Ron nudged the dazed and gloomy Harry, trying to break through his own bout of depression.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Harry jolted upright, as if waking from a trance. To his horror, he realized he'd already pulled out his textbook and was halfway through starting his homework.

Terrifying.

He quickly tried to shake off the lingering echo of Hermione's voice that had been buzzing in his head like a cursed tune, forcing himself to focus on something, anything else.

"I... I was thinking about Halloween gifts!"

The moment the words left his mouth, Harry froze in shock. Halloween? Already? How was it nearly October's end? Had time really flown by that fast?

At this rate, the whole year was practically over.

That dreadful sense of urgency Hermione had drilled into his skull was suffocating. Just thinking about it made him feel like curling into a ball and giving up on life.

Ron, who had also been trying to claw his way out of the same pit of misery, let out a defeated whimper.

Because he too had just remembered something critical, Halloween meant gifts.

And gifts meant money.

Which he didn't have.

Now that was true despair.

Over the next few days, Harry had a series of disturbing dreams. In them, time rushed past him like a river, sweeping away the days until he found himself old, wrinkled, and half-dead before he'd even had enough fun in life.

Absolutely unacceptable.

So he went on a mini rampage of fun. For several days, he played nonstop, gorging on every ounce of mischief he could find, trying desperately to erase Hermione's dreadful words from his brain.

Then, just when his spirits had finally started to lift, Oliver Wood delivered the worst possible news.

The first Quidditch match of the season was set for right after Halloween.

And their opponents?

Slytherin.

Harry's heart immediately plummeted.

To make matters worse, both of his best friends were acting... off.

Hermione, of course, was a lost cause. Her time anxiety had long since gone terminal.

But even Ron had become weird lately. He spent hours daydreaming, muttering to himself, and had taken up the habit of sighing dramatically in bathroom stalls.

Oddly enough, his condition seemed to peak every morning.

Harry had caught him several times staring at Vaughn's back with a bizarre look in his eyes. A strange mix of hesitation and determination.

He'd asked Ron about it more than once. Each time, Ron dodged the question like a professional liar, mumbling something vague before bolting.

Naturally, Vaughn had noticed something was up.

But he wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

Ever since Dumbledore's questions a few days ago, Vaughn had put his supposed "interest" in magical creatures on pause. He had bigger fish to fry.

Namely, potion research.

So, he buried himself in Snape's office, wading through the professor's extensive ingredient stores like a child in a candy shop.

The previous month, the system had rewarded him with five reputation points, which he immediately poured into upgrading the Scarpin Revealing Spell.

Thanks to frequent use over the last few weeks, and boosted by his level 7 talent in Charms and level 10 in Potions, he'd recently seen its progress jump by one point.

With the extra five points added, the spell leveled up smoothly.

[Scarpin Revealing Spell: Level 3 (0/32)]

Vaughn closed the system panel and looked down at the potion in front of him. With a flick of his wand, he cast the spell again.

Familiar lights and swirling colors appeared in his vision. As the spell took effect, the potion began unraveling itself into its raw ingredients.

But something was different today.

His grasp of the spell had taken a sudden leap. He could now sense its internal workings with startling clarity. This time, as he channeled magic into the spell, he added a bit of a personal twist, just a touch more magical power, layered with precision.

The result was stunning.

Instead of fully breaking the potion down into mere base materials, the spell revealed something else entirely. A soft glow began to shimmer from within the potion, like gentle fireflies dancing in liquid light.

The glow of magical properties.

Snape, busy grading essays at his desk, glanced up just in time to see several floating droplets shimmering with an ethereal glow in mid-air.

For a moment, his cold, controlled expression nearly cracked.

"You used the Scarpin Revealing Spell on a completed potion and extracted its properties rather than just its ingredients?" he asked, disbelief etched into his face. "How did you manage that?"

Vaughn, just as pleased, gently guided the glowing droplets into separate vials and grinned.

"I added a little... magical interference when casting. And a strong sense of purpose, Professor."

Snape narrowed his eyes.

He was quite familiar with the spell in question, and there was nothing "little" about what Vaughn had just done.

The more advanced a spell, the more rigid its structure. Any deviation, even a tiny one, could render it useless or cause unpredictable backfires.

For Vaughn to succeed meant one thing: his mastery of the spell was extraordinary.

Possibly even greater than Snape's own.

That thought sparked a wave of emotions in the professor's chest. The first was jealousy. Plain, human jealousy at someone else's talent.

But what followed was... joy. Complex, tangled joy.

Part of it came from the satisfaction of seeing a student make a breakthrough. Part of it came from the progress of their ongoing potion experiment.

And part of it came from the fact that this remarkable achievement came from a Slytherin.

Snape had not forgotten Dumbledore's little plan to mold the famous Potter.

Well, if Dumbledore could build up Potter, then surely he could raise someone better.

Someone like Vaughn.

The idea made his icy demeanor thaw ever so slightly. When he next spoke, his voice had an odd lift to it.

"Slytherin gains ten points. Well done."

"This isn't class, Professor. You can't just hand out points here," Vaughn replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll explain it to Professor McGonagall," Snape said flatly.

Bias? What bias?

Snape left the office a short while later, gliding through the corridors like a bat in a particularly smug mood. But just outside the door, he bumped into none other than Ron Weasley, who had clearly been trying to eavesdrop.

Snape's voice turned icy again.

"Mr. Ron Weasley. Two points from Gryffindor for sneaking around outside a professor's office."

And with a swirl of his cloak, he vanished down the hallway.

Ron stood there, stunned. His hands clenched in frustration.

What kind of twisted universe was this? When would honest people stop getting trampled?

Just then, Vaughn opened the office door, having heard the commotion.

"Ron? What are you doing out here?"

Ron deflated like a punctured balloon.

He fiddled with his sleeves, then stammered, "I... um... could you... maybe lend me some money? Just a little. Halloween's coming and I wanted to... get some gifts for my friends. Mum said homemade sweets would be enough, but I... I just..."

His voice faded until it was barely a whisper. He couldn't look Vaughn in the eye but still held onto a glimmer of hope.

In those darting, nervous eyes, a quiet light was flickering.

Vaughn didn't speak immediately. He gave Ron a quick once-over, watching as Ron clenched the fabric of his sleeve like it was his last lifeline.

Then, with a final burst of courage, Ron blurted, "I could even call you b-bro... brother... if you want..."

Vaughn suddenly laughed.

He hadn't expected that. This stubborn, hot-tempered, mouthy redhead... actually lowering his pride like this?

So abrupt. So... brave.

Not everyone had the guts to swallow their pride and ask a longtime rival for help, just to give their friends a proper Halloween gift.

Vaughn had planned to tease him. But in that moment, he simply lost the will to.

"How much do you need?" he asked.

Ron's eyes lit up. Suspiciously, he replied, "Ten... ten Sickles?"

Vaughn pulled the coins from his satchel and dropped them into Ron's hand. The moment the silver touched his palm, Ron looked as if he'd fallen into a dream.

"You... you don't want anything in return?" he asked, completely bewildered. "You're just lending it... like that?"

Vaughn stared at him.

Then, slowly, a grin curled across his lips.

"Well, now that you mention it... there is one little favor I could use."

The moment Ron saw that familiar expression, he immediately wanted to slap himself.