Ron nudged Harry, who was staring blankly ahead with the hollow look of someone who had glimpsed the future and found nothing to like.
"You all right, mate?"
Harry jerked as if shocked.
To his horror, he realised he'd already pulled out his textbook and started doing homework—without even noticing.
That was the real terror of life.
He shoved the book away as if it were on fire and desperately dragged his thoughts toward anything that wasn't Hermione's relentless countdown to academic doom.
"I—I was just thinking about Halloween gifts!"
The words burst out before his brain could stop them.
Then—
horror.
Halloween?
Already?
That meant the school year was practically half over—
and Hermione's time anxiety had finally become contagious.
Ron groaned beside him, struck by a far more pressing revelation.
Halloween gifts required money.
Ron did not have money.
And so began Ron Weasley's personal descent into despair.
Harry's Nightmares & Ron's Weirdness
For several nights, Harry dreamed of time itself slipping through his fingers—
being eleven one moment, then ancient and wrinkled the next, dying before he'd ever done anything remotely fun.
Completely unacceptable.
He responded by playing harder, laughing louder, and avoiding homework with almost religious devotion.
Unfortunately, the peace didn't last.
Wood called a Gryffindor team meeting and announced, far too cheerfully:
"FIRST MATCH OF THE SEASON—RIGHT AFTER HALLOWEEN.
AGAINST SLYTHERIN."
Harry's soul quietly evaporated.
Meanwhile, his friends were acting… strangely.
Hermione—predictably—had ascended to an entirely new plane of academic panic.
Harry was fairly certain she'd begun charting her sleep in precise increments.
But Ron—
Ron was weird.
He sighed dramatically at random moments, muttered to himself in bathrooms, and hesitated whenever he walked behind Vaughan—as if bracing for a duel, a confession, or possibly both.
Harry asked him what was wrong. Repeatedly.
Ron dodged the question every time.
Naturally, Vaughan noticed too.
But potion research came first.
And so he locked himself deep inside Professor Snape's office, surrounded by shelves heavy with rare magical ingredients.
An Upgrade in Magic
The System had granted Vaughan five Prestige Points last month.
He didn't hesitate.
All of them went straight into Scarpin's Revelaspell.
His spellcasting talent was already at Level 7.
His potions mastery sat comfortably at Level 10.
Progress compounded.
With the Prestige enhancement, the spell surged forward:
[Scarpin's Revelaspell — Level 3 (0/32)]
Vaughan dismissed the translucent panel, raised his wand, and cast the spell toward the potion simmering in the cauldron.
Colour rippled.
Light shimmered.
The potion began to reverse—unraveling into its components—
Except…
Something new emerged.
As Vaughan channelled a razor-thin thread of controlled magic, the air filled with faintly glowing droplets—each one swirling with colour and subtle motion.
These weren't ingredients.
They were magical properties.
Snape's quill froze mid-stroke.
He stood abruptly, eyes fixed on the hovering spheres of luminescent essence.
"You used Scarpin's Revelaspell not to restore ingredients," he said slowly, voice tight,
"…but to isolate the magical attributes of the potion?"
He approached, astonishment cracking through his usual composure.
"How did you do that?"
Vaughan calmly guided the glowing droplets into labelled vials.
"I introduced a magical variation during casting," he replied lightly.
"And a bit of… unwavering belief."
Snape knew better.
Advanced spells weren't flexible.
Even the smallest deviation could twist magic into catastrophe—or an explosion.
What Vaughan had done wasn't a tweak.
It was a breakthrough.
One Snape himself had never achieved.
For one fragile heartbeat, jealousy cut through him—sharp, precise, undeniably human.
Then pride surged.
Joy.
The fierce, possessive satisfaction of a teacher recognising a prodigy of his own House.
Not Potter.
Not Dumbledore's favoured child.
Vaughan.
A Slytherin who might one day surpass the Boy Who Lived.
Snape's voice rose—by his standards, practically jubilant.
"Ten points to Slytherin!
Excellent work, Vaughan!"
Vaughan blinked.
"Professor… this isn't a class. You don't need to award House points."
"I'll explain it to Minerva."
Snape swept out of the office in such a good mood that his robes practically fluttered.
Only to immediately encounter—
Ron Weasley.
Hovering nervously outside the door.
Snape's cheer vanished.
"Ron Weasley," he snapped, "two points from Gryffindor for skulking outside a professor's office like a petty thief."
And he strode away, thoroughly satisfied.
Ron trembled, fury and despair pooling at his feet.
Can the universe stop punishing decent people?!
Vaughan poked his head out.
"Ron? What are you doing here?"
Ron sagged like a punctured balloon.
He twisted the cuffs of his sleeves, refusing to meet Vaughan's eyes.
"I… uh… I came to ask if you could maybe lend me a bit of money."
His ears burned.
"Halloween's coming. I wanted to get Harry and Hermione something.
Mum said homemade sweets would do, but I… I…"
He swallowed.
"I wanted it to be better."
He still didn't look up.
But his voice—thin and wavering—carried genuine desperation.
Vaughan studied him in silence.
Ron clenched his fists, dragging together every scrap of Gryffindor courage he possessed.
"I—I could call you brother, if that helps…"
Vaughan burst out laughing.
Of all people, Ron Weasley—stubborn, hot-headed, fiercely proud Ron—had lowered himself like this.
Not many could bow their head to their so-called bully just to buy gifts for their friends.
It wasn't pathetic.
It was brave.
Reckless. Foolish. Beautifully brave.
The kind of courage only Gryffindors ever had.
For the first time, Vaughan genuinely respected him.
"How much do you need?" he asked gently.
Ron blinked.
"Ten Sickles?"
Vaughan dropped the silver coins into his palm.
Ron didn't move.
He stared at the money, stunned.
"Y—you don't want it back? You're really just… giving this to me?"
Vaughan rolled his eyes, a wicked smile spreading across his face.
"Well… since you're so eager…"
Ron's heart sank.
"…there is one thing you can help me with."
The moment he saw that smile, Ron wanted to strangle himself.
He knew this feeling.
He had just made a deal with a Slytherin.
And with Vaughan Weasley, of all people.
(End of Chapter )
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