Evil. Terrifying. Cloaked in black. And appearing inside Hogwarts…
The Trio couldn't think of anyone other than one man who fit all those conditions.
"We always thought Quirrell wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone so he could make gold…" Ron's voice turned rough, his expression tightening. "But now it looks like he meant to use it to keep himself alive."
Harry and Hermione nodded. They had never considered the possibility of extending life, mainly because Quirrell had always looked so young. Who could have imagined something like this?
This new revelation weighed heavily on all of them.
Because the nature of the matter had changed. Even though they were still children, they could distinguish the difference between an economic crime… and a life-and-death one.
Ron clenched his teeth. "I should've realized it sooner. Last year, he was mad enough to cast the Killing Curse inside the castle at Vaughn—how could that be just for gold? Murder and theft aren't remotely the same thing. Theft gets you chucked into Azkaban. Murder earns you the Dementor's Kiss!"
Another term Harry didn't understand.
He didn't have the mood to ask what Azkaban was, or what a Dementor's Kiss meant. He only had one thought:
He really needed to learn some wizarding common sense over the summer.
For now, he just forced himself to ask, "So… what do we do?"
Because he had suddenly realized that his entire plan might no longer work.
Compared to Harry and Ron's panic and anger, Hermione remained calm. After thinking for a moment, she said, "This is already beyond anything we can handle. Harry, we have to tell Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore immediately."
"But—"
"No buts! And stop using 'we need evidence' as an excuse!" Hermione scolded sternly. "Quirrell even dared drink unicorn blood. His life must already be in terrible condition. Can you imagine? We spent a whole year with someone like that—a walking time bomb!"
"A person cornered like that—we don't know when he'll reach his limit. And we have no idea what he'll do if he snaps. If he blew Hogwarts sky-high right now, I wouldn't be surprised! You can't imagine the lengths someone will go, when they're desperate to survive!"
"I know you want to catch him yourself and get Dumbledore to award points to Gryffindor. But this is not the same situation anymore, Harry. Are you really willing to risk the entire student body?"
"I…"
Harry opened his mouth, but the selfish answer lodged in his throat. He couldn't say it.
Hermione was right.
Even a fish thrown into hot oil would struggle twice for its life—so what about a wizard, a dark wizard especially?
Giving up their last chance stung painfully, but he could not let his classmates remain beside a volcano ready to erupt.
Harry nodded hard. "All right. Let's go back."
Unexpectedly, Ron stopped him. "Wait. Since we're already here, we might as well have Firenze use centaur divination to predict Quirrell's next move. It'll only take a few more minutes."
Nearby, Firenze—who had been silently listening to the Trio's "secret discussion"—looked hesitant when the three pairs of eyes turned to him. He neither agreed nor refused. Instead, he asked:
"Harry… have you ever wondered why, when you strayed into our herd's territory, all of us already knew who you were?"
Harry blinked. "You—?"
"In truth, we have long peered into your destiny, Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. From the day you stepped into Hogwarts, the stars of your fate began to shine."
"You—"
"Firenze! You damned fool—do you know what you're doing!?"
A roar exploded from the distance, cutting him off.
The Trio jumped. They spun toward the sound.
A massive, black-furred centaur—wild and furious—was charging toward them, with a thinner centaur racing behind him.
The two arrived in moments.
The black-furred centaur reared up at Firenze. "We swore never to defy the will of the stars. Are you planning to break that oath!?"
"Bane, don't slander me!" Firenze snapped. "I haven't promised Harry Potter anything!"
"But you were about to! You were going to reveal the trajectory of the stars to that human colt chosen by fate!"
"I was only hesitating—"
The sudden arrival, the sudden argument—Hermione, Ron, and Harry could only stare blankly.
They still hadn't even understood why asking Firenze to read Quirrell's fate suddenly sounded like something… connected to Harry.
…
Earlier, in the treetops above:
A vast mantle of magic concealed two figures seated upon a flying carpet—Dumbledore and Vaughn.
They watched everything below.
Hermione soothing the occamy with a recording of unicorn sounds.
Harry's questions.
Firenze's explanation that led straight into the events of last year.
Dumbledore sighed in admiration. "Marvelous, isn't it? Fate… unpredictable and beautiful. Wouldn't you say so, Vaughn?"
"…Yes. Everything feels pre-arranged…"
Even after analyzing it countless times, Vaughn still felt chilled by the depth and strangeness of fate. Everything seemed… scripted.
Harry had lost the Quidditch match.
So he reasonably came seeking one last chance.
Then he reasonably wanted a centaur to divine Quirrell's timing.
Then the Trio reasonably strayed into the Forbidden Forest and met danger.
And Hermione reasonably used the recording Vaughn gave her to calm the creature.
And through discussing unicorns, they reasonably uncovered the truth of the unicorn attacks.
Step by step, previously hidden clues emerged naturally before Harry's eyes, guiding him toward the truth of Quirrell's condition.
As though…
an invisible script was guiding Harry toward his destined counterpart.
Even Vaughn realized that he was part of the script.
Logic dictated that after he interfered last year—saving the unicorn and diverting events—Harry's fate should have diverged completely.
No unicorn attack = no reason for Quirrell to patrol the Forest = no baby dragon smuggling fiasco = no detention in the Forest = no meeting with the centaurs.
Under Vaughn's interference and Dumbledore's deliberate secrecy, Harry and the wraith living on the back of Quirrell's head should have stayed on parallel tracks.
But today, those two lines suddenly converged.
Only now did Vaughn figure out why.
The seed had been planted long ago—
on last year's Halloween, the day he tried to use Voldemort for his own purposes.
Had he not tried to exploit Voldemort to obtain the Stone…
Harry and Hermione wouldn't have gone to find him and Ron that night.
If they hadn't gone looking for them, Harry wouldn't have encountered Voldemort early and triggered the horcrux resonance.
Which forced Vaughn to teach Harry Occlumency early.
Which led him to implant an experimental artificial personality into Harry's mind.
Which caused Harry, under the personality's punishment mechanism, to have that infamous episode of believing he was a horse—and to wander into the Forbidden Forest.
Where he met… Firenze.
Firenze—the node in Harry's original fate, the one who revealed "Voldemort still lives."
And from that moment, Harry shifted from passive to active.
Like a moth drawn to flame, he chased every hint of Voldemort.
Driving the fate of the two enemies into a storm that threatened to swallow all.
"I—my Occlumency construct—became a tool of fate."
Vaughn could not identify what he felt.
Shock? Fear? Shame? Anger?
His Occlumency-polished mind was a fortress, but inside, a chaos of storms raged—emotions so violent that he wanted to destroy everything.
And he could.
A flick of his wand and Firenze would die, severing fate's chain.
But his rationality remained.
Firenze was merely one piece of fate's machinery.
The true vortex had only two cores: Harry and Voldemort.
Everyone else was a pawn enabling their grand collision.
Including him—
Vaughn Weasley.
Vaughn held his wand expressionlessly. Years of suppressing emotion made him reliable even now.
But Dumbledore saw through him.
"Hard to accept, isn't it? Frightening?" Dumbledore asked. Below them, the three children were beginning to discuss Quirrell's waning life.
Vaughn said nothing.
Dumbledore didn't seem bothered. "I once felt the same. We clever folk are often the ones most pained when we realize we are part of a design—part of a concept larger than ourselves."
"It makes our intelligence, our hard work, feel suddenly meaningless… Ordinary people don't suffer this way. Only the proud do—the ones who trust themselves more than they trust destiny."
It was the first time Vaughn had heard Dumbledore openly call him proud.
He had suspected it long ago.
Still, he had no mood for compliments.
"You always say you believe in equality. Why are you dividing people into clever and mediocre today?"
Dumbledore knew he was venting and didn't mind. "Then you admit you and I are alike. Good. In that case, may I offer you a little advice? A few lessons from someone who has gone through this?"
Vaughn remained silent.
Dumbledore continued gently.
"When I first realized the power of fate, I spent a long time paranoid. Always wondering—was this really my thought? Or was it predetermined? Was my planning even mine?"
"When you interrogate reality like that, everything becomes suspect. It is a dreadful state. You question everything—even your own existence. Eventually, it crushes you."
"Perhaps that is fate's punishment for those clever enough to suspect it."
Vaughn listened silently. And despite himself, a small part of him feared he might fall into that same spiral.
"What did you do?" Vaughn asked quietly.
"What did I do? Ah, I began learning how to be an ordinary man." Dumbledore winked. "See? I still believe everyone is equal. 'Ordinary' and 'clever' are meaningless distinctions from fate's viewpoint. But from our own—ordinary people live happier lives. It's an admirable mindset."
Vaughn stared at him. "…So your solution was to lie flat and give up?"
"Lie flat? What a delightful phrase. But no, of course not." Dumbledore chuckled. "That was merely the first step—to shed fear. After that, you must start guiding fate."
Vaughn looked shocked. "You can control fate?"
"Certainly not," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "But I have magic."
He drew his wand.
A terrifying wave of power rolled outward.
He spoke no spell, yet Vaughn felt a charm ignite the moment Dumbledore pointed downward.
A simple Confundus Charm.
Yet in the hands of this legendary wizard, it became something else entirely—an abstract force spilling outward like ink in water.
"It spreads…" Vaughn whispered.
"Magic is the greatest force in the world," Dumbledore murmured. "Not even fate stands above it."
"Fate requires that Harry learn Voldemort is alive. But fate cares only about the outcome—not the timing. Today, or a month from now—this is the variable magic can leverage."
"And I prefer it happen today."
As he finished speaking, Vaughn saw two centaurs appear—ones who should not have been there.
Bane and Ronan.
And then—just as fate supposedly required—Bane confronted Firenze.
Firenze resisted.
The conflict escalated.
Until Firenze snapped:
"I'm done hiding like ostriches in the Muggle world—burying our heads and pretending danger disappears!"
"Listen, Harry Potter. The One Who Must Not Be Named—the one who killed your family, the one who died by your hand—he lives. He is the dark wizard attacking unicorns in Hogwarts!"
"Firenze!"
"I will not lie anymore. Not to others—not to myself! Bane, Ronan! Do you think if we stay silent, the Dark Lord will spare us? The prophecy has spoken—he and Harry Potter are twins of destiny. Only when one defeats the other will our world know peace!"
The forest echoed with the centaurs' shouts.
With Harry, Ron, and Hermione frozen in shock.
Above, Dumbledore sighed.
"All perfectly reasonable. A centaur, cornered by his peers, speaking a truth meant to be hidden. All motivated by his loyalty to his herd, to the Forest, to peace."
"Vaughn, you fear fate because it is unknown. But fate can only act upon what truly exists. So can magic."
Vaughn looked down, lost in thought.
Earlier, he had briefly wondered whether Dumbledore's manipulation was itself part of fate.
He forced that thought away.
Dumbledore was right—endless doubt was a trap with no bottom.
He ignored the children below, overwhelmed by the truth. Instead, he focused inward.
"So I need to learn to be… ordinary. The artificial personality might actually help. Though its existence also seems connected to fate… No. Stop. Don't go down that line of thought…"
He inhaled deeply.
Occlumency excelled at defending against outside intrusion—not at defending against one's own spiraling mind.
To stop thinking, Vaughn asked, "So what now? Harry knows the truth. Are your trials ready?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Of course."
…
Everything that night happened too fast.
Too abruptly.
Harry remembered the shouting, the argument, Bane's furious accusations, and Firenze finally erupting—revealing the truth of the hooded figure's identity and Harry's entanglement with Voldemort.
The truth hit Harry so hard his mind buzzed, muddled, unable to think properly.
Half-dazed, he felt Firenze lift him onto his back.
Bane roared behind them:
"Damn you, Firenze! You violate our oath and disgrace our kind! You let a human ride you like a mule!"
"Mule"—clearly an insult among centaurs.
Firenze's body trembled with fury, heat radiating from him.
"Then go back to the herd and let the elders cast me out! I am done with your barbaric stubbornness and cowardice! Or do you want to try my bow as well?"
Bane's roar echoed through the trees.
Harry's vision blurred—he could only vaguely see Bane raise his bow.
Then Ronan rushed between them. "Enough! Put down your arrows! Bane—your words are cruel. Firenze… you should not reveal the prophecy. Nor should you carry a human foal on your back."
Firenze snorted like a bellows. "Your cowardice endangers these children. I'm taking them out of the Forest. Ronan—do not stop me."
"Firenze…"
But Firenze no longer listened. With a fierce neigh, he bolted into the trees, carrying the Trio on his back.
Harry didn't know whether Bane chased them. He only knew that Firenze ran incredibly fast. Bushes, trees, and glowing animal eyes streaked past them.
Cold wind whipped across his face.
After who-knew-how-long, the galloping slowed. Harry's dazed mind cleared slightly. Ron sat slumped against Firenze's front, Hermione gripping Harry's robes behind him.
Both stared at Harry with complicated expressions.
He opened his mouth—but had no idea what to say.
Turning forward, he saw the trees thinning. Moonlight shone unobstructed overhead.
They had reached the edge of the Forest.
Firenze kneeled and let them down.
"This place is safe. Light some sparks; Hagrid will see them and escort you back."
"Firenze…" Harry croaked. "What about you?"
The centaur—pure-hearted as any unicorn—smiled and ruffled Harry's hair. "I must return to my herd. A centaur should not walk freely in human places. The Statute of Secrecy forbids it. We swore an oath—and I intend to keep it."
"But you already broke an oath!" Harry protested. "Bane almost killed you!"
"Oaths differ, Harry Potter."
Firenze's expression softened. "The Statute safeguards all centaurs. It must be upheld. But the oath of silence regarding destiny… that one is rooted in fear. In cowardice."
He crouched, meeting Harry's eyes—emerald against deep brown.
"Running does not solve problems. I revealed the prophecy because you can defeat him, Harry."
"I believe in you."
"I—"
Harry couldn't speak. Not with Firenze looking at him with such unwavering trust.
When the centaurs had revealed the hooded figure as Voldemort, Harry had instantly recalled that night on the fourth-floor corridor—the twisted silhouette, the corrupted magic.
Such terror. Such strength.
Even the air had bent before that power.
He used to think being "the Boy Who Lived" meant nothing—he didn't remember defeating Voldemort.
Voldemort was an abstraction. A symbol.
He never imagined Voldemort would one day stand before him again.
Earlier, on Firenze's back, terror had gripped him constantly.
Halloween replayed in flashes—Quirrell's magic, Vaughn's spells, the terrible green light.
He had always believed the grown-ups—Vaughn, the professors, Dumbledore—would protect him.
That he was just the detective, not the hero.
He never thought he would be the protagonist.
A storm of emotion battered his Occlumency—fear, confusion, shame…
Harry realized he was not nearly as brave as people thought.
He was afraid.
Because Voldemort was no longer a concept.
He was the monster Harry had once faced.
Seeing Harry speechless, Firenze said nothing more. He ruffled Harry's hair once more, then strode back into the fog-veiled Forest.
Soon, his figure vanished entirely.
Harry stared into the darkness for a long time.
"I wonder what punishment he'll face…"
Nearby, Ron—still trying and failing to cast sparks, earning Hermione's exasperation—scratched his cheek. "Probably nothing good. Centaurs are pretty closed off and rough. Bane is basically how wizards imagine all centaurs. Firenze will have a hard time."
But Firenze hadn't flinched.
Strangely, Harry realized that the fear strangling his heart earlier had dissipated.
He looked at the Forest one last time.
Running won't solve anything.
Harry Potter—you must be brave.
Bang!
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin—Hermione's wand had finally launched a bright shower of sparks.
Far away, the lights of Hagrid's hut glimmered. Fang's barking echoed faintly.
…
Clack, clack.
Footsteps echoed in the silent castle.
Vaughn walked through the sleeping corridors, ignoring the grumbling portraits, and descended into the dungeons.
He stopped at Snape's office door and knocked.
Most professors slept at this hour—but Snape was an exception. In the Muggle world, Vaughn would've called him a shut-in; the man's creativity apparently blossomed at night.
Sure enough, the door opened. Snape stood in his usual black robes, wearing his usual expression—frozen and unreadable.
"You need something?"
"The plan has moved forward, Professor."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "…What must I do?"
Vaughn smiled. "Guide Quirrell and Harry. Professor Dumbledore and I will leave tonight. The Ilvermorny representative has been kept waiting for days—he must be quite impatient. But unfortunately, I only finished resolving school matters tonight. Quidditch is a convenient excuse. As a gesture of respect, we'll rush to meet him immediately. I'm sure he'll be… deeply moved."
Snape's lip twitched. The poor representative—meeting both Vaughn and Dumbledore was misfortune indeed.
"So I must inform Quirrell and Potter?"
"Yes. I trust your acting skills and intellect. They won't suspect a thing. Oh—would you like a camera? I recently ordered some miniature recorders. You could hide one under your robes and record the entire sequence for completeness."
"No." Snape's voice went cold.
From "neutral" to "cold" wasn't a big shift—but on Snape, it was significant.
Vaughn sighed dramatically. "Shame. It would've made the Savior's Trial storyline so much more elegant. But I understand—you'll be undercover in the future. Better not risk exposure."
"…Anything else?"
"No, Professor. Good night."
Vaughn bowed lightly and turned to go—
Only for Snape to stop him.
"Wait."
"Professor?"
Snape's dark eyes fixed on him, hesitant. "You and Dumbledore grow closer. I don't know your intentions. But… be careful."
Vaughn froze—stunned that Snape would say something like that. Then he smiled. "Thank you, Professor. I will."
Snape turned away with a huff. "It's not concern. I just don't want you turning into someone as dreadful as him."
Ah, tsundere.
Vaughn smiled silently, bowed again, and left.
Exiting the dungeons, he climbed to the eighth floor.
Dumbledore was waiting—with Professor McGonagall beside him, looking thoroughly displeased.
"Albus, why tonight of all times? Why not morning? Or noon? It's the middle of the night! Disturbing the Ilvermorny representative is terribly rude!"
"And you informed me far too suddenly! The school is in disarray! The students' cheating gadgets and bad potions are resurfacing again—I was about to arrange a full inspection!"
McGonagall was not part of the plan.
Her fairness and protectiveness toward students made it impossible to involve her. So they kept everything secret.
But she had to leave Hogwarts for the plan to proceed.
From afar, Vaughn approached just as Dumbledore cheerfully said:
"Minerva, it's not me who's urgent. It's Vaughn. You know how he is—studying for exams, Quidditch training… The poor child has been holding it in for ages."
(End of Chapter.)
PS: I've been releasing chapters daily . Honestly, it hurts seeing almost no support on Patreon after all that work.
If you're enjoying the fic, even a little, supporting me would mean a lot. It helps a student stay independent .
complete fic (all chapters ) are already up on P@treon → patreon.com/FinalArcHero789
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 70 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/FinalArcHero789