Seeing that Vaughn had already grasped the essence of the matter, Barty Crouch Sr. finally shifted the conversation toward North America.
"I've been paying close attention to the situation there these past few years," Crouch said calmly. "Don't look at me like that—regardless of anything else, I am the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. This is my responsibility."
"The North American Muggle governments are indeed attempting to decipher the power of magic. But everyone in the international community knows they've been trying since the 1920s or 30s. After decades of effort, they've made virtually no progress."
He paused, then corrected himself out of habit.
"I still prefer the term Muggles."
"Without magic, Muggles fundamentally cannot comprehend a wizard's power. Their so-called science does have merits—I've studied it in detail. Yes, nuclear weapons are astonishingly destructive… but that's all they are."
When speaking of the most terrifying product of Muggle technology—the atomic bomb—Crouch showed neither the ignorant disdain common among wizards nor the fear typical of Muggles.
Instead, his tone was detached, as though he were discussing a curious but oversized toy.
Vaughn understood.
That detachment was precisely the true attitude of clear-eyed elites in the magical world toward Muggles and their creations.
It all came down to one fact:
Muggles cannot use magic.
The longer Vaughn studied magic—and the deeper he went—the more clearly he understood just how fragile Muggles were when facing wizards.
There was one undeniable truth:
in terms of pure destructive power, Muggle weaponry was indeed something wizards could not rival.
But that comparison itself was flawed.
Since the decline of ancient magic, the modern spell system developed by wizards had deliberately abandoned the philosophy of raw power supremacy, instead branching into versatility and control.
Take a few of the most common spells as examples.
First—the Memory Charm and the False Memory Charm.
Used together, these spells allow a wizard to freely alter another person's memories. The Memory Charm in particular often caused effects that were nearly permanent.
Even among wizards, the only defenses against such magic were Occlumency and counter-spells. And because the Memory Charm erased recollections so thoroughly, counter-spells were often ineffective.
As for Muggles?
To a wizard skilled in memory magic, their minds were practically public lavatories—open, unguarded, free to enter at will.
As far as Vaughn knew, among the magical incidents handled by the Ministry each year, hundreds involved wizards using memory magic on Muggles. While the Memory Charm was strictly regulated, spells like the Dream Charm and Nightmare Charm were not prohibited at all.
Even the heavily restricted Memory Charm had long since become rampant in practice.
Within the Ministry's Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, there existed a subdivision known as the Obliviation Headquarters—the workplace of the Obliviators.
Since the enforcement of the International Statute of Secrecy, centuries of evolution had transformed the once-obscure Obliviators into one of the largest branches of the Ministry. In modern times, with Muggle sightings of magic occurring frequently, their numbers expanded year by year.
Today, Obliviation Headquarters was second only to the Auror Office in staffing.
In peacetime, Aurors saw little action. Maintaining the Statute of Secrecy and managing magical accidents had become the Ministry's true focus.
Of course, another key reason was political.
The current Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, hailed from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. It was effectively his power base.
The Obliviators' task was simple in theory: erase the memories of Muggles who had witnessed or been involved in magical incidents.
In recent years, this approach had become the Ministry's primary solution to nearly every incident—even though everyone knew how unstable the Memory Charm could be.
But when faced with Muggle minds that lacked even the most basic defenses, wizards found it difficult not to choose the easiest path.
And memory magic was only the beginning.
There were also Confundus Charms, Muggle-Repelling Charms, and even soul-affecting spells like the Imperius Curse.
All of them were completely undefendable by Muggles.
Especially the Confundus Charm.
In my past life, Vaughn thought, Grindelwald used visions of nuclear devastation in Fantastic Beasts to preach the Muggle Threat. But that was merely rhetoric—a tool.
If nuclear weapons were truly an existential threat to wizardkind, why did the magical world remain so calm after their invention? Because wizards quickly realized they were just another Muggle-made tool.
Muggles see tools as dead objects. Wizards do not. To wizards, everything contains a spark of spirit—and some spells don't distinguish between living beings and objects at all.
The Confundus Charm was one such spell.
Vaughn's thoughts wandered.
In the future, Barty Crouch Jr. would use a Confundus Charm to fool the Goblet of Fire itself, sending Harry into the Triwizard Tournament.
If a charm could confuse an ancient magical artifact, then why not a nuclear missile?
Imagine a wizard strolling through a Muggle nuclear facility under a Muggle-Repelling Charm, casually casting a Confundus Charm on the warhead.
With a single spell, the most powerful weapon in the Muggle world would lose all control.
Crouch, unaware of Vaughn's increasingly dangerous line of thought, continued gravely:
"That is why wizarding concessions and the enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy were never driven by fear of Muggles. They were the result of multiple factors."
He did not elaborate on those "factors."
The Statute of Secrecy had been enacted exactly three hundred years ago—in 1692. Whatever truly happened back then had long faded into history.
However, if one narrowed the scope to pure-blood families, their motivations were easy enough to summarize.
Compared to enslaving "worthless" Muggles who lacked magic, severing all ties between magical and Muggle society—and ensuring that magic belonged forever to pure-bloods—was far more appealing.
This mindset was almost certainly universal among pure-blood families worldwide. Otherwise, the Statute would never have passed.
North America's magical world, which had developed directly from British traditions and copied nearly all of its systems wholesale, was no exception.
"So the true nature of the current North American conflict," Crouch said, "is still pure-blood families exploiting the Statute of Secrecy in an attempt to 'purify' magic once more."
"The threats and persecutions carried out by Muggle governments against wizards are, in many cases, staged. I would wager that the tragic examples Isabella mentioned in her letter were orchestrated by North American pure-blood families."
"They spread the rhetoric of Muggle threat, enforce the Statute harshly—then secretly sell information on Muggle-born wizards to Muggle authorities, provoking persecution and intensifying conflict."
"…Very possible," Vaughn said quietly.
He had never shied away from assuming the worst when it came to politics.
What puzzled him was why Crouch was telling him all this.
He soon received the answer.
"That is why I'm telling you this," Crouch said. "You should stop trying to retrieve Isabella through pure-blood families—or through Dumbledore and myself. She's already caught in a massive vortex. Those of us outside it can do very little."
"Even the Watchers organization she joined is likely compromised. Any group that issues death threats to pure-blood families at the very start of an open conflict is either foolish, malicious—or a tool used by extremist families to coerce moderates."
"And when you add her surname, and her conflict with the Graves family, any rash intervention from us could make things worse."
Vaughn froze—then suddenly understood.
He hadn't considered that angle before. But once Crouch hinted at it, the truth became obvious.
Human beings rarely share unified goals and methods.
Pure-blood families across the world might all want Muggle-borns driven out—but they would inevitably disagree on how.
In North America, there had to be both radicals and conservatives.
Vaughn recalled Isabella mentioning pure-blood families receiving death threats. Connecting that with Crouch's words, he looked up sharply.
"You suspect the radicals are using organizations like the Watchers to force conservative families into war—families like the Graves?"
Crouch nodded.
"From a political perspective, radicalism and conservatism are not irreconcilable. Their difference lies in approach and urgency. Apply enough external pressure, and positions can be reshaped."
That "external pressure" could come from violent Muggle-born groups—
—or from other countries.
Vaughn understood instantly.
Crouch was right. Under current circumstances, any overt involvement by Britain—or any non–North American force—would push the situation into complete unpredictability.
Radical factions tended to spiral out of control.
And given how volatile North America already was, loss of control could easily mean war.
The realization gave Vaughn a headache.
He had once thought the chaos there was distant, abstract.
Now it was burning right beside him.
And he finally understood something else:
Crouch's long explanation wasn't just about Isabella Rosier.
When Vaughn asked directly, Crouch's stern face twitched. At last, he withdrew a thick parchment envelope from inside his robe.
Handing it over, he said stiffly:
"Frankly, I don't think you should involve yourself in this mess at all. North America lacks a figure like Dumbledore. Pure-blood influence permeates everything—except one place."
"That place has now become a refuge for half-blood and Muggle-born witches and wizards… and the epicenter of conflict."
Vaughn looked down at the envelope.
Embossed on it was a grand crest—intertwined ribbons and four animal symbols.
For a split second, Vaughn thought he was looking at Hogwarts' coat of arms.
There was only one other magical school in the world that used four beasts in its crest—
A school modeled after Hogwarts itself.
Crouch spoke its name aloud:
"Ilvermorny."
"Yesterday, the International Confederation of Wizards forwarded me an invitation. Ilvermorny formally invites you to North America this summer for potion research exchanges—and to discuss the possibility of establishing a Werewolf Affairs Committee branch there."
Vaughn stared at the letter.
He returned to Hogwarts that night.
Barely stepping out of Minerva McGonagall's office, he was ambushed by the twins.
Fred and George had endured a day of absolute misery.
Thanks to Ron's "heroic sacrifice," the Skiving Snackboxes had exploded in popularity—not just across all seven Gryffindor years, but throughout other Houses as well.
Even Slytherin students—especially fifth- and seventh-years crushed by exam pressure—had placed secret orders.
Then everything collapsed.
Gryffindor customers were lenient. Hufflepuffs were patient.
But Ravenclaw and Slytherin?
Particularly Slytherin?
They showed no mercy.
Draco Malfoy led the charge—banner raised outside Gryffindor Tower, reading:
"WEASLEYS OWE DEBTS — REDHEADS FEAST ON BLOOD AND SWEAT."
In class, enchanted armbands echoed the slogan repeatedly.
No physical violence was involved—but the social humiliation was devastating.
By the time Vaughn saw them, the twins looked unrecognizable—hair like bird nests, faces pale and hollow.
They pinned all their hopes on Vaughn.
But Vaughn had more urgent matters.
He sent them to the Room of Requirement and hurried to see Albus Dumbledore.
After their discussion, Vaughn finally returned to the Room.
The twins were pacing nervously.
The moment Vaughn entered, they clung to his legs, instantly betraying one another:
"Dear brother! George just said you're narrow-minded!"
"You liar! You tempted me into slandering our beloved little brother!"
Guoguo Tea watched with fascinated eyes.
Vaughn smiled faintly.
"I hear you wanted to be… firm with me?"
The twins froze.
They didn't know Guoguo Tea had been "listening."
What followed was not punishment—but redirection.
Vaughn saw what they could not yet see.
Their so-called pranks were alchemy.
Crude. Wasteful.
But brilliant.
And brilliance should never be squandered.
When Vaughn offered them gold—not charity, but investment—along with a demand to abandon pranks and research magical lighting instead, they had no real choice.
By the time they left the Room, their debts were paid.
And their future—
Was quietly rewritten.
As Vaughn returned to his notes, one thought surfaced.
That old fox…
Was Dumbledore doing the same thing to me?
Testing me. Tempering me.
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