Snape didn't understand why Dumbledore wanted Harry to learn Occlumency.
Dumbledore's explanation was that the Dark Lord and Harry's fates were intertwined, and there might be some kind of connection between them on a mystical or even soul-deep level.
Dumbledore told him that Vaughan believed this connection might allow the Dark Lord to read Harry's thoughts and memories.
It sounded like a reasonable explanation—at least, for someone like Snape, who knew nothing of fate but held it in awe, it made perfect sense.
But Snape hadn't always felt this way. In the past, he'd scoffed at fate.
Until the year Harry was born.
He had overheard part of Sybill Trelawney's prophecy by accident.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."
He had only heard these three lines. Anxious about his master's grand plans, Snape didn't wait to hear the rest before rushing back to report to Voldemort.
It all seemed like fate's cruel joke.
The full prophecy had stated… the Dark Lord would have the power to choose his enemy, and once chosen, that enemy would possess a power he could never understand.
Misled by Snape's partial report, Voldemort chose his own downfall. His Killing Curse was rebounded by the mysterious "magic of love"—something he could never comprehend.
He died. So did Lily, who had cast that protective magic.
The past flickered across Snape's cold mind. Now, with newfound respect for fate, he looked at the pensive Dumbledore, feeling a subtle tremor inside.
Hidden in his sleeve, his hand clenched slightly. "Has… fate changed?"
"What?"
Dumbledore snapped out of his thoughts and quickly responded, "No, Severus, of course not. I simply discovered something during my recent trip, and I wish to verify it as soon as possible."
Snape let out a quiet breath of relief and returned to his usual cold tone. "But Potter still hasn't fully mastered Occlumency."
"That's all right. I'll urge Vaughan to speed up his training. Besides, Quirinus still needs time to prepare."
"...Just hope you know what you're doing."
Dumbledore reverted to his usual cryptic playfulness, wiping an imaginary tear. "Dear Severus, and you say you don't care about Harry?"
Snape's face twitched, snorted coldly, and strode off.
Once the office was empty, Dumbledore's smile faded. He put his glasses back on.
He unfurled a map—one that magically traced all the places he'd visited in recent months.
The path extended from France, leapt to Croatia, Hungary, then Romania, and Bulgaria…
Finally, a small footprint-like mark stopped in Albania!
Staring at the name "Albania" on the map, Dumbledore fell into deep thought.
"So… all these years, this is where you've been hiding? Why, Tom…?"
——
As a rising figure in politics, Vaughan had temporarily been granted permission to stay away from school.
So, after the inquiry session concluded, while waiting for the Wizengamot's final decision—which usually took a while due to the snail-paced lifestyle of the elderly wizards who needed days of rest before mailing in their votes—Vaughan did not return to Hogwarts.
He checked into a luxurious hotel on Whitehall Street, above the Ministry of Magic.
Using wizarding world "scrap paper"—British pounds—he booked a luxury suite, reportedly a filming location for 007.
Having never lived in London in either his past or current life, Vaughan decided to indulge himself for once.
Unfortunately, the experience was less than pleasant. He even thought it worse than Snape's home in Cokeworth—at least there, enchanted irons pressed clothes automatically, and outfits would dress him up neatly on their own.
In terms of pure comfort, Muggles were no match for wizards and their domestic spells.
Aside from the impeccable service provided in respect for the almighty pound sterling.
The next day, Vaughan made a third vow to study household spells once he returned, tied his tie with the help of the butler, and went downstairs to board the luxury car arranged by the hotel.
"Mr. Weasley, where to today?" the driver asked.
Vaughan handed over a slip of paper.
Today, he had no magical errands. He'd dressed himself as a Muggle—his destination: the Granger residence, to deliver a letter to Hermione.
The driver glanced at the note, exchanged a few pleasantries, and set off.
Watching the scenery slowly recede outside the window, Vaughan resisted the urge to cast a spell. He was feeling contemplative.
Before he knew it, he had become more and more accustomed to magic.
At some point, like many other wizards, he'd begun to see himself as belonging to a different class—everything Muggle started to feel foreign.
Had he been assimilated by this world?
——
Under the same sky, Mr. Granger had just finished mowing the lawn.
"Jane, what do you think?" (Note: Though the Grangers' names are not revealed in the original books, Hermione's middle name suggests Jane might be her mother's name.)
He looked up proudly at his wife, who was tidying the second-floor balcony.
Mrs. Granger rolled her eyes. "Your daughter trimmed it perfectly with magic over Christmas. Now you've gone and ruined it."
"Shhh!" Mr. Granger frantically gestured for her to hush, glancing around like a guilty spy as he scurried back inside. "Have you forgotten those Ministry wizards' warnings? If a Muggle overhears us, Hermione's schooling could be at risk!"
"…You're a Muggle too!"
"No, we're different. Our precious daughter is a witch, so as her parents, that makes us—half-wizards!"
Mr. Granger declared triumphantly.
But his triumph didn't last.
While cleaning the balcony, Mrs. Granger found a few newspapers stashed in the corner Hermione often sat in.
Flipping through them, she suddenly exclaimed, "Red hair!"
"What red hair?"
"What do you think? The one Hermione can't stop talking about!"
Mr. Granger's face immediately tightened.
He snatched the newspaper from her hands and stared at the red-haired boy surrounded by a crowd in the photo.
Damn it!
Thinking of that name his precious daughter wouldn't stop repeating over the holidays, Mr. Granger felt a sour pang in his chest. Clenching his teeth: "Let me see—Vaughan Weasley… It is that brat! Dammit!"
Mrs. Granger stood on tiptoe to get a closer look and offered a different opinion: "He's quite handsome."
"...Whose side are you on?"
Mrs. Granger ignored her husband's protests and continued tidying. "What a lovely boy. No wonder our daughter likes him."
Mr. Granger's face darkened. "He'd better pray I don't meet him, or I'll break his legs!"
Just then, his wife froze mid-action, staring downstairs with a stunned expression.
"What is it?"
Mrs. Granger turned back blankly. "...The boy you want to break—he's downstairs…"
"It's not April Fools, dear."
Smiling, Mr. Granger walked to the balcony and leaned over.
Below, a red-haired brat was waving at them with a sunny grin.
As a father—
If your daughter suddenly told you she liked someone, and that boy showed up at your doorstep, what would you do?
It's a question every father must face.
The only difference was—for Mr. Granger, it came ten years too early.
(continued in next message)
(continued translation of Chapter 81 – The Mystery of Tom and the Return to Hogwarts)
The atmosphere in the Granger household was… tense.
Mr. Granger sat stiffly on the sofa, glaring daggers at Vaughan, who sat across from him with a polite smile.
Mrs. Granger bustled about, bringing out snacks and drinks before sitting beside her husband.
Compared to Mr. Granger's stiff demeanor, Mrs. Granger was far more welcoming. Her gaze drifted out the window toward the luxury car parked by the curb—Vaughan's ride. With polite curiosity, she asked, "Mr. Weasley, Hermione mentioned your family is a wizarding one. Do you also run a business in the Muggle world?"
"No, ma'am. That car outside isn't from my family. It's the courtesy vehicle arranged by the Muggle hotel."
Vaughan's smile was clean and well-mannered.
That instantly raised Mrs. Granger's impression of him—and made Mr. Granger dislike him even more.
He muttered under his breath, "Only luxury hotels send courtesy cars… some kids start wasting their parents' money far too young… mmph!"
Mrs. Granger gave him a discreet yet sharp elbow to the ribs, her smile a touch forced.
To their surprise, the boy dressed like a spoiled rich kid didn't get upset. Vaughan simply said, "Sorry, I'm not very familiar with Muggle society. To avoid getting lost or standing out due to my clothing, booking a luxury hotel seemed the most effective option I could think of."
"Perhaps Hermione forgot to mention it, but I'm an apothecary—I've achieved a bit of success in the wizarding world. Occasionally, I sell potions and request payment in Muggle currency. There are quite a few wealthy wizards with plenty of Muggle money who like this arrangement."
"A few extra bottles sold next time, and I can make back what I spent on the hotel easily."
The Grangers: "…"
So sour—like biting into a lemon!
Mr. Granger's facial muscles twitched. In his eyes, the red-haired boy sitting across from him practically had "I'm rich" written across his forehead.
Damn nouveau riche!
Before he could say anything snarky, Mrs. Granger suddenly exclaimed, "Ah, I remember now!"
She ran upstairs and quickly returned with the newspaper she'd found earlier. Flipping through a few pages, she said excitedly, "Look, it says here Vaughan invented something called the Wolfsbane Potion—caused quite a stir… that's a magical potion, right?"
She looked curiously at Vaughan.
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It has great political significance. I was able to leave school because the Wizengamot—the wizarding world's legislative body—held a full meeting about it. As the proposer and a member of the Wizengamot, I had to attend."
Then, Vaughan briefly explained what the Wizengamot was, and what the Werewolf Affairs Committee did.
Mrs. Granger gasped and covered her mouth. "Oh my God, you're… you're a wizarding world legislator?"
Even Mr. Granger was stunned. He picked up the paper again—he'd only looked at the pictures before, never reading the content.
Now reading the report, he realized Vaughan wasn't exaggerating at all. Just look at those headlines:
"Dawn of the Wizarding World," "Ripping Through the Ministry," "Power Struggles at the Highest Level!"
To Mr. Granger, the Ministry of Magic = Government, and the Minister of Magic = Prime Minister. And this boy—this red-haired kid he'd just been calling a show-off—had political enemies at the level of the Prime Minister?
Mr. Granger began to wonder if he was under some kind of spell…
Mrs. Granger, by contrast, accepted it rather quickly. During Christmas, she had spent every night with Hermione to make up for their time apart, and had heard all about Vaughan.
Genius, genius, and more genius…
From her daughter's mouth, there seemed to be no problem this boy couldn't solve—even though he was a year younger.
Knowing her daughter's pride and competitiveness, Mrs. Granger realized just how highly Hermione must think of him to speak so admiringly.
Her attitude grew even warmer. Even Mr. Granger's expression softened.
Vaughan didn't mind the shift in their attitude—in fact, he had intentionally talked about himself to show his strengths.
The Grangers were adults. Adults are practical and grounded—not by nature, but shaped by the realities of life.
He was sure that if he had been just an ordinary wizard boy, their relationship wouldn't have been supported by the Grangers. Not only because of the age difference, but because as parents, they'd naturally hope their daughter would find someone brilliant, someone who could provide a better life.
At best, they wouldn't object too strongly out of respect for Hermione's feelings and modern parenting values.
Vaughan didn't believe in hiding his talents or waiting for drama to build so he could "slap faces" later—unlike some cliché stories. That just wasn't how rational people behaved.
So, after a few more polite exchanges, now that Mr. Granger was finally speaking normally, Vaughan got to the real reason he'd come.
He pulled out Hermione's letter from his satchel, along with two neatly wrapped boxes.
"Sir, ma'am, it's my first time visiting. I brought a few small gifts—I hope you won't mind."
Before they could refuse, he opened them.
One box contained ten vials of magical potions. He pushed it toward Mrs. Granger, smiling: "Ma'am, this is a set of potions I personally developed—the 'Vaughan Beauty' series. They offer various skincare and anti-aging effects, with instant results. Instructions included."
The other box held a finely crafted head-mounted monocle.
"Sir, this is a prototype monocle I developed last year—it offers a 360° panoramic view and limited x-ray vision. Hermione told me you're a dentist, and I think this might come in handy. Just note that the x-ray function is short-range only, and uh… please don't use it to look at people!"
Mr. Granger flushed bright red just holding it.
Mrs. Granger, flipping through the potions' instruction sheet, looked up in surprise. "X-ray vision? Really?"
"Give it a try, sir," Vaughan smiled.
Mr. Granger hesitated, then, half embarrassed and half curious, put on the monocle and looked at his wife—of course, the words "x-ray" sparked the imagination.
But the next second, he cried out, snatched it off, his eyes red from the glare!
Vaughan chuckled. "Sir, in the magical field, we believe everything has an aura—especially living beings. A healthy aura shines like the sun… so, it's best used only for dental work."
The monocle wasn't an alchemical item—it was just a Muggle product enchanted with spells.
The enchantments would eventually wear off, and it would become a normal device again.
But to Mr. Granger, aside from the blinding "aura," the gift was pretty impressive.
His mood improved significantly, and by the time he finished reading Hermione's letter—which mentioned her hope to invite her parents to the Weasleys' home over the summer—he didn't object.
In fact, now increasingly fascinated by magic, he was quite looking forward to experiencing real wizarding life.
Of course, if that didn't mean "sacrificing" his daughter's future, he'd be even happier.
Mission accomplished, Vaughan politely declined Mrs. Granger's invitation to stay for lunch.
After receiving their reply letters, he took his leave.
As the luxury car pulled away, Mrs. Granger gave her husband a glare. "Vaughan's just a child—polite, well-mannered. I think he's lovely, but you had to act all grumpy."
"Hmph, don't forget they're barely in high school!"
"Isn't that a perfectly normal age to fall in love? Also, if you're going to glare at the kid, can you at least put down the gift he gave you?"
"…I don't care!"
Mr. Granger clutched the enchanted monocle stubbornly.
But his "tough" stance crumbled completely when Mrs. Granger tried the "Vaughan Beauty" potion.
When he heard her scream and rushed into the bathroom, he found his wife staring at the mirror, stunned.
The woman in the reflection, once showing the signs of age—freckles, sagging skin, and rough texture—now looked ten years younger.
That smooth, fair face looked just like the first time he'd met her.
Mr. Granger went weak in the knees, heart pounding.
For the first time, he truly believed it—maybe that red-haired Weasley kid really was a genius…
—
As for the "genius" in Mr. Granger's eyes, Vaughan returned to the hotel but didn't linger—he headed straight back to Hogwarts through the Ministry's Floo Network.
The Wizengamot's vote would still take several days, and now that the last item on his agenda was done, there was no reason to stick around.
The professors at school were already starting to grumble about his absence.
As soon as Vaughan stepped out of Professor McGonagall's fireplace, he was met by the stern lady herself, lips pressed tightly.
"Mr. Weasley, when do you plan to return to class?"
Vaughan scratched his head in mild embarrassment. He really had been absent far too long.
"Today, Professor."
"Good."
McGonagall's expression softened a little, then she added with concern, "I read in the papers—the situation seems to be going well, yes?"
"Yes, Professor. We're just waiting on the Wizengamot's decision now. So until the vote is finalized, I'll stay on campus and focus on classes."
Hearing that, McGonagall pursed her lips again—she'd caught the implication. As soon as the results came out, Vaughan would be rushing off to the Ministry again!
Vaughan quickly made his escape, not wanting to be caught by the professor's impending lecture.
He returned to his dormitory first—Fruit Tea was still with Hermione.
No one had stayed in the room for a while, and dust had gathered. He used several Scourgify spells to clean the place thoroughly.
Then, pulling a notebook from his satchel, he began reviewing his class schedule and organizing his time.
Some courses—even with his advanced level—weren't convenient to skip.
Like Transfiguration, Herbology, Astronomy…
Transfiguration was tied to the curriculum of McGonagall's transformation club. Vaughan had reached the level of turning inanimate objects into living beings.
The next step was moving toward living transfigurations and cross-species transformations.
Classes like Herbology and Astronomy required practical work. Missing them wasn't something that could be solved by just reading—the professors would need to tutor him one-on-one.
Everything he'd missed needed to be made up.
And then there was Quidditch.
He had already missed last month's match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. He absolutely couldn't miss the next one against Ravenclaw.
Ravenclaw was a tough opponent.
He was still aiming to complete his main quest: Win the House Cup!
"Magic practice-wise, household spells need to be added to the plan. Let me see... hmm, spells that have already reached Level 3 and are starting to plateau can be moved to the back burner for now—that'll free up time. I don't need to master household charms, just get the hang of them."
"Then there's the memory magic studies and experiments. The personality construct still isn't perfected—it'll take more research, but there's no rush. I already have a strong enough foundation in memory theory. The next phase involves observing how dark magic affects it… that can't be rushed either."
"And finally, the next stage of the Wolfsbane Potion project, and improvements to the magical energy extraction method..."
He scribbled away in the notebook, writing and planning until nightfall, and finally, he had a detailed schedule.
Vaughan liked living in an orderly way—he hated surprises!
But surprises, of course, have a way of showing up uninvited...
Just as he finished the plan and was about to head to the Great Hall for food—and to deliver the reply letters to Hermione—he saw a certain annoying white-bearded old man waiting in the hallway.
"...Tch. Just my luck."
Vaughan turned right around and walked back into his dorm, but Dumbledore followed him in, smiling like always.
"My dear Vaughan, a hundred-year-old man has been waiting for you for at least two hours. Shouldn't you show a little more kindness to such an old soul?"
Vaughan rolled his eyes. "Serves you right. So, what is it this time?"
Dumbledore's smile faded, replaced by seriousness. He paused for a moment, then sighed.
"The plan has to start earlier than expected. You'll need to work harder training Harry—he needs to master Occlumency sooner. If he comes into contact with Tom, we can't risk Tom noticing anything strange."
Vaughan wasn't Snape.
Snape didn't know what Dumbledore was planning—but Vaughan did. He caught on quickly. "You found the place where Quirrell encountered Voldemort?"
"Yes. In Albania. Deep in a primeval forest... Tom spent many years there, clinging to life with his filthy soul, surviving in the most pathetic way."
As he spoke, a strange confusion flickered in Dumbledore's bright eyes. "What I can't understand is—why did he choose Albania? It's far from England, yes, but hardly ideal for a new beginning. All these years, he could only cling to animals to survive."
Vaughan, of course, knew the answer—but he couldn't say it.
Some secrets ran too deep—things that couldn't be explained.
So facing Dumbledore's doubt, he could only offer a vague hint in a speculative tone. "Maybe that place held some significance for him?"
"Oh?"
Dumbledore blinked, intrigued. "You think it's related to something from his past?"
Vaughan shrugged. "Just a guess. Everyone has certain memories they never forget—no matter how mad they become."
(End of Chapter)
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