Harry Potter: From Little Wizard to White Lord

Vaughn didn't lose sleep over his recent "coincidental" meeting with Dumbledore. Their exchange hadn't been friendly small talk. The old man's dotty persona was an act, as usual. Between the lines, Dumbledore had made it very clear that he knew about the Room of Requirement and that he had been quietly keeping tabs on Vaughn's every move.

Inviting Vaughn to try the infamous toilet room? That had been a test. A subtle way of asking, Will you play by my rules?

Vaughn's response had been refreshingly blunt. He refused and made his intentions clear:

I just want to study potions. Leave me alone.

There was a saying from his previous life: A noble man can be fooled by principle.

Dumbledore wasn't exactly a noble man, but no matter how conspiracy theorists might speculate, one thing was indisputable: the man followed rules.

He didn't coerce others into doing his bidding. He didn't abuse his magical might. He preferred to guide, to prod at the weak spots in human nature, always working within the boundaries of the system to accomplish his goals.

That kind of philosophy didn't come naturally. It had been hammered into him by years of bitter failure.

Ariana, lying lifeless in Godric's Hollow.

His fallout with Grindelwald.

And, of course, Tom Riddle.

Maybe, on those long nights when Voldemort's shadow loomed large, Dumbledore had whispered regrets to the darkness. Maybe he'd asked himself why, on the day he met that clever, troubled orphan, he'd chosen to show his power rather than show him kindness.

He'd forced a boy to submit with raw magical might. That boy had then spent his entire life chasing power and had lost himself in it.

Vaughn understood Dumbledore far too well to ever fear or hate him. If this had been Voldemort? Vaughn wouldn't have waited around to chat. He would have launched a hex at the Dark Lord's face and bolted.

But Dumbledore? He respected the rules. Vaughn liked people who respected rules. He didn't always follow them himself, but that was different.

Flexible morality, thank you very much.

The next day, Vaughn paid a visit to Professor Snape. He casually mentioned his little encounter with the headmaster and added, with an impish smile, "The Headmaster's a good man."

Snape, naturally, said nothing. His expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of suspicion behind his deadpan stare. Vaughn's tone had sounded… sincere. Almost too sincere.

Still, Snape had other things on his mind.

They weren't meeting in the usual dank dungeons today. Instead, Snape had picked an unusual spot: the Quidditch pitch.

By late September, the Scottish Highlands had begun their descent into miserable grayness. Thick clouds blanketed the sky, and freezing rain whipped across the grounds like a curse. The wind howled across the pitch, rattling the goalposts and stabbing through every layer of clothing.

And yet, the Gryffindor team was still training.

Oliver Wood, soaked to the bone and clinging to his broomstick like a madman, was shouting something about tactics. Every time he opened his mouth, he swallowed more rain than air, but that didn't stop him.

His teammates, on the other hand, looked like a coven of particularly miserable vampires. Pale, shivering, and clearly rethinking all their life choices.

Harry Potter was barely staying airborne. His glasses kept sliding off, and he trembled so hard it looked like he was going to seize up mid-air.

Not a single soul had come out to support them. No sane Gryffindor would leave the warmth of a common room fireplace for this madness.

Well, almost no one. On the nearly empty stands sat Ron and Hermione, huddled beneath their raincoats and the dripping roof of the viewing platform.

Meanwhile, standing tall on the sidelines under the protection of a waterproofing charm and a warming spell, Vaughn and Snape looked positively regal by comparison.

"…Look at them!" Wood bellowed. "Slytherin is scared of us! They sent their Head of House and top student to spy on us! Are we going to let them think we're weak? Where's your fire? Your roar?"

He jabbed a finger dramatically. "Harry! Show them your spirit!"

Harry responded, teeth chattering, "D-d-d-d-d…"

Fred muttered, "What exactly are they supposed to be spying on? Watching Harry slowly turn into an ice sculpture?"

George sighed. "Wood's cracked. Ever since he gave up on Harry being his 'secret weapon,' he's been slowly transforming into a troll."

Angelina Johnson, the team's Chaser, clung to her broom like a drowning woman and shouted above the storm, "I swear, Wood! I curse you to become a woman and suffer the worst cramps every day of your life, while standing in the pouring rain!"

The Gryffindor team fell silent.

Snape watched the whole circus with a rare glint of sadistic amusement. "Foolish team. Foolish Potter."

Vaughn ignored the jab at Harry, eyes twinkling. "Professor, are you secretly a Quidditch fan?"

Snape responded with a scowl and a flat, "Idiotic sport."

"Then why are we here?"

Snape's left eye twitched. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, in his slow, deliberate voice, he asked, "You've finished reading the book. When will you begin refining the magic extraction method?"

"Not just yet," Vaughn replied. "First, I want to dive deeper into potion-making. I need to brew a few high-level potions to get comfortable with the complexity and ritual side of things before I move on to analyzing magical ingredients."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore mentioned that you want to develop new potions."

"That's right. The truth is, perfecting the magic extraction method will take years. Every ingredient has a multitude of traits. Some are used in known recipes, some aren't, but that doesn't mean they're useless. To build a general-use template, I have to study all of them, their effects, how they're extracted, how they react with other traits. It's a massive cataloging effort."

Snape gave Vaughn a long, unreadable look.

Vaughn, perfectly calm, went on. "And once a trait is extracted, its purpose isn't always clear. You can guess, maybe, but guesswork isn't science. Especially if it's a trait we haven't seen used in any potion before. That's why I want to develop new potions, not just to validate the theory, but to fill in the gaps until the method is complete."

Snape didn't reply at first.

His expression remained carved in stone, black eyes impossible to read. But after a pause, he let out a long, skeptical breath and muttered, "Foolish and fearless."

Then, almost reluctantly, he added, "But not arrogant."

Vaughn smiled. "I've always believed that a person should have grand ambitions, but also know how to put in the work."