It was a cool summer morning in the countryside of Devon.
A gentle breeze swept through the fields outside the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole, carrying with it the scent of wild grass and the rustling song of reeds. The wind passed over the crest of the hill known as the Burrow's rise, stirring the tall, green reeds into waves like ripples on a lake.
The Muggle villagers believed there was little of interest here beyond marshes and meadows.
But the wind knew better.
Hidden deep within the waving reeds, nestled between hedgerows and nature's wild embrace, stood a peculiar and magical home. A rambling house with a ramshackle charm, rising tall and uneven like it had been built in stages during bouts of inspiration and mild disaster.
The ground floor was the only part that looked remotely stable. The paint on the walls had faded with time, but the place was clean and lovingly kept. Hanging by the door, a crooked wooden sign proudly read: The Burrow.
It told the story of a young couple who had once settled here, brimming with warmth, hope, and the madness of raising a large family in a house that never quite stopped growing.
And grow it did.
Each unexpected child brought with them another wonky addition, another explosion or two, and spelled upward until it now looked like a precarious tower of second thoughts and last-minute decisions.
At the very top, in the attic that used to be home to a ghoul, the space had since been cleaned and completely transformed.
Wooden shelves now lined the walls, cluttered with glass jars, corked bottles, and mysterious little boxes. The room was cramped and full of odd smells, but it was clean and carefully organized, at least in the way that only potion masters and particularly eccentric inventors would consider organized.
In the center, a modest alchemy table had been set up. Flames flickered beneath a blackened cauldron, bubbling and hissing with strange steam. The scent was sharp, medicinal, with a faintly sweet undertone.
A red-haired boy stood in front of the cauldron, completely focused. His wand rested nearby, unused for now, as he handled ingredients with the precision of a surgeon.
"Cloakweed, tree-snake skin… and a dash of fairy wing..."
Vaughan Weasley lowered the heat slightly, watching the potion carefully. When the temperature reached just the right point, he added the final ingredient, his voice soft with concentration.
"Liquidgrass. Essential for elasticity and the skin's plasticity."
The potion hissed, then shimmered. The murky, tar-like sludge began to clear, swirling into a warm golden hue, like sugar syrup just before it caramelized. It gave off a lovely, fresh scent that reminded one of spring rain and rosewater.
Vaughan's eyes lit up.
"Perfect."
Grinning, he grabbed a crate of empty vials from the nearby shelf. With a flick of his wand, the potion rose into the air and neatly divided itself into each bottle. He moved quickly, sticking carefully written labels onto the sides.
Vaughn's Beauty Brew (Wrinkle-Reducing Formula)
For external use. Massage gently. Banish wrinkles and refresh your youthful glow!
When the last vial was sealed, Vaughan let out a satisfied sigh and stretched his arms above his head, the joints in his back cracking like dry twigs.
Sunlight peeked through the attic window, casting golden rays across the swaying reeds outside. A breeze slipped in through the crack, brushing against his skin. For a moment, he stood quietly, gazing out at the dawn-lit sky.
It had been eleven years since Vaughan came to this world.
He remembered the moment he was born. That unmistakable surname: Weasley. Five older brothers. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George.
And, of course, Ronald Bilius Weasley. His twin brother.
Vaughn still remembered the moment of their birth. Ron had been supposed to come out first, but Vaughn, determined not to be second at anything, had kicked his brother right back into place and made his own entrance.
Even then, Vaughan had known exactly where he had landed.
The world of Harry Potter.
Eleven years had passed, but the memories of his past life remained. The books, the films, the fan debates. It was all still there in the back of his mind. Though with every passing year, those memories began to fade a little, like old pages curling at the edges.
Shaking off the nostalgia, Vaughan whispered to himself.
"System."
A glowing interface appeared before his eyes, invisible to anyone else.
[Name: Vaughan Weasley]
[Magic Power: 370] (Average adult wizard: 500)
[Talents]
Charms: 7
Dark Arts: 6
Transfiguration: 7
Potions: 10
Herbology: 6
Divination: 2
(Max value: 10)
[Known Spells]
Occlumency – Level 5 (MAX)
Shielding Curse – Level 3 (2/8)
Disarming Charm – Level 2 (2/4)
Levitation Charm – Level 2 (0/4)
Petrifying Hex – Level 2 (0/4)
Fire Curse – Level 2 (1/4)
Lumos – Level 2 (0/2)
...and others.
[Potions Mastered]
Euphoria Elixir, Invigoration Draft, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Smoothing Serum, Hair Regrowth Solution, Beauty Potion (Master-Level, multiple variants)
[Reputation Points: 12]
The system had activated the moment Vaughan was born. It hadn't given him quests or shops or flashy banners. Just a reputation system and a set of numbers.
But that had been more than enough.
Every month, based on his current standing in the magical world, he earned reputation points. These could be spent to improve spells, level up abilities, and refine techniques. It was a slow, steady climb, but a fair one.
Spells could also be improved through study and repetition, of course. But that took time, effort, and talent. The system gave him an edge, just not a free pass.
The only real "gift" it had ever handed him was the beginner bonus. Max-level Occlumency and one random talent raised to its highest possible value.
He had hit the jackpot with Potions.
Vaughan smiled again as he stared at the number. Potion-making was one of the few branches of magic that didn't require a wand. With ingredients, a cauldron, and the right instructions, even a child could begin experimenting.
It was perfect.
In a world full of unpredictable danger, potions gave him control. And Vaughan Weasley was nothing if not cautious.
He had no intention of standing out. Not as a child. Not until he knew how to survive.
It wasn't until he was four that he began subtly building his "gifted child" image. He excelled in reading and writing. Then in drawing. Quiet things that didn't draw suspicion. Just enough to impress the family.
By seven, he had started experimenting with basic brews. His brothers, especially Bill and Charlie, became his first mentors. From there, he grew bolder, altering recipes, trying new combinations. Slowly, his reputation began to grow.
Now, at eleven years old, he had a name among potion circles, particularly for his work in cosmetics. His beauty formulas had quietly spread among the witching community, and a few of his published potion notes had even been shared in smaller magical magazines.
He was, unofficially, known as the "Skincare Sorcerer" and the "Friend of Witches Everywhere."
And why beauty potions?
Simple. They sold like Chocolate Frogs.