So even the famously trouble-averse, self-neglecting Miss Know-It-All failed to withstand such an unconventional offensive.
Naturally, this included her teeth.
About a week earlier, Mr. Granger had personally adjusted his daughter's front teeth. With the help of a potion Hermione had deliberately sought out, the two slightly oversized incisors were restored to their proper dimensions.
Mr. Granger suffered for days afterward. As a dentist, he was delighted to help a patient regain beauty and confidence.
But as a father, every time he thought about the fact that his stubborn daughter had suddenly decided to fix her teeth—for another man—he lost his appetite entirely.
After basking in the sunlight for a while, Hermione—who had remained silent—suddenly asked:
"What exactly is Dark Magic contamination? Or rather… what form does it take?"
Ordinary couples could idle away entire days doing nothing.
But when Vaughan and Hermione were alone together, pure emotional indulgence was rare. Their conversations usually revolved around shared interests—magic, philosophy, even Muggle science.
Over time, Hermione's way of thinking had begun to align with Vaughan's. When confronted with something she didn't understand, she no longer accepted the wizarding world's definitions wholesale. Instead, she tried to approach the matter from another angle—seeking its objective form.
Hearing her question, Vaughan didn't answer immediately.
Under the bright sunlight, he narrowed his eyes slightly, thought for a moment, then said:
"I don't have a definitive answer yet. Would you like to study it with me?"
Hermione lifted her chin and looked at him silently.
Though Vaughan hadn't said it aloud, she could already infer that the contamination likely wasn't caused merely by learning a curse. There were probably… less conventional variables involved.
She had always known Vaughan kept many things from her.
There might be sides of him that were difficult for others to accept.
But—
Images from the past year flickered through her mind, moments spent together, trivial and profound alike. Hermione became absolutely certain of one thing:
Vaughan was not a bad person.
He might not be a rule-abiding wizard. He was rebellious, unconventional.
But he was not evil.
This wasn't romantic blindness or emotional bias—it was a conclusion she'd reached subconsciously through long-term observation of his behaviour.
He respected order.
No matter how busy he was, if circumstances allowed, he attended every class. This was his respect for teachers and for those who came before him. Conversely, he showed open disdain for fame-seeking frauds—Quirinus Quirrell, for instance, and Gilderoy Lockhart, whom he'd personally sent to Azkaban earlier this month.
He also possessed empathy.
Hermione admitted that Vaughan's initial intentions behind developing Wolfsbane Potion may not have been entirely noble, just as his critics in the papers claimed—that Vaughan Weasley sought to exploit werewolves.
But unlike those critics, Hermione had stayed by his side.
What she saw was Vaughan's genuine investment in the WAC.
No one had demanded that he take responsibility for werewolves' livelihoods. Yet from the organisation's inception, it was Vaughan's loans and connections that allowed werewolves to abandon their feral existence and return to human society.
That burden should have belonged to the entire wizarding world.
So in Hermione's heart, Vaughan could be ambitious—but never a reckless destroyer of rules.
He might be rebellious. He might have his own ideas.
But he was also cautious.
As long as the existing order still served his needs, as long as he hadn't prepared to build a new one, he remained a guardian of the current system.
Hermione lacked the life experience to define good and evil with absolute clarity.
But she understood one unshakable truth:
The greatest disaster in the world is the collapse of order.
And the greatest good is the preservation of it.
Anyone willing to uphold order could never truly be "bad."
That was the kind of person Vaughan was—to her.
She didn't know what he intended to do.
But unless he planned to destroy the world… she felt she could accept anything.
After a long pause, Hermione nodded and smiled.
"Alright. How can I help?"
In truth, her heart was far less calm than her expression suggested. She was anxious—trembling even—because she knew this was a sign:
Vaughan was willing to open part of his secrets to her.
"Come watch a memory with me," Vaughan said softly.
His eyes glimmered with a faint blue light as he drew Hermione into his mindscape.
The transition was swift.
Aside from a fleeting moment of dizziness, Hermione felt no discomfort at all. They were still leaning against the attic window, basking in sunlight.
Warmth spread across her skin. A breeze slipped through the window, stirring the curtains.
If Hermione hadn't looked up and noticed something strange about Vaughan, she might never have realised she'd left reality.
Thin strands of dense white mist cascaded from his body, like a raincloak woven of fog.
She recognised it instantly.
The Mental Construct.
Since the beginning of the year, Hermione had participated—at least partially—in the development of Vaughan's Mental Construct. She'd seen it many times before.
Realising she was inside Vaughan's mindscape, Hermione looked down at herself.
Everything appeared normal—her home clothes, the surroundings—all so realistic it felt indistinguishable from reality.
Noticing her curiosity, Vaughan ruffled her hair.
"This environment is drawn from my memory from one second ago. It's entirely real."
Hermione recalled Vaughan explaining that memory was simply the brain's recording and reproduction of sensory input.
After hesitating, she asked quietly:
"The memory you're showing me… is it what caused the Dark Magic contamination?"
"Yes. It happened earlier today," Vaughan replied. "Are you ready?"
Hermione fell silent. Her thoughts were in turmoil—but she quickly forced them down and nodded firmly.
"I'm ready."
Vaughan said nothing more.
He hadn't originally intended to let Hermione become involved so early. But as their bond deepened, the number of anomalies he displayed grew impossible to ignore.
She must have been holding countless questions back out of consideration for him.
A relationship required mutual exchange. He couldn't keep letting her give while he withheld.
So when she asked about Dark Magic contamination, he decided it was time.
Whether she could accept it…
He didn't know.
After a brief hesitation, Vaughan snapped his fingers.
The world shifted.
The surroundings blurred, like scenery racing past a train window.
Then everything snapped into focus.
They stood in a coastal fishing village. Cliffs rose in the distance, the sea stretched endlessly ahead. Nearby stood another "Vaughan" and two middle-aged men before a white building topped with a golden roof.
The other Vaughan raised his wand.
Everything froze.
Raindrops hung suspended in the air, glittering like jewels.
Hermione reached out. Her hand passed straight through one.
A reminder—this was memory, not reality.
At her glance, Vaughan snapped his fingers again.
The world surged back to life.
Rain poured, wind howled, waves crashed.
And then—a voice:
"Tempus Edax!"
Hermione's eyes widened.
She saw rain flowing backwards around the other Vaughan, saw a warped vortex flash at his wand tip.
Then, in the distance, the building aged and decayed in seconds.
Six struggling magical auras flickered—then went out.
In less than ten seconds, Hermione watched the building collapse, heard screams of despair, and saw six figures wither into skeletons.
She froze.
Snap.
Everything stopped again.
Hermione turned to Vaughan, words stuck in her throat.
Vaughan's expression softened.
Hermione was kind—brilliant yet brave enough for Gryffindor. But people were complex.
Gryffindor produced cowards like Peter Pettigrew.
Ravenclaw produced frauds like Gilderoy Lockhart.
And Slytherin produced Regulus Black and Severus Snape.
No House defined a person completely.
Taking her hand gently, Vaughan said:
"The six people in that building were Dark wizards."
That was enough.
Hermione realised she'd relaxed visibly.
"They attacked William and James while working for the WAC," Vaughan continued. "So I brought Remus and Mundungus to deal with them."
She noticed gaps—but chose not to dig deeper.
Some things didn't need answers.
Focusing again, she asked:
"What spell was that?"
"A time-based curse—called the Devouring Years Curse. It's classified as Dark Magic, but it doesn't require extreme malice."
"If that's the case…" Hermione swallowed. "Then the contamination appeared after you killed them?"
"Yes."
The memory dissolved into flowing silver mist—memory in its raw form.
Black specks appeared, moving rapidly.
Even when Vaughan froze the scene, they kept moving.
Hermione felt disappointed.
Vaughan, however, relaxed.
"They're not in my brain," Hermione realised softly.
Vaughan smiled.
"Exactly."
After explaining his theory—electrical signals, memory magic, and what it could and couldn't control—Hermione finally understood.
"So… the contamination comes from the soul?"
"Perhaps," Vaughan murmured. "Maybe it's interference from the souls of the dead."
Hermione frowned. "That sounds like being haunted."
She didn't like that idea.
Vaughan pondered it silently.
Whether metaphor or mechanism, the rule was clear:
Killing with Dark Magic causes contamination.
But why?
Was the world itself… enforcing something?
Later that night, alone in the attic, Vaughan recorded his conclusions.
If contamination is treated as the subject rather than the punishment…
Then perhaps killing with Dark Magic exists in order to create contamination.
The thought chilled him.
Before dawn, he vanished with a crack of Apparition.
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