As the last of the students exited and the heavy oak door of the office closed with a quiet thud, Dumbledore clapped his hands softly.

A silent, wandless spell rippled through the room like a breeze, and immediately, all the chattering portraits fell into an unnatural hush. Their eyes closed, their movements ceased. It was as if someone had unplugged their very magic.

Vaughn stood still, watching Dumbledore. Dumbledore watched him in return.

After a brief moment, Dumbledore gave a gentle smile and began, "Vaughn, I must say, your abilities continue to surprise me. I--"

"I assumed you kept me behind to explain things," Vaughn cut him off sharply.

Dumbledore paused.

"Explain," Vaughn continued, voice steady but intense, "why the Philosopher's Stone was hidden at Hogwarts. Why someone was trying to steal it. Why it was buried like a party favor on the fourth floor. And most of all—"

He stepped closer, his gaze narrowing. "Why the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor you hired cast the Killing Curse on a student. Why you cleaned up the evidence. Why you told us not to inform Professor McGonagall. What exactly are you scheming, Albus?"

To Vaughn, the encounter with Voldemort had been an accident.

Originally, he had only planned to follow Quirrell from the shadows, to see if the bumbling professor could get past Fluffy, the three-headed dog, and reach the Stone. He wanted to observe whether Quirrell would lead him to its hiding place.

After all, Vaughn had seen the Mirror of Erised in Dumbledore's office earlier. The Stone hadn't yet been placed inside it. Once it was, it would be practically impossible to access.

Even if Dumbledore chose another hiding place, having Voldemort and Quirrell blazing the trail seemed like a convenient shortcut.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Vaughn hadn't anticipated that after he and Ron had quietly left the common room, Harry and Hermione would take it upon themselves to follow.

Admittedly, it was a minor oversight.

He hadn't given it a second thought until, on the way to the headmaster's office, he had been helping Harry walk. The boy had leaned in and whispered:

"Vaughn… I think… I could hear that dark-robed man's thoughts. They were broken, but when you hit him… I could feel his rage. His hatred. All of it. I think… I think he made us go to the fourth floor. Me and Hermione."

Harry had wanted to ask Vaughn whether he'd been cursed. He hadn't noticed Vaughn's expression twist subtly.

The problem wasn't that Harry and Hermione had acted on their own.

It was that Harry had picked up on Voldemort's thoughts.

This shouldn't have happened.

A month ago, Vaughn had tested it himself. There had been no connection between Harry and the Horcrux. In the original timeline, that connection only intensified after Voldemort's resurrection and the destruction of the other Horcruxes.

So what changed?

Vaughn could only think of one possible answer: destiny.

The one force in this world that was real, powerful, and maddeningly unknowable.

It was a force he had tried to respect, to avoid, to outmaneuver. But now, Vaughn realized he might not be able to remain on the sidelines much longer. The tides were shifting.

So now, staring down Albus Dumbledore, he had chosen to strike first.

His barrage of questions made the old man pause, visibly surprised. Dumbledore's eyes, blue and ancient, glinted with sharpness. "You saw him? You know who he is? Did Harry see as well?"

Vaughn's Occlumency shields held firm. He stared back, cold and unreadable, then gave a sardonic twist of his mouth. "No. But that revolting garlic stench? I don't think I'll ever forget it."

Then, as if only just considering it, he raised an eyebrow. "Wait. You mentioned Harry. Are you saying this… all of this… has something to do with him?"

Dumbledore didn't answer.

His attempts at Legilimency revealed nothing but anger, suspicion, and a genuine desire for truth.

If it had been an adult standing here, he might have used intimidation.

If it had been Ron Weasley, he could've played the senile fool.

But this was Vaughn. And after several encounters, Dumbledore had learned that this boy was anything but easy to manipulate.

After a few seconds of reflection, Dumbledore sighed.

"It's a long story, Vaughn. I can tell you, but I must ask that you keep it to yourself."

"You don't have to worry," Vaughn said flatly. "I've been keeping secrets for years. Haven't told a soul."

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle, Severus Snape didn't know how he made it back to his office.

His mind was in chaos.

Memories clung to him like shadows. The familiar smell of potion ingredients, usually calming, did nothing to soothe him tonight. Images flashed before his eyes.

A younger version of himself lying beside a girl with emerald eyes under the summer sky. Willow leaves drifting around them like birds in slow flight.

And then, years later, that same girl with those same eyes, lifeless in the rubble of the Potter house. He had cradled her body, sobbing.

He had thought that was the end.

Albus had always insisted the man who killed her still lived, but Severus had dismissed it as an old man's paranoia.

Until today.

Today, he had felt it.

The magic of his former master. Twisted. Foul. Undeniably real.

Boom!

Lost in thought, Snape had accidentally dropped the wrong ingredient into his cauldron. The potion erupted in a violent flame, turning what should've been a batch of Draught of Living Death into a worthless sludge.

He simply stood there, stunned.

Then, a glowing blue phoenix phased silently through the glass window and landed on his shoulder, whispering directly into his ear.

As the Patronus relayed its message, the fear and sorrow drained from Snape's face, replaced by something sharper. Rage.

He stormed through the castle, straight to the headmaster's office.

He didn't bother knocking.

He flung the door open, voice cold as ice and laced with scorn.

"Dumbledore. Oh, mighty white wizard. Was ruining one life not enough? Now you've dragged Vaughn into your games? What is it this time? Looking to train a new lapdog for your savior? Or grooming your next double agent?"

The portraits remained silent, eyes shut. The entire office seemed frozen in time.

Dumbledore stood near the Pensieve, lost in thought. At Snape's words, he slowly turned, a look of tired resignation on his face.

"Severus, you've known him longer than I have. You know how sharp he is."

Snape gave a bitter laugh. "So that's your excuse? You just told him everything? Let me guess, you dangled Ron Weasley's friendship in front of him too? Made him help you raise the Boy Who Lived? You haven't changed a bit."

Dumbledore's expression shifted again, this time to something unreadable.

"No. He offered to help me raise Harry."

Snape blinked. "What nonsense are you babbling now?"

Dumbledore's voice was quiet.

"He said it was… a trade."