for. There, in graceful handwriting (all founder-collected works in Hogwarts were original manuscripts), was this passage:
I wandered in the path of time. When I looked up, wherever I looked, there was a shadow by my side. It was my close friend. We shared joy and spoke earnestly. The shadow built a mausoleum for itself, right beneath the beloved castle. When, one day, I grow tired and spent, I will clutch the flowers that Helena misses and fall asleep beside them.
After reading the poem, Vaughan didn't turn the page. He had stumbled upon it recently while browsing the Ravenclaw archives and had deliberately sought out the original.
The poem carried a certain Lake School tone—reflective and romantic—matching Ravenclaw's artistic temperament and poetic soul.
But what truly captured Vaughan's attention was the content.
"Over the years, many have interpreted this poem as Lady Ravenclaw's lament for Helena—her sorrow and guilt. They believe the shadows and mausoleum symbolize her foresight of Helena's tragic end."
But Vaughan disagreed.
He believed those scholars were misled by Helena's name, unaware of the existence of Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets.
To him, the poem likely portrayed a gravely ill Lady Ravenclaw reflecting on her old friend, Salazar Slytherin, who had long since departed. Betrayed by Helena, she yearned for someone to confide in—but out of fear of shaming the Ravenclaw name, she could only speak her sorrows to the shadow of a long-gone friend.
And regarding her own end, she had made careful arrangements.
The final lines suggested she might have discovered the Chamber of Secrets long ago—and beside it, she, too, created a hidden place to store her legacy.
To let all she had built perish with her in peace.
Vaughan closed the book, shut his eyes, and bathed in the sun, deep in thought.
He had given up hope of discovering anything valuable in Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. Recently, he'd been delving into memory magic, and as part of that research, he had revisited memories from his past life—especially scenes from the original series.
Combining those memories with the new information he'd found, he concluded that the Chamber of Secrets had probably been opened many times before.
One piece of evidence came from renovation records at Hogwarts. In the 18th century, the entire castle was remodeled to install a sewer system, led by a man named Corvinus Gaunt.
The Gaunt family was a direct descendant of Slytherin.
They had likely kept the Chamber's entrance hidden, and that meant it may have already been thoroughly explored by their bloodline, perhaps even looted of all valuable relics.
All that was left now… was an aging basilisk. A trap for the next poor fool who dared go looking.