Harry Potter: From Little Wizard to White Lord

Saturday morning dawned early for Vaughn, who happened to be visiting Gryffindor Tower today. Barely had he made it out of the portrait hole when he spotted Harry and Ron slipping out of the common room, heading in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione followed behind, clutching a book to her chest.

"I'm coming with you," she declared, clearly not asking for permission.

Ron muttered to Harry, "She's just here to spy on us, I'm telling you. The moment we put a toe out of line, she'll be off to McGonagall with a full report."

But Harry shook his head. "She wouldn't risk Gryffindor losing points."

"Then why is she trailing us like some ghost with a grudge? I swear, every time I turn around, she's there. It's terrifying."

Harry decided he'd rather not think about it.

They made their way to Hagrid's hut, perched on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The half-giant greeted them with a beaming smile and ushered them inside. Hermione joined them, though she spoke almost exclusively to Hagrid and completely ignored Harry and Ron, as if pretending they didn't exist.

While in the hut, Harry's eyes drifted to a copy of the Daily Prophet spread out on the table. The front page headline made his stomach jolt: there had been a break-in at Gringotts. And the date? It was the very same day he and Hagrid had gone there.

That couldn't be a coincidence.

He remembered Hagrid fetching something from one of the vaults, something he refused to talk about. Harry quickly connected the dots.

On the walk back, he waved the paper excitedly at Ron and Hermione.

"Look at this! Someone tried to rob Gringotts, and guess what? The vault they tried to get into had already been emptied that morning. Sound familiar? Vault 713! Hagrid took something from it. All he said was it was 'top secret' and 'very important.'"

"Blimey!" Ron let out a low whistle. "That's nuts."

Then Harry suddenly looked sheepish, lowering his voice. "Er, Hagrid told me not to tell anyone. You won't say anything, right?"

"Course not!" Ron thumped his chest like a knight swearing fealty, then promptly began coughing.

Hermione sniffed. "I always keep secrets."

Well, that was exactly what Harry had said to Hagrid too.

So naturally, the next day, Vaughn found out.

"Philosopher's Stone…"

In the library, Vaughn sat cross-legged with a thick alchemical tome in front of him. The detailed illustration of the legendary Philosopher's Stone sparkled on the page. He stared at it in silence.

Back in his past life, reading fanfics, he had often seen the Stone dismissed as unimportant, a minor plot trinket. But the more he learned about magic here, the more he realized how utterly ludicrous that take had been.

The Philosopher's Stone wasn't just alchemical fantasy. It could transmute any metal into pure gold, surpassing even the wildest feats of Transfiguration by altering the very essence of a substance. And more impressively, it could produce the Elixir of Life, magic's one and only confirmed method of achieving true longevity.

Nicholas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, had lived for over 600 years.

Six centuries.

Was there anything more mind-bending in the wizarding world?

Well, maybe. There were rumors that the Elixir came with side effects. Vaughn vaguely remembered Flamel making a cameo in Fantastic Beasts, hobbling around like a brittle-boned crypt keeper with a talent for dramatic entrances.

"They say the Flamels are hidden away in Devon somewhere," Vaughn muttered. "I live in Devon too. If only I had a more precise address... Not that it would help. They've probably thrown every secrecy charm in existence over their house, and then some."

Still, the thought of meeting a living legend was tempting.

Vaughn hadn't had the chance to study alchemy formally yet. The subject was notoriously esoteric, and the books in the Hogwarts library were... unhelpful. Most of them read like fever dreams or drunken ramblings about "soul journeys" and "birthing matter from void."

With a sigh, he closed the book and stood up.

That was when the system panel popped into view.

[New Quest Activated]

[Side Quest ①: Obtain the Philosopher's Stone]

[Reward: Alchemical Talent]

"...You've got to be kidding me."

Vaughn stared at the prompt, utterly unimpressed. The system's requests were getting more and more ridiculous.

The Stone wasn't just a shiny prize lying around waiting to be pocketed. Both the most feared Dark wizard and the headmaster of Hogwarts were currently obsessing over it.

Only a madman would try to snatch it.

He dismissed the panel and returned the book. Checking the time, he realized he was nearly late and hurried off to Professor Snape's office.

Frankly, Vaughn thought Snape had terrible taste.

His classrooms and offices were always located in the most miserable corners of the castle. The corridor leading to his office felt colder than a dementor's kiss, and the shadows practically whispered insults as he passed.

No wonder Lily picked James. No girl would go for a bloke whose décor screamed "haunted crypt."

But when Vaughn pushed open the office door and saw the towering shelves of rare ingredients and the sparkling potion bottles lined up with pristine care…

Okay, fine. Maybe the place wasn't so bad after all.

It even smelled good. Most people assumed potion ingredients were nasty, but once processed, many had oddly pleasant aromas. And the potions themselves, shimmering, jewel-toned, catching the firelight like bottled stars, were downright enchanting.

Snape, as usual, stood silently in the corner, arms crossed, face carved from stone.

Only when Vaughn's eyes lit up with awe did something shift. A flicker of pride crept into Snape's expression, like a ghost of a smile. Not that he'd admit it.

He had spent two days combing through his prized collection, filling the new cabinet just enough to impress without seeming boastful, and every bottle had been selected with surgical precision.

"Professor, this place is a treasure trove," Vaughn said with genuine admiration.

Snape's spirits lifted. He was reminded of Friday night, when he had delivered Vaughn's improved Scalp Itch Potion to Dumbledore. The look on the headmaster's face, pure astonishment, had been a highlight of his year.

The Boy Who Lived was one thing. But this boy?

This boy was the real deal. A Slytherin with a brilliant mind and an instinct for potions.

"Vaughn Weasley," Snape drawled. "You'll have plenty of time to explore my collection later. For now, I want to see this extraction method of yours. Let's find out if it's worth the praise."

"Oh? So I can come back again? Every weekend, perhaps?"

Vaughn had a talent for picking out the important bits.

Snape said nothing, but his silence said everything.

He stepped aside, revealing a bubbling cauldron already simmering in the center of the room. The ingredients floating in the mixture matched the Scalp Itch Potion Vaughn had modified earlier.

Clearly, Snape intended to watch him brew it from scratch.

Vaughn didn't hesitate. He pulled out his wand, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.

The dim room was soon filled with the rhythmic sounds of cutting, grinding, and stirring. A few quiet exchanges broke the silence.

"Hmm... unusual choice. How do you ensure magical saturation?"

"Familiarity with the ingredients, Professor. Maybe some talent for Transfiguration too. I can sort of... see how they're structured inside."

"For those lacking that gift?"

"Practice. A lot of practice."

"Let me try it myself."

"Of course, Professor."