"You've been cursed, Harry. A dark spell. And not just any spell—this one's powerful, insidious. The thoughts in your head… they're no longer just yours."

Vaughn's voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath the surface.

"You noticed it, didn't you? Hermione didn't even recognize the Vanishing Spell, and yet you had some vague recollection of it. Think back to last night. Doesn't it scare you?"

"But Madam Pomfrey--"

"Don't interrupt. Right now, the curse can only influence you slightly. But soon, you won't be able to tell whether your thoughts are your own... or his. Harry, you don't want to wake up one day and find you've been replaced from the inside out, do you?"

Harry sat at the edge of his bed, his face pale as parchment, eyes wide and unfocused.

No wonder he'd been so restless last night, tossing and turning until dawn.

He could almost picture it now, deep within his mind, a tiny version of himself huddled and shaking. A monstrous shadow reached out, snatching it up in a clawed hand and swallowing it whole. The face of the monster slowly morphed into his own, twisted and grinning.

Harry shivered violently.

He stared at Vaughn with trembling lips. "Am I going to die?"

"Not necessarily. There's magic that can help you."

Hope flickered in Harry's eyes, only to be dashed the next second when Vaughn's expression turned apologetic.

A very bad sign.

"...What's the problem?"

Vaughn sighed. "The spells that could help you are called Legilimency and Occlumency. Occlumency can block the invasion. Legilimency helps you understand how it works."

Harry's heart sank like a rock.

He was already reeling from the idea of being possessed, and now he had to worry about obscure, complicated spells with names that sounded like bad Latin?

Still, he asked quickly, "Then where can I learn them?"

Even Hermione, who had gone unusually quiet, was staring at Vaughn with hopeful eyes.

Vaughn folded his arms, furrowing his brow in exaggerated thought. Then, after a long dramatic pause, he said, "Dumbledore knows both spells. But... I don't think he'll teach them to us."

"Why not?"

"Because they're restricted. Not exactly on the school curriculum, you see. Teaching students Legilimency and Occlumency is... well, highly discouraged."

Hermione immediately protested. "But it could save Harry's life! Dumbledore wouldn't just sit by and let him suffer."

Atta girl, Vaughn thought with a grin. Perfect timing.

He nodded solemnly. "I agree. I can't imagine Dumbledore being that heartless."

Then he pulled out a quill and parchment. "Alright, here's what we'll do. Harry, you're going to write him a letter. I'll make sure it gets delivered at lunch."

Harry, still in a daze, obediently took the paper and wrote what Vaughn dictated. He barely registered Hermione guiding him back to Gryffindor Tower. Everything was a blur. By the time he came back to his senses, he was already seated at the long house table in the Great Hall.

And his face turned even paler.

He hadn't just spaced out. He'd lost time. He couldn't recall a word Hermione had said, or anything he'd done in the last hour.

Which only confirmed what Vaughn had said.

It was getting worse.

Halloween lunch was a grand affair, as usual. Candles floated over golden platters piled high with roast meats, pies, and steaming cauldrons of buttered mashed potatoes. Even Dumbledore, who rarely appeared at midday meals, was sitting at the staff table today.

Harry kept sneaking glances at the headmaster, trying to catch his eye.

No luck. Dumbledore was deep in conversation with Snape.

"Severus," Dumbledore said with a polite smile, masking the weariness in his voice, "I need to ask a favor of you."

Snape's face immediately soured. Dumbledore's favors were never good news.

But the old wizard had clearly spent all night thinking this through and wasn't going to let Snape escape.

"I'd like you to teach Harry--"

Before he could finish, a sudden hoot split the air. A tawny owl swooped through the enchanted ceiling and dropped a letter right in front of him.

Then it flapped off to the Gryffindor table and landed beside Harry, pecking his hand gently for food.

Dumbledore blinked. If he wasn't mistaken, that owl belonged to the Weasleys.

He set down his goblet of pumpkin juice and unfolded the letter.

Snape, seeing the distraction, exhaled in quiet relief and picked up his knife and fork. Maybe now he could finally eat his roast chicken in peace.

And then--

Spfft!

Dumbledore choked and sprayed a mouthful of pumpkin juice across the table.

Bright orange droplets splattered directly onto Snape's plate.

The once-pristine roast chicken now glistened with pumpkin-scented slime.

Nearby professors froze mid-bite. They watched as Snape slowly turned his head to glare at the headmaster. The movement was so stiff it was like someone cracking open an ancient coffin lid.

The hand holding his fork clenched until his knuckles turned bone-white. His dark eyes radiated barely contained murder.

"Dumbledore."

That afternoon, Vaughn cheerfully strolled into the headmaster's office.

"Good afternoon, Albus!"

His bright voice lifted the air in the otherwise gloomy room, where half a dozen portraits of elderly wizards watched him with mild interest.

Old Headmaster Black was, as usual, yelling at a painted Slytherin ancestor in another frame. The bearded wizard next door had already rolled up his sleeves and was leaping in for a brawl. The surrounding paintings were placing bets.

Only Dumbledore sat unmoving behind his desk, face heavy with dread.

Vaughn dropped into the seat opposite him with a sunny smile. "I heard a rumor that you, ah, accidentally spit pumpkin juice all over Professor Snape's lunch?"

"You'd best watch your back, Albus. On my way up, I passed Snape brewing something. I caught the scent of acromantula venom, monkshood, belladonna, and--what was the last one? Oh, yes, corpse flower."

Dumbledore's beard twitched.

He now understood exactly how Snape felt every time he walked into a room.

"That letter at lunch," he grumbled, "you put Harry up to that, didn't you?"

"'Put him up to' is such a negative way to phrase it. I merely guided him... gently. Besides, Voldemort's influence is real. You don't want Harry turning into a noseless psychopath, do you?"

Dumbledore blinked. "What?"

"Just saying," Vaughn shrugged, "that curse could do terrible things to his mind. He needs Occlumency training. You were thinking of asking Snape, right?"

"I was," Dumbledore admitted. "He's the most skilled Occlumens I know."

Vaughn tilted his head. "But Harry absolutely loathes him. Be honest, how many lessons do you think he'd survive before snapping and throwing his wand out the window?"

Dumbledore's face fell. That was, unfortunately, a fair point.

He folded his hands. "Unless you can convince me you're a better choice."

Vaughn glanced around the office, then smiled knowingly. "You already asked the Sorting Hat about me, didn't you?"

The headmaster didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Vaughn had known ever since the day he first placed the hat on his head and heard it mutter about Occlumency. He knew Dumbledore would eventually investigate.

Especially after he mentioned Horcruxes.

"Everyone has secrets, Albus," Vaughn said softly, pulling out his wand. "As long as those secrets don't harm others."

"Expecto Patronum!"

Brilliant silver light burst from his wand. A shimmering, translucent guardian leapt forth, dancing through the air with a warm radiance that filled the entire room.

Dumbledore watched in silence, unmoving. But deep down, something in him quietly relaxed.

Yes. Everyone had secrets.

As long as those secrets didn't endanger others.

At last, he spoke.

"A beautiful Patronus, Vaughn."