Hermione was even more envious now.
She quickly shook Tonks's hand, then—utterly unable to restrain her curiosity—stared at Tonks's hair while peppering her with questions about how such an innate ability was controlled.
Tonks was outgoing to the core, a textbook social butterfly. Far from being annoyed, she chatted enthusiastically with Hermione, the two of them hitting it off immediately.
Glancing back at the two girls deep in conversation, Kingsley chuckled at Vaughn.
"She's the most rebellious trainee I've had in years—an absolute headache."
"That's called personality, Shacklebolt," Vaughn replied lightly. "This way, please. My lab's in the attic."
"Of course. Sir, ma'am, please stay where you are—just routine. Carry on."
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Most people's first impression of Kingsley Shacklebolt was that of a stern wizard.
But Vaughn knew better.
This pure-blood—despite his likely African wizarding heritage, the Shacklebolt family being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—was exceptionally smooth.
A politician, really.
In Vaughn's memories of the future, Kingsley's presence was subtle yet constant. He was everywhere, without ever standing at the centre.
When the Order of the Phoenix was reformed, Moody personally recruited him—he wasn't an original member.
When Fudge denied Voldemort's return and smeared Dumbledore and Harry, Kingsley stayed close to the Minister, feeding information to the Order while quietly cleaning up Harry's messes.
He fought in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.
He helped with the Seven Potters operation.
And somehow—while others, including Moody, died—Kingsley emerged unscathed.
He even managed to pass intelligence via Patronus under Scrimgeour's murder.
Then, after the war, he became Minister for Magic.
Anyone who looked closely would realise: this man was anything but simple.
Whether Kingsley was an opportunist or a strategist didn't matter to Vaughn. In fact, he preferred people like this.
Desire made people flexible.
Flexible people knew compromise.
And Kingsley, clearly, liked Vaughn as well.
Under normal circumstances, something as trivial as Trace-triggered magic wouldn't repeatedly warrant a senior Auror's attention.
Unless that Auror chose to keep watch.
Kingsley's earlier joke—that he was under ministerial pressure—made sense on the surface.
After all, the Ministry was buzzing with the same story:
On the 15th, the fifty-year-old Minister for Magic had been magically ejected from the Wizengamot chamber… by a twelve-year-old boy.
The joke alone could make Ministry staff howl with laughter.
So yes—Fudge's hatred was real.
Kingsley's frequent visits seemed justified.
A victim of ministerial pettiness, forced by duty to comply—yet subtly expressing goodwill, openly calling it "routine."
If Vaughn didn't already know Kingsley's future résumé, he might have been genuinely charmed.
But what was the truth?
Vaughn casually pondered this as he led the old fox upstairs, chatting idly.
Mutual Acting
"I truly admire you, Mr. Weasley," Kingsley said sincerely.
"Call me Vaughn."
"Then please, call me Kingsley. I prefer it—feels friendly. I've been meaning to ask… are your experiments related to the improved Wolfsbane Potion mentioned in the papers?"
"Yes," Vaughn sighed, lying smoothly. "But progress has been… disappointing. Several failures."
"Don't be discouraged," Kingsley said warmly. "A potion of that magnitude should be difficult. You've already achieved what many never will. I admire you for giving the formula freely and founding the WAC."
They reached the attic.
Just as promised, Kingsley gave the lab only a cursory glance before settling into casual conversation, as he had every day prior.
Then, seemingly offhand, he complained:
"Wizarding Britain's been peaceful too long. Aurors mostly handle smuggling now—petty things. Not that peace is bad, but the profession no longer matches expectations."
"Take Nymphadora Tonks downstairs. She passed the Auror exams brilliantly right after graduating Hogwarts. Yet her brightest years will be spent in three years of training. How many people can afford to waste three years of youth?"
Kingsley sighed dramatically.
Vaughn smiled sympathetically.
"Yes… especially for young women. Youth spent in isolation. Actually, I just had an idea—what do you think of WAC cooperating with Auror Command? Seconding some Auror trainees to WAC for internships?"
Kingsley looked delighted.
"Brilliant! International work, broader horizons—far better than staying stuck in Britain. What a wonderful idea, Vaughn!"
Acting? Please.
Vaughn hesitated theatrically.
"But Scrimgeour might object…"
"Oh, I'll handle Rufus," Kingsley said confidently. "They're only trainees."
Of course.
Vaughn almost laughed.
Bringing Tonks today hadn't been coincidence—it had been deliberate.
Kingsley wanted Tonks inside WAC.
Pure-blood networking, nothing more.
Ironically, Tonks was also Vaughn's distant cousin.
That alone said everything.
The Bad News
With Tonks accepted, Kingsley was pleased—and, on his way out, "accidentally" revealed something useful.
"The Minister is very concerned about you. After learning two days ago that your potion experiment triggered the Trace, he attempted to have the Wizengamot pursue you for breaching the Statute of Secrecy."
"Madam Bones rejected it."
"But Fudge hasn't given up. I heard he consulted several Potioneers… then ordered Aurors to prepare a large-scale black market sweep."
"The operation begins the day after tomorrow."
"That is bad news," Vaughn admitted.
After Kingsley left, Vaughn immediately wrote to William White, ordering him to sever all black-market contacts.
Fudge must not be given ammunition.
Thankfully, Vaughn had never dealt personally with black-market traders—werewolves handled it. Otherwise, betrayal would've been instant.
Fudge had truly taken the gloves off.
This was nothing like Vaughn's memories.
In the original timeline, Fudge spent this summer intoxicated with power, launching a Dark Artefacts inspection—events that led to Lucius Malfoy disposing of Voldemort's diary.
But now?
Fudge clung to pure-blood support.
He'd never dare antagonise them with inspections.
Which meant—
"No inspection, no diary plot, no Dobby stopping Harry from school…"
The timeline was unrecognisable.
The Good News
Vaughn was pondering all this when a phoenix arrived.
A short note.
"Vaughn, I've found a lead on a Horcrux. Return to Hogwarts at once.
—Albus Dumbledore"
Albania
Back at Hogwarts, Vaughn met McGonagall, then Dumbledore.
They walked through the silent castle at dusk.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke:
"Albania."
"You recall I traced Quirrell there. Thanks to your advice. I eventually found evidence of Tom possessing animals."
"I was… shaken. I realised I'd never truly understood him."
He stopped beneath Ravenclaw Tower's glass dome.
Sunlight bathed the courtyard in amber.
Above them stood the Grey Lady.
"Helena Ravenclaw," Dumbledore said softly.
"You always knew, didn't you?"
"That she stole her mother's diadem… and died in an Albanian forest?"
Vaughn smiled faintly.
"No wonder you favour Ravenclaw," Dumbledore added. "Everyone thought it was for the girls."
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