"You've been affected by Dark Magic—and it's not a weak one," Vaughan said gravely.
"A malicious Dark wizard's thoughts are influencing you."
"Think about it. Hermione doesn't even recognize the Vanishing Charm, yet you vaguely sensed what it was. And then there was last night. Don't you find that terrifying?"
"But Madam Pomfrey—" Harry tried weakly.
"Don't interrupt." Vaughan's voice was calm but relentless.
"Right now, it can only influence you a little. But soon, you won't be able to tell whether the thoughts in your head belong to you—or to him."
He leaned closer.
"Harry, you wouldn't want to wake up one day and realize you've been replaced by someone else… would you?"
Harry sat on the edge of the bed, face deathly pale, eyes unfocused.
No wonder he'd tossed and turned all night.
In his mind, he saw a tiny version of himself trembling in the depths of his consciousness—while a vast, evil shadow reached out with enormous claws, seized it, and swallowed it whole.
The shadow's gaping mouth twisted—slowly reshaping into his own face.
Harry shuddered violently.
He looked up at Vaughan in despair, lips trembling.
"I—I'm going to die, aren't I?"
"Death isn't the problem," Vaughan replied. "There is magic that can save you."
Hope flared instantly—
Then Vaughan hesitated.
Harry's heart skipped. "What? What's wrong?"
"Unfortunately," Vaughan sighed, "I don't know how to use it."
Harry's face fell.
"There are two mental spells involved—Legilimency and Occlumency. Occlumency can protect you. Legilimency is usually used to learn Occlumency."
Hearing this so early in the morning, already shaken, Harry panicked.
"Then—then where can I learn them?!"
Beside him, Hermione—who had been listening in horror—looked at Vaughan with the same desperate hope.
Vaughan appeared thoughtful. Troubled.
After a long pause, he said, "Albus Dumbledore knows both spells… but I don't think he'll teach them to us."
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"Because they're forbidden. Harry, Legilimency and Occlumency aren't allowed to be taught to students."
Hermione couldn't hold back.
"But that could save Harry's life! Dumbledore wouldn't just watch him die!"
Excellent timing, Vaughan thought approvingly.
He nodded solemnly. "I don't believe Dumbledore would be that cruel either."
He paused, then pulled out a quill and parchment.
"Here's what we'll do. Harry—you write Dumbledore a letter. I'll send it to him at lunchtime."
Harry, dazed and pale, took the quill. He wrote exactly as Vaughan instructed, then followed Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower in a fog.
What Hermione said to him on the way…
What he did afterward…
Harry remembered none of it.
When he finally came back to himself, he was already sitting at the long table in the Great Hall.
His face went even paler.
This isn't shock, he thought in terror.
This is exactly what Vaughan warned me about.
I'm getting worse.
Despite it being lunchtime, the Halloween feast was still fairly grand. Even Albus Dumbledore, who usually skipped meals, was seated at the staff table.
Harry kept glancing anxiously at the Headmaster.
Unfortunately, Dumbledore was busy talking to Severus Snape.
"Severus," Dumbledore said gently, masking his unease with a smile, "I need your help with something."
Snape's expression was wooden. Dumbledore never asked him for help unless it was bad news.
After thinking all night, Dumbledore clearly had no intention of sparing him.
"I'd like you to teach Harry—"
A sudden owl swooped in, cutting him off. It dropped a letter neatly in front of Dumbledore.
Then it flew straight to the Gryffindor table, landed beside Harry, and pecked at his hand.
As Harry hurriedly fed the owl—stealing nervous glances toward the Headmaster—Dumbledore frowned.
That owl looks familiar…
Isn't it a Weasley owl?
He took a sip of pumpkin juice and unfolded the letter.
Beside him, Snape discreetly relaxed and finally picked up his cutlery, relieved that whatever Dumbledore had planned was interrupted.
Then—
PUFF!
Dumbledore suddenly sprayed pumpkin juice straight across the table.
It splattered all over Snape's plate—drenching what should have been a perfectly roasted chicken in sticky orange liquid.
Nearby professors froze.
Slowly, very slowly, Snape turned his head.
The sound of bone grinding against bone seemed almost audible.
His knuckles whitened around his knife and fork.
Dark eyes burned with murderous fury.
"Dumbledore—"
That afternoon, Vaughan arrived at the Headmaster's office in an excellent mood.
"Good afternoon, Albus!"
His bright voice instantly brought life to the room full of elderly portraits.
Former Headmaster Black was enthusiastically calling out to a beloved Slytherin, while another white-bearded portrait dove into Black's frame, the two wrestling as other portraits cheered them on.
Only Dumbledore sat behind his desk, face dark.
Vaughan cheerfully ignored this and sat down across from him.
"I heard you sprayed pumpkin juice all over Professor Snape's lunch?"
He smiled sweetly.
"You should be careful, Albus. On my way up, Snape was trying to brew a potion using acromantula venom, wolfsbane, belladonna, and deadly nightshade. The smell alone could kill a ghoul. I'd avoid eating anything he touches for a while."
Dumbledore's beard twitched.
Staring at the smiling boy, he suddenly felt he understood Snape's suffering far more deeply than before.
This is karmic retribution, he thought bleakly.
With a sigh, Dumbledore said, "Harry's letter at lunch—your idea?"
"How could you call it my idea?" Vaughan replied innocently.
"I did exaggerate a little—but Voldemort's influence on Harry does exist. Albus, you wouldn't want Harry to end up shaped like Voldemort someday, would you?"
Dumbledore didn't fully understand the phrasing, but he understood the malice perfectly.
"I was considering asking Severus—" he began.
Vaughan spread his hands.
"And do you honestly think Harry would accept Snape as a teacher? One or two lessons in, he'd be emotionally crushed—or worse, develop a rebellious streak."
Dumbledore's eyes dimmed.
That… was something he hadn't considered.
He looked directly at Vaughan.
"Severus is the most skilled Occlumens I know. Unless you can prove you're more suitable than him—"
Vaughan glanced around the office and smiled.
"No need to test me. You've asked the Sorting Hat already, haven't you?"
Dumbledore did not answer.
Which was answer enough.
From the moment Vaughan realized the Sorting Hat could sense his Occlumency, he'd known Dumbledore would eventually uncover it—especially after the word Horcrux left his mouth.
"Everyone has secrets, Albus," Vaughan said softly. "As long as those secrets don't harm others."
He drew his wand.
"Expecto Patronum."
Warm, luminous white light burst forth.
A half-transparent Patronus leapt into the air, bounding and twisting gracefully, filling the office with gentle radiance.
Dumbledore watched in silence.
To an untrained eye, he seemed unmoved.
But those who truly knew him would see it—
He had quietly let out a breath.
Yes.
Everyone had secrets.
As long as those secrets did not harm others.
At last, Dumbledore spoke.
"A very beautiful Patronus, Vaughan."
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