Harry Potter: From Young Wizard to White Devil

Professor McGonagall took Vaughn to her office. It was located on the second floor, with a view of the Quidditch pitch through the window—a small privilege of being the Deputy Headmistress, satisfying her fondness for the sport.

Once inside, Professor McGonagall's demeanor softened. She even offered Vaughn a biscuit before asking:

"Mr. Weasley, I didn't get a chance to ask in class—have you been practicing Transfiguration at home on your own?"

"Yes, Professor, using my brother's textbook."

"I believe I've warned your brothers repeatedly just how dangerous that can be." Professor McGonagall pursed her lips.

Vaughn nodded. "So I've only practiced object transformation, Professor. I started with small, simple changes and gradually moved on to more complex ones, just like Percy noted. This is all part of my process."

He handed over his Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, thick with handwritten notes.

Professor McGonagall flipped through it. "A new copy? Did you go through it again before term started?"

"Yes, Professor."

She stopped speaking and began reading in earnest. After a while, she closed the book and smiled in approval. "I see, Mr. Weasley. You're well prepared and have carefully documented your attempts."

Though she didn't show it outwardly, she was inwardly impressed.

At first, she'd assumed Vaughn had just dabbled or received some light tutoring from his brothers. But his notes told another story: his understanding of Transfiguration had already reached an advanced level. On the final page, she read:

'...Today, I successfully transformed Hexby's dried fish into a mouse. For a moment, I thought I had created life, but it clearly wasn't alive. The mouse's behavior was predetermined—it was just a puppet in mouse form, lacking true vitality. This lies beyond my current understanding. How is this resolved in higher-level Transfiguration?

Spells require corresponding emotional states. Can Transfiguration bypass that? Turning dead things into living ones, or even between different lifeforms—perhaps it requires tapping into the target's thought processes, emotions, or even memory?'

When Professor McGonagall read that, her heart trembled.

Not because of Vaughn's technical progress, but because of his theoretical insight. Such talent... why did he have to be a Slytherin?

After a brief hesitation, the Deputy Headmistress—always committed to fairness—said rather awkwardly:

"Mr. Weasley, as you know, not all students progress at the same pace. Some... have a particular gift."

She didn't like categorizing students, but reality sometimes left little choice.

"For students who advance quickly, Headmaster Dumbledore encourages professors to run subject-specific clubs to provide tailored learning opportunities."

Then she looked at Vaughn, her expression hopeful. "Mr. Weasley, would you be willing to join my Transfiguration Club?"

She felt a little self-conscious, as though she were secretly recruiting talent. But she met his eyes expectantly.

Professors could extend invitations, but students could also decline.

Vaughn smiled. "It would be an honor, Professor McGonagall."

---

"So you actually joined the Transfiguration Club?" Hermione gasped at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

"Of course. Professor McGonagall said my level's advanced enough, and there's nothing more the regular class can offer right now. The other club members are all at least fourth-year, so I'll get to keep learning instead of wasting time."

Vaughn spoke while filling out a form—the club application.

Hermione peeked at it, her eyes gleaming. She hesitated before asking, "If... I mean, if I manage to turn a matchstick into a needle perfectly like you did today, would I have a chance?"

"Not necessarily," Vaughn replied after a moment. "But you could apply to Professor McGonagall and see what she says."

No sooner had he spoken than Hermione grabbed two slices of bread and sprinted toward the library. Clearly, she'd found a new goal to chase.

Harry and Ron, sitting nearby and eavesdropping, looked at each other. These two were clearly revealing their true nerd selves.

Everything at Hogwarts still felt new and exciting to them. Studying? Why not just enjoy the fun? They didn't understand Hermione's ambition—or Vaughn's enthusiasm.

Ron, in particular, was more focused on the snake crest pinned to Vaughn's chest. 

Seeing Vaughn still seated at the Gryffindor table—and even swiping a piece of meat from Ron's plate—finally pushed him over the edge.

"Why don't you go sit with the Slytherins?" he muttered. "You here to steal our food too? Think Harry's gonna let you get away with it?"

Harry: "???" 

What did I do...?

Vaughn didn't respond. He calmly finished the meat, then pulled a small bag from his satchel and opened it. Inside was a pristine, complete wand maintenance kit.

Ron's eyes widened. Harry thought he heard him gulp audibly.

The whole setup was too familiar.

Ron's face flushed, torn between eagerness and resentment. He wanted to snatch the kit and throw it at Vaughn's smug face—but the weight of years of 'defeat' and the cost of that kit froze him.

He knew Vaughn well enough to expect the worst: the smug Slytherin would use this moment to make him beg.

But not today. He wouldn't stoop to that level again.

He was a Gryffindor, facing down a Slytherin!

Then a hand lightly patted his head. "Take it, Ron. You'll need it for Charms this afternoon... Focus on learning for once, and stop messing around."

By the time Ron looked up, Vaughn had already walked off. Only the small, open bag remained on the bench.

Ron stared after his retreating back as he disappeared around the corridor.

Harry, watching all this, suddenly noticed Ron's eyes were red.

The usually careless Ron was sniffling like a child, tears sliding silently down his cheeks. He grabbed the maintenance kit and clutched it tightly to his chest, sobbing.

"Harry... not all Slytherins are bad, right?"

Harry suddenly understood. Ron had been worried all along—worried that his brother would change.

He just didn't know how to say it.

Patting Ron's shoulder gently, Harry nodded firmly. "Yeah."

Meanwhile, Vaughn strolled toward the Slytherin common room, humming cheerfully to himself. Who said I only have one trick up my sleeve?