Ron's Courage

He poked Harry, who was still in a daze, hoping to talk his way out of his own depression. "Harry, what's wrong with you?"

Harry shuddered. When he came to his senses, he realized with horror that he had taken out his textbook and was about to do homework! It was terrifying!

He quickly forced himself to forget the lingering magic of Hermione's voice in his ears and tried to shift his focus. "I was thinking about what gifts to give on Halloween!"

The moment he said this, Harry was shocked. Halloween is almost here? Time had flown so fast?

Rounding up… this year is practically over? The urgency Hermione had instilled in him made Harry feel almost desperate.

Ron, who had just begun to shake off his gloom, let out a defeated groan. Because he too suddenly remembered—Halloween gifts!

And the problem with gifts… was money. And he had none. That was true sorrow.

---

Over the next few days, Harry had nightmares again and again. He dreamed of time slipping away like waves, of himself aging in an instant and dying before he'd even had enough fun.

How could that be allowed?

So, he played like mad for a few days, trying to forget Hermione's terrible warnings. Then came a notice from Wood—the first Gryffindor Quidditch match of the season would be held right after Halloween.

The opponent: Slytherin.

Harry's barely-improved mood took a plunge once again. What made it worse was that both of his best friends were acting strange as Halloween approached.

Hermione's case was obvious—her time anxiety had reached a clinical level.

But even Ron had become…odd. He often drifted off in class and sighed in the toilet.

This was worst in the mornings. Harry caught him several times staring at Vaughn's back, hesitant, nervous, like he wanted to approach but didn't know how.

Harry asked him more than once, but Ron always brushed it off with stammering excuses.

Vaughn had naturally noticed Ron's strange behavior. But he wasn't in the mood to care just then.

He had put aside Dumbledore's invitation for the time being—his "interest" in magical creatures could wait. Right now, potion research is the top priority.

So from that day on, Vaughn spent most of his time buried in Snape's well-stocked storage room. He'd also invested the five reputation points awarded by the system for the past month into the Scarpin's Revelaspell.

Thanks to his frequent usage, and powered by his Spellcasting Talent (7) and Potion Talent (10), the number in brackets beside the spell had increased by one just a few days ago.

And now, with the new five-point investment, the spell had officially leveled up.

[Scarpin's Revelaspell – LV3 (0/32)]

Vaughn quickly closed the system panel and looked at the potion in front of him. He whispered the incantation.

The familiar shimmer of light appeared in his vision, and with a wave of his wand, the potion began reverting to its raw state.

But today, something was different. His mastery of the spell suddenly surged to a deeper level. He began to sense the casting process in more detail, and added a bit more magic power—subtle, calculated interference.

As a result, the spell didn't simply restore the potion to its raw materials—it caused a slow glow to emerge—The glow of magical properties!

Snape, who had been grading essays, looked up at the sudden glow in the hovering liquid and could barely maintain his usual poker face.

"You used the Scarpin's Revelaspell… to isolate the properties of a finished potion, not just the ingredients?" He looked stunned. "How did you do it?"

Vaughn, pleased with the result, gently separated the glowing liquids into individual flasks and responded, "I added a bit of magical interference, Professor. And… strong intent."

But Snape, a veteran of the Revelaspell, knew that this was no little technique. The more refined and advanced a spell, the harder it was to alter. Reckless interference could cause it to fail or something even worse.

That Vaughn had succeeded meant one thing: his control over the Revelaspell was deeper than most masters. Possibly even deeper than his own.

Snape's emotions were complicated. At first, he felt jealousy—an unavoidable pang when someone else outshines you. But then… came joy.

Joy, layered with pride, curiosity, and satisfaction. Because the method of magical extraction, the foundation of new potions, was beginning to show promise.

And because this progress had been made by a Slytherin. A brilliant, evil Slytherin.

Snape hadn't forgotten Dumbledore's plan to cultivate the famous Potter... Hmph. If he could groom Harry Potter, couldn't he groom a Vaughn who would surpass even him?

That thought nearly melted the ice on Snape's face, and in the next moment, he couldn't help raising his voice. "Ten points to Slytherin, Vaughn. Well done!"

"This isn't during class, Professor… Should you really—?"

"I'll speak to Professor McGonagall."

Snape didn't think there was anything inappropriate about it. Just like ten minutes later, when he walked happily out of his office and saw Harry's friend—another Weasley—standing outside the door.

He didn't hesitate to say: "Ron Weasley. Sneaking around a professor's office earns Gryffindor a deduction of two points."

Then he swept away like a bat, robe billowing.

Ron stood frozen, hands trembling with fury. What kind of world is this? When will honest people stop being bullied?

Hearing the noise outside, Vaughn opened the door and asked, "Ron? What are you doing here?"

Ron immediately deflated like a punctured balloon. He clutched at the hem of his shirt and stammered, "You, uh… Could you lend me some money? Halloween's coming up, and I wanted to buy gifts for my friends… Mum said I could give them homemade sweets, but I… I…"

His voice dropped to a whisper. He couldn't meet Vaughn's eyes, though he kept sneaking glances full of nervous hope.

There was a flicker of light in those darting eyes.

Vaughn said nothing at first, just gave him a glance over. Ron's grip on his shirt tightened. He forced himself to be brave.

"I—I can call you 'Brother'... Brother Vaughn…"

Vaughn burst out laughing. He hadn't expected the ever-prideful Ron to fold like this.

So sudden. So… brave. Not everyone could lower their head to a bully for the sake of giving their friends Halloween gifts.

Vaughn, who had been planning to tease him, suddenly lost interest. "How much do you need?"

Ron blinked, torn between joy and disbelief. "T-Ten Sickles?"

Vaughn fished the money from his bag and handed it over. Ron watched the coins drop into his palm, dazed, as if dreaming.

He couldn't help asking, "You… you're not gonna ask me to do anything? Just lend it like that?"

Vaughn was speechless. Then, as a thought struck him, a mischievous grin slowly appeared on his face. "Well, since you insist… there's actually something I could use your help with—"

Ron instantly regretted everything and wished he could slap himself in the face.