Outside Hogwarts Castle, on the narrow path leading toward Hagrid's hut—
Rain-soaked stone slabs glistened underfoot, slick and treacherous. Four figures walked carefully along the path as a biting wind carried fine drizzle in spirals around them. Up front, Harry and Ron trudged forward with their heads down, sneezing nonstop. Within minutes, their robes were thoroughly soaked, heavy and useless against the cold.
Behind them, however, the situation was very different.
The two people and one cat walking at the rear were protected by Water-Repelling and Moisture-Blocking Charms, chatting leisurely as though out for a pleasant stroll.
"Vaughn, when did you get back?" Hermione asked.
"Just now," Vaughn replied casually. "I was heading back to Slytherin to rest for a bit, but Guoguo Tea spotted me."
At the sound of its name, the chubby cat bounding about joyfully scampered over, rubbing against Vaughn's leg again and again.
Hermione's eyes shone with anticipation.
"So… everything's settled?"
"More or less," Vaughn nodded. "What's left is bureaucratic. The Wizengamot and the werewolves need to write jointly to the International Confederation of Wizards. Once the three sides set a date, they'll negotiate the committee's shared structure. I won't need to be involved anymore—so I'll be staying at Hogwarts until the end of term."
Hermione immediately broke into a bright, sweet smile.
She glanced at the two boys ahead of them, then quietly reached out and took Vaughn's hand, giving it a small, excited squeeze—her joy carefully hidden in the subtle gesture.
"Achoo!"
Harry sneezed again. Tugging at his robe, he grimaced—the soaked fabric had grown unbearably heavy and had completely lost any warmth.
The wind cut straight through him, chilling him to the bone.
He stole a glance at Ron. Ron wasn't faring any better—both hands clutching his robe, shivering violently in the cold. His face was pale enough to rival Malfoy's, freckles looking almost transparent.
"Ron… maybe we should wait for your brother—uh, I mean, wait for Vaughn," Harry hinted.
Ron, however, clearly had no intention of backing down.
Otherwise, ten minutes earlier, he wouldn't have dragged Harry ahead the moment they spotted Vaughn.
Ron snorted.
"Don't count on him casting any Waterproofing Charm for you, Harry. He loves watching people suffer. Even if we waited, we'd still get drenched."
No—he just enjoys watching you suffer…
Harry kept that thought to himself. Ron's fragile pride probably couldn't handle it.
From his recent Occlumency training with Vaughn, Harry had already realized—
Vaughn might have a cruel sense of humor, but he rarely targeted strangers.
When he "bullied" someone, it was usually a sharp-edged joke aimed at people he knew well—often with a lesson hidden inside.
Just like now.
The Waterproofing Charm was something first-years encountered early on. If Harry and Ron had studied a bit harder, spent more time with their books, they wouldn't be trudging through wind and rain like idiots.
Harry didn't mind being teased.
In fact, he found it… strangely comforting.
Growing up, he'd never had anyone joke with him like this.
Only loneliness had kept him company.
Well—Dudley didn't count.
Ron, unaware of Harry's thoughts, muttered nonstop about Vaughn's "brotherly affection" over the years, using it as proof that dragging Harry ahead had been the right decision.
It would've been more convincing if his teeth weren't chattering.
Thankfully, Hagrid's hut wasn't far.
After cresting a small hill, the wooden cabin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest came into view. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and Fang sat at the door, barking the moment he spotted them.
Soon, Hagrid, apron on, came jogging over with two umbrellas in hand. The moment he reached them, he scolded loudly:
"You two daft lads—can't cast a Waterproofing Charm and didn't even think to bring umbrellas?"
Harry and Ron froze as though struck by lightning.
…Right.
Umbrellas.
Utterly defeated by their own stupidity, the two huddled under Hagrid's umbrella, heads hanging low.
Hagrid didn't seem to mind. He glanced toward Vaughn and Hermione, deliberately waiting until they caught up before pulling Vaughn into a huge hug.
"Kid, yeh did brilliant! The Werewolf Affairs Committee—that's the trendiest phrase in the papers this year! No one ever thought of it before—who'd care about them poor werewolves… an' them other poor magical hybrids?"
He wiped at the corner of his eye, clearly reminded of his own background.
The ancient wizarding world had countless flaws. Magical abuse had created new species again and again—yet those very beings were denied recognition, condemned to the margins.
For a half-giant like Hagrid to remain at Hogwarts was already a stroke of luck.
At least Dumbledore had given him a place.
His sadness passed quickly. Clapping his hands, he beamed.
"Come on in! I've got tea brewin'—the kind Vaughn gave me before. Smells amazin'!"
Whether it smelled good or not was beside the point.
The moment they entered the hut, something felt off.
Every window had been tightly boarded up. As soon as everyone was inside, Hagrid slammed the door shut and stuffed rags into every crack.
The fireplace roared with blazing flames. Despite the chilly weather outside, the heat inside hit them like a wave, nearly suffocating.
Harry, who had been ready to ask questions, found himself gasping for air instead.
Ron, face flushed, tore open his collar.
"Merlin, Hagrid—what're you up to? Don't tell me you really raised a fire dragon?"
Clatter!
The tray slipped from Hagrid's hands.
He wiped his brow nervously.
"Blimey—how'd yeh know? Who else knows?"
"No one," Hermione said quickly. "I found your library borrowing record. We guessed."
Hagrid sagged in relief—then froze.
Vaughn had walked to the fireplace.
Using the poker, he gently shifted the burning logs.
The others rushed over.
As the firewood parted, something black and round—about the size of a watermelon—was revealed beneath the flames.
Ron sucked in a sharp breath, eyes shining.
"Th—that's… a dragon egg?"
"Yeah," Hagrid said dreamily. "Ain't it beautiful?"
Crouching beside it, Vaughn cast a subtle spell on his eyes.
In his vision, the firelight dimmed—while the egg erupted with dazzling life-energy, brilliant beyond measure.
He nodded slowly.
"It truly is."
Long ago, not long after arriving in this world and finally mastering English, Vaughn had begun reading the limited collection of books at home.
Most were histories of the wizarding world. Others were ancestral notes copied by Molly and Arthur from the Prewett and Weasley families.
Vaughn wasn't searching for spells.
He was searching for the essence of magic itself.
Before the establishment of the Wizard's Council—the Ministry's predecessor, dissolved in 1707—the magical world lacked centralized governance. Magical history survived mostly through fragmented notes and personal records.
After enrolling at Hogwarts, Vaughn spent nearly half his library time on such "meaningless" writings—at least, meaningless in other students' eyes.
Time was the strongest Obliviation Charm of all.
He never truly expected to find answers in books.
Most scholars believed magic originated from ancient civilizations—Egypt, or perhaps the even older East.
That was the mainstream view.
Vaughn disagreed.
In his mind, magic had never vanished from sight.
Magical creatures.
Everything in the world was born of nature—magic included.
Perhaps the first wizards learned magic by observing magical creatures. Considering that dragon pox still plagued wizardkind, he even suspected that the "pure-blood lineage" so fiercely protected by ancient families had… unconventional origins.
This question haunted him.
According to the system, the average adult wizard possessed around 500 magic capacity. Vaughn was already nearing that threshold.
And yet, when facing Dumbledore, he still felt utterly insignificant.
Like a stream facing the open sea.
The same feeling had surfaced before Voldemort.
How could the gap be this vast?
It felt as though Dumbledore and Voldemort were no longer human wizards—but something closer to mythical beings, creatures intertwined with magic itself.
And now—
The dragon egg before him blazed with life-force far surpassing any human's, tinged with fiery hues rather than pure white.
If anything in the world stood closer to Dumbledore and Voldemort's level of existence—
It was magical creatures.
They, too, were magical beings. The only difference was origin.
Magical creatures were born of nature—and nature was imperfect.
Months ago, Vaughn had resolved to study magical creatures, seeking the truth behind Dumbledore's strength.
Or rather—
How he might evolve to that level.
It would be a long project.
But if research material presented itself so conveniently…
He wouldn't refuse.
Meanwhile, Harry and Ron were chatting excitedly with Hagrid.
"How'd you get it?" Ron asked. "I mean—there aren't really wild dragons anymore. They've all been confined to preserves since the seventeenth century."
Hermione chimed in immediately.
"That's the International Statute of Secrecy, established in 1692. To hide magic from Muggles, the Confederation restricted magical creatures first. Merpeople, centaurs, goblins—sentient beings—all sent representatives to sign it."
Harry finally caught a familiar term and brightened.
"I know that law! Some wizards used it to attack Vaughn and the werewolves, saying reintegrating into Muggle society would break it."
Hagrid stroked his beard gravely.
"Serious business. Break the Statute and the Confederation punishes all of Britain. Even Dumbledore can't stop that."
He looked at Vaughn.
"So how'd yeh deal with it?"
Vaughn answered absently, lost in thought.
"We didn't. Werewolves need jobs—and only Muggle society is large enough to support them."
Hagrid blinked, not fully understanding, but nodded anyway.
"Sounds… clever."
Then, unable to contain himself, he launched back into Ron's question, grinning broadly.
"How'd I get the egg? Yeh'll never guess!"
"I won it off a Greek fella in a bet. Lost fair an' square. Didn't have anythin' valuable on him, so he handed over the egg."
He gazed lovingly at the fire.
"Good bloke. Took real effort to get this, I reckon."
Ron nearly drooled.
"D'you know what kind it is?"
"Norwegian Ridgeback," Hagrid declared proudly. "Rare as they come."
Ron's envy hit critical levels.
Rare meant valuable.
Valuable meant Galleons.
That night, Ron couldn't stop thinking about Hagrid's luck.
"I never meet Greeks who lose dragon eggs to me…"
Before sleep, he muttered sourly,
"Bet that Greek bloke wanted to lose. Probably didn't know what to do with it—illegal an' all, right, Harry?"
Harry didn't answer.
He lay staring at the canopy, lost in thought.
"What's wrong?" Ron asked.
"…I'm thinking about what Hagrid said."
"Snape?"
Harry nodded.
He recounted Hagrid's explanation—that every professor, including Snape, had helped protect the Philosopher's Stone.
If Snape wanted it, he could've taken it long ago.
Ron scratched his head.
"Sounds reasonable."
That was the problem.
Harry had always assumed Snape didn't know the protections—while Quirrell did.
Now, the pieces didn't fit.
Had he misunderstood Snape all along?
The realization unsettled him deeply.
Thanks to months of learning from Vaughn, Harry had learned one thing beyond Occlumency—
Think first.
And now, the more he thought, the more wrong everything felt.
Why retrieve the Stone on Harry's arrival day?
Why attempt the Gringotts theft that same day?
Why place elaborate protections at Hogwarts—when the Headmaster's office would've been safer?
Ron soon fell asleep.
Harry didn't.
That night, in the Headmaster's Office, portraits slumbered as Dumbledore activated his magic.
He and Vaughn stood before the Pensieve, watching the memory from Hagrid's hut.
Silver mist spread like ink in water.
Vaughn watched calmly.
"Quirrell's already learned how to bypass Fluffy. You really went all out, Albus—Confunding Hagrid just to make him slip."
Dumbledore smiled.
"Oh? You noticed?"
"I did the moment I saw him. Poor fellow—still doesn't realize the person he trusts most hexed him."
"Your mastery of memory magic exceeds my expectations," Dumbledore praised. "Especially Miss Granger—remarkably vivid."
Vaughn rolled his eyes.
Dumbledore sighed.
"Hagrid's simple-hearted. And Quirrell—despite his instability—can still reason. To convince him the Stone wasn't bait, everything had to look natural."
"Aren't you afraid Tom will notice?" Vaughn asked. "He's a master of memory magic too."
Dumbledore winked.
"He's asleep—thanks to you. Without unicorn blood, he must rest frequently or risk killing Quirrell."
A shadow crossed his face.
Quirrell had once been a promising student.
If not for fate…
Vaughn cut in dryly,
"Ever notice you're always wary of Slytherin? Yet most problems come from another House."
Dumbledore blinked.
"Quirrell—Ravenclaw. Rita Skeeter—Ravenclaw."
Dumbledore's beard twitched.
"Coincidence!"
Vaughn merely smiled.
After a pause, he asked,
"When will you guide Quirrell through the remaining protections?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"I was just about to ask you—what did you think of them?"
Vaughn didn't answer.
His expression said everything.
Child's play.
Dumbledore chuckled softly.
"Then… shall we make things more interesting for Quirrell—and Tom?"
(End of Chapter)
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