Hiss—
The black mist coiled into the shape of a snake.
It let out a serpentine shriek—
but the next second its hiss turned into a scream.
Vaughn pinched his wand between two fingers and tapped lightly.
A faint spark flashed—
the snake-shaped curse writhed violently…
…and shattered.
Hermione, who had watched the entire process without blinking, whispered nervously:
"Vaughn… is it gone?"
"Gone," Vaughn said.
He casually grabbed a vial of Essence of Dittany, spread it across the wounds on his chest and shoulder, and nodded toward Snape.
"Professor, thank you for everything. I really appreciate your help."
Snape's expression didn't change.
"Do not thank me.
If you and Miss Granger would leave my office immediately—and never return—then I would thank you."
Under the combined effects of the Dittany and the phoenix-tear residue, new flesh knitted together rapidly.
Within minutes, the once-terrifying wounds were reduced to faint red marks.
Vaughn rolled his shoulder.
Still tender, but functional.
"Thank you, professor.
Seems Albus was right—you know Voldemort's methods extremely well."
Snape stiffened slightly.
He cast a quick glance at Hermione—who pretended she hadn't heard anything—and said flatly:
"Even without me, the curse would not have troubled you for long.
Judging from its strength, he cast it in great haste, and he was… in very poor condition.
Unimaginably so."
His dark eyes flickered—
then he snapped:
"You're healed. Get out."
Vaughn smiled shamelessly.
"Oh, professor, we haven't properly chatted for ages. I thought we could talk—"
"Leeeave—this—place!"
Snape drew out each word like a blade.
"Are you upset, professor? Sorry—I shouldn't have mentioned Voldemort in front of you.
Speaking of which, did Albus show you his 'corpse'?
It was tragic—"
Snape's face turned an apocalyptic shade of black.
He pointed at the door violently.
Concerned the "Voldemort fanboy" might burst a vein, Vaughn shrugged and guided Hermione out.
Just before leaving, Vaughn added:
"Oh—professor, I told Harry about your relationship with Lily.
I assumed you wouldn't mind.
He is her son—he deserves to know—"
"VAUGHN! WEASLEY!"
Vaughn quickly shut the door, trapping Snape's hysterical roar behind it.
He walked away pleasantly with Hermione.
Once they were far from the Potions office, Hermione finally asked in a hushed voice:
"Snape… Professor Snape and Voldemort—what's their relationship?"
"He used to be a Death Eater," Vaughn said simply.
It wasn't a secret.
Snape's awful reputation wasn't only due to his pettiness—
the entire wizarding world knew he had once been a loyal servant of the Dark Lord.
If not for Dumbledore's guarantee after the war, Snape would've gone to Azkaban.
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth.
"So when he threatened Quirrell and called Voldemort 'Master'…
that wasn't an act?!
Why wasn't he arrested?!"
"There are plenty of Death Eaters who never went to Azkaban.
The adult world isn't just black and white—
it's full of compromise and trades.
Snape was a Death Eater, yes.
But he also had dealings with the 'good' side.
That's how he escaped trial after the war."
Hermione struggled to process it.
Her worldview was still pure, untouched by real politics.
Which was exactly why Vaughn wanted her to hear this.
He had checked the threads of fate in the painted world—
Hermione and Ron's destinies were already drawn deep into the vortex surrounding Harry and Voldemort.
Until Vaughn learned how to break fate itself, neither of them could escape.
Hermione remained silent for a long time, frowning deeply.
Vaughn didn't rush to comfort her.
He knew she would digest it in time—
the girl he liked was not a fragile doll, nor merely a bookworm.
Even in the original timeline, she had impressive emotional resilience, sharp instincts, and a fierce moral compass.
A natural political mind.
When they reached the second floor and were about to part for different classes, Vaughn suddenly asked:
"Hermione… have you ever thought about working in WAC?
Maybe as a front-line officer during the summer?
Kind of like field practice."
Hermione blinked—
the troubling thoughts vanished instantly.
"A front-line officer?
What kind of work?"
Vaughn briefly explained WAC's complicated composition—werewolves, Wizengamot elders, foreign wizards from the ICW.
Obviously such people wouldn't do paperwork or administrative tasks.
They needed frontline staff—
people who actually executed decisions:
• coordinating werewolf housing
• assembling departments
• communicating with the Ministry and foreign magical agencies
• implementing policies
• troubleshooting
"It's challenging work," Vaughn said gently.
"You'll see all kinds of situations.
You'll have to think about consequences—
how one decision affects the next.
In many ways, the officers are more important than the committee members.
A decision on parchment means nothing without the right people to carry it out."
Hermione's eyes lit up—
then dimmed with uncertainty.
"But… can I really do something that important?"
"Why not?" Vaughn said warmly.
"WAC is brand new.
No one has experience.
Everyone starts on equal footing.
And I trust your abilities, Hermione."
His encouragement sent her heart fluttering.
She straightened with determination.
"Is there a mission statement? Or any documents?
I should study them.
And maybe compare with similar Muggle organizations—human rights groups, animal welfare groups—"
She was already planning which books to borrow when she returned home.
Vaughn smiled.
He was surprisingly good at the "capitalist skill" of painting big dreams—
even his girlfriend wasn't spared.
But he truly did want Hermione involved—
to keep her busy, growing, and away from unnecessary dangers…
and especially away from founding anything like the S.P.E.W. again.
House-elves were too deeply conditioned.
They had no sense of rebellion after centuries of magical indoctrination.
Vaughn had once considered recruiting them…
but the idea was hopeless.
After her excited rambling, Hermione suddenly paused.
"…I'm not even thirteen.
Is it really alright for me to work at WAC?"
"Which is why I said it's field practice.
We just won't pay you."
Hermione felt that something about that sounded… off.
But she couldn't pinpoint what.
"When do we start?"
"Soon.
I'll speak to Remus—he's in charge of recruitment."
He would go today.
His injury had kept him inactive for a week; this would be a good chance to stretch his legs.
Evening fell over Manchester.
Once the beating heart of the Industrial Revolution, the city remained one of England's last industrial centers.
Remus Lupin walked out of the factory.
The sun cast long shadows across the sprawling compound.
"Hey, Remus!
Fancy a pint?"
A coworker waved.
Lupin forced a tired smile.
"Sorry, Charles. I'm exhausted today. Just want to go home."
"Mate, you never drink with us!
That's no way to become a proper Mancunian."
Other workers chimed in:
"Beer and football—that's life in Manchester!"
"Are we sure you're even human, Lupin?"
"The blokes who hang out with you don't like beer or football either!"
Laughing and shouting, they wandered away like a small pack of football hooligans.
Lupin sighed.
He knew they thought he was strange.
But werewolves couldn't socialize freely.
It was too risky to let Muggles get too close.
Still—
this was better than the past.
With Wolfsbane Potion, they didn't have to hide like animals,
didn't have to flee to forests and mountains.
They could work, live, and eat like civilized people.
But Lupin—soon to be a WAC board member—also knew this fragile life could collapse at any moment.
Working in Muggle society provided food—
but no Galleons.
And 1600 werewolves required a massive supply of Wolfsbane each month.
WAC already owed Vaughn and Dumbledore over 30,000 Galleons…
and the first official meeting hadn't even happened yet.
Lupin's head throbbed just thinking about it.
He returned to the werewolf housing block—
three old apartment buildings donated temporarily by the Wizengamot.
Kids ran through stairwells.
Adults chatted and drank.
Everyone greeted Lupin warmly:
"Remus! Fancy a drink?"
"No thanks—please drink less."
"Eat yet? Try my wife's pie!"
"Marcus! No magic indoors! Control your son, Charlie!"
"Mr. Lupin, I didn't mean to use magic.
My room feels funny—my magic won't listen…"
Lupin sighed heavily as he reached his room.
Werewolf problems were never just food and Wolfsbane.
There were deeper, more dangerous issues.
Like the young:
werewolf children whose magic had begun to awaken.
He shut the door, leaned against it, and sighed again.
A voice spoke from the darkness.
"Remus. What troubles you?"
"Who?"
Lupin whipped out his wand—
a translucent shield blossomed before him.
His wand tip glowed red.
Then—
a snap.
Crack.
A ripple passed through the air.
To Lupin's horror, his Shield Charm shattered into drifting fragments like burnt paper.
A crushing force slammed him against the door.
He recognized the magic instantly.
And the voice.
"Lumos."
Light blossomed in the room.
A soft glow hovered beside the sofa—
Where a familiar young wizard sat calmly reading a book.
Vaughn Weasley looked up.
"Long time no see, Moony.
Your hospitality is a bit aggressive, don't you think?"
Lupin closed his eyes.
"…Vaughn Weasley.
When did you get here?"
"Twenty minutes ago?"
Vaughn sipped tea.
"I read for a bit. Had some tea.
By the way, why do you have this book?"
The glow illuminated the title:
Wandering With Werewolves
By Gilderoy Lockhart
"For reference," Lupin said helplessly.
"I heard he was an expert.
His descriptions seem very accurate…
Also—could you stop pinning me to the door?"
Vaughn flicked his fingers and released him.
Lupin rubbed his shoulders, scowling.
Vaughn didn't look up from the book.
"Judging from your expression, you're troubled.
Problems at work?
Or werewolf issues?"
"…Werewolf issues."
Lupin sank onto the sofa.
"The more we work, the clearer the problems become.
Survival of a whole people is never simple."
"Details?" Vaughn asked calmly.
"You know them already," Lupin said bitterly.
"Every month we report the same things—
no income, unstable Wolfsbane supply, uncertain future…
But recently, something new."
He lowered his voice.
"Some of the children… their magic is awakening."
Vaughn finally looked up.
"How many?"
"In my area—three.
A seven-year-old, a nine-year-old…
and Marcus, he's sixteen."
Vaughn immediately understood.
Magic awakening only happened in humans.
But Hogwarts' Book of Admittance did not acknowledge werewolves as human.
Werewolf children who awakened magic were invisible to the system.
And that created a terrifying risk—
Obscurials.
Magic could not be stopped.
If a child couldn't channel it, couldn't understand it—
the pressure twisted inward.
A parasitic entity formed.
An Obscurus.
An Obscurial host was born.
It destroyed everything around it.
Then destroyed itself.
Vaughn shut the book softly.
"You're afraid these children will become Obscurials."
"Not afraid," Lupin said quietly.
"Certain."
"Werewolves must work among Muggles.
That alone is a huge violation risk.
And on top of that—they are wizards now, too."
His voice grew tight.
"I've worked in the factory these two months.
I've felt what they feel—
mixed among Muggles but never part of them.
Always watched.
Always different.
Never belonging."
Vaughn said nothing.
He understood the logic—
but not the emotion.
He wasn't a werewolf.
He couldn't truly feel what Lupin felt.
"You've done well, Remus," Vaughn said gently.
"That's why I demanded half the committee seats go to werewolves.
Only werewolves know what werewolves need."
He paused.
"So—have you thought of any solutions?"
"I… don't know…" Lupin admitted.
"Solutions exist—
we need money, we earn money.
We need status, we gain status.
Magic-awakened children are dangerous, so…
we send them to Hogwarts."
He looked at Vaughn with a bitter smile.
"But how?"
Exactly.
No headmaster—not even Dumbledore—could push that through.
Parents would riot.
Teachers would refuse.
Werewolf children were simply too frightening.
Vaughn walked over and patted Lupin's shoulder.
The man looked exhausted.
Almost depressed.
That wouldn't do.
Vaughn needed him functional—
his future right-hand man.
"Remus," Vaughn said softly,
"WAC exists because the problems are difficult.
We are the first organization ever created solely for werewolves.
Don't fear complex problems.
It means we're finally moving forward—
not stagnating like the Ministry has for 200 years."
Lupin blinked.
He hadn't thought of it that way.
"…Feels like you're comparing who is worse."
Vaughn smiled.
"Maybe.
But WAC is still better than the Ministry.
Slow progress is still progress.
We'll build it step by step, one issue at a time.
And tonight—
I'm here to help you solve one."
Lupin stared at him.
"Where do we start?"
Vaughn closed the Lockhart book and stood.
"For now—
let's solve the funding problem for Wolfsbane Potion."
This issue had been discussed many times.
The debt was enormous.
WAC needed a sustainable income.
Vaughn had a plan.
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