Ron's Courage

He nudged the dazed Harry, wanting to talk and pull himself out of his depression. "Harry, what's wrong with you?"

Harry jolted.

When he came back to himself, he realized he had actually pulled out his textbook and was about to start his homework!

Terrifying!

He hurriedly forced himself to forget Hermione's demonic voice still ringing in his ears and shifted his attention elsewhere.

"I-I was thinking about Halloween gifts!"

The moment the words left his mouth, Harry froze in alarm. Halloween was almost here already? Time had passed that quickly?

By that logic, the year was practically over, wasn't it?

The sense of urgency Hermione had drilled into him nearly drove Harry to despair.

Ron, who had been trying to escape his depression, also let out the wail of a defeated dog.

Because he suddenly remembered something too—everyone had to give gifts on Halloween!

And there was a problem: gifts cost money, and he had no money...

That was the real tragedy.

Over the next few days, Harry had nightmares every night.

He dreamed that time flowed past him like waves, and in the blink of an eye he had become a feeble old man, dying before he had even had enough fun.

How could that be acceptable?

He spent several days playing like mad and had only just managed to forget Hermione's terrifying words when Wood informed him that Gryffindor's first Quidditch match of the season would be held after Halloween.

Their opponent was Slytherin.

Harry's mood, which had only just improved, sank into gloom once more. What made him feel even worse was that, as Halloween drew nearer, his two best friends both seemed increasingly off.

There was no need to mention Hermione—her time-anxiety disorder was beyond saving.

Strangely enough, even Ron had started acting odd. He spent all day spacing out, and sometimes Harry could hear him hiding in the bathroom and sighing miserably.

The symptoms were worst every morning. Several times, Harry had seen Ron staring at Vaughn's retreating back, looking eager to act yet hesitant and uncertain.

Harry had asked him about it several times, but Ron always mumbled his way through and brushed him off.

Naturally, Vaughn had noticed Ron's unusual behavior as well.

But he was not in the mood to concern himself with it for now.

He had set aside Dumbledore's question from that day. His "interest" in magical creatures could wait; potion research was the top priority at present.

So, ever since that day, Vaughn had spent all his time buried in the abundant stock of ingredients in Snape's office.

The five Reputation Points the system had awarded him for the previous month were invested once again into Scarpin's Revelaspell.

Because he had used it frequently over the past month, propelled by Vaughn's Spell Talent of 7 and Potion Talent of 10, the number in parentheses after Scarpin's Revelaspell had increased by one a few days ago.

Thus, after investing five Reputation Points, the spell naturally leveled up.

[Scarpin's Revelaspell LV3 (0/32)]

With a thought, Vaughn closed the system panel. Looking at the potion before him, he recited the spell.

Soon, familiar light and colors appeared before his eyes. As he waved his wand, the potion reverted toward its raw-material state.

But unlike usual, his mastery of Scarpin's Revelaspell had suddenly risen to an extremely profound level today.

He gradually began to sense the process by which the spell worked. While casting it, he injected a little more magic, creating a positive interference with the result of its restoration.

As a result, the spell's restoration of the raw-material state did not continue deepening toward the materials themselves. Instead, the liquid gradually began to glow—

It was the magical light of a property!

Sensing the change in the room, Snape, who had been grading assignments, looked up at the faint glow flickering within the several clumps of liquid floating before Vaughn.

He could barely maintain his aloof expression.

"You used Scarpin's Revelaspell to revert a finished potion to its properties rather than its ingredients?"

He asked in astonishment, "How did you do that?"

Equally delighted, Vaughn gently guided the clumps of liquid into separate containers and answered cheerfully, "When I cast the spell, I added a tiny bit of magical interference technique—and firm conviction, Professor."

But Snape, who was equally familiar with Scarpin's Revelaspell, did not believe it was merely a "tiny technique."

The more advanced and mature a spell was, the more difficult it was to alter. Any rash change, however slight, could cause the spell to fail or even produce unforeseeable consequences.

Vaughn's success meant that his mastery of Scarpin's Revelaspell had reached an exceptionally deep level.

At the very least, it surpassed Snape's own!

For a moment, Snape's feelings were complicated. The first emotion that surfaced was jealousy—jealousy of Vaughn's talent. It was an emotion anyone would feel upon seeing someone else do better than them.

The only difference was how much.

But what surged up afterward was joy.

It was a delight mixed with many complicated thoughts: the satisfaction of a teacher seeing his student achieve something, and the first glimmer of hope for the Magic Extraction Method and the new potion.

More than that, because the one who had accomplished all this was an "evil Slytherin."

Snape had not forgotten Dumbledore's plan to cultivate the famous Potter... Hmph!

If he could nurture Potter, then couldn't I cultivate a Vaughn who would become even more famous than Potter in the future?

That thought nearly melted the chill on Snape's face, even causing his voice to rise slightly when he spoke the next moment. "Ten points to Slytherin. Vaughn, very well done!"

"This isn't class, Professor. Giving points and all that..."

"I'll explain it to Professor McGonagall."

The biased Snape did not think there was anything wrong with what he had done. Just as, more than ten minutes later, he left his office in a pleasant mood and found Harry's good friend, the other Weasley, standing outside the door.

Without hesitation, he casually made up an excuse.

"Ron Weasley, for sneaking around and spying on a professor's office, Gryffindor loses two points!"

Then he swept up his robes and glided away like a bat.

Ron stood there dumbfounded, trembling with rage.

Could this world get any worse? When would honest people stop being bullied?

But when Vaughn heard the commotion outside, opened the door, and came out, he asked, "Ron? What are you doing here?"

Ron immediately deflated like a punctured balloon.

He picked at the corner of his clothes and stammered, "Can you... um... can you lend me some money? Halloween's almost here. I want... I want to buy some gifts for my friends... Mum said homemade candy would be enough, but I... I..."

By the end, his voice was almost inaudible. He did not dare look at Vaughn, yet could not help hoping.

A glimmer of light flickered in those evasive eyes.

Vaughn said nothing and looked him over from head to toe. Ron's hand clenched tighter around his clothes as he forced himself to gather his courage. "I... I can call you... big... big brother..."

Vaughn suddenly burst out laughing.

He had not expected this guy, who had always stubbornly refused to admit defeat and had such a headstrong temper, to actually give in today.

So sudden, so... brave!

Not everyone had the courage to bow their head to the bully who had always bullied them, all so they could buy Halloween gifts for their friends!

Vaughn, who had originally wanted to tease him, suddenly lost interest. "How much do you need?"

Ron was both delighted and suspicious. Carefully, he said, "Ten... ten Sickles?"

Vaughn took out some money from his satchel and gave it to him. Even after the silver coins landed in his palm, Ron still looked dazed, as if he were dreaming.

He could not help asking, "You... you don't have any conditions? You're just lending it to me like this?"

Vaughn was speechless.

But then he thought of something, and a smile slowly curled across his lips.

"Since you're insisting so strongly, there really is something I need your help with..."

Seeing that familiar smile, Ron wanted to slap himself.