Why Voldemort had gone to Albania was a question even readers in Vaughn's previous life had never fully understood.
To Vaughn, however, the answer was simple.
It was hidden in a single sentence spoken much later by Helena Ravenclaw—
"It is a lonely place."
Voldemort had grown up in an orphanage. Loneliness had followed him throughout his life—no family, no friends. Perhaps it was because he once heard Helena describe Albania as a land of solitude that, after his death, he instinctively fled there.
The exact reason did not matter.
What mattered were the consequences.
Voldemort had learned of Albania from Helena—and it was there that he found the Ravenclaw Diadem she had hidden.
That Horcrux, eventually discarded in the Room of Requirement, was something Vaughn had long wanted to locate. Unfortunately, the sheer volume of junk inside the room made every attempt futile.
After the end of last year, once he devoted himself fully to developing the Wolfsbane Potion, Vaughn had abandoned the search altogether.
After all, Dumbledore was far more anxious about Horcruxes than he was.
Even Snape did not know that Dumbledore's pursuit of Quirrell was, in truth, a hunt for Horcruxes.
Vaughn spoke calmly.
"Now that you've traced things to Albania, you at least have a direction. You could investigate whether Tom ever went there—when he went—and then infer why."
Dumbledore fell silent, then nodded.
"That makes sense… but it was so long ago. Investigating it won't be easy."
Vaughn shrugged.
"Then there's no helping it. Without finding the Horcruxes, you'll never destroy Tom. And really—compared to searching for Horcruxes, isn't your future plan even worse? You'll eventually have to revive him just to kill him again."
"..."
Dumbledore's face twisted into something resembling a withered chrysanthemum.
In this world, the dead could not be killed again.
To kill Voldemort, he first had to live.
After brooding for a moment, Dumbledore slung an arm around Vaughn's shoulders.
"Enough of these unpleasant topics. Come, Vaughn—let's go see Harry."
"Oh?" Vaughn smirked. "What kind of show have you prepared for the Chosen One this time?"
"Now, now," Dumbledore said gently. "I'm merely offering a little guidance—giving him a light push as he walks toward the stage."
"Careful," Vaughn replied dryly. "You might push him off the stage. So—who's today's villain?"
Dumbledore didn't answer.
Instead, he led Vaughn away from Slytherin under the Disillusionment Charm.
As they passed the common room entrance, they spotted Draco Malfoy, standing there staring blankly at the door.
When the door suddenly opened by itself—revealing no one—Malfoy's face went deathly pale. He let out a shriek and fled down the corridor.
"Oh dear," Dumbledore sighed. "I believe I frightened him earlier as well."
"That apology had zero sincerity," Vaughn said. "At least compensate him for emotional damages. I'd be happy to deliver the gold for you, Albus."
"No money."
After being fleeced of over ten thousand Galleons by Vaughn already, Dumbledore had mastered the art of shamelessness.
This time, the stage was not inside the castle.
They slipped out through the grounds, followed the stone path past the deserted Quidditch pitch, and eventually entered the Forbidden Forest.
From afar, Vaughn spotted Harry, riding his broom and weaving through the dense canopy.
Beneath him, beside a massive oak tree, Snape had seized Quirrell by the collar, clearly in the middle of a heated exchange.
That ferocious posture—
A perfect villain.
Vaughn sighed.
"Of course. Professor Snape—Hogwarts' most convincing criminal."
"Snape… it really is him!"
Harry's hands trembled with excitement.
He felt as though luck itself had kissed him today.
That afternoon, he had caught the Snitch and led Gryffindor to victory over Hufflepuff.
A long-awaited win.
With that victory, Gryffindor temporarily rose to second place in the House Cup—second only to Slytherin.
Too excited to leave immediately, Harry lingered in the locker room. He'd been annoyed at first, thinking he might miss dinner—
Only to notice Snape sneaking toward the Forbidden Forest.
Harry mounted his broom at once and followed.
He never stopped to wonder why a powerful adult wizard hadn't detected him. He was too pleased with his cleverness—too thrilled by the secret he was uncovering.
In the fading light, Harry saw Quirrell waiting beneath the great oak.
He couldn't see their expressions clearly, but their voices told him everything.
"S–Severus… why did you w–want to meet me?"
"Stop pretending. You know exactly what I want—the Philosopher's Stone."
Harry nearly lost control of his broom.
He forced himself to calm down, using Occlumency, and strained to listen.
"Have you figured out how to get past Hagrid's monster yet? Don't try to deceive me, Quirrell. Your tricks won't work on me."
Harry clenched the handle.
It was unmistakable.
Poor Professor Quirrell—being threatened by the evil Snape!
He sounded terrified—stuttering, barely able to speak. Even his breathing betrayed his fear.
Harry knew he couldn't intervene alone.
The memory of the deadly encounter in the fourth-floor corridor months ago still haunted him. His anger toward Snape mixed with fear.
So he hid.
Only after Snape finished his threats and swept away in his cloak did Harry quietly glide back toward the Quidditch pitch.
Before leaving, he glanced once more at Quirrell, trembling beneath the oak.
His eyes were filled with admiration.
What a noble man… to stand firm under Snape's threats.
Watching Harry fly away, Vaughn turned his gaze back to Quirrell.
With his magically enhanced sight, he could see Quirrell's life aura—weak, unstable, like a candle flickering in the wind.
"He won't live much longer," Vaughn said flatly.
Dumbledore sighed.
"Yes. That's why I've accelerated the plan. Tom must have awakened recently. Without unicorn blood, he can only sustain himself by draining Quirinus' life."
Vaughn asked, "Then why not let Harry know that Quirrell is the real culprit?"
Dumbledore replied gently,
"To borrow your words—prejudice is a poison of the mind. Harry is biased against Severus. Teaching him not to be blinded by prejudice is part of the lesson."
"Well said," Vaughn said. "But honestly, Albus—you might want to teach the professor first. His prejudice against Harry is far worse."
"..."
The atmosphere died instantly.
When Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, the entire house was celebrating.
Since Charlie's graduation, Gryffindor's Quidditch performance had declined year after year. Victories were rare—and treasured.
Harry spotted Fred and George darting through the crowd, announcing a half-price sale on Canary Creams.
Harry suspected they were clearing old stock. After all, since using Canary Creams to dismantle several cliques last year, sales had plummeted.
Apparently, the twins were developing something new.
After brushing off their sales pitch and the enthusiastic congratulations, Harry found Hermione and Ron.
Ron was currently wearing a roaring lion head and competing with Seamus and Neville to see who could shout the loudest.
Seeing Harry, Ron let out an enormous roar that nearly blew his hair sideways.
"What is that thing?" Harry asked, wiping spit from his face.
Ron shook his head and reverted to normal.
"Zonko's Lion Roar Candy. Wood bought it in Hogsmeade."
"Come on, Harry!" Ron grinned. "Let's celebrate! Did you see Slytherin's faces after the match? We'll catch up in the House Cup in no time!"
"Wait. We need to talk."
Harry pulled them out of the common room into a quiet chamber and explained everything he had seen.
He concluded firmly,
"Snape is the black-robed figure from Halloween. He wants the Stone, and he's threatening Professor Quirrell to deal with Fluffy."
Hermione hesitated.
"Are you sure? Snape… he's taught Vaughn a lot. It doesn't add up."
Ron scoffed.
"Or maybe that's how good his disguise is! We ignored him for months because of your doubts, Hermione!"
She puffed up angrily.
"And what exactly did you investigate, Ronald? Playing wizard chess all day?"
From the corner of the room—
Where the air seemed empty but shimmered with concealed magic—
Vaughn and Dumbledore stood, listening.
Vaughn chuckled.
"See? Your setup is full of holes. It only fools Harry and Ron."
"Miss Granger truly is brilliant," Dumbledore said theatrically, wiping imaginary sweat. "Fortunately, she's also your… romantic partner in progress. Ah, youth—how touching."
Vaughn stared at him.
Disgusting.
Ignoring the weepy headmaster, Vaughn sighed.
"At this point, I probably shouldn't appear in front of Harry anymore."
Dumbledore nodded ruefully.
"You're right. You're their peer—and far too powerful. They'll rely on you, which defeats our purpose."
"And Harry's Occlumency?"
Dumbledore rubbed his temples.
"I'll think of something."
Vaughn smiled.
"I already have an idea."
Dumbledore winced.
"…What is it?"
"Harry's progress is actually decent. What he lacks is urgency. He hasn't truly felt danger. Now that he believes Snape is the ultimate villain—why not let the professor teach him the final step?"
Vaughn's smile widened.
"I guarantee his fear will be… maximum."
"…You're a genius," Dumbledore muttered.
That night ended badly for everyone.
And tomorrow promised to be worse.
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