Magical Power
The crushing pressure of the "tunnel" grew stronger as the spinning continued.
Perhaps only a second passed—or perhaps much longer. Time seemed to lose all meaning here. Just as Vaughn felt he could no longer resist the compression—
He was ejected.
Crack!
Another sharp sound, as if something had burst apart.
Vaughn fell.
Soft grass met his feet. He shook his head, his vision swimming for a few seconds before it cleared—only then did he realize he had reappeared right beside Crouch.
Lowering his gaze, he saw that he was standing squarely inside the drawn circle.
"You did it… first try!"
Beside him, Crouch stared with wide eyes. His voice was still dry and restrained, but the faint trembling of the thin moustache above his lip betrayed his shock.
Vaughn had no time to care about Crouch's feelings.
Successfully Apparating was gratifying—but he was far more concerned about possible side effects. He quickly checked himself and asked,
"Barty, did I splinch? Anything missing?"
Crouch hurriedly examined him as well.
"…All four limbs present. No obvious bleeding… ah—one shoe's missing."
After checking again, they confirmed the total losses from this Apparition attempt: one shoe, one button, and a small clipping from a fingernail.
The nail was found where Vaughn had originally stood. The shoe and button, however, were nowhere to be seen.
Crouch spoke in his dry, wrung-out voice,
"This is quite normal. In fact, your performance exceeded my expectations. Ninety-nine percent of wizards fail their first attempt at Apparition."
"Most of them just stand there uselessly until they spin themselves dizzy and collapse. A smaller group fares worse. I still remember Amelia's first try—one of her arms flew straight into a crowd… That was when I'd just started work and was sent by the Ministry to Hogwarts as an examiner."
He assumed Vaughn was annoyed.
In reality, Vaughn was wondering where his shoe and button had gone.
To that question, even Crouch had no answer.
"Possibly no one in the wizarding world knows," he said. "That's the most terrifying aspect of splinching. No one knows where your missing leg or arm ends up. If it stays nearby, that's the best-case scenario."
Vaughn frowned.
"No one's tried to solve this?"
"There's no solution," Crouch explained. "There's no pattern. You Apparated just over three metres—but your shoe or button could've been flung five miles away, ten miles away… or straight into the sea. Anywhere is possible."
He shrugged.
"That's why the Ministry has always taught Apparition at Hogwarts. The castle has the strongest Anti-Apparition wards in the world—and they can be lifted locally."
"Usually, the Ministry selects an empty classroom and temporarily lifts the restriction there. That way, even if a student splinches, their body parts won't appear outside the room—the surrounding space is completely locked."
Listening to him, Vaughn felt a new line of curiosity spark.
What exactly is the principle behind Apparition?
Or more deeply—what is space in this world, really?
The more he learned about magic, the more unknowns he encountered. To be precise, the magical system itself felt like a vast black box.
There were no explanations of principles—only results. Speak the incantation, channel emotion and magic, and it works.
"What a willful world," Vaughn thought quietly.
He pushed the curiosity aside. Now wasn't the time.
Under Crouch's supervision, Vaughn continued practising.
There were a few failed attempts. Whenever he felt his emotions waver—long stretches of concentration were draining, after all—he decisively cut off his magic.
Every other attempt succeeded.
Not once did splinching occur.
Even the items he carried stayed with him. His rate of improvement left Crouch deeply shaken.
The shock wasn't at Vaughn's learning ability—Crouch had seen plenty of prodigies in his life. His son Barty had been one.
What stunned him was Vaughn's self-control and mental discipline.
From a technical standpoint, Apparition wasn't especially difficult. Its true challenge lay in Deliberation—maintaining calm, stable emotion and magic over long periods, which was mentally exhausting.
Normally, beginners performed best in their first few attempts, when their minds were fresh.
As fatigue set in, focus faltered, efficiency dropped sharply—and that was when most splinching accidents happened.
Yet throughout the entire night, until dawn began to break, Crouch never once saw Vaughn show signs of flagging.
He improved with every attempt.
"Monster…"
Crouch silently gave him that evaluation.
What reassured him slightly was that Vaughn wasn't flawless at everything.
In the following days, once Apparition was largely mastered, Vaughn began experimenting with something he had long understood but never practised due to its danger—
Fiendfyre.
His efficiency plummeted.
Five days later, in the early hours of the morning, on the same secluded patch of grass, Vaughn completed the incantation. His wand movement, magic, and emotion were all impeccable.
Yet when the spell finished, only a brief spray of sparks burst from the wand tip.
Crouch's lips twitched upward. He tried not to look too pleased.
Vaughn flicked his wand again. The flames that were said to burn anything failed to form, and the sparks quickly faded.
Still, Vaughn took it well. He rolled his eyes at Crouch.
"Go on—laugh if you want."
Then he ignored him.
"System."
Vaughn summoned the interface:
Host: Vaughn Weasley
Magic Capacity: 463 (Average adult wizard: 500)
Talents:
– Spellcasting 7
– Dark Magic 6
– Transfiguration 8
– Potions 10
– Herbology 6
– Divination 2
(Maximum: 10)
Spells:
– Occlumency LV5 (MAX)
– Shield Charm LV5 (MAX)
– Disarming Charm LV5 (MAX)
– Banishing Charm LV4 (11/16)
– Levitation Charm LV4 (10/16)
– Legilimency LV3 (1/32)
– Disillusionment Charm LV2 (4/8)
– Sectumsempra LV2 (4/12)
– Blasting Curse LV2 (0/8)
– Vanishing Spell LV2 (0/12)
– New: Apparition LV0 (2/3)
Potions: "Vaughn Beauty" series, Wolfsbane Potion, etc.
Renown: 0
Staring at the talent list, Vaughn pondered.
"Dark Magic talent: 6. That's worse than I expected. Looks like 6 to 7 is a real threshold. If 7 counts as excellent, then 6 is barely above passable—and that difference shows dramatically in learning speed."
He wasn't discouraged.
According to his agreement with Dumbledore, once the old man stopped shamelessly showering Gryffindor with points, Vaughn would likely complete the main quest by term's end—and gain a talent point.
Whether he invested it in spellcasting or dark magic, he'd have options.
That was his confidence.
Besides, dark magic wasn't urgently needed right now.
He moved on, scanning the dense list of spells.
Over the past month, he hadn't relaxed his training. Most spells had improved—though some had clearly slowed.
Banishing Charm and Levitation Charm, for example, had been stuck at LV4 for nearly half a month.
And there was no way he'd waste precious Renown points on them.
Fortunately, they were sufficient as they were.
"Hm? Magic Capacity…"
Last month it had been 456. With the normal growth rate of six per month, it should be 462—so why was it 463?
As he thought this, his gaze drifted to his sleeve, where his wrist peeked out.
Realization dawned.
"I'm starting puberty…"
He had long suspected that magic growth was tied to talent and physical development cycles. Without data or samples—no one else had a system—he couldn't quantify it.
But this change confirmed his theory.
"I'll turn twelve next month… This is the rapid growth phase. In Muggle biology, hormones that lie dormant since birth begin pulsed activation during this period…"
"Bones, muscles, organs—those are just outward signs. Puberty is internal activation. Could magic growth be tied to the same mechanisms?"
His interest ignited.
Magic might be unobservable, but every wizard could sense it. It determined spell power and casting endurance—the energy source of the magical system.
If someone could unravel its secrets—or establish a growth law—they'd hold the most direct path to power.
Not because incremental increases were impressive—but because magic capacity might be capable of explosive growth.
That brought to mind a phenomenon every wizard experienced before age ten—
Magic Awakening.
Or, as it was also called, Magic Surges.
Before that moment, children had no magic at all—no different from Muggles or Squibs.
Only after awakening did the boundary between ordinary and extraordinary truly form.
From a biological perspective, magic awakening was like an evolutionary leap in life's very nature.
Typically, a wizard experienced it only once. That single awakening elevated them to a higher tier of existence—and all later magic growth was merely its aftershock.
But what if…
What if someone could experience multiple awakenings?
The thought was intoxicating.
Vaughn immediately pulled out his notebook and began writing.
Crouch watched with a strange expression. He had seen Vaughn stare blankly (checking the system), then suddenly whip out a notebook and scribble furiously, eyes alight.
He couldn't help worrying whether the confident, prideful boy had taken the setback too hard.
Fortunately, that fear proved unfounded.
After writing for a while, Vaughn's mood visibly improved. By the time dawn arrived and practice ended, he was smiling again.
And today, it seemed, was another lucky day.
That afternoon, while Vaughn was in the basement sifting through Barty Crouch Jr.'s memories, Crouch called him up and handed him an invitation.
"The Wizengamot has initiated a vote," Crouch said. "The final decision will be made tonight. Amelia Bones asked me to deliver this to you—you're expected to attend."
Vaughn skimmed it and pocketed it.
"So—did you vote in favour, or against?"
Crouch's face stiffened.
"Did I really have a choice?"
"Cheer up. We're partners. The Werewolf Affairs Committee benefits you, not harms you. Barty—are you really content to spend the rest of your life idling away in the International Magical Cooperation Office?"
"Are you really willing to be sat on by Cornelius Fudge? He's petty. Last year he dared kick you to Cooperation—who knows, in a couple of years he might dare force you into retirement."
Vaughn tried to pat his shoulder, missed, and settled for patting his arm instead.
Crouch's face twitched.
"My current life isn't so bad…"
"But I'm dissatisfied," Vaughn said with a half-smile. "As your partner, I think you becoming Minister for Magic would suit my interests far better. Don't you?"
Crouch fell silent.
Vaughn didn't press him. He smiled again.
"You need to be proactive. Today's votes are all owl-post, yes? Use your connections. If any old friends voted against—have them send another ballot. I doubt Amelia will mind."
Crouch stared.
"…You're shameless."
"Thank you. A necessary political virtue."
The Ministry of Magic — Minister's Office
When Dolores Umbridge came hurrying in, Cornelius Fudge was downing a glass of sherry.
Seeing his mood, she softened her movements, wary of drawing his ire.
"Minister, I've confirmed it. The Wizengamot will vote tonight. Owls carrying ballots are already arriving at the Ministry."
Fudge drained another glass, already tipsy.
"What other bad news?" he sneered. "Tell me all at once."
Umbridge hesitated, then said carefully,
"I heard that Dumbledore—who's been absent for some time—has been visiting Wizengamot members frequently since yesterday."
"And Amelia Bones has written to at least ten witches and wizards… and—Barty Crouch."
She paused.
Fudge's cold, fiery gaze snapped toward her.
"Crouch left briefly, then returned and publicly claimed that some of his old friends had sent in incorrect ballots, requesting a re-review. Amelia agreed…"
Smash!
A glass shattered at Umbridge's feet.
"That wretched woman! And that old dog Crouch!" Fudge roared. "See this, Umbridge? They're practically trying to piss on my head! I should've finished him off last year!"
Fudge had tried.
He cursed Dumbledore, Amelia, and Crouch—but after the inquiry, when he courted pure-blood representatives within the Wizengamot, he showed no restraint either.
Outsiders believed his counterattack would come after the Werewolf Affairs Committee was formed.
They misunderstood politics.
Fudge never wanted the committee to exist at all.
From concept to reality, it challenged his authority. The correct move was to crush it before birth—to preserve face and his seat.
But he couldn't.
Fudge himself had risen through a Wizengamot vote. To deny its authority was to deny the legitimacy of his own power.
If he crossed that line, the Wizengamot might survive—but a Minister stripped of legal protection would not.
So Fudge could only play within the rules.
Originally, he'd thought he still had a chance.
Dumbledore inspired fear—not obedience.
Of the fifty-odd Wizengamot seats, only about a dozen—Amelia Bones, Madam Marchbanks, and the like—were his unwavering supporters.
The rest were neutral.
Neutral meant persuadable.
During the inquiry, Vaughn's patient explanations had been aimed precisely at winning them over.
Fudge noticed—and that was why, afterward, he'd rushed to court them himself, hoping to overturn the decision in the final vote.
He'd been making progress.
Until now.
That evening, Vaughn and Crouch arrived at the Ministry to await the vote.
Seeing Vaughn, Amelia said quietly,
"Two days ago, Arlard Travers wrote to warn me. He said Fudge was contacting pure-blood families, trying to push them toward opposition. Quite a few wavered."
She sighed.
"I wanted to contact you and Dumbledore—but neither of you could be reached. I only learned today that Dumbledore had been visiting his 'old friends', and that you had Crouch's full support. If Barty hadn't told me you were staying with him, I'd have had no idea."
Her irritation was obvious.
"Sorry, Amelia," Vaughn said calmly, lying without blinking. "I've been staying at Crouch's place these days, wearing him down bit by bit. I only convinced him today—there was no time to inform you."
Beside him, Crouch's cheek twitched.
What wearing down? Vaughn had never once mentioned it—forcing him to scramble that afternoon, writing letters to pure-blood families.
But Amelia believed it.
Her expression softened—until Vaughn added maliciously,
"…Unlike Dumbledore, who clearly forgot you. He didn't even bother sending a Patronus message—"
Amelia drew a sharp breath.
The air beside them rippled.
A white-bearded figure appeared, smiling benignly.
Awkward.
But Vaughn didn't miss a beat.
"…Though I trust that once Dumbledore's senile mind clears up, he'll inform you personally. Right, Albus? I didn't misspeak?"
"My dear, you understand me so well."
"Hardly. Have you stopped wandering off into the wilderness lately? One professor said you might die outside one day—he suggested poisoning you now so no one has to look for you later. He's been holding in his temper daily, so do be careful."
"Ah, Severus does cling to old grievances," Dumbledore chuckled. "Unlike me—I'm very broad-minded. People slander me to my face and I smile. At most, I hold a grudge… briefly."
The two exchanged barbed pleasantries, smiles hiding blades.
Amelia and Crouch were stunned.
Everyone knew Dumbledore supported Vaughn—but they'd assumed it was a mentor-protégé relationship.
Instead, they seemed… equal.
After a few more "friendly" exchanges, Amelia excused herself to prepare the chamber.
Not all Wizengamot members would attend—perhaps only a dozen—but nearly every Ministry department would send observers.
So would journalists and members of the public.
Once Amelia left, Crouch quickly found an excuse to depart—too guilty to face Dumbledore alone.
Sure enough, as soon as he was gone, Dumbledore turned back to Vaughn.
"Barty's level of support surprised many. People are curious why he revived old connections for your sake—connections he hadn't used in years."
Vaughn found a drink—he'd frequented Amelia's office often during the inquiry—and took a sip.
"We made an agreement. Mutual trust."
"Of course," Dumbledore smiled. "I merely recalled that years ago, Barty once asked me whether memory magic could redeem someone corrupted by dark magic."
"Oh? And what did you say?"
"I told him it was impossible."
Dumbledore's blue eyes were deep with mystery.
"Dark magic's influence is irreversible. It only accumulates. Even I can only use memory magic to weaken each instance of corruption—to delay it."
Vaughn neither agreed nor disagreed.
"There's nothing absolute in this world, Albus."
(End of Chapter)
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