Chapter 62: Leisure After The Match And Investigation
The defeated Gryffindor players quickly landed to check on Harry. Professor McGonagall also rushed over. After a thorough inspection, she confirmed Harry was fine and then reassured everyone:
“Gentlemen, ladies, although we have lost, I have seen your spirit of fighting tenaciously. Gryffindor should bravely admit its shortcomings and face its inadequacies…”
One of the Chasers, Angelina Johnson, whispered, “If Harry hadn’t fallen, we might have won.”
Professor McGonagall heard her and said sternly, “How would you have won? Honestly, your performance during the match was terrible.”
“The two Weasley brothers were out of position. And Miss Johnson, all three of you Chasers are girls. Why did you go to try and outmuscle the Slytherin boys in terms of strength and stamina? I didn’t see you playing to your strengths.”
As she spoke, she looked at Harry again, her expression softening slightly, and asked, “Harry, I saw your broom lose control at the end, didn’t you?”
Harry nodded: “Yes, Professor.”
Fred didn’t catch him when he fell, and later brought his broom back.
“Leave it to me, I’ll take it back to check. Alright children, go back and think carefully about what I just said. Don’t push the blame onto others. Think about it, when victory was within reach, your opponents still chose to save Harry first.”
On the way back to the locker room, Angelina said to the twins, “Hey, can you introduce me to your brother?”
“Which brother are you asking about?”
“Are you asking about little Ronny?”
“Don’t play dumb, you know who I’m talking about!”
The twins shivered: “Oh dear, is she planning to get revenge on Vaughn?”
“It’s highly possible, Fred. Vaughn must have disgusted her today.”
“But it’s also possible for love to blossom from hatred!” the twins said in unison, winking at Angelina.
They bickered and joked. Except for Angelina Johnson, who was a bit unhappy about her first start, the loss didn’t overly dampen everyone’s spirits.
Only Wood could truly not accept it.
As Harry left the locker room, he saw Wood, who had already changed, return to the pitch.
He looked up at the sky, as if his spirit was still flying there, still fighting.
This made Harry feel very sad. He didn’t dare to return to Gryffindor, afraid of seeing more scenes like this. Gryffindor hadn’t won a match in a long time, and everyone had thought they could finally hold their heads high this year.
Harry went to the sidelines to find Ron and Hermione, and the three of them decided to go to Hagrid’s Hut for a sit-down.
“Do you think my broom lost control because someone cast an evil curse on me?”
“Yes, Harry,” Ron said, still shaken. “Hagrid said flying brooms are very stable and usually have a lot of protection. Only powerful dark magic can make one lose control.”
Harry was a bit confused: “Who would target me? The dark-robed person?”
“It must be Snape…”
Before Ron could finish, Hermione shook her head and said, “It’s not him!”
Then, she recounted how she had set fire to the Slytherin stands, burning Professor Snape’s robes, and how Harry’s broom had actually lost control even more severely.
She said with a serious expression, “I think Professor Snape was saving Harry. It was someone else who cast the evil curse.”
Harry and Ron couldn’t help but look up at the sky, wondering if the sun had risen in the west today.
Both of them felt that conclusion was utter nonsense.
“I’d bet my wand, if given the chance, Snape would absolutely pickle Harry in one of his potions. He would save Harry? Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione!”
“It’s the truth!”
“I’m not going to believe a Slytherin…”
The group had already reached Hagrid’s Hut, and Harry knocked on the door.
The moment Ron saw who opened the door, he immediately swallowed the rest of his words.
His face flushed red as he saw Vaughn looking at him with a smile: “Ronald, what were you about to say?”
Ron grumbled: “What… what are you doing here? Didn’t you go back to celebrate?”
Hagrid also came over and, seeing the three of them, quickly called out: “Harry, Ron, Hermione, come in quickly… Vaughn asked me to help him collect some potion ingredients earlier, and he happened to meet me after the match, so I invited him over.”
Hagrid then brought out three cups and poured tea for everyone.
He then went to the back of the hut and soon returned with a large bag.
“Vaughn, take a look, is this what you need?”
“Thank you, Hagrid.”
Seeing Vaughn start to examine the ingredients, Hermione also went over to help.
Harry then asked Hagrid about the conversation they had on the way there.
Hagrid confirmed: “That’s right, Harry. Only powerful dark magic can affect a flying broomstick. After all, it’s a common mode of transportation for wizards. If the protection wasn’t strong enough, who would dare to ride it?”
“But Snape definitely couldn’t have been the one casting the evil curse…” he emphasized. Seemingly feeling his explanation wasn’t convincing enough, he pulled Vaughn in: “Vaughn, you must know, right? Snape is someone Dumbledore trusts.”
Vaughn, who was examining the herbs, nodded and said, “Hermione’s guess is correct, Harry. The fact that the broom didn’t throw you off immediately when it lost control likely means the professor was casting a counter-spell for you. He wouldn’t harm you.”
Harry found it hard to imagine Snape saving him.
He really wanted to know why Vaughn was so sure.
But Vaughn just winked at him.
“Yes, Harry, I know the reason, but I don’t think this is something I should tell you. Perhaps… you could ask Professor Snape yourself?”
Harry frantically shook his head. He didn’t need to think to know how Snape would lecture him.
“Snape… would actually save me?”
Confused thoughts swirled in his mind.
Then Harry heard Hagrid clap his hands: “Alright, stop doubting your professor, children. Do you want to stay here for dinner tonight?”
The trio was indifferent. They were looking for Hagrid to freeload anyway. Harry, feeling down about losing the match, was a bit hesitant to return to Gryffindor.
Vaughn thought for a moment and agreed, asking, “Hagrid, have you finished the seasoning I gave you for Halloween?”
“Oh, no, I tried it once, brushed it on roast meat, um…”
As if recalling something unimaginable, Hagrid’s bushy-bearded face creased.
Vaughn was speechless: “You didn’t read the instructions I wrote?”
“This… isn’t it a sauce called ‘di liao’?”
Ron snorted with laughter.
Harry and Hermione looked a bit confused. Ron explained to them: “‘Diao liao’ is used for hot pot, it’s a dish Vaughn recreated from a Muggle magazine… you don’t know about it?”
The two shook their heads.
They had grown up in Muggle society but had never heard of it.
So there was such a delicious food in the world as hot pot.
That night, stuffed with food, Harry and Ron, supporting each other, returned to Gryffindor and lay in bed sighing contentedly.
They had eaten delicious food, and because of the match, they didn’t have to practice Legilimency today. If only they hadn’t lost the match, today would have been perfect.
As he drifted off to sleep, Harry remembered Vaughn’s words, that Snape wouldn’t harm him.
Perhaps… it was true?
Perhaps Snape was actually a good person?
He fell into a deep sleep.
At this moment, Vaughn arrived at the Headmaster’s Office on the Eighth Floor.
“…The person who cast the evil curse on Harry probably wasn’t Tom.”
“Professor Quirrell?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore took off his glasses and wearily rubbed his temples. “He’s been in a bad state lately. Tom’s plan failed, and perhaps torturing him severely drove him to cast the evil curse on Harry in an attempt to please his master.”
He fell into a trance as he spoke.
In fact, he had also been hidden near the stands today. His magical eyes had seen Quirrell’s life force.
That light was so fragile, like a candle in the wind.
“Alas, Quirinus was once a good child, a genius with a wealth of theoretical knowledge. When I invited him to be the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, he readily agreed, and in order to gain practical experience, he even went out for some training…”
But it was on that excursion that Quirrell changed.
Dumbledore stood up and walked to his desk, where a map was spread out, densely covered with markings.
Vaughn glanced at it: “You want to determine where he encountered Voldemort through his travel route?”
“Yes… Oh, now Tom isn’t resurrected yet, so it’s not a big deal. If one day he is resurrected, Vaughn, remember not to casually call his name.”
Vaughn asked in surprise: “You also believe he cast a spell on his own name?”
“You didn’t experience that war, Vaughn.” Old Dumbledore shook his head, put his glasses back on, and leaned over the map, writing and drawing. He said, “Many people would complain at home, curse the Dark Lord to vent their resentment and fear, thinking no one would know, but they would soon be broken into by Death Eaters, dragged away, tortured, and tormented.”
“Clearly, Voldemort’s name has become part of some magic… Don’t look at me like that, I don’t know either. Perhaps Voldemort found an obscure spell from a Death Eater’s home, especially since he had incorporated so many pure-blood families at the time.”
Vaughn asked no further questions.
Dumbledore continued his previous topic: “For the past month or so, I’ve been secretly tracing Quirrell’s travel route. It’s currently confirmed that after leaving England, he entered France via a Portkey…”
As he spoke, he drew the route with a quill.
But the line only extended out of France and didn’t continue further.
Dumbledore stopped his pen, somewhat troubled: “After that, his tracks disappeared. I don’t think this was his destination. His disappearance was likely to avoid filling out the entry application forms. They are so tedious, requiring a pile of forms to be filled out each time, and one has to send their wand to the local Ministry of Magic for inspection and registration.”
Vaughn nodded.
Arthur had mentioned such things at home. The English Ministry of Magic handled many similar incidents every year, and many wizards chose to cross borders illegally to avoid the tedious entry procedures.
He looked at the map, carefully recalling memories from his past life—thanks to Memory Magic. Although he couldn’t perform Legilimency on himself, by analogy, he could make his decade-old faded memories clearer.
After a moment, he pointed at the Balkan Peninsula with his finger.
“You can check these countries.”
Dumbledore asked curiously: “Why?”
Vaughn, of course, couldn’t say directly. He had already found an excuse: “There are many fierce magical creatures there. If Quirrell was accumulating practical experience, he would definitely go to Bulgaria and Romania in the Balkans.”
“Bulgaria is the prototype for two magical creatures, vampires and veela, and the birthplace of their legends is in that region ）. Romania has Europe’s largest fire dragon reserve.”
There was one more thing he didn’t say: bordering them was Albania!
“Hmm…” Dumbledore pondered for a moment, his brow smoothing out, and he said cheerfully, “You’ve been a great help to me, Vaughn. You’ve saved me a lot of time. It seems you’ve learned a lot from Newt.”
Vaughn gave Old Dumbledore a side-eye.
The old man was still secretly keeping an eye on him, otherwise, he wouldn’t know that Vaughn had been in contact with Newt. They basically wrote to each other twice a week, mostly with Vaughn asking about magical creature knowledge.
Perhaps they had gradually become more familiar, as in the last letter, Newt had invited Vaughn to his home for Christmas.
They chatted for a while longer about Christmas arrangements. Dumbledore found Vaughn’s narrowed-down range very reasonable.
He planned to take advantage of the holiday to visit the Balkan Peninsula.
“Perhaps you should come with me?” Dumbledore said to Vaughn.
Vaughn immediately refused: “I have my own things to do!”
This was not an excuse. He had also politely declined Newt’s invitation because during Christmas, he would be starting his new potion.
For this reason, he wasn’t even planning to go home, and had already written letters to Molly and Arthur.
However, a few days later, an owl delivered a letter to him first.
At the time, he was holding court at the Gryffindor long table, sitting with Harry and the others. Harry’s expression wasn’t good; he had been ridiculed by Snape again in today’s Potions class.
“Potter, I heard you lost the game. That’s excellent news. I’m always worried your foolish head might get hit by a Bludger and you’d turn into a complete idiot.”
Harry’s veins were bulging on his forehead.
After class, he complained that he was indeed an idiot. Before class today, he had actually fantasized that Snape might really be a good person, and he had just misunderstood him before.
He said to Vaughn, “I don’t care if he’s the dark-robed person or not. He clearly hates me more than the dark-robed person. Maybe he was casting a counter-spell that day, but I think he just didn’t want me to die at someone else’s hands!”
The sudden arrival of the letter finally made Harry stop complaining. Vaughn quickly opened the envelope—he didn’t want to be involved in the hair-raising feud between these two anymore. He had already given his warning.
After taking out the letter and looking at it, Vaughn handed it to Ron: “Mom and Dad want to take Ginny to Romania to visit Charlie during the holidays, so we all have to stay at school.”
Ron was thrilled: “Great!”
He didn’t want to go home; wasn’t it more fun to play with his friends at school every day?
Harry’s gloom also lifted, and he smiled happily. He didn’t want to go back to the Dursleys’ either.
Only Hermione was a little down. Don’t misunderstand, it was only a two-week holiday; she was just unhappy that she wouldn’t be able to go to the library after going home.
