There were far too many people here.
Even ignoring the rest of the Hogwarts staff, the Heads of Houses and Dumbledore himself were all exceptionally powerful witches and wizards.
And of course, there was the matter of a certain noseless dark wizard who, at this very moment, was likely hiding behind someone's head, clinging to life.
Vaughn cast a quick glance at the staff table and, without difficulty, spotted the one with the purple turban wrapped around his head.
Now wasn't the right time to claim any rewards. That could wait until he found a more private opportunity.
With that thought, he closed the system panel in his mind and ignored the hushed whispers and curious stares that filled the Great Hall. Calmly and without haste, he made his way to the Slytherin table.
Thud!
The sharp sound drew an abrupt hush over the hall.
Draco Malfoy had just fallen flat on his back. His already pale face had turned a sickly shade of green as he scrambled to his feet. Avoiding Vaughn's gaze entirely, Draco's robes fluttered as he tried to flee to the far end of the table.
"Hi there, Draco!" Vaughn greeted cheerily.
Draco froze mid-step and turned around stiffly, looking as though he'd swallowed something sour. "W-Weasley… Mr…" he stammered.
"You can call me Vaughn," said Vaughn with a pleasant smile. "We're in the same House now, after all. Let's try to get along."
Vaughn gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
Draco flinched so hard he almost jumped. He tried to return the smile, but his facial muscles betrayed him, his expression was more twisted than if he'd been hexed.
Vaughn turned to look at Crabbe and Goyle, who were trembling like wet dogs, heads buried against the table. Their teeth clattered with fright.
At that moment, a tall, burly prefect with a shiny "P" badge on his chest stepped forward, his voice low and stern. "Oi, Weasley brat," he said gruffly. "Sit down and quit causing a scene."
Vaughn looked him over, massive frame, unfortunate face and replied with a grin, "Of course, Prefect."
The prefect gave a satisfied nod. To encourage good behavior, he took the lead in clapping for Vaughn.
Other Slytherins glanced at each other in confusion, but out of respect or fear, for the prefect, they joined in with scattered, half-hearted applause.
Welcome, the red-haired disgrace of a pure-blood family.
Vaughn didn't mind one bit. He smiled and sat himself right next to Malfoy.
The applause at least helped to dispel the awkward tension hanging over the table. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.
"Ahem! Quiet, please! Let the Sorting continue!"
The rest of the Sorting passed without further surprises. Dumbledore, rose for one of his notoriously vague speeches and promptly declared the feast begun.
In an instant, food appeared on the golden plates.
The meats were fairly plentiful, but the starches were disappointingly repetitive. Vaughn grimaced slightly at the sight of potatoes, again.
After years of seeing them, he couldn't stomach the thought.
"Dear Draco," Vaughn said, picking up a juicy lamb chop, one of his lifelong favorites. He chewed slowly, savoring it, then added, "I think Professor McGonagall made a good point. Since we're in the same House now, we should treat each other like family."
He gave Draco a meaningful look. "So I've decided to forgive your little outburst on the train. Let's be friends, shall we?"
Draco said nothing. His eyes were glazed, his face blank.
Was this real?
He stared at the feast laid out before him and longed to eat until he burst, sleep it off, and wake up to discover this was all a very weird dream.
No such luck.
"Draco, would you be a dear and pass the pudding?"
"Ah, this one's Yorkshire-style, my favorite. Draco, fetch me another lamb chop, would you?"
"You're not eating? Potatoes bring you joy, don't they? And really, Draco, don't look so miserable. Smile!"
"Look, Draco, you're so charming even the House ghost wants to sit beside you. Good evening, sir, may I ask your name?"
The ghost hovering behind Draco was bloodstained and blank-eyed, exuding a cold, oppressive air. His voice was low and gory, like a knife through meat.
"Baron…" he said simply.
Even the punctuation in his tone seemed to drip with blood.
Draco, already stuffed with potatoes bolted upright, clapped a hand to his mouth, and fled the hall, heading straight for the side door that led to the toilets.
By the time the feast ended, he returned looking utterly hollowed out, his complexion nearly as pale as the ghost's.
Slytherin's new first-years were led to their dormitories by the House prefects. The male prefect, unsurprisingly, was the same burly one who'd barked at Vaughn earlier.
He'd introduced himself, but Vaughn hadn't bothered to remember the name.
Frankly, aside from Draco and next year's Astoria Greengrass, Vaughn didn't find any Slytherins in recent years worth noting.
Most of them were either dim-witted, completely brainwashed by their families, or had faces only a troll could love. In his previous life reading wizarding novels, he'd always thought Slytherin was a magnet for oddballs and creeps.
The burly prefect led them down into the dungeons, Slytherin's common room lay beneath the lake, with windows looking into the eerie depths of the Black Lake. The effect was… atmospheric. Hence the affectionate nickname: the Dungeons.
Clearly feeling good about himself for having kept Vaughn in line earlier, the prefect launched into a dull speech about school rules in the common room.
Then, with a patronizing slap on Vaughn's shoulder, he added, "Weasley boy, I don't care what grudge you've got with Malfoy. In Slytherin, in Hogwarts, you follow my rules. And I expect you to show Malfoy proper respect. You may be pure-blood, but the Weasley name has long been--"
"Prefect," Vaughn interrupted, still smiling. "Before you scold me further, may I ask you a quick question? It's about a spell."
The prefect frowned. "What is it, Weasley? Did your blood-traitor parents never teach you manners?"
"The spell is--"
Vaughn raised his wand, gaze turning cold.
Only now did the prefect realize something was wrong. He fumbled for his wand, but just as he opened his mouth--
"Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red light burst from Vaughn's wand.
The prefect flew backward, slamming against the enormous window that held back the lakewater, then slid slowly down to the floor.
The common room fell into stunned silence.
First-years stared, mouths agape. Several older students who had been lounging nearby froze mid-conversation.
Vaughn casually followed up with a quick Stupefy, knocking the prefect completely unconscious.
Then, with a small kick, he rolled the poor fellow onto his back and rifled through his robes until he found a roll of parchment.
It was the dormitory assignment list.
Vaughn scanned it, found his name, and tucked it under his arm.
Then he turned his steady gaze on the room. Most flinched, but he stopped when he locked eyes with Draco.
"Dear Draco," Vaughn said gently. "Did you see what just happened?"
Draco jumped like he'd been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. "N-no… I didn't see anything?"
"Tsk. Not clever enough. What you should've said," Vaughn corrected, "was that he, whatever his name was - raised his wand first and tried to attack me. I had no choice but to defend myself. Got it?"
Draco nodded rapidly, like a bobblehead.
"Excellent."
Vaughn's wand was still in hand. No one dared say a word.
He nodded politely to the rest of the room. "Well then, good night, gentlemen."
And with that, he turned and left.