Vaughn cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself again.

The familiar system panel flickered briefly into view before vanishing. That moment was enough for him to catch the change:

[Disillusionment Charm Proficiency Increased]

[Disillusionment Charm: LV1 (1/4)]

Two months into his first year at Hogwarts, Vaughn had never once slacked on his spell practice.

Well, mostly. His main focus had always been on Potions. But even so, he'd drilled a small handful of spells until they stuck.

The foundational Shield Charm had reached LV4 (0/16), Expelliarmus had crept up to LV3 (2/8), and a month ago, Snape, grudgingly, had introduced him to a few more advanced spells. Among them were the Shattering Charm, the Disillusionment Charm, and Snape's own invention, Sectumsempra.

About a week back, all three had finally hit LV1, which meant Vaughn could use them without stumbling or setting his robes on fire. That counted as a win.

Since then, he'd dialed back on grinding. Pushing proficiency any further would take ridiculous amounts of time and effort, especially with Sectumsempra. That spell was absurdly complex, clearly infused with knowledge Snape hadn't learned from any regular textbook. Vaughn suspected there had been some particularly dark family secrets involved.

Compared to that, the Disillusionment Charm was practically light reading. It was a standard concealment spell, and with Vaughn's talent for Charms, he could pick it up faster than most.

Feeling the subtle shift in the magic as it flowed over him like cool water, Vaughn moved with soft, deliberate steps, slipping through the staircases and corridors of the castle.

At this hour, Hogwarts was quiet and eerie. Every footstep echoed too loudly, amplified by the maze of stone passageways.

He tapped his wand gently to his ear, enhancing his hearing with a charm he'd dug up in the depths of the library.

That was one of the funnier discoveries he'd made: tucked inside a crumbling old book, sandwiched between forgotten herbology notes and outdated dueling stances, he'd found a scroll labeled "10 Spells for Cheating on Exams."

The parchment had included little prankish gems like the Whispering Charm (which he'd used on Ron once) and the one he was using now: the Eavesdropper's Charm.

Just below the title, someone had scrawled in curly handwriting:

"Thanks to Mr. McLaggen for compiling these. I'll be sure to ask Professor McGonagall to include them on the anti-cheating list.

Yours sincerely,

Transfiguration Professor, Albus Dumbledore."

Poor Mr. McLaggen. Vaughn offered a moment of silence for the overconfident student who'd tried to outwit Hogwarts staff. Then he leaned into the spell, ears twitching for sound.

Footsteps.

Sharp. Fast. Moving upstairs, third floor, then fourth.

Vaughn quickened his pace, rounding the corner up to the third floor, but came to a sudden halt.

Voices.

Not footsteps this time. Just whispers. Nervous, shivering whispers coming from one of the classrooms upstairs.

They barely brushed the edge of hearing, nearly drowned out by Quirrell's fading footsteps.

"Harry... what's wrong...?"

"It hurts... my head..."

Harry and Hermione.

Rewind five minutes earlier.

They had slipped away from the others, intent on warning Vaughn and Ron about the troll, completely unaware of where the boys had gone. They'd successfully ditched Percy without being spotted and were now wandering the castle, slightly lost and growing more anxious by the minute.

After circling aimlessly between the second and third floors, Hermione crouched at the fourth-floor stairwell and whispered, "We should tell Percy. Let him get the professors. This is ridiculous."

Harry hesitated. He knew she was right. Logically, it made sense.

But something in his mind kept pushing, relentless and irrational.

Go up.

Go to the fourth floor.

The thought wasn't his own. Not really. It came from somewhere deeper, like a whisper in the back of his brain.

He felt… excited. Hopeful. Like he was on the brink of something important.

"I just want to check one more floor," he insisted. "If we don't find anything, we go straight back."

Hermione looked annoyed but relented. "Fine. One floor. But that's it."

To Harry's dismay, the fourth floor appeared completely empty.

Nothing out of the ordinary. No Vaughn, no Ron, not even a misplaced Flobberworm.

Then came footsteps.

From the stairs.

Hermione's eyes widened. If they were caught now, Gryffindor would definitely lose points. Again.

She grabbed Harry and darted into the Charms classroom, pushing the door just wide enough to peek through the gap.

A tall figure strode down the hallway.

Cloaked. Hooded. Moving quickly.

Who was that?

With all the students supposed to be in their dormitories, and professors still down in the dungeons handling the troll, what reason could anyone have to be up here?

Harry's gaze slid toward the far end of the corridor, where the trapdoor leading to the Sorcerer's Stone was hidden beneath the monstrous three-headed dog, Fluffy.

His breath caught.

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth.

Without a word, Harry leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the mysterious figure.

Hermione tugged at his sleeve, shaking her head frantically.

But he didn't listen.

He inched the door open, just enough to get his head through.

The figure was already halfway down the hall, but even with only the back visible, Harry suddenly felt like someone had set fire to his skull.

His scar erupted in pain.

He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Everything blurred and twisted. Through the haze, he could hear Hermione panicking beside him.

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong?"

"It hurts... my head... it's burning--"

He curled into himself, teeth clenched, trying to ride out the wave of agony.

Hermione tried dragging him out of sight, but it was too late.

The black-robed figure had stopped.

Through the tears clouding his vision, Harry saw light distort around the man like the beginning of a nightmare.

A swirling, warping halo of shadow and torchlight danced across the corridor.

Hiss.

A low, guttural sound broke the silence.

Hiss.

It scraped against his ears like fingernails on glass, a voice that wasn't entirely human.

The figure began to turn.

Then, just as the pain vanished and the twisting shadows receded--

A shout cracked the air like lightning.

"Expelliarmus!"

A burst of red light shot through the corridor, searing across the space between the classroom and the cloaked man.

Vaughn stepped into view, wand aimed, eyes locked onto the figure.

The man reacted fast, spinning his wand in a defensive arc.

"Protego!"

A shimmering shield flared to life just in time, but the red beam hit hard. The barrier shuddered, flickered, and nearly buckled.

The force behind Vaughn's spell had clearly caught him off guard.

He staggered back a step, cloak whipping in the rush of displaced air.