The last day of the weekend was blissfully quiet for Vaughn Weasley.
After finally securing Professor Snape as a long-term mentor, and with lessons in Scarpin's Revelaspell on the horizon, Vaughn felt lighter than he had in years. All those days spent suffocating in potion fumes, poring over books until dawn—finally paying off.
Meanwhile, the rest of the first-years were drowning.
One week into term, Hogwarts unleashed its true form:
homework piles multiplying like nifflers in a vault, professors accelerating through chapters, quizzes lurking around every corner.
Worse—friend groups had started to crystallise.
And rivalries.
Especially Gryffindor vs Slytherin.
Every joint lesson was a battlefield.
Every shared corridor echoed with muttered insults.
Every spell practice risked becoming a duel.
And at the very centre of it all:
Harry + Ron versus Draco + Goons.
Textbook rivalry.
Draco still refused to provoke Vaughn directly—anyone who had seen what Vaughn did to the prefect last week knew better.
That was when Malfoy made a critical discovery:
Vaughn did not interfere unless the target was him or Hermione.
If Harry tripped?
If Ron mispronounced a spell?
If Neville set his sleeve on fire?
Vaughn simply turned a page in his book.
And thus began Harry and Ron's personal nightmare:
Being mocked
reliably, efficiently, and relentlessly
by Draco Malfoy…
with Vaughn Weasley sitting right there, utterly unbothered, giving them not even a pity glance.
The Trio Reconciles (Sort Of)
"I can't believe it," Harry groaned after Transfiguration.
"No one at Privet Drive was this petty. Not even Dudley."
Ron spat out, "And I didn't think anyone could be more annoying than Fred, George, and Vaughn put together!"
Hermione snapped, offended:
"They're your brothers, Ronald Weasley."
Hermione herself wasn't exactly fond of Draco.
He didn't dare bully her—but every time he passed, he tilted his chin up like she might contaminate his air.
Still, the trio settled back into normalcy within days.
Children didn't hold grudges long.
Ron finally muttered a stiff half-apology under Harry's pressure.
Hermione accepted—but she also stopped calling him "Ron."
It was now "Ronald."
Ron practically flinched every time he heard it.
"It's Vaughn's fault," Ron told Harry miserably.
"Every time he's messing with me he calls me Ronald. Now Hermione says it—it's like being hexed all over again!"
Whatever tension remained between the trio, it was nothing compared to the warzone that Gryffindor and Slytherin had become, thanks to Malfoy's constant taunting.
And Vaughn?
He remained the only Slytherin openly welcome at every House table.
Students finally accepted his bizarre habit of wandering between Houses, especially once they realised he was:
smart
harmless (unless provoked)
weirdly polite
and could talk anyone—anyone—into giving him snacks
If only he behaved like a normal first-year.
But no.
Last weekend, Vaughn had returned from Ravenclaw Tower complaining that the stonework sign reading "Slytherin Dungeon" was "too gloomy" and "bad for his reputation among Ravenclaw girls."
So he changed it.
With magic.
Into a shimmering placard that read:
"Ocean View Suite."
Filch nearly had an aneurysm.
No Slytherin dared undo it.
Snape pretended not to see it.
Now every young snake walking past that sparkling sign felt mildly seasick.
And as if that weren't bad enough—
Fred and George began showing up daily with Muggle beach posters:
"WELCOME TO WEASLEY PROPERTIES!"
"BEACHFRONT ROOMS! MERMAID SHOWS! FAMILY PACKAGES AVAILABLE!"
Pandemonium.
Thursday – Flying Lessons
Both Gryffindor and Slytherin dorms let out a collective groan at dawn.
Their first Flying Lesson had arrived.
At the start of the week, everyone had been excited.
By Thursday?
Pure dread.
Seamus Finnigan had bragged nonstop about being "born on a broom."
Ron, not to be outdone, claimed he once borrowed Charlie's broom and almost rammed into a Muggle airplane.
"We were so close," Ron insisted dramatically.
"I swear I shook hands with the pilot!"
Hermione's response was immediate:
"Ronald Weasley. Muggle planes are not convertible. You cannot simply reach into the cockpit."
Ron went pink.
"You—you don't know that!"
"I do," Hermione sniffed.
"Because the type of aircraft you're talking about hasn't existed for decades. Unless you're secretly eighty years old, you did NOT see one."
Harry—having never been on a plane himself—decided everyone was lying.
Still, he worried.
Wizard-born kids surely had a head start at broom-flying.
Especially Malfoy.
Not wanting to embarrass himself, Harry sought out Vaughn.
"Any tips for riding a broom?" Harry asked.
Vaughn gave him a flat stare.
"I've never ridden one."
Harry blinked. "…Ever?"
"Ever."
"But Ron said—"
"Yes," Vaughn smirked.
"Ronald's airplane story? A dream he had after I took him to see a Muggle film."
Harry suddenly felt much better.
Until class began.
Flying Lesson Begins
Gryffindor and Slytherin lined up beside their brooms.
Madam Hooch—sharp eyes, silver hair, and a voice that could shatter windows—strode in.
"Right!" she barked.
"Hand out over your broom—UP!"
"Up!" everyone shouted.
Harry's broom leapt instantly into his hand.
So did Vaughn's.
Everyone else?
Nothing.
Hermione's broom gave a miserable twitch.
Draco's rolled over like a dying ferret.
Ron's smacked him in the nose.
Vaughn felt a flicker of surprise.
He'd never trained on a broom, had no "Flying Talent" listed in his System panel—yet his broom obeyed as if it had been waiting for him.
Hidden talent?
A quirk of magic?
He'd investigate later.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle.
"Mount your brooms!"
Most students wobbled awkwardly.
Only two brooms left the ground cleanly on the first attempt:
Harry Potter
and
Vaughn Weasley
Every other first-year watched them with awe, envy, and despair.
And a few Slytherins wondered, with mounting unease:
Just how many things is this boy good at?
(End of Chapter )