Truth be told, before Tom Riddle's time, Hogwarts didn't ban the study of dark magic. Nor did it shy away from soul-related research.

Books like Secrets of Advanced Dark Arts, which contained instructions on how to make Horcruxes, used to sit quietly in the Restricted Section. As long as you had a professor's permission, anyone could borrow them.

That all changed once Tom turned himself into a human extension cord.

In his search for immortality, he scoured every book on dark magic and souls. After the mess he left behind, Dumbledore went on a cleanup spree and confiscated every volume Tom had touched, especially anything remotely related to Horcruxes or soul magic.

Vaughn rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

Stupid, cursed Tom.

He had visited Dumbledore's office before, and unsurprisingly, found nothing of the sort. That old man must have hidden the books away somewhere. With Tom's example looming over everything, Vaughn figured it'd be nearly impossible to convince Dumbledore to let him near those texts.

Right now, his relationship with the headmaster was... complicated. To gain more access to Harry's situation and Tom's legacy, Vaughn had shared certain insider knowledge with Dumbledore.

Like the existence of Horcruxes. And Harry's... odd connection to them.

Sure, he tried to disguise the source of his knowledge with clever excuses. But just knowing about Horcruxes was enough to put Dumbledore on edge.

They were still feeling each other out, like two chess players testing the waters.

There was mutual trust, but also mutual suspicion. Vaughn didn't want to be another pawn in Dumbledore's war strategy. Dumbledore didn't want to nurture the next Dark Lord.

"I need to find a way to make the old man loosen up, bit by bit," Vaughn muttered.

Harry might be a useful shield. If he could prove to Dumbledore that he wasn't another Tom Riddle…

Wait a minute.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became.

All of this was Tom's fault.

Utterly, entirely, stupidly Tom's fault.

"Ah-CHOO!"

Outside the Gryffindor tower, Harry and Hermione had just bumped into Professor Quirrell. The man was bundled up in a thick fur cloak, looking like he was trying to survive a blizzard, and had just unleashed a monstrous sneeze that nearly sent his turban flying.

Harry winced. "Professor... are you alright?"

Quirrell's face was pale and clammy. He looked miserable, and steam was rising faintly from his ears, a known side effect of Pepper-Up Potion.

It made the stench of garlic from his turban even worse.

"F-f-fine, M-m-mister P-P-Potter," he said, forcing a wobbly smile. "M-m-madam Pomfrey s-s-said it's just a c-c-cold. I'm g-g-going to r-r-rest now. G-g-goodbye!"

As they watched him shuffle off like a sickly caterpillar glued to the wall, he suddenly let out a pained groan and doubled over. Then he vanished around the corner with a pitiful whimper.

Hermione frowned, lowering her voice. "He must've gotten frozen yesterday. He fainted in the Great Hall, remember? No one even noticed until the headmaster finally remembered he existed."

Just then, a passing first-year shouted, "Professor Quirrell! Look out, a troll!"

Laughter erupted from a cluster of students nearby.

Ever since the troll incident, where Quirrell fainted and Vaughn ended up slaying the creature, Quirrell's stock among students had fallen through the floor. Respect? Long gone.

Harry sighed. "If I were him, I'd pack my bags and run far, far away from Hogwarts. And never come back."

"You think he might be the one after the Philosopher's Stone?"

"No way," Harry said, without hesitation. "Honestly, you'd be better off suspecting Crabbe or Goyle. Quirrell... what could he possibly do?"

That last sentence carried a weight of insult. In the trio's unspoken ranking, Crabbe and Goyle were the absolute basement of human potential. Below them? Nothing.

Hermione gave Harry a sharp glare.

The two of them crept through the dungeons until they reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room. High above the worn stone doorway was a single word carved like a proud declaration.

Oceanview Suite.

"Now what?" Harry asked, tense. "We don't know the password."

Hermione hugged her book bag closer and answered calmly, "We wait."

Eventually, a tall, broad-shouldered Slytherin girl came along. She wore a silver badge with a coiled snake, and her arms looked strong enough to snap a broomstick.

Hermione took a step forward. "Hi. We're friends of Vaughn Weasley. We came to check on him. Would you mind letting us in?"

The girl looked them over with a wary eye. She clearly recognized Harry, but after a moment's pause, she gave a small, toothy grin.

"Follow me."

She spoke the password and the door opened.

Harry and Hermione stepped into the common room, and both gasped.

Sunlight filtered through the huge underwater windows, refracting off the lake's icy surface and dancing across the stone floor. Fronds of kelp waved lazily in the current, and schools of silver fish drifted by like floating ribbons.

It was beautiful.

No wonder Vaughn called it an oceanview.

The room was filled with Slytherins lounging around. Draco Malfoy was among them, and the moment he saw Harry, he leapt up like someone had jabbed him with a fork.

"Potter, you--!"

The tall girl cut him off with a gesture. "Vaughn's dormitory is up two flights. Second door on the right."

Malfoy sank back into the couch like he'd never moved. Harry ignored him and followed Hermione up the stairs. Only once they were out of sight did he let out a long breath.

"Merlin, that was terrifying. Malfoy and that many Slytherins in one room..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You didn't notice? When that girl said Vaughn's name, every single one of them shut up."

Harry had noticed. And he was deeply jealous.

Who wouldn't want that kind of respect?

Following the girl's directions, they reached Vaughn's room. Hermione knocked, and the door swung open on its own, revealing a fluffy, clever-eyed cat hanging from the doorknob.

"Fruity opened the door! How smart!" Hermione squealed, scooping the cat into her arms.

Fruity rubbed affectionately against her, then swiped its tail across Harry's leg as if to say, You're alright, I guess.

Harry barely noticed. His attention was locked on Vaughn, who sat by the window, wand pressed to a smooth river stone. He was murmuring a spell under his breath.

As the words slipped from his lips, the stone began to fade. Piece by piece, it vanished like it was being gently erased from existence.

Then--gone.

The moment it disappeared, Vaughn looked up and smiled. "What brings you two here?"

"Oh, we just came to see how you were," Hermione said quickly. Her eyes flicked to where the stone had been. "Was that an invisibility spell? What kind of magic is that?"

Invisibility charms weren't unheard of in the wizarding world. Though they weren't taught in first year, Professor Flitwick had mentioned a few, like the Disillusionment Charm and Vanishing Spells.

But Vaughn didn't answer.

Instead, he turned his gaze to Harry, eyes sharp with curiosity.

"What do you think, Harry?"

Harry hesitated.

Normally, he'd side with Hermione without question. She was the smart one. But this time... he couldn't shake the feeling.

Something about the spell Vaughn had used chilled him to the bone. That rock didn't turn invisible.

It was gone.

"I... I don't think you made it invisible," he said cautiously. "I think you made it vanish. Like, really vanish."

Hermione's eyes widened. She had read every first-year textbook and peppered the professors with endless questions. But she had never encountered a spell like that, not one that could erase an object completely. (The Vanishing Spell wasn't taught until fifth year.)

Before she could press for details, Vaughn sighed and gave Harry a tired look.

"You've got a serious problem, Harry."

Harry blinked. "Huh?"