Harry was starting to feel like he'd been tricked.

After several days of Occlumency practice, during which Vaughn had pried through every memory he had, even his dreams, Harry had made absolutely no progress. And the awful suspicion rising in his chest was that Vaughn had never really expected him to improve in the first place.

Ron agreed completely. "Listen to me, Harry. I've been bullied for eleven years. I know a setup when I see one. Vaughn's using you as his magical test dummy. Him helping people out of the goodness of his heart? Ha! That's rich!"

He burst out laughing - and then one of his front teeth literally popped out.

Vaughn, passing by, casually tucked his wand back into his robes without a word.

Ron had to run off to the hospital wing, grumbling all the way while Madame Pomfrey made him chug a full beaker of Skele-Gro to regrow the missing tooth.

Hermione, however, had a different take. She gave Harry a thoughtful look and asked, "How do you know that thought really came from you?"

It sounded like a silly question, but somehow it made far too much sense.

Harry clutched his head, torn between a fear of dark magic and spiraling into philosophical despair.

After a full day of pondering, he still dragged himself dutifully to the Room of Requirement that evening, looking like a soldier about to charge into battle.

"Hit me with it," he said grimly, lying flat on the carpet like a defeated sea slug. "Let's just get it over with."

Vaughn blinked. "What...?"

Only then did he realize something was wrong. The Chosen One had gone limp. No fire, no resistance. How could he practice Legilimency properly if his target had completely given up?

A good struggle was half the point.

Frowning, Vaughn flipped through several books, muttering to himself. After a while, his eyes lit up as he stumbled across an idea.

"Harry," he said gently, "if you cooperate fully with today's session, I'll cast a Dreamspell on you afterward. Sound fair?"

Harry didn't even blink. "What's the point?"

Vaughn leaned in slightly, his voice laced with temptation. "It's a spell that gives you a dream, a lovely one. You can dream anything you want. For example, you and a certain girl, maybe... holding hands..."

Harry shot upright, his face turning crimson. "It's not like that! I didn't mean to, dreams just happen, I can't control--!"

Seeing Vaughn's amused expression, Harry's voice trailed off into a whisper. After a moment, he muttered, "It really is a good dream? Not a trap?"

Vaughn nodded solemnly.

Harry looked away, ears red. "Fine. I guess. I mean, if it helps me sleep better."

The next morning, Vaughn cheerfully dove into Harry's mind again - and discovered a brand-new dream, glimmering like a pink-tinted memory. In it, a small, shy boy walked beside a taller girl, their shoulders brushing as they strolled through a soft, glowing world.

It was painfully sweet.

Harry's consciousness twisted in resistance, but Vaughn's control over Legilimency was improving by the day. It was getting harder and harder for Harry to push him out.

After that night's session, Harry sat up with a sigh and gave Vaughn a weary look. "You promised," he reminded him. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone about the dream."

Honestly, Harry didn't care about most of his memories. Years at Privet Drive had dulled his emotional response to most things. If someone peeked into those years, all they'd see was a cupboard under the stairs and a whole lot of silence. But the dream - that was different.

"I gave you my word," Vaughn said seriously. "Not a soul."

Only once Harry was gone did Vaughn stay behind, pulling his wand and placing the tip gently to his temple. A silvery thread emerged, a memory which he coaxed into a small, clear vial.

Then, humming a cheery tune, he carried it all the way to the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor.

"Hey, Albus," Vaughn called as he stepped inside. "Fresh delivery. Harry's first crush. Want a look?"

"Don't make it sound like we're spying," Dumbledore replied with a smile. But then he glanced into the Pensieve, and his expression softened. "Ah... young love. So tentative, so innocent..."

The rosy dream shimmered and swirled before their eyes, but only for a moment. It quickly faded, replaced by fractured memories, dim, oppressive fragments of a boy's life at Number Four, Privet Drive. The cupboard. The isolation. The long years of being treated like he didn't matter.

The cheerful tone vanished. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Finally, Dumbledore sighed. "So little happiness..."

"Yes," Vaughn agreed. "Other than Hogwarts, you can count the good memories on one hand. I've marked every positive node I could find."

He gestured with his wand. A misty stream of silver floated above the Pensieve, forming into a sprawling web of memories, like a hundred Muggle security screens playing at once.

Seen from this bird's-eye view, Harry's past looked overwhelmingly bleak. The first moment of real light didn't appear until the day Hagrid brought him his Hogwarts letter.

Reading the books in his previous life, Vaughn remembered how briefly Harry's childhood had been described. The writing had a fairytale gloss, but no words could truly capture what it meant for a child to be rejected and despised by their own family.

Watching the memory of a young boy in oversized clothes, folding himself into a cupboard every night, Vaughn couldn't help but mutter, "You're lucky, Albus. It's a miracle Harry didn't turn into another Tom."

"Forgive an old man's caution," Dumbledore murmured. "Lily gave her life to place a powerful protection on Harry, one that required blood kin to anchor it. I feared that if he grew up in the wizarding world, surrounded by praise and admiration, he might become addicted to false glory..."

Vaughn didn't comment. It was impossible to know how things might have turned out.

He hadn't come to fight for justice. He looked back at the data he'd compiled and said, "So far, I haven't found any signs that Harry's memories have been tampered with. No magical residue, no artificial gaps. It looks like Tom hasn't noticed the link between them yet."

"Don't rush to conclusions," Dumbledore warned. "Tom is a master of memory magic. He's an expert at burrowing into people's minds and planting poison, hiding his influence behind their own fears and resentments. He twists them slowly, until they lose track of who they are."

Vaughn listened carefully.

He'd never been arrogant. He knew Dumbledore had more experience and insight. And he was well aware that his own Legilimency was still rudimentary.

"Understood," Vaughn said at last. "I'll stay sharp."

After all, Harry could still make a perfectly good practice dummy.