Though Vincent claimed he hoped Harry wouldn’t go barging in, his expression made it obvious that he already knew Harry had sneaked off to do something.
Harry’s expression turned mysterious, and he lowered his voice.
“Well, it was an accident. Ron and I stumbled upon a door on the fourth floor, and it seems like something’s being guarded behind it—something really important.”
Vincent leaned in closer.
When it came to hidden secrets, he was indeed somewhat curious.
“Important? Do you know what it is?”
Harry shook his head.
“Not sure, but there’s a massive three-headed dog inside, and it looks vicious. I figure anything guarded by a monster like that can’t be simple.”
“A three-headed dog?” A flash of curiosity gleamed in Vincent’s eyes.
In Muggle literature, a three-headed dog was a herald of hell, tasked with guarding the gates of the underworld.
Yet in the wizarding world, such a creature actually existed, serving as a gatekeeper for hidden treasures.
The textbook for Care of Magical Creatures introduced plenty of animals that only existed in Muggle fantasy settings.
Vincent thought he might need to spend some time in the library researching this so-called three-headed dog.
Accustomed to Vincent’s sudden silences, Harry patted his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I won’t go rushing in to investigate. But I just have a feeling there’s a big secret hidden in there.”
Vincent nodded.
“It’s only natural for a magic school to have secrets. Just don’t go getting yourself tangled up in it. If anything comes up, remember to tell me.”
Harry smiled.
“Don’t worry, I won’t look for trouble. If there’s any new news, I’ll definitely let you know.”
Leaving the Quidditch pitch and returning to the library, Vincent noticed the corners of his lips were still turned upward.
Indeed, a magic school ought to have a few peculiar stories to serve as a distraction from one’s studies.
*This* was the interesting Hogwarts life he had envisioned.
He had intended to keep a low profile, but there was no helping it when trouble came knocking at his door.
Who could turn down an adventure story that presented itself right before their eyes?
Vincent turned the page of the book in his hand, which detailed information about three-headed dogs.
At any rate, he certainly couldn’t.
***
Vincent’s days at Hogwarts continued in an orderly routine, except that he would occasionally trade news with Harry about the three-headed dog and the fourth-floor corridor.
Without his noticing when it began, he started frequently seeing the trio—Harry, Ron, and Hermione—in the library.
Between the library’s tall, towering bookshelves, the three were inseparable, their heads almost buried in thick, heavy tomes.
Ron would occasionally mutter complaints under his breath because he couldn’t understand some complex passage, only for Hermione to glare at him instantly, signaling for him to be quiet.
Harry was always intensely focused, his eyes darting quickly across the pages as if searching for a crucial clue.
Whenever he discovered something useful, he would inevitably trot over to Vincent, holding the book out eagerly to share it with him.
Every time Vincent saw them like this, he found it quite amusing.
Working toward a common goal with people he trusted was a novel experience for him.
He knew the trio was driven by curiosity and obsessed with investigating mysterious events, but none of it truly concerned him.
His self-definition was crystal clear: an outsider who occasionally offered assistance should never get dragged into complicated matters.
Only by staying on the sidelines could one remain safe amidst the chaos.
Vincent’s perspective had not changed.
Finishing his studies at Hogwarts was what he cared about most.
Other matters could serve as an occasional diversion, but never as the main theme of his life.
Even as he engaged in these adventures as an outsider, he never neglected his own protection.
The trio, however, clearly failed to notice this.
They excitedly assumed Vincent was joining their endeavors and felt delighted by it.
Hermione in particular was thrilled to have someone with whom she could exchange academic ideas.
Vincent never put himself in harm’s way; he had never once set foot in the fourth-floor corridor, offering only intellectual support.
Just when he thought his life would remain peaceful aside from this minor interlude, an owl delivered a letter from the Muggle world.
It was a letter from his Muggle adoptive parents.
When the owl handed it to him, he froze for a moment.
His relationship with his adoptive parents was delicate.
Since being sent off to Hogwarts, they had practically maintained no contact.
Vincent had even assumed they would never use an owl to write to him, living and studying at some unknown magic school.
The sole connection between him and that Muggle couple was the monthly allowance transferred to him until he reached adulthood.
Perhaps when he first joined that family, Vincent had wondered how his life might change.
But once he realized his presence was merely a tool to comfort their grief, no one could truly accept such a reality.
Looking at the handwriting on the envelope—at once familiar and foreign—a complex mix of emotions surged in his chest.
To be honest, when he first discovered he was merely a replacement, he had even contemplated setting a fire to burn them to death.
In the end, he had restrained himself.
Returning to the orphanage to be surrounded by those idiots was far worse than living with that couple.
At least his quality of life had taken a massive leap forward.
They were smart, too.
Sensing that something was slightly off about Vincent, the entire family had relocated, though out of basic humanitarian decency, they never stopped sending his living expenses.
Otherwise, Vincent might really have used a few tricks to eliminate them and claim a handsome inheritance.
No one knew the dark thoughts that had once lurked in Vincent’s heart.
Others would look at his adoptive parents leaving him to live alone while funding his life and call it “the last shred of love.”
“Love”?
What a disgusting word.
And now, they had sent an owl with a letter.
What on earth were they hoping to get out of it?
Holding the letter, Vincent walked slowly to a quiet corner.
He sat by the window.
Sunlight bathed his body, yet he felt not a single trace of warmth.
Aside from making it easier to read the letter, the sunlight was entirely useless.
He stared at the envelope for a long time, his fingers tracing its edges.
In his memory, his adoptive parents had always been cold toward him.
They had never truly understood him; in their eyes, magic was something grotesque and incomprehensible.
He didn’t know why they had suddenly written to him out of the blue.
They had better not say anything sickening, nor should they make any troublesome demands.
Vincent had zero desire to exchange affectionate sentiments with them.
However, if it was merely a matter of fulfilling a task within reasonable limits, he didn’t mind maintaining their transactional relationship.
From the start, it had been nothing more than a transaction: Vincent offered a fake smile, while they gained emotional solace by providing him with a better life.
Everything in the world was just a transaction.
He slowly unsealed the envelope and pulled out the letter.
The handwriting was neat, but the contents felt stiff and detached.
His adoptive parents merely asked briefly about his situation at school, without a single note of warmth or affection.
The corners of Vincent’s mouth curled slightly into a mocking smile.
As expected, even after all this time, they remained unchanged, holding no real affection for him.
He read further.
They seemed to mention trivial matters from the Muggle world, such as the neighbor’s cat giving birth to kittens.
These details made Vincent feel even more out of place with their world.
He couldn’t fathom why they were telling him such meaningless things.
Was it simply to fulfill some superficial courtesy?
It wasn’t until the very end of the letter that they dropped their veiled hints, implicitly expressing their true request.
*”Your younger brother has been missing you terribly lately.
He has lost his appetite and cannot sleep, and he looks even weaker than before.
We worry whether he might leave us forever, just like your older brother did.
It breaks our hearts.”*
Vincent folded the letter back up and placed it inside the envelope.
Leaning against the window frame, he gazed out at the campus scenery.
On the grounds, young witches and wizards were practicing magic, their bright laughter echoing up to his ears.
Heh—
Another child beyond medical help.
Having failed to cure him through Muggle medicine, they had turned their sights onto their adopted son who possessed magical powers.