That afternoon, Cornelius Fudge met with Vaughn again.
At Vaughn's request, this meeting was arranged in Hogsmeade.
It was Vaughn's first visit to the all-wizarding village, nestled close to Hogwarts. According to school rules, only third-years and above—who had parental permission—were allowed to visit on weekends.
But even after Christmas, the snow hadn't stopped falling. The entire village was blanketed in a swirling white haze, bitter winds howling through empty streets. Any witch or wizard out and about was either huddled inside the Hog's Head or the Three Broomsticks.
Fudge chose the latter.
Perhaps because Vaughn was just a child, and Dumbledore wasn't around watching like a hawk, Fudge appeared far more relaxed. Upon entering the Three Broomsticks and seeing its mature, striking proprietress, Madam Rosmerta, he even flirted with her a little.
If Ron were older and present, he would've gone berserk.
Madam Rosmerta showed them to a private booth. As Fudge unfastened his cloak, he instructed her cheerfully:
"My dear Rosmerta, a tankard of butterbeer for me, if you please. And bring this young man some snacks and juice. We have matters to discuss—do make sure we aren't disturbed, will you?"
"Of course, Minister," Rosmerta replied, casting a curious glance at Vaughn.
While Fudge wasn't looking, Vaughn winked at her. She paused mid-step, baffled, then chuckled and left—still glancing back through the crack in the door.
Fudge affectionately patted Vaughn into his seat, then sat opposite, fingers laced, his tone kindly.
"Well, my boy. Have you come to a decision?"
Vaughn nodded. "Yes. I agree to hand over the Wolfsbane Potion's formula and all distribution rights to the Ministry."
Fudge's face lit up instantly.
"But—" Vaughn added, "I have one condition."
"Of course," Fudge said eagerly. "Please, go ahead."
What Vaughn wanted was simple—at least on the surface.
"I'd like to change the location of the Merlin Order award ceremony."
Fudge blinked. "Oh? Well… that's certainly possible. The ceremony doesn't have a fixed location. Did you want it held at Hogwarts?"
Vaughn shook his head. "No. I want it in Diagon Alley."
"…Diagon Alley?" Fudge was surprised. "Why there?"
"You're familiar with Muggle press conferences, aren't you?" Vaughn explained. "I want all werewolves to benefit from the potion. Since I've chosen to entrust the Ministry with everything, I thought—why not announce it at the award ceremony itself? Invite more people, more media, and turn it into a public event. A message to the world. Wizengamot halls are too solemn for that."
Just as he finished, Madam Rosmerta returned with drinks and snacks. Vaughn took a sip and raised his glass to her.
Rosmerta flushed oddly, flustered. She'd just been flirted with by a child?!
Fudge, meanwhile, was thinking hard—not because he doubted Vaughn's motives.
Truthfully, Fudge had never seen the boy as a threat.
He was turning over the idea of a "press conference." The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. With enough reporters present, the announcement could ripple across Europe—even globally.
And with Vaughn, the potion's inventor, publicly endorsing the Ministry's authority and its proposed "Werewolf Registration Act"…
Fudge could see it all.
The camera flashes. The roaring applause. His name on every front page.
His rivals, their ambitions smothered under the weight of his newfound popularity, retreating in shame…
"Yes," he muttered. "This… this needs proper planning."
Suddenly restless, Fudge stood. He masked his excitement with a diplomatic smile.
"I can't give you a definite answer just yet. I'll need to consult with my department—but rest assured, I'll do my utmost to support you."
And with that, he left in a flurry of robes.
Vaughn sipped his drink, unbothered.
A few minutes later, Rosmerta returned.
"The Minister asked me to look after you, dear. Would you like more snacks? Or perhaps I could run to Honeydukes and fetch you some sweets?"
Vaughn rested his chin on his hand and smiled warmly at her lovely face.
"No trouble at all, madam. But could I ask you to do one thing? Look into my eyes."
"Wha—"
Her smile froze.
A shimmer of light passed through Vaughn's pupils as he murmured a spell under his breath. Her expression blanked.
Vaughn leaned close and whispered:
"Don't act strange. Go open the back door. Bring the people waiting outside in."
"…Yes."
Memory magic was terrifying.
Even with just Legilimency, one could tamper freely with another's mind. No wonder Dumbledore had been reluctant to teach it.
As Rosmerta moved off, Vaughn retrieved a piece of parchment and scribbled a message with his wand:
"When the Three Broomsticks' back door opens, follow her inside."
A moment later, a reply appeared in invisible ink.
"Yes, sir!"
Satisfied, Vaughn tucked the parchment away and resumed flipping through his notebook—the one detailing his next research phase for the Wolfsbane Potion.
His recent trials had revealed a troubling fact: once a body was infected, the werewolf virus was nearly impossible to eradicate. Its magical curse-like properties might even tie into soul magic.
And anything involving the soul was always complicated.
So, for now, he was abandoning the idea of a full cure. Instead, he'd focus on weakening the virus's transmission—and, ideally, preventing transformations during the full moon.
If werewolves could avoid changing at all, their entire plight would shift.
Footsteps approached from the stairs.
Vaughn silently counted. Madam Rosmerta… and four others.
He closed the notebook.
Moments later, the door creaked open. Rosmerta quietly stepped aside, and four ragged figures entered.
The two in front lit up upon seeing Vaughn.
He smiled and greeted them warmly. "William. Little Barnell. My friends—you've done well."
Tears welled in Barnell's eyes. He dropped to his knees and kissed Vaughn's robe.
"Sir, I saw your articles in The Daily Prophet. I've gathered over 200 werewolves. They're in London now!"
This boy, orphaned young and raised in the wild, had a simple heart. Anyone who showed him kindness earned his full loyalty.
Since their last meeting, he'd been the most proactive—finding other werewolves and keeping in close contact with Vaughn. Especially after seeing the newspaper article yesterday.
William White, by contrast, was more reserved. He doffed his cap and bowed politely.
"Sir, allow me to introduce two wizard werewolves who've been helping us stay in touch. This is Mr. James Brown… and this is Mr. Remus Lupin."
"…Huh?"
Vaughn, who had been comforting Barnell, paused and looked up at the thin, shabby figure beside William.
He ruffled Barnell's hair absently—he couldn't help it. The boy reminded him of a big, loyal dog.
Then Vaughn turned his eyes toward the newcomers.
James Brown was young, dressed in tattered robes, clearly doing his best to appear presentable—but the patches and poor fit only made his condition more obvious.
Vaughn subtly scanned his magic. Weak. Disordered. Less powerful than a third-year at Hogwarts.
A wild wizard, then.
No formal education. No magical training. There were many like him among the werewolf outcasts—children of infected witches or wizards, often born overseas or deliberately hidden from the Ministry's magical birth registry.
They'd never received Hogwarts letters. No wand license. No formal instruction.
Their magical knowledge came from desperate imitation or untrained parents—and the results were predictably uneven.
James bowed stiffly. "Thank you for your compassion, Mr. Weasley."
Vaughn nodded. "No need for thanks, Mr. Brown."
Then his eyes shifted to Remus Lupin.
The man looked even more worn than William. His overcoat had faded to a sickly grey, his face bore several deep scars—but his expression was gentle, his demeanor subdued, as though weighed down by sorrows.
He stepped forward, bowing with restrained courtesy. "Good afternoon… Mr. Weasley."
Vaughn could feel the man subtly analyzing him—his red hair, his posture, his intent.
A wary soul. Strong morals. Just enough idealism to be dangerous.
He chuckled quietly.
Lupin's scrutiny didn't bother him.
Instead, Vaughn turned back to Barnell and William. "How many people have you gathered in total? Are they settled?"
"Over six hundred, sir," William replied. "After we last spoke, we welcomed a new tribe. They're all camped in a park on London's outskirts. Mr. Lupin and a few wizard volunteers expanded the tents—enchanted them with Undetectable Extension Charms. Muggles won't see a thing."
"Excellent." Vaughn pulled a small pouch from his satchel and handed it to Barnell. "There's several thousand pounds in there. Take care of them."
Barnell looked hesitant. "The money you gave us last time is still—"
"Take it," Vaughn insisted. "I heard many brought children. Make sure they eat well."
Barnell stopped protesting and accepted it silently.
The wizarding world barely used Muggle currency. Gringotts allowed a small conversion quota only for Muggle-born students at Hogwarts. But Vaughn, who often bought Muggle supplies, occasionally accepted pounds for potions—causing frenzied demand whenever he opened sales.
He'd long turned "wastepaper" into funding.
With logistics sorted, Vaughn continued.
"There's another reason I summoned you. The award ceremony is confirmed—two days from now, in the morning. The Minister has agreed to hold it in Diagon Alley. You'll be able to get there through the Leaky Cauldron."
He looked at the two wizard werewolves.
"Mr. Brown, Mr. Lupin—I'd like you to lead the others and help keep order. Is that alright?"
James's nose flushed with pride. He nodded vigorously. "Of course, Mr. Weasley!"
Lupin also nodded.
Neither William nor Barnell objected. They rubbed their hands together excitedly. For the first time in their lives, they felt hope—though it was mixed with fear.
Could this be real? Could their fate finally change?
Vaughn gave them a few more instructions. Then, glancing at the hour, he sent them off.
As they slipped out the back door of the Three Broomsticks, Barnell leaned close to Lupin and whispered, "You should show Mr. Weasley more respect."
Perhaps it was intuition—or just simple loyalty—but Barnell had sensed Lupin's skepticism.
And he didn't like it.
From the beginning, he'd distrusted Lupin—especially after the man had suddenly joined their group a few days earlier, while Barnell was recruiting in Yorkshire.
Because Lupin was a wizard, they'd welcomed him. But Barnell quickly noticed that Lupin kept asking too many questions about Vaughn—his motives, his plans…
If they hadn't needed someone to Apparate them to Hogsmeade today, Barnell never would've brought him.
Lupin merely grunted.
As they reached the edge of the village, he suddenly patted his pockets, then slapped his forehead. "My wand—I must've dropped it. Go on ahead to the Shrieking Shack. I'll catch up."
"You—" Barnell started, but William grabbed his arm and stared at Lupin.
After a moment, he nodded. "Alright. We'll wait for you."
Lupin turned back.
As he retraced his steps, William called out softly:
"Lupin—there are hundreds of werewolves waiting in London. This is the first time I've seen us united. Don't ruin that."
Lupin didn't answer.
He returned to the Three Broomsticks and pushed open the upstairs door he'd left ajar.
Then, carefully, silently, he crept upstairs.
The door to the private booth was shut.
With a whispered Alohomora, the lock clicked open.
He peeked inside.
Madam Rosmerta sat motionless in a chair. Vaughn stood before her, wand aimed at her temple, drawing out threads of memory like strands of smoke.
One by one, he plucked them free, examined the scenes, subtly altered them, and gently pushed them back into her head.
Memory magic. Legilimency. Just as I thought.
Lupin's eyes turned cold.
He stepped into the room, wand pointed at Vaughn's back.
But Vaughn didn't flinch.
He merely said, "Almost done."
"I know Rosmerta," Lupin said tightly. "I knew something was off the moment she opened the door. What have you done to her?"
His voice was low and furious.
"This behavior disgraces the name Weasley. Do Arthur and Molly know?"
Vaughn didn't respond.
He finished reweaving the memory, sealed it gently, then exhaled.
"Modifying an adult's memories… far more complex than I expected."
He leaned close to Rosmerta and whispered:
"Downstairs now, my dear. You've delivered drinks and snacks to the booth. There are no other customers today. You're going to take a short nap. Everything that just happened… was a dream."
"…A dream," she murmured.
She left without another word.
Vaughn watched her go, then turned to Lupin with a grin.
"Not bad, right?"
Lupin's wand trembled.
"I expected you to hex me the moment you walked in," Vaughn said cheerfully.
"That would've only hurt Rosmerta. I know a bit of memory magic myself."
Vaughn shrugged and sipped his drink. "You mentioned my parents earlier. So you know them?"
"Enough!" Lupin snapped. "Stop deflecting. Tell me what you're really planning. Don't try to dazzle me with the same lies you fed Barnell and William."
"Lies?" Vaughn tilted his head. "You think I'm lying?"
"You told them Fudge can't be trusted. That the Ministry would weaponize the potion and enslave werewolves through a registration act."
"Was I wrong?"
"You don't know that!" Lupin shouted. "You're using paranoia to push a private agenda!"
But Vaughn remained calm.
"Remus," he said slowly, "have you registered under the Werewolf Registration Act?"
Lupin froze.
Of course he hadn't.
If he had, he'd never be allowed to live peacefully in Yorkshire.
"You know what that registry really is," Vaughn continued. "It's not just a list. It stores your name, your wand, your blood, your magic… and binds you with oaths."
His voice darkened.
"It's been on the books for years—but never gained traction. And do you know why?"
Because any werewolf who signed it was no longer free.
With their blood and hair, the Ministry could curse them—kill them—at any time.
"No one's that foolish."
Vaughn's smile returned. "So yes. What I told them was speculation. But is it truly that hard to imagine?"
Lupin had no answer.
He couldn't promise the Ministry wouldn't abuse power.
The room fell quiet, save for the crackle of the fireplace.
Then Lupin asked, tightly, "You still haven't answered my first question. What did you do to Rosmerta?"
Vaughn replied frankly. "A bit of hypnosis. Minor memory edits. She and our dear Minister have some ties—I couldn't risk her knowing about our meeting."
"…And the werewolves you brought to Diagon Alley? Are you sending them into a riot?"
"They won't clash with Aurors," Vaughn interrupted, tone sharp.
"What?"
"You'll see," he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. "All I want is for the wizarding world to see them. Understand their lives. And if I gain some fame in the process—well, so be it."
"…" Lupin stared, stunned.
He wasn't lying.
That much was clear.
Lupin stood there, torn. He could still hex the boy, but then what?
William's earlier words echoed in his mind.
After a long silence, Vaughn spoke again.
"Go back to them, Remus. Watch the werewolves. Talk to them. Then decide if you still think I'm lying."
He paused.
"Ask yourself why ordinary strays like Barnell and William were willing to follow me, just from a few words."
With a flick of his fingers, Vaughn cast a silent Depulso.
A wave of magic shoved Lupin out of the room.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Wind howled in the hallway for several seconds before the spell faded.
Lupin staggered back to his feet, staring at the door.
"…Was that… the Banishing Charm?"
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