Once again, Vaughan cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself.
The familiar shimmer passed over his body as the magic settled—and a translucent interface flashed briefly before his eyes.
[Disillusionment Charm Proficiency Increased]
[Disillusionment Charm – LV1 (1/4)]
Two months into his first year, Vaughan had never slacked in spell practice.
Most of his effort had gone into potion research, but he'd deliberately cultivated a small set of practical spells. Among the basics, Protego had already reached Level 4 (0/16), while Expelliarmus sat at Level 3 (2/8).
About a month earlier, he had begun studying more advanced magic under Snape's guidance—namely Confringo, Disillusionment, and Sectumsempra.
A week ago, all three had finally reached Level 1: just enough for stable, repeatable casting.
Vaughan had slowed his active training since then. Further progress would require time and relentless repetition—especially for Sectumsempra.
Although the curse had been invented by Snape during his student days, it was dangerously advanced. Vaughan suspected Snape had drawn on inherited black-magic knowledge when creating it.
By comparison, the Disillusionment Charm was straightforward—a utility spell. With his aptitude in Charms, it was only a matter of time before it advanced rapidly.
Feeling the subtle flow of magic cloaking him, Vaughan moved silently through the corridors and staircases.
At this hour, Hogwarts felt hollow. Every footstep echoed faintly through the stone halls, as though the castle itself were holding its breath.
He tapped his wand lightly against his ear.
A second enchantment activated.
This charm was something he'd discovered while scouring forgotten library scrolls—where even the most ridiculous parchments sometimes hid genuinely useful magic.
Some were pure nonsense. Others were borderline pranks.
Like the Whisper-Link Charm he'd used on Ron earlier.
Or this one—Auditory Amplification Charm—copied from a yellowed scrap titled:
"Ten Cheating Charms for Exams"
Beneath it, a neat line of handwriting read:
"Thanks to Mr. Cormac McLaggen for compiling this list. I'll be sure to forward it to Professor McGonagall so she can add these to the anti-cheating wards."
— Yours sincerely, Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration Professor
…Poor McLaggen.
Offering a moment of silent respect to the unfortunate alumnus, Vaughan put the charm to proper use.
Spying.
Footsteps echoed faintly above him—fast, urgent. Someone was moving up past the third floor… and then the fourth.
Vaughan quickened his pace.
But just as he reached the third-floor landing, he froze.
Another sound reached him.
Two voices—whispering.
They were quiet, strained, and clearly trying not to be heard. Even so, the charm picked them up easily.
The voices were coming from the Charms Classroom on the fourth floor.
"…Harry… what's wrong…?"
"It hurts… my scar… my head…"
Harry.
And Hermione.
Five Minutes Earlier
Harry and Hermione had slipped away from Percy's group, determined to find Vaughan and Ron—who still didn't know about the troll.
At first, everything went smoothly. They avoided attention, ducked away from the stairwell traffic, and reached the third floor without incident.
Then the adrenaline faded.
They had no idea where they were going.
After wandering between the second and third floors, Hermione's common sense finally reasserted itself.
"This is pointless," she whispered, crouching near the fourth-floor stairwell. "We should go back and tell Percy. He can find the professors. Wandering around like this is stupid."
Harry hesitated.
He knew she was right.
And yet—
Something felt wrong.
His thoughts kept drifting upward.
Go up… just one more floor…
The urge was irrational—and overwhelming. A pressure built in his chest, accompanied by a quiet, insistent presence in his mind. Not a voice, exactly—but a certainty.
If he went to the fourth floor, he would find something.
Something important.
"I just want to check," Harry said, eyes shining with strange intensity. "One quick look. If there's nothing there, we'll go back."
Hermione frowned—but nodded.
They climbed.
The fourth floor was empty.
Harry tried to suppress the growing storm in his head—the whisper urging him onward—when footsteps echoed from the stairwell.
He and Hermione exchanged a glance.
Professor or Prefect—either way, they couldn't be seen.
Hermione tugged him into the Charms Classroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.
And then they saw him.
A man in black robes, hood drawn low, hurrying down the corridor.
The light was poor. Their view was limited.
But every student was supposed to be in their dormitory. Every professor was supposed to be in the dungeons.
So who was this?
And why was he heading toward the far end of the hall—where Fluffy, the three-headed dog, guarded the trapdoor beneath?
Hermione's eyes widened in realization. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Harry edged the door open.
He had to know who it was.
Hermione shook her head frantically, trying to stop him.
Harry ignored her.
The figure was already halfway down the corridor. Harry could only see his back.
Then—
Agony.
A white-hot spike of pain detonated from his scar, tearing through his skull like molten metal.
Harry collapsed.
His vision warped into rings of light and shadow. Hermione's panicked voice echoed faintly as she tried to shake him awake.
"Harry! Harry—what's wrong?!"
"It hurts… my head… it hurts…"
He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to scream. Hermione grabbed him, trying to pull him back before the figure noticed.
Too late.
Through tears and distortion, Harry saw the black-robed man stop.
The world twisted—like a nightmare playing in slow motion.
Light bent. Shadows crawled unnaturally across the walls.
Hiss—
Hiss—
A serpentine whisper scraped across the air.
The figure turned.
The instant he did, the warped world snapped back into place.
Harry gasped. The pain vanished.
But the danger remained.
The man raised his wand.
"Stupe—"
"Expelliarmus!"
A brilliant red beam slammed out of thin air.
Vaughan had arrived.
The force of the spell smashed toward the black-robed man, forcing him to abort the incantation and snap his wand aside.
"Protego!"
A shimmering shield flared into existence.
The Disarming Charm struck it head-on. Sparks exploded. The barrier rippled violently.
The man staggered.
He hadn't expected a first-year's spell to hit with that much force.
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