"Oh, that's very kind of you." Fudge patted Vaughn on the shoulder, then sighed with a trace of regret. "But, kid, you're still young and don't quite understand how complicated things can be. Even if you make the formula public and persuade the potion-makers to brew wolfsbane for free, who would really volunteer their time for it? Realistically, most would still sell it at a high price—and you'd never even know."
After laying out the dilemma, he noticed Vaughn deep in thought and offered, "But I have a better idea. Want to hear it?"
"Uncle Fudge, please go ahead."
Fudge's expression turned earnest. "Give the formula to the Ministry of Magic, give it to me. I promise we'll set up a dedicated department to handle this. The Ministry has the funds to cover all expenses for every werewolf who needs it. But… I do have a small request."
His tone lowered, almost coaxing.
"I'd like you to publicly encourage those stray werewolves to accept the 'Werewolf Registration Act'. Oh, child, this is only to ensure the potion doesn't fall into the wrong hands. What if someone like Greyback got access to it without oversight, hmm?"
Vaughn looked hesitant. Though he seemed moved, he clearly had reservations.
But Fudge, a seasoned politician, didn't push. Instead, he offered with a kindly smile, "Vaughn, think about it carefully. Just think about what your uncle said."
"Let's not dwell on this now," he continued cheerfully. "Uncle Fudge has some good news for you!"
Vaughn perked up. "What good news?"
Fudge beamed like a proud uncle. "Your Order of Merlin, of course! You've done a truly remarkable thing, and Uncle Fudge has to reward you. So before you leave, I urged the Merlin Knights to vote—and they've decided to award you the Second Class Order of Merlin!"
He pulled out an envelope and unfolded the parchment inside for Vaughn to see.
"Thanks to Uncle's efforts, your award ceremony will be held at the Wizengamot courtroom—in just three days!"
As Fudge turned back to chat happily with Dumbledore, Vaughn smiled quietly to himself.
If all this hadn't already been part of his plan—if he hadn't known Dumbledore was also pushing behind the scenes—someone else might easily have been swayed by Fudge's performance.
It had to be said: Fudge was a shrewd and practiced politician. He knew how to apply pressure gently, never pushing hard enough to offend. He followed every request with a reward.
After all, how could anyone distrust a boy who had received the Order of Merlin, Second Class?
But Vaughn knew the truth. The award was due mostly to Dumbledore's influence. The old man held immense sway in both the Wizengamot and the Order of Merlin. Not only was he the Chief Warlock, but also a First-Class Order recipient. It was Dumbledore's reputation and connections that sped up the decision, not Fudge's so-called lobbying.
Still, Fudge knew how to claim credit, and he did so without the slightest hint of shame. He had tossed aside his pride the day he became Minister.
Later, the group returned to Hogwarts. Though the so-called 'investigation' was largely for show, protocol had to be followed.
In Snape's office, they watched Vaughn personally brew a bottle of wolfsbane potion, which passed both magical and werewolf blood compatibility tests.
The entire process was documented by the Ministry photographer and would be featured in Extraordinary Potions and The Daily Prophet.
Once the official business was complete, and the visiting officials began happily touring their alma mater, Rita Skeeter, who also graduated from Hogwarts but showed no affection for the place, hung back and approached Vaughn again.
She leaned in close and whispered hoarsely, "Little heartbreaker, you still haven't answered my question!"
Her enchanted quill floated up once more, scribbling rapidly on a fresh piece of parchment.
Vaughn glanced at it with mild amusement. "And what exactly do you want me to answer?"
"Oh, plenty—" She hadn't even finished her sentence when Vaughn raised his wand. A silent spell blasted her quill away, and the parchment flew into his hand.
"You—" Rita started, seething.
But before she could say another word, Vaughn's wand was already pointed at her throat. He didn't even look at her. Instead, he calmly skimmed the parchment and read aloud:
"'—When I asked Mr. Weasley how, as a mere twelve-year-old, he had gained such profound mastery over potion-making and developed the wolfsbane potion, the shy boy hesitated—'"
"Ah…" Vaughn sighed, glancing at her coolly. "I've heard you're fond of twisting facts, exaggerating, and carefully wording things just enough to avoid legal trouble. I didn't expect it to be so… accurate."
Rita's crimson lips twitched. She struggled to hold back her fury. "Mr. Weasley, is this how you treat a journalist? Casting spells on a poor, innocent reporter in the sacred halls of Hogwarts?"
Vaughn shrugged, glancing around casually. "Well… no one saw anything, did they?"
Staring into the boy's eyes, Rita suddenly felt a chill. Although he was smiling, there was no warmth in his eyes.
In a sudden flash of clarity, she decided not to push further. It took her exactly one second to shift from furious to submissive. With a thud, she dropped to her knees and squeezed out tears.
"Mr. Weasley, I was wrong! I shouldn't have tried to frame you, please forgive me!"
But after a few pitiful pleas for mercy, she saw Vaughn mimic her earlier actions, leaning in close to her ear and whispering softly, "Ms. Skeeter, I know your secret too. How you always manage to uncover other people's private affairs."
Rita froze. She stammered, "W-What? What are you talking about?"
But Vaughn didn't answer. He simply retracted his wand, gave her a slow, meaningful blink, and asked, "Do you think I'm bluffing? Or do you believe I really know?"
With that, he hummed a light tune and strolled away, leaving Rita Skeeter frozen in place, confused and unnerved.
What did he know?
No—it had to be a trick! But… what if he really did know?
For the rest of the day, it felt like two voices were constantly battling inside her—one full of righteous denial, the other gnawed by fear. Because she did have a secret. A secret that had made her unbeatable in the journalism world. But if it were ever exposed… she'd be headed straight for Azkaban.
She was an unregistered Animagus.
---
That night, still dazed and unsure, Rita lay in her temporary guestroom at Ravenclaw Tower. Finally, driven by both fear and obsession, she decided to take the risk to confirm it.
"He couldn't know. No one's ever known. I've eavesdropped on Fudge himself, on his dirtiest secrets, and even he never noticed. How could a first-year student possibly know?"
Caught in the grip of self-doubt and panic, Rita transformed into her Animagus form—a plump, unremarkable beetle.
She crawled to the window and peered down toward the Slytherin common room. She waited patiently until a student happened to open the door with the passphrase—then slipped in behind them unnoticed.
She wasn't worried about locating Vaughn. Back when she studied at Hogwarts, she'd used her Animagus form to map out the ventilation shafts of several Houses. The school hadn't changed much since then. Familiarity with the castle's nooks and crannies was her greatest asset.
Through the ducts, she quickly navigated to Vaughn's room. Creeping up to the vent, she stuck close to the grate and looked down inside.
There he was—damn Vaughn Weasley—completely alone in the vast dormitory. A massive cat lay purring contentedly in his arms, its sharp ears twitching slightly.
He was humming that same tune he had whistled when he left her earlier that afternoon.
Arrogant brat!
Just thinking about how he had humiliated her made her blood boil. She was determined to spy on him now, to monitor his every move, gather his secrets, and expose him for the entire world to see!
But as she indulged in these malicious thoughts, she suddenly heard Vaughn sigh and say, almost dreamily:
"Hexby, do you know? When a person's emotions surge violently, her thoughts and memories shine like torches in the dark… especially to someone skilled in Memory Magic."
Oh no!
Rita jolted in panic. She flapped her wings, trying to retreat back through the vent.
But the air around her suddenly turned thick and sticky, as if she were trapped in syrup.
Then she heard Vaughn's voice—twisted and echoing through the air:
"Petrificus Totalus!(Full Body-Bind Curse)"
"Accio—Beetle!"
With a jolt, Rita was wrenched from the vent, unable to resist. She tried to dispel the Animagus transformation, but the spell had disrupted her control.
Helpless, she plummeted to the floor and landed at Vaughn's feet. He crouched down with a smile, picked her up gently, and dropped her into a glass jar—clearly prepared in advance.
"Ms. Skeeter, hello again. I told you… I know your secret."
And in that moment, Rita knew—
She was finished.