Harry Potter: From Little Wizard to White Lord

Vaughn gently cradled Fruity in his arms, soothing the squirming cat as he slipped it a piece of dried fish. With a casual shrug, he said, "That's how I did it. Took out a snack, fed it to her."

Ron scowled. "Oh, come off it. Don't lie."

"Harry tried giving her roast beef once," he muttered, "and she still chased us down three corridors like a furry missile. That cat's evil."

Vaughn shot him an unimpressed look. "Oh, my dear foolish brother, animals can tell who's genuine and who's just pretending. Your intentions were sketchy, so of course she didn't give you the time of day."

He scratched under Mrs. Norris's chin. She purred like a miniature engine, rolled onto her back, and presented her belly with a royal air of satisfaction.

Her little paws swatted playfully at Vaughn's fingers as he chuckled and let her bat at them.

"Alright, time to head back. And don't say a word to Filch," Vaughn said, running a hand through the cat's fur before frowning thoughtfully. "Hmmm... you're far too skinny. I'll need to brew you a few tonics."

Mrs. Norris gave his fingers an affectionate lick, then cast one last glance at Ron and Hermione with her unblinking, unnerving eyes before padding off toward the trophy room entrance, tail swaying with regal indifference.

Vaughn glanced that way too. "You two were keeping Harry company?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, we were worried Malfoy might try to mess with him."

"No need to worry. I had a word with Draco," Vaughn said with a wicked grin. "Told him if he cost Slytherin another point, I'd turn him into a rat and hand him over to Fruity as a new chew toy."

Hermione burst into laughter. "That's exactly the kind of threat he needs."

Ron, however, paled and clutched his pocket protectively. He wasn't entirely convinced Vaughn was joking.

"Well, I'm off to continue my walk with Peeves," Vaughn said, standing up and brushing off his robe. "I'll leave Fruity with you. Once Harry's done polishing trophies, just follow her. She'll lead you to me. I've got something fun to show you. Found a few secrets recently."

And with that, he sauntered off, whistling for Peeves, who giggled and floated after him like a misbehaving balloon.

Hermione watched him go, eyes shining with admiration. "Ronald, you really ought to learn a thing or two from your brother. He's smart and kind. Even Mrs. Norris likes him."

Ron puffed up his cheeks and refused to answer. No way was he talking to a "silly girl" right now.

After more than an hour, Harry finally emerged from the trophy room, looking like a ghost of himself. His eyes were glazed, and he walked like he'd just woken from a dream. When he saw Ron, he automatically raised the rag in his hand and made a swipe for Ron's face.

Ron ducked, swatting his hand away. "Oy, what are you doing?!"

When they explained Vaughn had invited them on a night adventure, Harry perked up a bit, though his voice still held a weary groan.

"You have no idea how many trophies are in there," he complained. "No magic allowed. Had to scrub them all by hand. Halfway through, I think my brain stopped functioning entirely."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Even if you were allowed to use spells, you couldn't. You barely remember the ones we've learned!"

Harry pretended not to hear that and changed the subject. "But I did see something cool. One of the trophies had my dad's name on it, James Potter. It was a Quidditch award! Malfoy was totally jealous. Kept bragging about his fancy pure-blood family, but I bet his dad never won anything."

Ron winced. His dad didn't have a trophy either. Charlie had one, sure, but somehow that just didn't feel the same.

Fruity led them to the second floor. The three of them were familiar with this level, it housed Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Muggle Studies, and the Hospital Wing.

And, notably, one particular out-of-order girls' bathroom.

They followed Fruity into that very bathroom, where they found Vaughn sitting comfortably, having a conversation with a ghost.

"...Ohhh, Vaughn Weasley, you sweet darling. You actually care. No one ever talks to me. The others just scream, 'Ugh, it's Moaning Myrtle again!' and run away. Boohoohoo!"

She wailed for a moment, then suddenly screeched, slamming her fists into the air.

"So nobody gets to use my bathroom! I died here, and I live here! It's mine! Forever!"

Water exploded from the taps as Myrtle's tantrum reached full volume.

Vaughn watched the dramatic scene with interest. When he noticed his friends had arrived, he waved and said, "Don't be mad, Myrtle. Look, I brought some new friends."

Myrtle glanced at the trio and immediately wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. No thanks. I don't talk to trolls. A beauty like me deserves someone on her level, like you, Vaughn."

The "trolls" in question stood silently, offended but speechless.

"Well, alright then," Vaughn said with a dramatic sigh. "We'll go. Catch up another time?"

Myrtle blushed and ducked halfway into a toilet, peeking out with a sickly sweet grin. "Yes, I'll always be waiting for you, my lovely."

Ron waited until they were out in the hallway before exhaling loudly. "Merlin's pants, that was awful. I nearly threw up."

He turned to Vaughn, half horrified, half impressed. "How can you stand her?"

"She's fascinating," Vaughn replied with a shrug. "Did you know she's the youngest ghost at Hogwarts? Died only a few decades ago. What I want to know is, how did she become that? And her control over water? Most ghosts can't manipulate plumbing."

Harry and Ron didn't look intrigued in the slightest.

But Hermione's eyes sparkled. Myrtle was clearly full of untapped mysteries and mysteries meant research.

For the next few flights of stairs, she fired questions at Vaughn nonstop about ghost mechanics, magical residue, and spectral energy. Harry, puffing as he climbed to the sixth floor, finally groaned, "Vaughn, seriously. Where are we going?"

"Eighth floor. We're almost there."

At the top, Vaughn led them down a hallway until they stopped before a large tapestry. It depicted a giant troll clubbing a wizard who was apparently trying to teach it ballet.

"Stand under the tapestry," Vaughn instructed.

They exchanged confused glances but obeyed.

Then Vaughn turned and began pacing back and forth in front of a blank stretch of wall, three times.

Suddenly, a smooth door melted out of the stone.

Vaughn opened it and gestured grandly. "Come on in."

They followed, stepping into a cavernous room that stretched so far in every direction it made the Quidditch pitch look modest. Mountains of junk towered around them like forgotten kingdoms.

"Welcome," Vaughn said, "to the Room of Requirement."

Even after everything they'd seen in the magical world, Harry felt his sense of reality wobble again. A room that appeared out of nowhere and responded to thoughts? Hogwarts was truly something else.

Tables, broken furniture, dusty cabinets, peculiar magical odds and ends, the room was packed with oddities. Some items glowed, some floated, and others spun or buzzed mysteriously.

Vaughn grinned as he walked among the relics. "The Room of Requirement gives you exactly what you need, if you know how to ask. All you have to do is think about what you want, then pace in front of this wall three times. I was thinking about hiding things, so the room gave me a giant junkyard."

Harry could only gape. This school never stopped surprising him.