The enthusiastic young wizards surrounded Vaughn, bombarding him with questions until noon. They only dispersed reluctantly under Professor McGonagall's firm direction.
Vaughn let out a long sigh of relief. For the first time, he truly felt how exhausting Fred and George's loud mouths could be.
After hurrying through lunch, he was about to slip away to Snape's office when Professor McGonagall called him over to the staff table with a wave, instructing:
"Mr. Weasley, I've just received a notice from the Ministry of Magic. The joint investigation team will be officially visiting the school this afternoon, and a reporter from the Daily Prophet will be accompanying them. You'll be interviewed by them at that time—"
Today, Professor McGonagall looked particularly energetic and radiant. Her usual stern, angular face appeared gentler and almost warm, thanks to her cheerful mood and the softened creases of her smile.
She looked at Vaughn fondly, ignoring the serpent emblem on his chest. In her eyes right now, he was a student who had brought glory to Hogwarts—house affiliation irrelevant:
"You'll be joining Headmaster Dumbledore and me to greet them at the station. As a matter of courtesy, Mr. Weasley, please remember to wear formal attire. If you don't have any, you may visit Diagon Alley through the fireplace in my office. The school will cover the expense."
Vaughn nodded. "I have a formal suit I had tailored before school started—but I haven't worn it yet."
Professor McGonagall chuckled, "Very good, child. Then go and get ready!"
Just as Vaughn was about to leave, he noticed Snape standing nearby, cold-faced and somewhat dazed. Flashing his most well-behaved smile, Vaughn asked, "Professor McGonagall, may I ask Professor Snape to come with me?"
Snape snapped out of his trance with a visible shudder. His black eyes widened as he glared daggers at Vaughn.
But Professor McGonagall didn't notice. Touched, she replied, "Of course, dear—Severus, see how much your students care about you!"
Snape: "—"
He tried to protest. "I have something—"
But McGonagall interrupted sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument: "Severus, don't dismiss a student's kindness. It's still the holidays—what pressing matters could you possibly have that can't wait?"
As she said this, her eyes subtly flicked toward Snape's hair, where a tuft stood stubbornly upright. She added tactfully, "I believe the shampoo you used yesterday worked very well. It's still early—you could use it again."
And just like that, the matter was decided.
---
Vaughn returned to the Slytherin dormitory to bathe and organize his notes, which included research on the werewolf virus and details of his work developing the Wolfsbane Potion.
These might come in handy during the interview. At three o'clock, Professor McGonagall sent her Patronus with a message that the train from the Ministry of Magic was about to arrive. Vaughn rushed to the gates of Hogwarts.
When he got there, Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore were already waiting. As always, Dumbledore wore his signature smile: "Come, dear boy, let's welcome our Ministry guests. No need to worry, the joint investigation is just a formality."
He only dared to use that coaxing tone with McGonagall present. Otherwise, Vaughn would surely mock him.
Vaughn rolled his eyes in secret and followed along.
"By the way, why is the Ministry's investigation team arriving by train? Wouldn't a fireplace be more efficient?"
Dumbledore blinked. "Ah, bureaucracy. The joint investigation team wishes to express its gravitas. A common fireplace just doesn't project the proper... grandeur."
"Albus," McGonagall coughed pointedly.
Dumbledore fell silent immediately.
They followed the cobbled path to the platform. After waiting a few moments, a luxurious-looking train slowly emerged from the distant mountains.
It moved at a steady, leisurely pace—like a well-dressed gentleman with time to spare. It took several dozen minutes to reach the platform.
Finally, when the steam and smoke cleared, the carriage door opened.
The first to step off was a short, rotund man in a pinstriped suit, bright red tie, and a long black cloak. He removed his top hat and opened his arms to Dumbledore with exaggerated enthusiasm:
"Albus Dumbledore, my dearest friend!"
Dumbledore paused in surprise, then grinned and embraced him warmly. "Cornelly! What a surprise—what brings you here?"
Cornelius Fudge?
Vaughn suddenly understood why the so-called investigation team had made such a show of style. The Minister himself had come to Hogwarts.
After exchanging pleasantries with Dumbledore, Cornelius Fudge took Professor McGonagall's hand and kissed it gently, complimenting her with great flair: she looked radiant today—like a blooming iris.
His smile faltered only when he turned to Snape, whose cold expression and lifeless stare were chilling. "Oh—oh! Snape, the famous Potions Master of Hogwarts. Sorry, you… smell like potions. It's really... quite... distinctive…"
Snape's face grew even darker, his glare sharp enough to cut glass.
But Fudge was in no mood to care about a mere professor. He turned to Vaughn, grabbed his hand, and shook it vigorously, then called to the entourage behind him:
"Here he is! Today's star—Mr. Vaughn Weasley! The moment I saw that fiery red hair, I knew he had to be Arthur's son. My boy, you know your father works under the Ministry of Magic?"
Vaughn smiled politely. "Yes, Minister of Magic—the esteemed Mr. Cornelius Fudge. My father has told me about you."
Indeed, Arthur had mentioned him—phrases like 'that pig-headed idiot,' 'stunted moron,' and 'sinister villain' came to mind.
Fudge obviously had no idea he was held in such high esteem by his subordinates. Laughing heartily, he reached out and gave Vaughn's hair a vigorous tousle.
Vaughn's smile visibly stiffened, but Snape, standing nearby, actually let out a chuckle.
With the presence of the esteemed Minister of Magic, the rest of the so-called investigation team instantly faded into the background. It was clear that both the Ministry officials and the invited potion masters recognized that this visit was merely ceremonial. After exchanging pleasantries, they clustered around Snape and Vaughn, engaging in academic discussions.
That was, until a sharp voice rang out: "Mr. Weasley, I'm Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet, and I'll be conducting your interview. When shall we begin?"
Rita Skeeter?
Vaughn turned to see a slightly plump, middle-aged woman in a dazzling, tight-fitting silk dress of golden-green, looking rather gaudy. She adjusted her gold-framed glasses and gave him an overly sweet smile.
Vaughn looked somewhat puzzled but still extended his hand politely. "Hello, Ms. Skeeter."
Rita clasped his hand with her soft, fleshy grip, gently shaking it, but she didn't let go. "Oh, darling, you're far too handsome to be a potioneer."
Snape and the nearby potion masters: "..."
It was unfortunate that those without tabloid value were often invisible to Rita Skeeter. She casually slipped her arm around Vaughn's shoulders and whispered, "Sweetheart, I know your little secret."
Vaughn frowned. What was she talking about?
"A child under twelve developing the Wolfsbane Potion? Even the most far-fetched novels wouldn't dare write such a thing. But you? Mr. Weasley, not only did you go public with it, but I hear quite a few big names are backing you—ah…"
She cooed the words in Vaughn's ear, her tone teasing and sentimental.
A flamboyant quill floated beside her, scribbling furiously on a long parchment.
To her surprise, Vaughn didn't react as she expected. He didn't panic about being exposed, nor did he get angry at her insinuations.
Of course, Rita knew she was fabricating details; it was one of her tricks. She liked to provoke interviewees on purpose. If they spilled the truth in a fluster, perfect. If not, a loss of composure often yielded even better headlines.
But this boy? He just stared at her with an odd expression.
Just as Rita was about to press further, Fudge, having finished chatting with Dumbledore, waved enthusiastically and called out, "Mr. Weasley, lad, come over here! Let's take a photo together!"
Vaughn smiled politely. "The Minister is calling. Sorry, ma'am, let's continue the interview later."
He gently removed Rita's hand from his shoulder and made his way between Fudge and Dumbledore. From this spot, one could take in a panoramic view of Hogwarts Castle—perfect for a commemorative photo.
The ever-enthusiastic Minister stood on a stone step to appear taller. With a broad smile, he slung an arm around Vaughn, subtly edging Dumbledore out of the frame.
Vaughn smiled for the camera, but his mind was elsewhere.
It seemed that Fudge had begun to feel wary of Dumbledore. And understandably so. Last year (1990), Millicent Bagnold, the former Minister, retired, and the Ministry hadn't yet settled on a successor.
Within the Ministry and beyond, it was widely believed that Dumbledore and Barty Crouch were the strongest candidates. Both were heroes of the war against Voldemort, known for their unwavering opposition to the Dark Lord.
Unfortunately, Barty Crouch's son, Barty Crouch Jr, was exposed as a Death Eater. Even though Crouch Sr. had personally sent him to Azkaban, public trust eroded. The common sentiment was: If you can't manage your own child, how can you lead the Ministry?
With Crouch out, Dumbledore became the obvious candidate. But he declined the position.
He told friends he feared becoming addicted to power.
Many thought this was just self-effacing rhetoric, but Vaughn knew better. Dumbledore had genuine fears, shaped by painful events in his youth. He knew his own heart too well to trust it completely.
Last time, it had taken Ariana's death to shake him out of that ambition. And there was no second Ariana.
With both top contenders stepping aside, other capable candidates withdrew too—either out of modesty or a sense they couldn't command public trust.
Thus, Cornelius Fudge, then the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, found himself unexpectedly vaulted into the role of Minister.
The world always said Fudge was Dumbledore's puppet. In the early days, Fudge frequently consulted Dumbledore, which was true; he'd taken office hastily, utterly unprepared, and needed guidance. Vaughn even suspected the rumor of the 'puppet' might've been spread by Fudge himself.
It served his interests, borrowing Dumbledore's reputation to silence rivals and appear strong, while placing Dumbledore under constant public scrutiny, preventing him from interfering too directly in Ministry matters.
Smart move, Vaughn thought with a smile that now felt more genuine.
Clearly, Fudge believed his power was secure after a year in office.
Good, Vaughn thought. That means he's motivated. He'll want to secure the Wolfsbane Potion rights. I've already announced my intention to make the formula public and cooperate with the Ministry—that's why he's here today. All this enthusiasm? It's because he sees me as worth courting. He wants me to hand the formula over for Ministry distribution.
With a calm mind and clear judgment, Vaughn understood the Minister's intentions.
His smile widened.
As expected, shortly after the photos were taken, Fudge called over a few Ministry employees to lavish praise on Dumbledore and engage him in conversation.
As they led the headmaster aside, Fudge quickly pulled Vaughn away from the crowd.
"Mr. Weasley—"
"Please, call me Vaughn, Minister. You work with my father. You're like an uncle to me. No need for formality."
Fudge, clearly touched by the respectful tone of a 12-year-old, chuckled warmly. "Ah, good lad. So polite."
After a bit of small talk, he got to the point. "I heard you intend to make the Wolfsbane Potion formula public, foregoing the patent. Tell me why, Vaughn?"
Vaughn responded with the wide-eyed innocence he'd learned from watching Ron. "I just want to help those poor werewolves. They can't afford the potion. I thought that if I shared the formula, I could convince everyone to make Wolfsbane free."