Hogwarts: From Little Wizard to White Lord

Ron poked Harry, who had been staring blankly into space for quite some time.

"Harry, what's wrong with you?"

Harry jolted as if waking from a trance.

He looked down and realized that he had somehow taken out his textbook and opened it, ready to start his homework.

How terrifying!

He quickly pushed away the phantom sound of Hermione's nagging voice echoing in his ears and scrambled to change the subject.

"I I was just thinking about Halloween gifts!"

The moment the words left his mouth, Harry's eyes widened in shock.

Wait Halloween? Already?

Wasn't that just around the corner?

How had time flown by so fast?

Hermione's anxiety-inducing time calculations had left him with a lingering dread, as though the whole year had passed him by while he blinked.

Ron, still trying to pull himself out of his sulky mood, let out a long, defeated groan.

Because now he remembered something even worse he was supposed to prepare Halloween gifts too.

And giving gifts meant spending money.

Which was the real horror.

Because he had none.

…

For several nights after that, Harry was haunted by vivid dreams.

In them, time slipped through his fingers like waves, and he aged in the blink of an eye an old man hunched over a dusty Hogwarts desk, gasping his final breath before he'd even had a chance to enjoy life.

Impossible!

In response, he rebelled with all his might.

He played and goofed off for several days straight, trying to shake off the feeling that every moment was slipping away forever.

But then came the next blow Wood delivered a notice that the first Quidditch match of the season would take place right after Halloween.

The opponent? Slytherin.

Harry's fragile peace shattered again.

And just as he was trying to get his head straight, he noticed something even more disturbing.

His two best friends were acting completely off.

Hermione had become practically untouchable, lost in a spiral of scheduling, studying, and whispering to herself about time management.

But Ron Ron was even weirder.

He seemed lost in thought all the time, sighing dramatically, especially in the mornings.

Harry had even caught him staring at Peter on several occasions, looking like he wanted to say something… but just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Every time Harry asked, Ron would dodge the question with awkward mumbling.

Peter, for his part, had absolutely noticed Ron's behavior.

But he wasn't particularly interested in figuring it out just yet.

He put Dumbledore's inquiry from that day on hold. His "interest" in magical creatures could wait.

For now, potion research and development was the top priority.

From that day onward, Vaughan buried himself in the deep archives of potion materials in Snape's office.

He also used the five reputation points granted by the system from last month's evaluations, allocating them to the Scarpin's Revelaspell his current focus.

Due to his frequent use of the spell over the past month, combined with his Spell Talent Level 7 and Potion Talent Level 10, the number in brackets next to the spell had increased by one point just a few days ago.

Now, with the five extra points invested, the spell advanced naturally:

[Scarpin's Revelaspell LV3 (0/32)]

The moment Vaughan closed the system panel, he turned his focus back to the potion in front of him.

With a calm breath, he raised his wand and chanted the incantation.

A familiar light shimmered before his eyes. As the wand swished, the potion in the cauldron began to reverse deconstructing itself and returning to its original ingredients.

But this time… something changed.

Today, Vaughan felt a sudden, profound clarity.

He didn't just cast the spell he understood it.

He could sense the underlying mechanisms of the magic, the way the spell's runes wove through the potion's composition.

Then he pushed further deliberately injecting a little more magic into the process, altering the outcome through controlled interference.

The result?

The raw materials didn't collapse back into inert, powerless sludge. Instead, as they unraveled… they began to glow.

Faintly at first. Then brighter.

It was the unmistakable glow of magical essence.

Across the room, Snape, who had been correcting essays with his head down, suddenly paused.

He looked up at the flickering, fluorescent liquid orbs floating mid-air in front of Vaughan.

His sharp, dark eyes widened.

"You used the Scarpin's Revelaspell to reverse a completed potion… and preserved the magical properties?"

He sounded almost incredulous. "How did you manage that?"

Vaughan, beaming with pride, gently guided the glowing droplets into separate crystal vessels.

"I added a bit of magical interference technique," he said, "and… unwavering intent, Professor."

Snape's brow twitched.

Anyone else might have dismissed those words as poetic fluff but he knew better.

He was intimately familiar with the Scarpin Revelaspell. It was not an easy spell to manipulate.

In fact, the more advanced a spell was, the less room it left for personalization. Any deviation, even slight, risked nullifying the effect or worse, causing magical backlash.

Yet Vaughan hadn't just altered it.

He had evolved it.

Refined it.

To coax magical essence out of completed potions… this wasn't merely advanced. It was innovative.

Snape's heart twisted for a moment an instinctive surge of jealousy.

How could it not?

This boy had already surpassed him in one of the spells he had mastered and taught.

But just as quickly, that emotion gave way to something deeper.

Pride.

It was a twisted, Slytherin pride not born of warmth, but of recognition.

Because this wasn't just any student.

This was a Slytherin.

And what he had just done… was something worthy of the Dark Potioneers of legend.

Snape straightened, his expression returning to its usual stoicism, though a flicker of respect remained in his eyes.

Perhaps... the future of potions wasn't as stagnant as he had feared.

And perhaps... this boy would lead that future.

Snape didn't forget Dumbledore's lofty plan to train the famous Potter… Humph!

If he could train Potter, why couldn't he train Vaughn someone who would one day outshine Potter entirely?

The very idea nearly melted the cold from Snape's face.

And the next second, he raised his voice with rare enthusiasm.

"Ten points to Slytherin, Vaughn. Well done!"

Vaughn blinked in surprise. "This isn't a class, Professor. You can't give house points for office work…"

"I'll explain it to Professor McGonagall," Snape replied flatly, as if that settled the matter.

The deeply biased Potions Master didn't think there was anything wrong with what he had done. Just like how, over ten minutes later, when he was in a particularly good mood and leaving his office, he spotted Harry Potter's redheaded friend lingering near the door.

"Ron Weasley," Snape sneered, without missing a beat. "For loitering suspiciously near a professor's office, Gryffindor loses two points."

And with that, he swept down the corridor, his robes billowing like bat wings.

Ron stood frozen, trembling with rage.

Can this world ever be fair? When will honest people stop getting bullied?

But before he could fall further into despair, the door creaked open.

Vaughn leaned out. "Ron? What are you doing here?"

Ron instantly deflated like a popped balloon.

He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, his expression squirming. "You, um… could I maybe borrow a little money?"

"Halloween is coming, and I want to buy gifts for my friends… Mum said I could give out homemade candy, but I…" His voice trailed off, barely a whisper by the end.

He didn't dare meet Vaughn's eyes. But deep down, he hoped desperately hoped.

A quiet light flickered in his anxious gaze.

Vaughn didn't speak immediately. Instead, he looked Ron up and down.

Ron's fingers gripped tighter at the fabric of his shirt. Then, with trembling resolve, he blurted out:

"I I can call you brother… Brother…"

Vaughn burst out laughing.

He hadn't expected that from Ron the kid who had always been so stubborn, so prideful, so infuriating.

But here he was, standing in front of him, swallowing his pride just to borrow a few Sickles. All for the sake of Halloween gifts.

It was so sudden. So… brave.

Not everyone could bring themselves to bow their head to the person who constantly teased and mocked them just to bring a little joy to others.

Vaughn, who had planned to keep teasing him, suddenly lost the urge.

"How much?" he asked simply.

Ron lit up, though he still looked unsure. "T-Ten Sickles?"

Vaughn pulled out a small handful of silver coins from his bag and handed them over.

The moment the coins clinked into his palm, Ron stood there stunned, as if the entire thing had been a dream.

"You… you're just giving it to me?" he asked, confused. "No conditions? No weird bets or demands?"

Vaughn tilted his head, exasperated.

But just as he was about to wave him off, a wicked little grin tugged at his lips.

"Well… since you're so insistent, I suppose I do need a bit of help."

The moment Ron saw that familiar sly smile, his face paled with dread.

Why did I open my mouth? I should've just run away!

He wanted to slap himself on the spot.