"Let me interrupt for a moment," Vaughn raised a hand seriously. "My main purpose really was Ravenclaw girls. You don't need to defend me on that point."
Dumbledore: "..."
The old man was speechless for a long while before sighing.
"Very well, my dear. Then tell me—if I hadn't uncovered the clue myself, when were you planning to tell me that you already knew the location of a Horcrux?"
"One of Tom's Horcruxes is Ravenclaw's diadem, correct?" Dumbledore continued slowly. "Years ago, he tricked the Grey Lady into revealing its whereabouts, went to the Albanian forest, retrieved it, kept it for himself, and turned it into a Horcrux. That is why the Grey Lady sealed her heart afterward."
Vaughn didn't answer directly.
"Did the Grey Lady tell you all this?" he asked calmly. "Don't tell me you deduced it yourself. You might identify the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron, but the details aren't something logic alone can uncover."
Dumbledore studied him, then nodded.
"Yes. She told me."
Before he could continue, Vaughn sighed.
"Tom must have been very handsome before he became… an electrical socket impersonator."
"What?"
"Just answer me."
"…Yes."
Vaughn looked deeply troubled.
"I knew it. I've spent an entire year trying to talk to the Grey Lady, but every time she saw my face, she became guarded and hostile. Classic trauma response—distrust of attractive men after being deceived by one."
"I should've realised sooner. With my face, there was no way I was getting past her defences. Only an ugly bloke would've worked. Damn you, Tom!"
"..."
For the first time in decades, Dumbledore had absolutely no idea how to respond.
Why the Crown Was Never Found
Vaughn was genuinely annoyed.
For a year, he had searched for Ravenclaw's diadem. But the Room of Requirement's storage—centuries of discarded junk—was simply too vast.
And with Voldemort still lurking within Hogwarts at the time, he couldn't risk using Harry to sense Horcruxes.
So he'd tried another approach: Ravenclaw Tower, again and again.
He'd assumed it was a lack of sincerity.
Turns out it was his face.
Clearly, the Grey Lady's relationship with Tom Riddle had been more than "just friends."
After all, for a ghost to fall for a living man, he must have been extremely handsome.
That also explained why she later trusted Harry.
Harry Potter's face screamed harmless.
Very logical. Completely airtight reasoning.
Far away on Privet Drive, Harry suddenly sneezed violently while writing to Ron.
"Odd… am I getting ill?"
He shrugged and continued writing:
Dear Ron, July 31st is almost here. I can't wait for you, Vaughn, and Hermione to arrive. Preferably in the evening—otherwise I fear the Dursleys might throw you out. Trust me, they absolutely would…
The Diadem and the Room of Requirement
Back in the Headmaster's Office, Dumbledore sat with a long face—apparently still recovering from being called "ugly enough to earn trust."
Vaughn continued calmly.
"The diadem is hidden in the Room of Requirement—the massive storage version. Thousands of years of abandoned items. I searched intermittently for a year and found nothing."
"Did the Grey Lady give you more specifics?"
"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "Only that Tom hid it there when he returned to apply for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post."
That stung.
Because he had been the one to receive and reject Tom Riddle.
If only he'd been more alert back then…
But regret was pointless.
Dumbledore sighed.
"Still, this is good news. Tom chose significant historical artefacts for Horcruxes—objects worthy of preservation."
His expression darkened.
"If he dared defile Ravenclaw's diadem, the other Founders' relics likely suffered the same fate."
Other Founder Relics
"I investigated them," Dumbledore continued.
"Slytherin's locket remained with his descendants—the Gaunts. But the family died out. Tom's mother, Merope Gaunt, sold heirlooms while destitute."
Vaughn nodded.
"So you went to Borgin and Burkes."
"Yes. Borgin cooperated. The locket was purchased by Hepzibah Smith, who also possessed Hufflepuff's cup. She died decades ago."
Dumbledore fixed Vaughn with a stare.
"And at that time—Tom Riddle was working at Borgin and Burkes."
"So," he asked quietly, "do you know where they are?"
Instead of answering, Vaughn countered:
"If the diadem marked Tom's turning point, does that mean he created earlier Horcruxes—before the Founders' relics?"
Dumbledore rubbed his temples.
"I've considered it. I have no answers."
"So you came to me."
"Yes," Dumbledore admitted. "I tried to solve it without you. But the deeper I went, the clearer it became—you're closer to the truth than I am."
"I'm asking you."
Vaughn snorted.
"I know where the cup is. I know where the locket is. I know how many Horcruxes exist."
He stopped spinning the licorice wand between his fingers.
"But tell me, Albus—why should I tell you? What are you offering?"
The air shifted.
Dumbledore's pleading vanished.
"That's why I asked if you wanted to be Headmaster. I meant it."
The temptation was real.
Hogwarts held millennia of knowledge—Founders' legacies, restricted archives, secrets only a Headmaster could access.
Vaughn considered… then shook his head.
"I'm not ready to take over Hogwarts."
"I can lend you the authority."
…That was dangerous.
Seeing Vaughn hesitate, Dumbledore pressed on:
"The Restricted Section. The castle's 142 staircases. Hidden chambers. The Room of Requirement itself. The Sorting Hat. The Sword of Gryffindor. The Book of Admittance. The Quill of Acceptance—"
"Enough!" Vaughn snapped. "I admit it—you're very persuasive."
Dumbledore smiled—
Then Vaughn raised a finger.
"But I'll only tell you one Horcrux for now. Choose carefully."
"That's extortion!"
"You know my schedule," Vaughn said coldly. "WAC, dragon research, North American visits, alchemy. If you get everything and retract the offer later, I lose."
Dumbledore bristled.
"You don't trust me?"
"Never have."
"…!"
Eventually, they compromised.
Every four to six months, depending on Vaughn's progress researching Hogwarts, they would renegotiate another Horcrux.
The First Choice
"Which one?" Vaughn asked.
Dumbledore thought long and hard.
"Not the Founders' relics," he finally said. "Tom loved Hogwarts. He treated those artefacts with care."
"I want to know about the others."
Vaughn nodded.
"There's one that fits—Marvolo Gaunt's ring. An early Horcrux."
Dumbledore's eyes lit up.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
Then Vaughn smiled.
"But someone does. He's in Azkaban."
"…Who?"
"Morfin Gaunt."
Dumbledore's Realisation
Late that night, Dumbledore wrote letters.
One to Azkaban.
Another to Bob Ogden—a retired Ministry official.
Morfin Gaunt, brother of Merope Gaunt.
Imprisoned for murdering the Riddle family.
But Horcruxes required personal murder.
Which meant—
Tom Riddle himself had killed his father's family.
As a student.
The thought chilled Dumbledore to the bone.
Later, speaking to Matilda Weasley's portrait, he murmured:
"If Vaughn had grown up as Tom did…"
The implication was terrifying.
He forced a joke.
"Perhaps Arthur and Molly deserve an Order of Merlin—for raising their children properly."
And for the first time, Dumbledore truly thought:
Vaughn Weasley might be more dangerous than Voldemort—
if he ever chose to be.
Back at the Burrow
Vaughn returned home by Floo.
Molly fussed endlessly about Azkaban, coats, chocolate, Dementors.
Arthur yawned, changed sides instantly, and was glared into submission.
Crookshanks—huge and affectionate—leapt onto Vaughn, purring furiously.
"You'll take him back to Hermione's," Molly insisted. "He misses you."
Vaughn sighed—and agreed.
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