Harry Potter: From Little Wizard to White Lord

Since the start of term, Vaughn's reputation as a top student had already taken root at Hogwarts.

Hermione had once tried to compete with him academically, but after spending more time around the less academically inclined, her obsession with house points had mellowed, at least a little.

These days, only losing points could still truly set her off.

Just as Vaughn was pretending to ponder a particularly tricky question at breakfast, a loud thump interrupted the Great Hall's morning calm. A parcel slammed straight into Ron's head. He had been leaning so far over the table in anticipation that he practically became one with the oak.

"Bloody Juliet!" Ron groaned, rubbing his forehead. "I knew that owl had it in for me!"

The owl, a young tawny successor to the decrepit Errol and newly christened by Ginny, gave Ron a scornful glance that could have rivalled Professor Snape's best. Juliet had never forgiven Ron for calling her "Pig" that one time. Since then, she treated him with utter disdain.

Harry ignored Ron's ongoing feud with his family's mail-bird and instead stared at the parcel. Its shape was unmistakable.

"Vaughn," he said slowly. "Is that…?"

Vaughn, who had already unwrapped the package, beamed. "Exactly what you're thinking, Harry. A broomstick. A Nimbus Two Thousand!"

"Merlin's beard…"

Ron clutched his chest dramatically as though the golden glint of Galleons had burst from the packaging. He gaped at Vaughn.

"You-you actually bought a Nimbus Two Thousand?"

"Of course not," Vaughn said lightly. "Professor Snape did."

Harry's stomach flipped. The scene was far too familiar. Just weeks ago, he had received a Nimbus Two Thousand, gifted by Professor McGonagall after being chosen as Gryffindor's new Seeker.

Hermione's eyes widened in realization. She gasped and covered her mouth. "Vaughn… don't tell me… you joined the Quidditch team?"

"Correct," Vaughn replied, cheerful as ever. "Professor Snape believes I have an exceptional gift for Quidditch. He asked me to help lead Slytherin to victory."

He grinned at her, entirely unbothered by the awkward silence that followed.

Harry, however, could not summon a smile. He remembered that first flying lesson, how Vaughn had kept pace with him, matching every maneuver with astonishing ease. At the time, he'd thought little of it. Now it lingered in his thoughts like a storm cloud.

For the rest of the day, he was so distracted that he completely forgot to ask Vaughn the question that had been bothering him all week.

Not until bedtime did it suddenly strike him again.

Vaughn still hadn't told him who Nicholas Flamel was.

Ron, however, was fixated on a different matter.

"That greasy old bat had to do it on purpose," he fumed from his bed, pacing in his socks. "McGonagall names you Seeker, and Snape rushes to stuff Vaughn onto the Slytherin team. He's trying to outdo you, Harry! Can't let you have the spotlight, so he plants a golden boy of his own."

"This is sabotage!" he cried, loud enough to wake Seamus Finnigan, who sat bolt upright with a snort, looking wildly around.

Ron continued pacing. "He wants to tear us apart, Harry. It's a cunning strategy. Divide and conquer. He's trying to turn you against Vaughn!"

Harry finally cut him off. "Ron, what are you talking about? That's ridiculous."

"I just… I mean, you seemed upset," Ron mumbled. "Are you worried Vaughn might steal your thunder? Because trust me, I've lived in his shadow since I was five and I still function. Mostly."

Harry blinked, caught between laughing and pitying him.

"I'm not jealous," he said. "I'm just… worried. Vaughn is really good. What if I can't keep up? Everyone's counting on me. What if I let them down?"

Ron scratched his face awkwardly. "Er… I guess that's fair."

By Saturday, October had fully arrived. The air had turned sharp, and frost dusted the morning grass across the Hogwarts grounds.

Today was Slytherin's Quidditch training day, and thanks to some unexpected excitement, it was shaping up to be a full-on spectator event.

After all, Vaughn had just become the second student in recent history to be selected as Seeker during his first year. Only Harry had done the same before him.

The stands were packed.

Not just Slytherins, but Hufflepuffs too. Cedric Diggory had brought several of his Transfiguration study mates to watch, all of them waving a magically scrawled banner that read: "Go Vaughn!"

Ravenclaw's section was especially lively. The girls there had conjured sparkling fireworks and were squealing every time Vaughn soared overhead.

Even Gryffindor's end of the stands had drawn a crowd. Fred and George Weasley had hung an entire bed sheet over the railing, enchanted with a moving illustration of Vaughn catching the Golden Snitch mid-air.

Hermione stood nearby, wand in hand, charming the animation to be more lifelike.

Ron was appalled.

"TRAITORS!" he shouted up at the twins.

"We're supporting family, Ronnie," Fred called back.

"He is our brother," added George with a wink.

Ron scowled. "They'd never do this for me. If I got on the team, they'd probably prank me with a Bludger to the face."

Harry wasn't listening. He had spotted Oliver Wood near the pitch and quickly made his way over.

Wood didn't look worried. In fact, he clapped Harry on the shoulder and said, "Relax, mate. No one flies like you do. No first-year's going to outshine that."

Then the Slytherin training session began.

Vaughn's trial was simple: catch the Snitch while the rest of the team tried their best to get in his way, including well-placed Bludgers, feints, and obstructing plays.

Vaughn, now wearing sleek wind goggles and straddling a brand-new Nimbus Two Thousand, hovered above the field, taking in the sea of spectators.

"I might have underestimated how popular Quidditch really is," he muttered to himself.

He knew the sport was a big deal in the magical world, but until today, he hadn't felt it. Not like this.

Then a thought struck him.

Popularity means recognition… recognition means fame. And fame means more reputation points, doesn't it? If playing Quidditch wins over the students and their families, it's got to count for something.

"Right. Time to get serious."

Vaughn tightened his grip on the broomstick, adjusted his stance, and leaned forward.

The whistle blew.

Marcus Flint released the Snitch, and the rest of the team burst into motion. Vaughn's job was to hunt the Snitch while dodging whatever chaos the others threw at him.

He shot forward.

The Nimbus screamed through the air as Vaughn dipped low, then swerved to dodge two Chasers swinging around in a V-formation. One Beater nearly collided with him, but Vaughn twisted midair and slid past like a bullet through a keyhole.

Every movement was clean, sharp, instinctive. He was flying through interference like it wasn't even there, weaving between players, dodging Bludgers, eyes fixed on a glimmer of gold flitting below.

One minute later, his fist punched into the sky.

The Golden Snitch glittered in his hand.

The stands erupted in cheers.

Harry looked up and spotted Oliver Wood standing stone still, his face pale as a ghost.