There were too many powerful people here. Not to mention the other professors at Hogwarts—just the Heads of Houses and Dumbledore himself were formidable wizards.
And of course, there was also the noseless man, likely lurking behind someone's head, still unwilling to disappear.
Vaughn glanced at the staff table and immediately picked out the man with the purple scarf wrapped tightly around his head. Now was clearly not the time to collect his reward. He'd save that for when he was alone.
In a flash, Vaughn closed the system panel. Ignoring the whispers and pointing fingers throughout the Great Hall, he calmly walked to the long table of Slytherin House.
Plop!
The sudden noise briefly silenced the hall. It was Draco Malfoy—his already pale face now a deathly white tinged with blue. He scrambled up awkwardly from the floor, not daring to look at Vaughn. His robe trembled as if it were about to slip off entirely, and he clearly wanted to bolt to the far end of the table.
"Hi, Draco!"
Draco froze and stiffly turned his head. "W-Weasley... Mr..."
"You can call me Vaughn. Since we'll be in the same House, let's take care of each other, alright?" Vaughn gave him a pat on the shoulder.
Draco visibly flinched. He tried to smile, but the muscles on his face refused to cooperate, making the expression worse than a sob.
Crabbe and Goyle, seated nearby, had their heads buried in the table and were visibly trembling.
Just then, a burly older student with a "P" badge—clearly a prefect—strode over and leaned in with a warning: "Hey, Weasley kid, get back in your seat. Don't cause trouble for me!"
Vaughn glanced at the boy's tall frame and rather forgettable face, then smiled. "Okay, Mr. Prefect."
Satisfied by the display of obedience, the prefect clapped his hands, prompting the others to follow suit.
The Slytherin students exchanged bewildered glances but eventually joined in, offering Vaughn a sparse but symbolic round of applause—a peculiar welcome for a red-haired Weasley, the so-called traitor of the pure-bloods.
Vaughn didn't mind at all. He sat beside Malfoy with an easy smile.
The polite applause had somewhat dispelled the awkward atmosphere. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and continued:
"Ahem, silence! The Sorting Ceremony continues!"
From that point on, nothing unexpected occurred. The ceremony ended smoothly. Dumbledore stood up to give a cheerful but meaningless speech, then declared the banquet open.
The tables instantly filled with food.
As expected, the dishes were limited. The meats were plenty, but the sides were repetitive. Potatoes, and more potatoes. Vaughn had eaten them for so many years that just looking at them ruined his appetite.
"Dear Draco, I believe Professor McGonagall had a point. Since we're in the same House now, we should treat each other like family."
Vaughn picked up a roast lamb chop—a favorite of his from his previous life—and chewed slowly.
"So, I've decided to forgive what happened on the train. Let's get along from now on, okay?"
"…"
Was this real?
Malfoy stared at him, stunned. He suddenly felt faint, and a strange darkness clouded his vision. Desperate to forget everything, he looked down at the food, hoping to eat himself into oblivion. Ideally, he'd pass out and wake up to find this was all a bad dream.
Unfortunately...
"Draco, pass me the pudding."
"Mmm, proper Yorkshire flavor—nice. Draco, pass me the lamb chops."
"Eh? Not eating? Potatoes are good for the soul, Draco. Don't look so gloomy. Smile!"
"Look, even the Slytherin ghost likes you! Sir Ghost, what's your name?"
The ghost next to them was drenched in blood, his expression dull, his aura ice-cold. "Barrow..."
Each syllable of his name seemed to reek of blood.
That was the last straw for Malfoy. Stuffed full of potatoes and terror, he finally bolted—hand over mouth—toward the side door leading to the bathroom.
When the feast ended, Malfoy dragged himself back, looking more ghostly than the ghost itself.
After the meal, the Slytherin prefects—one male, one female—gathered the first-years to lead them to their dormitory. The male prefect, the one who had previously reprimanded Vaughn, introduced himself. Vaughn didn't bother to remember the name.
Honestly, apart from Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass (who would join next year), Vaughn saw no reason to remember any Slytherins from these years.
Most of them, in his eyes, were either mentally stunted, brainwashed by their families, or just plain sketchy. From what he'd read in his previous life, everyone who had been sorted into Slytherin House seemed to be a weirdo.
The same smug prefect led them to the Slytherin common room—deep underground, with a view of the bottom of the Black Lake. It was atmospheric, sure, but everyone still called it a dungeon.
Apparently, successfully silencing Vaughn at the banquet had inflated the prefect's ego. After giving a routine explanation of the House rules, he gave Vaughn a hearty slap on the shoulder and said:
"Weasley boy, I don't care what grudge you've got with Malfoy, but in Slytherin—and Hogwarts—you'll follow my rules. And I suggest you treat Malfoy with more respect. After all, we're both pure-bloods, and the Weasleys have already—"
"Mr. Prefect."
Vaughn interrupted him with a mild smile. "Before you give me a lecture, I have a question. A spell-related one."
The prefect frowned. "Is this how your poor parents taught you manners, Weasley?"
"The spell's name is—"
Vaughn raised his wand, his smile vanishing.
The prefect sensed danger and reached for his wand, just in time to see a flash of red.
"Expelliarmus!"
A burst of red light shot out. The prefect's massive body was hurled backward.
Bang! He slammed against the giant bay window that separated the common room from the lake and slid slowly down to the floor.
Everyone—first-years and upperclassmen alike—stared in stunned silence.
Then Vaughn cast another spell.
"Stupefy!"
The prefect slumped over, completely unconscious. Vaughn casually kicked his head aside and reached into the boy's pocket to retrieve a piece of parchment.
Scanning the dorm assignment sheet, he quickly found his name. His gaze swept across the stunned crowd and landed on Malfoy.
"Dear Draco, did you see what just happened?"
Malfoy shuddered and stammered, "N-No?"
"No, no, that's not clever enough. What you should say is this: you saw whatever-his-name-is raise his wand to attack me, and I had no choice but to defend myself. Got it?"
Malfoy's eyes lit up with understanding. He nodded frantically.
"Excellent." Vaughn's gaze drifted around again. His wand was still in his hand. No one dared to move.
"Then that's settled. Good night, gentlemen!"
And with that, he turned and walked away.