The last heavy rain before winter swept across the Scottish Highlands in early October, soaking the grounds of Hogwarts in cold sheets.

It came down hard the very night Slytherin had their Quidditch training match.

Oliver Wood sat alone in the middle of the drenched Quidditch pitch, letting the rain pour over him like he hoped it might drown his misery. Everyone knew he saw Slytherin as his greatest rival, the final hurdle standing between him and his dream of winning the Quidditch Cup before graduation. For a moment, he had believed Gryffindor was finally set with Harry on their team.

Then he saw Vaughn play.

Now he was spiraling again.

Since that night, Wood's training schedule had become outright deranged. If not for a sliver of lingering sanity, he might have canceled classes altogether and declared Quidditch a full-time subject.

The result? Harry was utterly wrecked.

Between mounting piles of homework and four grueling nights of training a week, mid-October saw a pale and hollow-eyed Harry running into Vaughn again. The boy had gone back to his elusive habits, vanishing straight after class as though he were dodging sunlight.

Vaughn blinked when he saw him. "What on earth happened to your face?"

Harry gave him a tired glare and mumbled, "Homework. Training. Don't Slytherin players train too?"

"Three nights a week. Any more and it messes with our performance."

"Wow. And here I thought Flint was just a big dumb brute. Turns out he understands something about balance."

Vaughn didn't reply. Of course Flint hadn't come up with the plan. Vaughn had drawn up the training schedule himself. Flint had objected, of course. One well-placed Disarming Charm later, Flint was nodding obediently like a troll on a leash.

In fact, Vaughn had discovered there were advantages to having a dim-witted captain. Flint couldn't outthink a broomstick, so he followed orders. And if anyone criticized Slytherin's underhanded tactics, well, Vaughn could always toss Flint under the bus. That was practically part of the strategy.

"You needed something, Harry? If not, I've got to run. Things are a bit insane lately."

He wasn't making excuses. Vaughn had been spending most of his time in Snape's office, practicing magical extraction techniques on potion ingredients. Tedious, meticulous, and absolutely not a relaxing hobby.

Despite being prepared, the materials still held residual magic from the magical beasts and plants they came from. Vaughn had to thread his own magic into them carefully, without damaging their core properties. Slow, painstaking work.

Harry grabbed his sleeve. "Nicolas Flamel!"

"...Seriously?" Vaughn raised a brow. "You look like you're halfway to an early grave, and you're still obsessing over that?"

Harry chuckled sheepishly.

Vaughn reached into his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. "Remember when we first met? You and Ron were talking about these cards. It's written right there, you know."

Harry's eyes widened. "That's right!" He suddenly perked up, gave Vaughn a rushed goodbye, and sprinted toward Gryffindor Tower like the Frog was about to start talking again.

Vaughn shook his head, munched the frog, and headed back toward Snape's office.

Professor Snape had been in an oddly good mood lately. Maybe it was Harry's suffering. Or maybe he finally had someone who could talk potions with him without crying.

Whatever the reason, at least he no longer looked like he wanted to shred every piece of homework he graded. Nor did he bark insults that could reduce a third-year to tears for misplacing a decimal.

Vaughn entered quietly, nodded a greeting, and headed to his usual seat.

He placed a piece of aconite on the desk, tapped it with his wand, and began slowly channeling magic into it while scribbling notes with his quill. What he was doing wasn't simply observation. He was mapping out the internal structure reflected in his mind and classifying its potential properties.

Organization first. Experiments later.

Time slipped by unnoticed. When he finally set down his quill, the clock read six in the evening.

He stood up, nodded toward Snape. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Wait," Snape said, glancing up. "Weasley--"

"Vaughn," he corrected automatically.

"Vaughn," Snape repeated, twitching his head like saying it gave him a migraine. "The Quidditch season starts next month. First match is against Gryffindor. How's training?"

"Not bad," Vaughn replied thoughtfully. "Flint's planning to assign two players just to target Harry. Nasty business."

"Excellent," Snape muttered, clearly pleased. He moved on. "You've been focusing heavily on aconite lately. Planning to use it as a base ingredient?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmph. It's highly toxic." Snape gave him a critical glare. "Finish your analysis, then write me a report."

He might sound irritated, but Vaughn could tell the professor was trying to make sure he didn't get himself killed by accident.

Vaughn smiled. He couldn't wait to see Snape's reaction when he finally discovered what potion Vaughn was aiming to create.

After leaving the dungeons, Vaughn headed to the Great Hall and casually claimed a spot at the Ravenclaw table again.

The girls there were polite, intelligent, and refreshingly drama-free.

He was mid-conversation with Cho Chang when a familiar trio came bustling over.

"Vaughn, you--" Harry began, but his words stumbled and died the moment he spotted Cho.

"Hi, I'm Ha-ha-ha-Harry—"

"Harry Potter," Cho said warmly. "There's hardly a soul in Hogwarts who doesn't know your name."

She gave Vaughn a graceful nod and stood. "We'll talk later."

Harry stared at her retreating figure like he'd just seen a unicorn in heels.

Ron nudged him. "What's the matter with you? You've gone all weird."

Harry blinked out of his trance and caught sight of Vaughn's knowing smirk, and Hermione's suspicious eyes. He blushed violently.

In that moment, he found Ron's utter lack of self-awareness oddly comforting.

He cleared his throat and pushed on. "Vaughn, thanks for the tip. We figured it out. We know what Dumbledore is hiding."

He leaned in close and lowered his voice. "It's the Philosopher's Stone."

Vaughn showed no reaction.

Ron looked shocked. "You're not even surprised? It's the actual Philosopher's Stone! It's in storybooks!"

"I already guessed," Vaughn said, waving him off. "You mentioned Nicolas Flamel, didn't you? The Stone was his greatest achievement."

"That's it? It turns things into gold!"

Ron clearly thought that was the most important part.

Vaughn gave him a long, amused look. "Ronald Weasley, my dear brother. I sell potions. What's the difference between that and turning things into gold?"

Ron visibly deflated. All the color drained from his face.

He didn't speak again.

Harry quickly stepped in to save him. "Anyway, Vaughn, Hagrid wants to talk to you."

Hermione added, looking a little guilty, "He asked who else knew about Flamel, and… we had to tell him."

Vaughn blinked. "Sure. When do we go?"

He'd just realized he'd been at Hogwarts for weeks and hadn't once ventured into the Forbidden Forest.

How had he missed that?