It was a question no one could answer.
If such an Observer truly existed, it would be terrifying—
like an invisible hand manipulating all of existence.
If no one could escape that hand, then no one could ever see the truth.
Vaughn couldn't answer either.
He only corrected Dumbledore calmly:
"Not 'once existed.'
It could exist in the past, in the present… or the future.
For something that can manipulate time, the distinction is meaningless.
It may exist at any time."
"Like the Aether?"
"Mhm. Just like the Aether."
"That is quite frightening…"
Dumbledore said he was frightened, but he was smiling.
"This reminds me of your old theory about higher-dimensional beings. You said the ultimate evolution of a wizard might be ascension to a higher dimension.
Is it possible the Observer is a future wizard?"
It was certainly possible.
Vaughn nodded.
"Maybe it's future me.
Or future you.
Or Harry… Hermione.
Who knows."
Until one could escape the real world, discussing the Observer's identity was meaningless—
because nothing could be changed.
Compared to some abstract, unreachable Observer, Vaughn was far more interested in the experiment unfolding before them.
He opened his notebook and, using the smoke's transparency, studied the swirling Fate-vortex and all possible models under a world where the past could be changed.
Dumbledore observed with him, both of them silently recording, evaluating.
Only after a while did he remark:
"Tom is trying to invade the world."
"Hmm? He knows alchemy?"
"Of course. He's no master, but Tom is an alchemist.
A Horcrux is not just Dark Magic—
it's also a branch of alchemy. One that originated with Herpo the Foul—using life and soul as ingredients."
Vaughn stopped writing with a sigh.
"Alright. We'll do that research later.
For now… it seems it's my turn."
Dumbledore chuckled.
"If Miss Granger had any idea… yes.
Strictly speaking, it's the past you who should appear."
"But in this world, what difference is there between past-me and present-me?
By the way—if we rewound time all the way to the beginning of creation, what would happen to Harry, Hermione, and Ron?"
"They'd remain where they are.
They aren't creations of this world, so its time cannot rewind them back to two months ago."
"Time runs parallel, but independently—so their physical states can't sync?"
"…Child.
Next time, please summarize in terms an old man can understand."
…
"Time-Turner…"
Voldemort lifted his head, watching the fire dragon circle tensely in the air, too scared to come down after healing itself through time reversal.
A trace of confusion flickered across his ruined face.
He was no stranger to Time-Turners.
Though Dumbledore denied him one as a student, years later—while working in Borgin and Burkes—he had acquired one stolen by a muttering thief.
But he quickly lost interest.
A device that couldn't change the past was useless to him.
There were magical equivalents already—
the Mending Charm, which rewound an object's condition;
the Prior Incantato family of spells, which rewound a wand's spell history.
But none of them—
none of them reversed the world around him by minutes.
"Is it because of this space…?"
A faint gray-white glow flickered in his eyes—
like starlight scattering across everything.
And the world's true form revealed itself to him.
From pondering the anomaly
→ to applying magic
→ to perceiving the alchemical structure
→ to initiating invasion—
All this took Voldemort only seconds.
To Harry and Hermione, it looked like Voldemort merely paused—
his eyes glowing faintly—
And then—
He reached out his hand.
The entire world trembled.
Harry staggered and grabbed Hermione, looking around in panic.
He didn't know what caused the shaking—
But his instincts screamed one name:
Voldemort.
The dragon sensed it too.
What had been fear turned to agitation.
It roared—
its wings beating as it dived like a black lightning bolt—
striking toward Voldemort with its massive claws.
Even Harry could see the truth:
The dragon was hopelessly outclassed.
Indeed—
Ten meters from Voldemort, it slammed into an invisible wall—
an air barrier thick as mud.
It struggled, roaring—
heat glowing under its scales—
"Annoying little lizard."
Voldemort barely spared it a glance.
He pointed lazily—
CRACK—
The dragon went spinning backward, its gaunt body splitting open—
blood like molten iron spilling across the stones.
It shrieked in agony.
The sound rattled the bridge.
Harry's vision swam—
And he hadn't even seen Voldemort's movement.
Just a flick—
And devastation.
His palms grew slick.
Cold sweat dripped down his back.
Humans feared the unknown—
and Voldemort's magic was utterly unknowable to him.
Unequaled.
Unpredictable.
Unstoppable.
But Harry also knew one thing—
Someone had to stand up.
If not the dragon, then—
Only he and Hermione remained.
He wiped his palms, trembling.
He thought of Professor Flitwick's spells—
of Vaughn's spells—
searching his mind in desperation for anything that could help.
"Harry…"
Hermione grabbed his arm.
Harry knew she didn't want him to act recklessly.
They were gnats before a hurricane.
But—
Some things had to be done.
He took a shuddering breath.
"Hermione… don't stop me.
The centaur prophecy said it—facing Voldemort is my destiny.
One of us must die to end this.
So if today is the day…
I'll hold him off.
You run. You—"
His voice broke.
He was twelve.
A child.
Children were afraid of death.
Hermione blinked, then said:
"Harry… I know how to stop Voldemort."
"…?"
Harry froze mid-sob.
A line of snot clung under his nose.
"W… what?"
Hermione glanced at Voldemort, who continued shaking the world with his magic.
Lowering her voice, she whispered:
"Did you notice the alchemical item the dragon used?
It rewound time."
Harry blinked.
"So?"
"Idiot!" Hermione hissed.
"If we can rewind time, we can go back far enough—
Back to when Dumbledore was here!"
Harry's mind stalled—
and then—
His eyes lit up like fireworks.
"Hermione, you—!"
"Shhh!"
He covered his mouth, nodding rapidly.
"Then let's do it!"
"How?
Are we supposed to walk up to the dragon, reach under it, pluck off its necklace, and turn the Time-Turner in front of Voldemort?
Really?"
"…Uh..."
Harry deflated.
"That's… true.
So what do we do?"
Hermione hesitated.
"The Philosopher's Stone.
It's what Voldemort wants.
If we can get it… we can use it as bait."
He understood instantly.
"…Hermione, we don't have the Stone."
"No.
I know where it is."
She reached into her bag—
and withdrew the Wish-Paintbrush.
The oil-painted dialog box unfurled before them:
[Wish-Paintbrush: A miraculous tool usable only in the painted world.
With sincere intent, it can draw forth the object you desire.]
[Uses remaining: 1/3]
Harry stared—
And then felt unbelievably stupid.
"Hermione… you… when did you figure this out?"
"From the moment we got it," she said mercilessly.
"…."
Harry sulked for a second, then tried to salvage dignity:
"Then why didn't you say it earlier?! We wasted two uses—we could've drawn three Stones!"
"Moron!
Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall taught this: magic cannot create matter from nothing!
Anything 'created' must be taken from somewhere else!"
Harry shut up.
Hermione was right.
The first trial had told them this—
to break fixed thinking.
Across the bridge, the injured dragon bled heavily—
but didn't dare touch the Time-Turner.
It needed its protection from Voldemort's corruption.
Voldemort knew that too.
The Time-Turner was not the real issue—
the alchemical world was.
If he broke the space's structure,
the dragon would be trivial.
He withdrew from slicing the dragon—
and resumed scanning the world's symbols.
Sixty-six years of life,
and countless volumes of knowledge—
alchemy included.
Creating complex structures was difficult.
Breaking them?
A single push might suffice.
He ignored Harry and Hermione completely.
Two first-years?
What could they possibly—
He froze.
A name surfaced in his mind:
Vaughn Weasley.
He would never admit it—
but he remembered Vaughn vividly.
No other first-year had ever forced him into such humiliation—
even making him cast the Killing Curse despite his weakened state.
And since that night, he had quietly gathered every scrap of information about Vaughn.
He had only blamed Quirrell earlier to save face.
Now—
His host body trembled.
Weak.
Inadequate.
Cracked and failing beneath him.
Even the wand shuddered—
trying to resist his control.
His time was short.
He had to hurry.
At that moment—
"VOLDemort! OVER HERE!"
Harry shouted.
Annoying.
Impolite.
Ungrateful little brat.
Voldemort sighed internally.
His leniency must have made Harry bold.
He turned—
And saw Harry raise both hands.
Hermione tapped his palm with the Wish-Paintbrush—
And the brush vanished.
In its place—
a small crimson stone appeared.
Brilliant as blood.
Clear as a jewel.
The Philosopher's Stone.
The world stopped trembling.
The gray-white light in Voldemort's eyes dimmed.
He no longer cared about invading the world.
His objective was here.
Harry's heart pounded—
but he stood firm.
Voldemort was watching him—
watching the Stone.
And Voldemort removed his hood.
Harry gasped—
At the chalk-white face—
The scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes—
The snake-like nostrils—
A human face grotesquely merged with a serpent.
Voldemort spoke softly:
"Give me the Stone… boy."
Harry snapped back to himself and backed away—
"Stay back—or I'll throw it!"
Voldemort paused.
Not because Harry threatened him—
but because Hermione suddenly sprinted toward the dragon.
"What trick is this?" he murmured.
He raised his wand—
Harry spun toward the edge of the bridge—
And hurled the Stone off the cliff.
Voldemort's eyes widened.
He withdrew his curse mid-gesture—
and dove after it—
Twisting the air, Apparating mid-fall—
Snatching the Stone—
Then reappearing instantly.
And then—
Hermione reached the dragon.
Despite the blood and smoke, she shouted something to it—
And—
The dragon tilted its head—
Lifted its great claws—
And turned the hourglass.
WHOOOOOM—!
Everything stretched—
Voldemort felt himself hurled backward—
the world elongating into streaks of smeared color—
rushing toward a tunnel of pure light—
The world around him unraveled—
Forest gone.
Mountains gone.
Sky gone.
Then—
Light vanished too.
They were suspended in blackness—
like specimens frozen in ice—
hurtling backward through void.
The dragon shrank—
an adult—
a juvenile—
a hatchling—
And hands appeared—
slender, pale hands.
Their owner—
a boy in Slytherin robes—
calm, poised—
Vaughn.
Time surged—
paused—
snapped—
And the world returned.
A hall.
Empty.
Bare.
Harry and Hermione stood on solid ground again—
facing Vaughn.
"Vaughn!"
They cried out in shock and relief.
"Hello, Harry. Hermione."
Vaughn cradled the baby dragon—Nobeta—who whimpered softly.
Then he turned—
and met Voldemort's gaze.
"And hello to you too, Dark Lord.
We meet again."
"…Heh.
Vaughn Weasley…"
Voldemort rasped.
His red eyes narrowed.
"You intend to stop me as well?"
"Yes," Vaughn said simply.
"You cannot take the Philosopher's Stone."
Harry gaped.
He'd expected they'd need to explain everything to "past Vaughn."
But Vaughn already understood everything.
Voldemort flicked a glance at Harry.
"Poor child.
You misunderstand time.
The 'painted world' is separate from reality.
Its time cannot affect the real world.
Therefore—no matter how much you rewind this world—
the real Vaughn Weasley would never appear."
Harry blinked dumbly.
But Hermione understood.
"Harry… Voldemort means Vaughn was already here the whole time—"
"…."
Harry froze.
He thought of Ron.
Of the chessboard.
Of their struggle—
their pain—
"Harry!" Hermione hissed.
"Don't fall for it!
Voldemort wants you to doubt Vaughn!
If Vaughn didn't appear earlier, he had a reason!"
Harry trembled.
Conflicted.
But neither Vaughn nor Voldemort spared him attention.
Voldemort eyed Vaughn.
"So… boy.
Are you the past you?
Or the present you?"
Even Vaughn didn't know.
He was… both.
A superposition of two selves—
the one from months ago, who first entered this world—
and the Vaughn who had witnessed everything that happened since.
Two minds.
Two timelines.
Overlaid but not separate.
A fascinating state—
but not one he had time to analyze.
He raised his wand—
And attacked.
CRACK—!
A Disarming Charm—
but unlike any before.
A massive bolt of red—
a full-powered spell, saturated with raw magic.
Even Voldemort reacted too slowly—
only raising a Shield Charm at the last instant.
The barrier wavered—
nearly shattered—
And then the red beam split—
into dozens of thin red serpents—
arcing around the edges of the shield.
Voldemort's eyes widened—
He dissolved into black smoke—
Apparition.
Quirrell's body limited him.
And Vaughn knew that.
He'd planned this battle long ago.
Who better to test himself against
than a weakened Dark Lord—
a legendary wizard with immense experience,
but crippled in power?
A perfect target.
But still dangerous—
especially with his unparalleled mastery of Dark Magic.
Vaughn would never duel him at long range.
Distance was death—
an invitation for curses.
So his strategy was simple—
Force Voldemort out of his comfort zone.
Fight a kind of battle legendary wizards rarely faced anymore—
A fast-moving, relentless, pressure-heavy engagement.
A hunt.
Voldemort vanished into smoke—
And Vaughn Apparated at the same instant.
[Apparition Lv3 (2/24)]
For most wizards, Apparition was too dangerous to master deeply.
Splinching was a terrifying risk.
And who needed it, when Floo powder and Portkeys existed?
But Vaughn—
with skill-points—
had invested deeply.
Level 3 meant true mastery—
A heightened sense of spatial distortion—
the ability to feel the folds of space—
To slip through them without dizziness or delay.
He vanished into the warp—
And the battle with the Dark Lord began.
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