While the "Golden Trio" were busy sulking, fighting, and glaring at one another across classrooms, Vaughn Weasley was doing something far more productive:
He was intercepting Professor Snape in a dungeon corridor.
"Professor, do you have time this weekend? I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."
Snape didn't bother looking at him.
"I don't have ti—"
But Vaughn continued as if he hadn't heard the dismissal:
"Many advanced potion recipes aren't available publicly, and I've already mastered the basics. When I received my Hogwarts letter, I was ecstatic."
Snape's steps slowed.
"Ever since I brewed my first Blood-Replenishing Potion at age eight, I've dreamed of becoming your student."
Snape halted completely.
For a moment, the dungeon torches flickered, as if unsure whether they had permission to breathe.
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched—just barely.
"…Sunday," he said at last. "Evening. Don't be late."
"Thank you, Professor. I'll be there."
Snape turned sharply, robes swishing, but even the click-clack of his boots sounded lighter than usual.
Vaughn walked away smiling.
He needed reputation points to fulfil his plans, and Potioneering was still the most efficient way to build a durable name in the wizarding world. His previous "Vaughn's Beautifying" series had made a profit, but fame-wise, that line was already exhausted.
If he could master high-level potions—ingredient behaviour, complex sequences, refining ancient drafts—he could eventually create original formulas.
And original formulas meant groundbreaking fame.
Ravenclaw Tower
After securing Snape's agreement, Vaughn spent the evening solving the bronze raven's riddles and slipping into the Ravenclaw common room.
Upper-year Ravenclaw girls instantly swooped over to feed Guo Guo Tea treats and steal snacks off Vaughn's plate. The atmosphere was warm, cheerful, and academically smug.
When he eventually left to stroll by the Black Lake, he spotted Hermione sitting alone on the grass, hunched over, wrapped in cold evening wind.
The moon shimmered over the water.
The giant squid drifted lazily beneath the surface.
Far downshore, a few Gryffindors were feeding bread crusts to the lake.
"I heard from Fred and George that the squid used to be Gryffindor himself."
Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin.
She quickly wiped her face.
Vaughn had already sat down beside her, placing a piece of chocolate in her hand.
Guo Guo Tea, carrying a strip of jerky in his mouth, began circling them in affectionate loops.
"…Thanks," she whispered, eyes fixed on the lake.
Then her instincts betrayed her.
"But Gryffindor lived a thousand years ago," she muttered. "Nothing he transfigured would still be alive. That story is obviously made up."
The words were barely out before she regretted them.
Why couldn't she just stop correcting people? Why was she like this?
Vaughn watched her expression shift and, after a pause, asked gently:
"Did you fight with Harry and Ron?"
"Eh?? How did you know?"
"You hardly ever sit by the lake," he said, amused. "If you're not in the library, you're heading to it. And you've only really talked to three people since term started: me, Harry, and Ron. If you're out here alone this late… who else would've upset you?"
Hermione stared at him.
She hadn't realised it before—
She had no other friends.
Aside from Vaughn…
…it had only ever been Harry and Ron.
And today, she'd fallen out with both.
Her heart sank again. Shoulders slumped, she repeated Ron's words—how annoying she was, how she was always nagging, how he didn't want her tagging along.
When she finished, she whispered:
"Vaughn… am I really that unbearable? I just… want everyone to follow the rules."
She braced herself for comfort.
Instead, Vaughn nodded.
"A little bit, yes."
Hermione's soul evaporated.
Vaughn patted her shoulder gently.
"There's a saying from a distant land," he said softly.
"Good advice is hard to hear."
"But it's not your fault. People hate facing their own mistakes.
When someone points it out—even kindly—they push back."
Hermione lifted her head slowly.
Words like that shouldn't have sounded natural coming from an eleven-year-old.
But Vaughn's voice held a calmness… a depth… that felt older than Hogwarts itself.
"Then why," she whispered, "have you never thought I was annoying?"
"Because," Vaughn said, smiling faintly, "I like honesty like yours."
Hermione turned scarlet.
Then he added quietly:
"The more losses someone experiences, the more they understand how rare it is to have a friend like you. Ron hasn't lived enough yet. He'll grow."
Hermione hesitated.
Part of her wanted to ask—
Then what have you lost, Vaughn?
But she could sense instinctively—
He wouldn't answer.
So she stayed silent.
They watched the water in companionable quiet as the giant squid flipped over a stray boat, splashing shrieking Gryffindors into the lake.
After a while, Vaughn stretched.
"Hermione. Do me a favour."
She blinked. "Yes?"
"Forgive Ron. For my sake. And… keep an eye on them for me."
"On Harry and Ron? Why?"
Vaughn gazed across the dark lake, expression unreadable.
"Harry's situation is… complicated. Dumbledore is testing him.
Ron's going to follow him into trouble. I can't stop that.
But you can watch them. If anything happens—tell me."
Hermione's heart skipped.
"You mean… Harry might be in danger?"
"Not danger," Vaughn corrected gently. "A test.
But even Dumbledore can't control everything."
Hermione had a thousand questions.
But before she could ask even one, Vaughn stood and called Guo Guo Tea over.
"Get some rest, Hermione."
He handed her a few extra chocolates.
"And remember—this stays between us.
Top secret.
My little informant."
Hermione's face turned crimson.
She forgot all her questions instantly.
Vaughn walked away slowly, hands deep in his pockets, expression settling into cool calm once again.
He had no intention of tagging along behind the Chosen One.
His Hogwarts goals were clear:
Master potions. Build his name.
Learn powerful magic. Grow stronger.
He simply didn't have time to run around on whatever adventures the Boy Who Lived stumbled into.
Unless fate forced his hand.
(End of Chapter )