Chapter 145: The Ways Of Snakes And Rats
“Yes, Mr. Weasley, have a good day.”
Mundungus bowed and scraped as he saw him off, only straightening up after Vaughn Apparated away.
Lupin disliked his fawning attitude: “He’s gone, are you putting on this act for me?”
Mundungus raised his comically bushy eyebrows: “Whether Mr. Weasley sees it or not, I must show it. This is genuine respect, dear Remus.”
“Ha, the nickname isn’t wrong after all. ‘Dung’ means ‘defense’ in English!”
Mundungus, mocked by Lupin, didn’t care at all: “Insult me all you want, Remus. I have a feeling Mr. Weasley thinks highly of me, and perhaps I can serve under him in the future. Then, I might even climb above you.”
“Dream on!”
“No, no, no, this isn’t a dream. Mr. Weasley is a big shot, and big shots like him need someone to do their dirty work. By chance, I love being that someone!”
Mundungus chuckled; his words were indeed heartfelt.
More than ten years ago, when Dumbledore tried to recruit him, he had similarly and decisively clung to the White Lord’s leg…
It took Lupin and Mundungus a lot of effort to cast a complex magic, composed of the Muggle Repelling Charm, Confundus Charm, Peace Town Ward, and Protection Charm, among others, at the original site of the building that had become a ruin.
Throughout the process, Lupin was distracted, while Mundungus was quite diligent.
After the barrier was set, he even checked it carefully a few more times.
“The Muggle Repelling Charm and Confundus Charm will drive away Muggles, making them subconsciously ignore this place. The Peace Town Ward and Protection Charm will defend against wizards’ spells, preventing any visiting wizard from suddenly going mad and blasting the barrier with a few spells.”
“Hmm, absolutely perfect!”
Mundungus nodded with satisfaction.
Unfortunately, no one was there to appreciate it. His partner seemed lost in thought, gazing at the nearby harbor, wondering about something.
After the inspection, Mundungus walked over to Lupin and, looking at the bland sea, pouted: “Great philosopher, are you done being melancholic? We need to go back!”
The two of them had cooperated many times more than once over ten years ago. The nascent Order of the Phoenix was almost constantly surrounded by Death Eaters, so they usually operated in small teams to avoid being isolated.
They were teammates for a long time, even though they couldn’t stand each other.
Because of his sad and melancholic demeanor, and his relatively innocent and kind nature, Lupin was given the nickname “Great Philosopher” by Mundungus, and Lupin, not to be outdone, called him “Dung.”
Hearing him, Lupin snapped back to reality, looked at him, and after a moment of silence, suddenly asked, “Back in the Order of the Phoenix, we clearly didn’t get along, but we were always paired up for missions… Was it Dumbledore’s deliberate arrangement? He didn’t trust me, did he?”
Mundungus didn’t speak.
But that reaction itself was equivalent to an admission.
Lupin let out a long sigh, at a loss for words.
More than ten years ago, for such reasons, he stood alongside Mundungus Fletcher, whom he despised.
More than ten years later, it was still the same…
Truly frustrating!
“That’s quite normal.” Seeing his melancholy, Mundungus shrugged, implying more than he said, “Big figures have heavy thoughts. They like things to develop as they intend. As for you, Remus, to put it nicely, you have strong agency. To put it bluntly, you’re too principled and have too many personal ideas.”
“Have you ever thought that perhaps neither Dumbledore nor Mr. Weasley needs you to have too many ideas?”
After thinking for a moment, Mundungus came up with an analogy: “Suppose you were a thief. Your lock-picking tools are always chattering at you, telling you not to steal because it’s immoral, yadda yadda, when you’re about to pick someone’s lock. What would you do?”
This bizarre analogy made Lupin frown.
However, he still understood what Mundungus was trying to convey and said indignantly, “I am a person, not a tool!”
Mundungus was dismissive: “What’s the difference? In the eyes of big figures, the only difference between us and tools is that we have ears to listen to orders and a mouth to reply. Beyond that, we are superfluous.”
“Hmph, self-indulgence!”
“Ha, Old Mundungus is alive today thanks to your so-called self-indulgence.” Mundungus chuckled. “And you, the noble, self-righteous you? Dumbledore suspects you, Mr. Weasley is also displeased with you. Mr. Great Philosopher, pray tell, who exactly is the problem?”
“You…”
“Alright, I’m not a professor at Hogwarts, nor am I a learned person. I don’t want to get into a debate about life philosophy with you. The job is done, shouldn’t we be going back?”
Saying this, Mundungus rubbed his hands excitedly, twitching his comically bushy eyebrows: “Mr. Weasley still has things to instruct me on. Old Mundungus regretted for over a decade not successfully latching onto Dumbledore’s leg. I absolutely cannot miss this opportunity!”
A small person!
Although these were Lupin’s thoughts and he didn’t say them aloud, Mundungus saw his look of disgust very clearly.
Mundungus didn’t mind this at all.
Just as he had said before, in his view, his position as a small figure in the eyes of big figures was that of a tool.
Who would demand that a tool have morals or conscience?
A tool just needs to be useful!
Indeed, when Lupin brought him, after several Apparitions, to a Muggle house, he saw Mr. Vaughn Weasley again.
The distinguished gentleman, sitting by the window, propping his chin with one hand, deep in thought, asked him as soon as they met, “Mr. Fletcher, what use do you think you are to me?”
Mundungus prostrated himself on the ground, gently kissing Vaughn’s robe, and fawned:
“Naturally, it’s the underhanded tactics that you noble lords disdain, sir!”
“Tell me more.”
“Ah, this is quite a broad topic. Old Mundungus can only give a few simple examples based on your current needs, such as buying and selling contraband. Praise Merlin, the Ministry of Magic’s list of contraband grows longer each year. Potion and Alchemy materials like Dragon Blood, Dragon Bone, Demiguise skin, Mermaid tears, etc., are monopolized by the Ministry under their naive and malicious laws, in the name of protecting magical creatures, leading to scarcity despite demand. And I have the channels to obtain them!”
“Or, the werewolves and vampires you need, those rare beings—yes, esteemed Mr. Weasley, since you established WAC, even the werewolves that can be captured have become rare in England. Now, besides Greyback’s werewolf legion that can still ‘provide’ some supply, one can only catch them abroad. With my years of connections, I can help you form a hunting party, ensuring the members are highly skilled and relatively reputable dark wizards!”
“Furthermore, as a Potions Master, your creations are popular in the black market. But I must say, those stagnant black market pharmacies are a disgrace to your name. In fact, I know many wizards who, for various reasons, find it very inconvenient to buy your creations from the black market… I can help you develop business in this area!”
In the attic of the Granger’s house, Lupin, standing in the corner with a “sad face,” was dumbfounded.
Even Vaughn, who had been propping his chin with one hand, constantly fiddling with a strand of silver memory, couldn’t help but look away, gazing at the short and stout Mundungus with an appreciative expression:
“Impressive self-promotion, Mr. Fletcher. I admit, these few simple examples you’ve given have made me look at you with new eyes!”
Mundungus fawned: “They are merely petty tricks that cannot be brought to light. You live in the sunlight, how would you ever see the damp, dark caves where only snakes and mice tread?”
He didn’t pay attention to his flattery.
After listening to Mundungus’s introduction, Vaughn pondered for a moment and said, “The examples you mentioned are quite interesting, Mr. Fletcher…”
“Mundungus, Mr. Weasley, you can call me Mundungus!” Mundungus bowed and scraped.
“…Alright, Mundungus.” Vaughn smiled gently, without the coldness of someone who had, just hours ago, destroyed a small building and six dark wizards with a single spell: “I have a small question. Are you familiar with smuggling channels?”
“Of course, esteemed Mr. Weasley!”
“Then let’s assume a situation—an English witch, currently stranded in North America, has joined a dissident civilian wizarding militia there for some complex reasons and is being wanted by the Magical Congress of North America. I would like to consult whether there is a way to safely bring her back to England through smuggling channels.”
North American dissidents?
Wanted by the Magical Congress?
Mundungus blinked his small eyes and asked cautiously, “May I ask why this… uh, English witch is wanted?”
Vaughn smiled: “Because she participated in the attack on the Woolworth Building!”
“…”
Lupin, hiding in the corner, couldn’t help but twitch the corner of his mouth. As an adult wizard, even with limited information, he knew that the Woolworth Building was the headquarters of the Magical Congress of North America!
And the situation was even more complicated.
They heard Vaughn continue, “She has also offended some Pure-blood families in North America. You should know that the situation in North America has been very unfavorable these past two years. There have been constant conflicts between wizards from Muggle families and Pure-blood families, due to the 《International Secrecy Act》 and 《Rappaport Law》（ a North American law of racial segregation between wizards and Muggles, enacted in 1790 ） ranging from verbal arguments to death threats, ultimately escalating into bloodshed last year. Coincidentally, that English witch, while protecting an Ilvermorny student, also attacked several Pure-blood family members in that incident…”
“…”
Mundungus nervously wiped his forehead: “An-and is there more?”
Although he was a scoundrel who dabbled in the underworld, compared to the English witch in Vaughn’s “hypothetical” scenario, he suddenly felt very pure!
A fake underworld figure, only steals chickens and pats dogs, and engages in smuggling.
A real English witch, offending the entire North American official power and still alive, Merlin must be blind!
Fortunately, it wasn’t all bad news.
Hearing Mundungus’s stammering inquiry, Vaughn thought for a moment and shook his head, “When I received her last letter, she had temporarily ended her hiding and was lying low with the civilian militia she had joined in a Muggle town. The situation should be better.”
Hearing this, Mundungus breathed a sigh of relief.
He was really afraid of hearing that the other party had been captured by the Magical Congress, and then Vaughn would ask him to rescue her… The situation in North America was different from lenient England.
Even in England, rescuing someone from Azkaban was a pipe dream, let alone the powder keg that was North America!
After thinking for a moment, Mundungus cautiously replied, “Esteemed Mr. Weasley, if your friend…”
“What friend of mine, it’s hypothetical!”
“Uh, hypothetically… hypothetically, if that English witch has not been captured and controlled by the North American Magical Congress, I might have a channel to bring her back, but I would need to contact my partners there. This…”
Vaughn nodded.
Then, he opened his satchel, took out a money bag, and casually tossed it to Mundungus.
With a thud, the money bag landed heavily at Mundungus’s feet. The crisp, yet substantial sound immediately made Mundungus’s eyes light up.
He quickly picked up the money bag.
Vaughn said, “There are 1000 Gold Galleons inside, for your operational expenses. 500 of that is for you to assemble a hunting team for werewolves and vampires, and the other 500 is for you to grease the wheels of the North American smuggling channels. I may need them soon. Is that enough?”
“It’s enough! It’s enough!”
Mundungus nodded repeatedly.
Merlin as his witness, when had he ever seen over a thousand Gold Galleons in a single money bag? If he didn’t have some long-term plans and the rationality to avoid being looked down upon by the “big thigh,” he would have barely suppressed the urge to open the bag right then and there and kiss those golden beauties inside!
Vaughn smiled, looking at Mundungus’s excited expression, and said slowly, “Dear Mundungus, this is just the first installment. If you stay with me for a while, you’ll realize I’m never stingy. As long as you work diligently, I won’t mistreat you.”
Mundungus, his mind filled with the sound of Gold Galleons, nodded repeatedly: “Yes, yes, esteemed, generous Mr. Weasley—”
“But!”
Whoosh—
A powerful magical force suddenly enveloped him.
There were no spells, no wand movements. Sensing something was wrong, Mundungus only saw Vaughn raise his hand.
And he, without even a chance to resist, suddenly tumbled and was dragged by that magical force to Vaughn’s feet.
Vaughn was still smiling, looking at him gently: “—But, I don’t like inefficiency, and I detest disappointment, dear Mundungus, do you understand?”
The same horror he had felt a few hours ago when he witnessed Vaughn use a strange time magic to “take” the time from six dark wizards, turning them into six piles of dry bones, weighed heavily on Mundungus’s heart once again.
The difference was that this time, he recognized the magic Vaughn was using.
The most ordinary “Accio”!
Yet, such a common spell, in his hands, was so masterful, possessing even binding effects usually found in other spells, suppressing him to the point where he couldn’t resist!
It only made Vaughn seem more unfathomable!
Feeling a pressure on him as if a mountain were pressing down, ready to crush him at any moment, fine beads of sweat appeared on Mundungus’s forehead. His face was almost transparently pale. He tried hard to suppress his inner fear and stammered, “Un-understand, Mr. Weasley…”
“Very good! Go do it.”
As the words fell, the sudden magical force quietly dissipated.
Mundungus slumped to the ground, his limbs limp as if devoid of strength, yet involuntarily tense, a residual stress response from fear.
He dared not delay, and quickly bowed his head, kissing Vaughn’s robe again: “As you command, Mr. Weasley!”
Vaughn waved his hand.
Mundungus then got up and, with a reluctant Lupin, took his leave.
Different people require different methods.
Mundungus operated in the magical world’s underworld, where the law of the jungle prevailed and strength was revered. Therefore, for him, simple appeasement and enticement were not enough.
Ideals, for Mundungus Fletcher, were as insubstantial as air.
Enticement was the foundation; deterrence and fear should also be added.
Vaughn’s demands were not high; he didn’t even require loyalty—such a person had no loyalty to give—as long as he worked diligently and served as a qualified tool.
After dismissing Mundungus and Lupin, Vaughn’s attention shifted back to the silver strand in his hand.
It was a memory he had extracted from his own mind.
After an unknown period of time, there was a knock on the attic door.
Vaughn snapped back to attention: “Come in.”
The door opened, and Hermione, carrying books, walked in. The first thing she noticed was the silver strand in Vaughn’s hand. The girl tilted her head curiously: “Are you reading memories?”
“No.” Vaughn shook his head. “Something else.”
Hermione walked over and sat beside Vaughn. The spacious windowsill of the attic was wide enough for two children. She leaned closer to the silver strand adorned with dense silver stars.
It was so beautiful, like silk inlaid with countless tiny diamonds, translucent, hazy, and dreamlike.
Human memory bodies always seemed so detached from reality, like a dream.
But Hermione didn’t find anything unusual about it.
She looked up and glanced at her boyfriend doubtfully.
So Vaughn took a deep breath and exhaled!
A thick plume of white smoke immediately shot out from his nose and mouth. The magically produced smoke, unlike natural fog which sinks due to its density, floated in the air, gradually spreading into a smoke screen wall as Vaughn exhaled.
Once the smoke screen formed, Vaughn flicked his fingers, and the silver strand coiled around his fingers immediately disappeared into the smoke screen.
Soon, a brilliant starlight, resembling the Milky Way, appeared on the wall of smoke.
Hermione recognized this spell, the Cloud Fog Charm, a type of illusion spell. Of course, the fog was actually created by the spell; it served as a medium. After the caster created the fog, they could use control over the fog to achieve various visual illusions.
It was said that Dumbledore once used the Cloud Fog Charm to create a fog that enveloped all of London, confusing all Muggles and wizards to the point that Dumbledore could walk past them unseen.
However, this spell was more often used for scene reconstruction, allowing the caster to project images from their memory onto the fog, making them visible to others.
It was also sometimes used to magnify small objects.
Just as Vaughn was demonstrating now!
The silver strand, magnified by the cloud fog wall, was as spectacular as the Milky Way hanging in the sky on a summer wild night, with no urban light pollution interfering.
Hermione finally saw what Vaughn had called “something else.”
They were… thin black lines, or spots?
Looking at the magnified memory body, which was as vast as a flowing river, with occasional flashes of black, indistinguishable as fine lines or spots, Hermione frowned slightly:
“What is that?”
Vaughn, also observing, casually replied, “That’s pollution from Dark Arts!”
Hermione turned back in astonishment.
“Thanks” to the nearly year-long negligence of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, normal Hogwarts students had little understanding of Dark Arts.
This situation was not limited to first-years; it extended to all years below the fifth year.
Hermione was no exception. No matter how much she read, such knowledge was not accessible to a first-year.
Vaughn then briefly explained to her that using Dark Arts required strong, extreme negative emotions, which could lead to contamination of consciousness, memory, or even the soul.
The girl immediately became anxious: “Oh my goodness, then how did your memory body… Did you learn Dark Arts? You, knowing such side effects, how could you…”
“Don’t worry, dear. The contamination is just starting, and I’ve been researching ways to clear Dark Arts contamination.” Vaughn comforted her. “Do you remember my Persona Embodiment? That’s a spell I developed specifically to clear contamination after consulting Dumbledore!”
Hermione of course knew about Persona Embodiment; after all, Harry had been tormented by it for several months this year!
Hearing that Vaughn had consulted with Dumbledore, she finally felt a little relieved, but still grumbled, “But you always said your Persona Embodiment was just a half-finished product!”
“Uh, it is indeed not yet complete…”
“Then why are you in such a hurry to learn Dark Arts? Why not wait until your Persona Embodiment is fully developed before learning such dangerous magic…”
Before she could finish, Hermione’s voice grew softer. She remembered Vaughn mentioning several times when they chatted that the development of his Persona Embodiment had long since hit a bottleneck.
She was very intelligent, so she mumbled and asked, “Is it because you haven’t personally experienced the corruption, that’s why you can’t proceed?”
“Yes!”
Vaughn nodded, “In fact, I started learning Dark Arts as early as last year.”
Hermione immediately recalled last Halloween: “Sectumsempra?”
“Yes, and Fiendfyre which I learned at the beginning of this year, these are all spells that can be classified as curses.”
In the Wizarding World, to be precise, in the Hogwarts Spellbook 《 Standard Spells 》 series, magic that requires malice to cast is divided into three levels:
Evil Curses, Poison Curses, and Curses!
Among them, Evil Curses are the lowest level. Some spells purely used for pranks, such as Tongue-Tying Jinx or Bat-Bogey Hex, can be considered Evil Curses.
Therefore, in the practical view of wizards, Evil Curse-level spells are not included in Dark Arts. Even if such spells require malice, the degree required is very small, and the impact on the mind is negligible, so corruption naturally does not occur.
Poison Curses are similar. You can’t say that reciting “Densaugeo” will lead to mental distortion, can you?
Only spells that require strong, extreme malice as a driving force, and whose magical effects are destructive and devastating, enter the Curse level and are officially listed as Dark Arts.
Their spell types may not be “curses” in the narrow sense, but they must possess powerful killing effects and strong emotional output aimed at causing death!
Sectumsempra and Fiendfyre are undoubtedly such spells.
Hermione of course understood the grading of spells. She looked at Vaughn hesitantly, “You’ve been practicing since last year and only now have you experienced corruption, or…”
Vaughn shook his head slightly, “The corruption only appeared today, because I learned a new Dark Art today.”
Hermione’s eyes widened, “Did you learn an Unforgivable Curse?”
“No, just a Curse!”
“How is that possible?”
Yes, how could it be possible?
Vaughn looked at the “Milky Way” flowing on the surrounding smoke wall, and at the blackness that flashed and disappeared.
The appearance of corruption was not because he learned a Curse!
But rather… he killed someone with a Curse!
The so-called corruption of Dark Arts is not that the Dark Arts themselves have problems, but because of the killing.
A long time ago, Vaughn had been very puzzled by the corruption of Dark Arts.
No matter how magical magic was, it was still just a tool. Why would a tool contaminate and twist the user’s mind?
This idea felt as absurd as blaming a gun for tempting its owner to commit a crime in Muggle society.
It was just that at that time, his understanding of magic was not very deep.
He thought his doubts stemmed from his lingering Muggle mindset from before his transmigration, and his insufficient understanding of magic.
Before truly learning Dark Arts, his consistent view on “Dark Arts corruption” was that emotion was the primary cause of corruption.
This was due to the unique way spells were cast in this world.
All magic in this world requires not only Magic Power but also emotion and intent!
For example, the “Disarming Charm” requires Magic Power as energy, as well as a strong intent and emotion of “getting rid of the enemy’s weapon” to be cast successfully.
And that’s just a basic spell.
The more advanced the spell, the higher the emotional requirement. For example, the “Patronus Charm” cannot be activated by mere happiness or beauty; you must draw upon the purest, most genuine memories and emotions within you to successfully summon a Patronus.
Another example is the three Unforgivable Curses.
As the most famous Dark Arts in the Wizarding World, the reason those three spells are not widely used is because of their high threshold.
Those with insufficient malice, even if they learn an Unforgivable Curse, cannot cause much harm to others.
In the memories of the future, after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Harry, filled with immense hatred and anger towards Bellatrix for Sirius’s death, uttered the Cruciatus Curse.
However, that terrifying spell barely harmed Bellatrix and was instead met with Bellatrix mocking Harry as “weak and powerless” and mocking his hatred for not being evil enough.
For many years in the past, Vaughn had replayed that “plot” countless times, pondering, how much malice would it truly take to cast the Cruciatus Curse?
Would the negative emotions generated by the hatred of killing one’s father and the grief of losing a loved one not be enough?
Vaughn could not imagine what kind of extreme emotion that would be.
So for many years, he had always believed that the so-called Dark Arts corruption might be the result of dark wizards maintaining extreme emotions for too long, driving themselves mad.
Until today!
In the attic, surrounded by a ring of dense fog, Vaughn looked at the stream of colorful light belonging to his memory core, magnified by the Cloud Cover Charm.
In his memory core, the blackness symbolizing corruption was sparse and moved very quickly.
Even when he cast the “Enhanced Senses Charm” on himself, he needed to concentrate his attention to occasionally catch a glimpse of its fleeting presence.
After watching for a while, the attic door opened again, and Hermione returned.
She had just gone downstairs to dismiss the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic. Because of Hermione’s enrollment, the Granger house’s Muggle community was a key surveillance area for Trace, and any magical fluctuation would attract the attention of Aurors.
“Is it Kingsley again?” Vaughn asked casually, without turning around, still focused on his memory core.
“No,” Hermione replied, “It’s Tonks!”
“Oh? She can act independently now?”
“No… she transformed into Kingsley…”
“Ha!” Vaughn chuckled, “What a brazen fellow.”
Hermione sighed and patted her forehead. She remembered how, downstairs just now, the person wearing Kingsley Shackle’s dark face suddenly slung an arm around her shoulder, leaving her speechless.
But she also felt a hint of envy.
Who wouldn’t want the ability of a natural Metamorphmagus?
Shaking her head, no longer thinking about the social terrorist, Hermione looked up at the fog-shrouded attic space and asked with concern, “How is your investigation going? Will the corruption affect you?”
“It’s unclear for now.”
Vaughn’s eyes, under the Enhanced Senses Charm, emitted a faint glow. As he continued to gaze at the amplified flowing light in the mist, he replied, “I am constantly monitoring my memories and mind, and have not yet found any signs of disturbance or distortion.”
Saying this, he turned his head, smiled slightly at Hermione, and comforted her, “Don’t worry, with the Persona Embodiment, I will immediately detect any disturbance in my Mind World. Although it’s still a half-finished product, it’s already very powerful for monitoring purposes.”
Hermione didn’t know what to say, her expression dejected.
It was both because she was worried about her boyfriend and because she realized she couldn’t help at all.
Not to mention anything else, at least in terms of Memory Magic, Hermione was at a loss… even though the gap between her and Vaughn wasn’t that large when she first enrolled last year.
Sensing Hermione’s low mood, Vaughn waved his hand and dispersed the charm.
The dense clouds filling the attic collapsed and dissipated as the spell was withdrawn, vanishing without a trace in a few breaths, leaving only Vaughn’s strand of silver thread-like memory core.
Recalling the memory core and placing it back into his brain, Vaughn and Hermione squeezed onto the windowsill, basking in the sunlight.
The girl exuded a pleasant scent, indistinguishable whether it was from body wash or some kind of refreshing laundry detergent.
Her hair was no longer as fluffy as it was at Hogwarts; her long brown hair fell straight down her slender shoulders.
Noticing Vaughn’s gaze, Hermione’s face flushed slightly, and she whispered, “I’ve been using the shampoo you gave me…”
It was a shampoo Vaughn had developed specifically for her, referencing Potter’s Hair Smoothing Potion.
“Specifically” meant literally; Vaughn hadn’t marketed that shampoo but reserved it solely for her use.
