Sometimes, tears do not come from sadness.
And sometimes, even sadness itself can be a positive emotion.
Feeling the turbulent swell of emotions within his chest, Vaughan found himself momentarily speechless.
At the sound of another cat's cry, Guo Guo Cha, who had been using the bathroom, came sprinting out in a panic.
The moment he saw the silver-blue, semi-transparent Maine Coon lounging lazily by Vaughan's feet, Guo Guo Cha's fur exploded outward. He dropped into a low crouch, hissing aggressively.
"All right, all right," Vaughan said quickly, scooping him up. "Guo Guo Cha, that's my Patronus. Don't be jealous."
He soothed the cat for a moment—though Guo Guo Cha still lashed out angrily, swiping twice at the Patronus.
His claws passed straight through it.
Only then did Guo Guo Cha finally realize this look-alike was magic.
The threat gone, his confidence instantly restored, Guo Guo Cha cast the Maine Coon Patronus a disdainful glance, clearly labeling it an inferior imitation, before turning back to Vaughan and rubbing against him furiously.
You scared me. One fish snack won't fix this.
Thanks to the interruption, Vaughan finally shook himself free of the intense emotional surge from earlier. The impact of successfully forming a Patronus had exceeded his expectations.
But this loss of composure would not repeat itself.
With the help of the system's enhancement, he had already reawakened long-buried memories of happiness and grasped the method of condensing positive emotion.
Next time, it would be under control.
He looked down at the Maine Coon Patronus by his feet—so closely linked to his thoughts and spirit—and fell into contemplation.
In the wizarding world, it was widely believed that a Patronus reflected a person's deepest understanding of goodness—an unchanging sanctuary buried beneath chaotic thoughts. It was a projection of the wizard's heart and soul.
Thus, a Patronus' form was never meaningless.
It represented the self.
The truest nature of one's personality.
"So… why is mine a cat?" Vaughan murmured. "Because cats symbolize unpredictability? Or because, as many wizarding legends say, cats are avatars of magic itself?"
Considering his obsession with magic, the second explanation felt closer to the truth.
As for why it took the form of a Maine Coon…
That was probably because of Guo Guo Cha.
Across both lifetimes, he had only ever raised one pet.
His previous life was irretrievably gone. His affection in this life, tempered by an adult's restraint, was quieter and more reserved.
Only Guo Guo Cha carried both nostalgia and presence—memory and reality—at the same time.
And besides, a Patronus' form was not immutable.
Severus Snape was the clearest example.
When Snape fully accepted his love for Lily Evans—when she became the most important person in his life—his Patronus transformed into a doe.
Otherwise, given Vaughan's understanding of the man, Snape's Patronus would absolutely have been a snake.
After reviewing the spell's structure once more, Vaughan dismissed the Patronus Charm. The silver-blue Maine Coon dissolved into drifting mist.
His attention shifted to the other spell that had reached LV1.
The Vanishing Charm.
This was, without question, one of the most dangerous spells Vaughan had encountered so far.
The Vanishing Charm did not conceal an object. It did not teleport it elsewhere.
It made the target cease to exist.
When Vaughan had first considered practicing it, he had deliberately sought advice from Minerva McGonagall.
Her response had been blunt:
"It reduces objects and living beings to nothingness—to the most fundamental state of existence. Mr. Weasley, I do not believe this is knowledge you should pursue yet."
In Muggle terms, that meant one thing:
Disassembling matter into microscopic particles.
Vaughan had immediately abandoned the idea.
At LV0, spell failure and loss of control were common—one reason he had never dared experiment with Fiendfyre.
If the spell merely failed, that would be acceptable.
What frightened him was misfire.
Ordinary students possessed too little magic to cause real damage. Vaughan was different. With magical reserves approaching that of an adult wizard, a misfiring Vanishing Charm could have catastrophic consequences.
While counter-spells existed, no one could predict the outcome of a truly unstable Vanishing Charm.
Vaughan despised uncertainty.
"Even with system support eliminating the beginner risks, this spell is still extremely complex," he muttered. "Though classified as a Charm, it borrows heavily from Transfiguration."
Dead matter was easiest.
Then organic matter.
Then simple life forms.
Complex life.
Higher life.
He raised his wand and vanished a small pebble he had once picked up near the Black Lake.
Watching closely, Vaughan analyzed every stage of the spell's effect.
"The Vanishing Charm skips the usual Transfiguration process—analyzing structure and projecting form—and instead relies on magic, intent, and incantation to directly impose the result: this object must vanish."
"The spell dismantles the object's macroscopic structure."
But—
Staring at the now-empty tabletop, Vaughan sensed something more.
As the caster, he could vaguely feel that the pebble—reduced to a microscopic state—had not truly ceased to exist.
Residual magic still sustained its presence.
If he cast the counter-spell, or dispelled the charm, it would reassemble—from particles back into a pebble.
However, because only residual magic maintained this state, it was unstable.
Any external magical interference could disrupt it.
At that point, the pebble would be gone forever.
Following that faint thread of perception, Vaughan lifted the charm.
Silently, the pebble reappeared.
"How fascinating…"
A spark lit his eyes.
He suddenly felt the urge to test it on a living creature—perhaps a slug or snail. At LV1, the Vanishing Charm could only affect such simple life forms.
What state would a vanished life exist in?
In magical theory, life was dual—body and soul.
If the body vanished, would the soul be exposed?
Or would the soul fracture along with the body? Collapse? Enter some layered superposition?
The questions spiraled.
But Vaughan did not act.
He lacked both research and observational tools for studying souls. Even if he vanished a slug, he would perceive nothing.
Better to record it.
A project for the future—after developing new potions capable of soul observation.
Then he frowned slightly.
"Researching souls is taboo in this world," he muttered. "The Unforgivable Curses aren't forbidden merely because they lack counter-spells…"
"They directly act upon the soul itself."
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