Harry clutched his chest.
Even though it was over, the pain and despair from moments ago still lingered—so vivid, it felt real.
But it wasn't?
Vaughn handed him a piece of chocolate and sat back down on the opposite sofa.
"That was an experiment, Harry. Remember what I said before the Legilimency test? You're lacking a sense of urgency. That's why you haven't mastered Occlumency."
He folded his hands and leaned forward.
"Of course, I don't want to use your most precious memories to push you—but you do need pressure. Something more than casual training. So... I tested a prototype technique in your mind."
Harry blinked. "Prototype?"
Vaughn nodded. "Want to see it?"
"See what? My inner world?"
"Exactly."
Still rattled, but curious, Harry agreed. The false memory he'd just experienced was... disturbingly realistic. It was unlike any of Vaughn's previous mind experiments. Before, he had always been conscious of the falseness. He could resist—like when he snapped out of that odd compulsion to sass Snape and managed to apologize.
But this time...
Harry felt like his brain had been hacked.
"Legilimens."
The world spun.
When Harry opened his eyes, he was back in the familiar darkness of his mindscape—floating in space, seated across from Vaughn, with only a floating lamp illuminating the void between them.
Snap!
Vaughn snapped his fingers.
Harry flinched instinctively.
Vaughn chuckled. "Relax. I'm adjusting some parameters… There it is."
Harry watched as strands of hazy gray mist began to drift from his own body—rising like smoke, spiraling above his head, forming a vague human silhouette.
Then—light.
Faint, flickering light pulsed within the fog. Not breathing exactly, but...
Harry leaned forward. With every flash of light, miniature arcs of electricity surged from within, like neural pulses racing across the foggy figure's form, drawing jagged lines and runes across its surface.
It reminded him of something he'd seen on a Muggle science show—simulated visuals of neurons firing inside the human brain.
"What... is it?" Harry whispered.
Vaughn looked at it thoughtfully.
"I don't know."
That was... unexpected.
Vaughn shrugged. "It's a prototype. Nowhere near what I envision, so there's no point giving it a name yet."
He gestured, and the figure floated down.
"In theory," Vaughn explained, "this should eventually become a fully-formed false persona—something capable of mimicking a person's entire psychological profile. Thoughts, emotions, habits. It reacts automatically to stimuli—internal or external."
He grinned. "For example, this version is built on your attachment to your parents... and your fear of losing them."
Harry paled.
"So the experience you just had—that panic, that agony—was your own emotions... tricking you."
Vaughn tilted his head. "It's like dreaming, really. Dreams are false. But inside a dream, they feel utterly real."
"...Are you a demon?" Harry muttered under his breath.
Vaughn ignored that.
Harry pointed warily at the foggy figure. "Why'd you put that... thing in my brain?"
Vaughn's tone became sincerely academic—too sincerely.
"To help you, of course."
He smiled kindly—dangerously.
"I initially hoped to modify your memories in ways that would trigger a natural resistance. Like making you act feminine, or believe you were a frog. Something humiliating enough to awaken your sense of self and reject my intrusion."
Harry gave him a look that said: You did what?
"Unfortunately," Vaughn sighed, "none of it worked."
He tapped his chin.
"As I said before—you trust me too much. Deep down, your subconscious believes I won't hurt you. So even if I tweak your mind, you just... let it happen. You know it's reversible. You're safe. So you stop caring. You've become—how shall I say it—completely shameless, Harry."
"..."
"I overestimated the power of minor embarrassment. Once someone gets used to harmless disgrace... they grow numb. And then they spiral. Deeper. And deeper..."
Harry was beginning to feel personally attacked.
Still, he had to admit Vaughn was kind of right. The more strange things he did, the more desensitized he became.
Harry eyed the figure.
"So... that memory of you destroying the Mirror of Erised... was just my own emotions reacting?"
"Exactly," Vaughn said, sitting back.
"The human brain is a master of deception. Let me show you."
He reached into the void, conjuring up a floating fog screen—a blurry vision of the Hogwarts dining hall.
"This is your memory of lunch two days ago. Tell me, Harry, what was on your plate?"
Harry froze. "Uh..."
He tried to recall. He vaguely remembered handing Ron or Neville some roasted quail.
"Quail!" he said, sure of himself.
Vaughn smirked.
He pulled up a second screen—his memory. The image was crystal-clear. From Vaughn's perspective, Harry had a slice of apple pie. He merely passed Ron a plate of quail.
Harry's jaw dropped.
"You didn't remember," Vaughn explained. "Your brain just filled in the blanks using surrounding context. But the imagined memory felt real—because that's what your brain wants you to believe. It values stability over accuracy."
"That's what this foggy figure does. It's an 'autonomous response persona'. It uses your brain's natural ability to imagine, fill in blanks, and deceive... against you."
He gave Harry a disturbingly cheerful smile.
"For example, I programmed it to punish you if you ever fail to maintain Occlumency—if your mind wanders, daydreams, or drops its guard."
Harry shivered.
Why was Vaughn suddenly scarier after smiling?
"Is... is that really necessary?" Harry asked in a trembling voice.
"Absolutely. You need pressure."
Harry stumbled out of the Room of Requirement.
Vaughn remained behind, flipping open his notebook and jotting down observations:
"...Simple memory modification isn't enough to deceive the full consciousness. To evoke genuine emotion, I must design a new personality. It must integrate with the subject's real mind structure—sharing triggers, traits, and memory networks."
"Next phase: push Harry to fully master Occlumency. Test whether Occlumency can block or filter false personality input. Measure contamination levels."
Vaughn paused.
Was he going too far?
"...Am I breaking Harry?"
But honestly—who else could he use?
He sat in thought.
That Night
"Merlin, SCABBERS—!!"
Harry jolted awake to Ron's horrified scream.
Something wriggled in his mouth.
Before he could react, Ron was already at his bedside, wrenching open his jaw.
"What the hell, Harry?! Spit him out! You're eating Scabbers!"
BLEGH—
Harry leaned over and puked over the edge of the bed.
Scabbers was soaked in spit, squealing in Ron's arms. Ron tried to comfort the rat, but got bitten for his trouble.
"Why'd you try to EAT him?! He likes you! He always curls up beside you to sleep. And this is how you repay him?!"
"Shut up, Ron!" Harry gagged.
He ran to the bathroom to rinse.
The taste wouldn't go away.
But worse than the taste… was the horrifying realization.
It was the autonomous personality.
Vaughn's failsafe.
If Harry failed to maintain Occlumency—if his mind wandered—the persona activated punishment.
That night, he'd dreamed.
And this morning, he'd unconsciously shoved Scabbers into his mouth.
And the worst part?
He only realized it after the fact.
Because that was how the punishment worked. You didn't know you were being punished... until it was over.
Harry trembled.
This was just phase one.
The next time... it would be worse.
He glanced at Ron.
No... it couldn't be.
That Morning, Courtyard
"So, let me get this straight," Ron said, sitting beside him after breakfast. "You tried to eat Scabbers... because Vaughn put some kind of AI in your head that controls your body if you fail Occlumency?"
Harry nodded stiffly.
He spoke slowly and flatly, his face expressionless—an unfortunate side effect of trying to keep his mind absolutely blank.
"Ye—s. The persona will pun—ish me for fai—ling. I can't stop it."
Ron was stunned.
"...Cool!"
Harry glared.
Ron coughed.
"I mean—it's horrible! How could Vaughn even think of doing something so extreme? And why Scabbers?!"
"It's the first puni—shment. There will be more if I fa—il again."
"Like what?"
Before Harry could answer, a black cloak swooped over their heads.
Hands slammed down on their skulls.
"Weasley. Potter. Have your Potions essays been submitted yet? Or are you planning to hand me blank parchments again and mock my curriculum?"
Snape.
Ron turned pale.
Harry's eyes, dead and cold, stared at him like an empty void.
Snape narrowed his own eyes.
"What now, Potter? Planning to mock me again?"
"No—Pro—fess—or."
"...Ten points from Gryffindor."
"Please—li—sten—"
"Another ten!"
Harry cracked.
"I'M TRAINING IN OCCLU—"
He suddenly went still.
His eyes drifted.
Toward Ron's...
...skull.
Snape's robes billowed as he fled the courtyard, retreating just as chaos exploded behind him.
"HELP! HE'S GOING FOR MY HEAD—"
"GET HIM OFF—GET HIM OFF—"
"LET ME TAKE ONE BITE—JUST ONE BRAIN! I'LL BE GOOD!"
From the viaduct bridge above, Vaughn and Dumbledore looked down calmly.
"So... you've figured out your method?" Dumbledore asked.
"I'm constructing a virtual personality—an emotional shield."
"Fascinating. Very different from my own... but effective. Still, must it involve Harry?"
"You're welcome to train him yourself."
"...Lovely weather we're having."
Vaughn had been right.
That day, after Ron lost a patch of hair and Harry was strapped to a hospital bed by Madam Pomfrey—
He never slacked off again.
Even with daily suffering, Occlumency didn't come easy.
But Harry's progress was undeniable.
He'd gone from managing two hours of mental stillness...
To sustaining it all day.
Unfortunately, everyone knew about his side effects.
"Potter, I heard Hagrid caught you grazing in the Forbidden Forest. You think you're a deer now?"
"Potter, rumor has it you destroyed the Owlery trying to fly. Are you an owl this week?"
These were the best days of Draco Malfoy's life.
Vaughn, meanwhile, had grown more elusive—caught up in Wizengamot meetings about the new Werewolf Affairs Committee.
Without the Slytherin boss around, Draco ran wild, bullying every first-year he could find. He even picked up a new sidekick—Pansy Parkinson, who looked like a poodle and hit like a bludger.
One afternoon, Draco waited outside the Great Hall.
Harry had—once again—caused a stir.
At dawn, he'd broken out of Gryffindor Tower and tried to force his way into the Ravenclaw common room.
Screaming that he wanted to defect.
Professor McGonagall had personally dragged him to the infirmary.
Ron, recounting the story, seemed more amused than angry.
"You should've seen Percy's face! Everyone knows you're a little off because of Vaughn's training, but you straight-up tried to switch Houses. He was livid."
Harry groaned.
His emotions had returned with his control of Occlumency. Unfortunately, so had the guilt.
He'd called Gryffindors idiots, brutes, brain-dead baboons—and worse.
The worst part?
He'd meant it. At the time.
Hermione, seated nearby, closed her book.
"Percy wasn't mad because you betrayed Gryffindor," she corrected. "He was mad because you clung to Penelope Clearwater's leg, sobbing."
"Pen—who?"
"Penelope Clearwater. The Ravenclaw prefect."
Ron blinked. "Wait, what does Percy care about that?"
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Because Penelope is Percy's girlfriend. Honestly, Ron. Try to keep up. You two might be family someday."
"...What?! How do you know that?"
"Percy told me."
Ron looked utterly betrayed.
Then Fred and George arrived.
"Yup. Last summer, remember all those letters Percy got? They were from Penelope."
"Mum found them and made a fuss, so Percy decided to tell everyone. Even Ginny knows."
Ron stared blankly at Harry.
"You knew?"
"Uh…"
No answer was needed.
Ron slumped, crushed by the weight of ignorance.
"I saw them together once," Harry admitted. "During that time I wandered into the Forbidden Forest. They were on a date. Percy called Hagrid for me."
"You what?"
"I thought I was a stag that day."
Ron groaned.
A knock at the door.
Hermione smiled brightly. "Vaughn! How did it go?"
Dressed in velvet, Vaughn looked charming and composed.
"The committee is proceeding, but politics never runs smooth. Problems arise—you either solve them or compromise."
Hermione took his hand.
"Take a break. Problems have solutions. You just need time."
Her hand was warm.
Vaughn noticed suddenly—she'd grown taller. Slimmer. Her figure had started to shift from girl to young woman.
She didn't let go.
"Still need to visit the Ministry this evening?"
"Around sunset. Meetings will continue all week."
"Then before that... how about a walk by the Black Lake? We can read, relax, maybe have a picnic."
"Bring Guo Guo Cha too. How is she?"
"She misses you. She's been quiet—staring off into space."
"Let's grab food for the picnic. Some fish for her too."
They vanished out the door, chatting like two souls in sync.
Harry and Ron were left staring like stunned schoolboys.
"So... you really accidentally saw Percy and Penelope?" Ron asked again.
"Yup."
"Then why'd Percy tell Hermione?"
Harry coughed.
"Maybe he thinks she'll be family too?"
Ron slumped again.
"I don't even beat Hermione anymore…"
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