Vincent found it hard to describe what he felt when he saw Theodore Nott.
Running into him here again today…
Did Slytherins not have classes?
It couldn’t be that he woke up thinking of nothing but brewing potions.
Even if their Head of House was the Potions professor, wasn’t this a bit too frequent?
Vincent had genuinely believed that after last time, Theodore Nott wouldn’t step foot in the Potions classroom again—or at least, that the next time Theodore saw him, he would turn around and leave immediately.
After all, Vincent was hardly a shining beacon of virtue in Young Master Nott’s eyes.
Nearly three minutes had passed since Theodore Nott opened the door, yet he still stood on the threshold without moving an inch.
Had his assumption been wrong?
Theodore Nott was acting differently from what he had expected.
Seeing an experimental control sample—someone who was supposed to mirror him—make a choice different from his own actually made Vincent feel somewhat pleased.
He enjoyed seeing a subject perform unexpected actions; it allowed him to better observe the results of his experiment.
Granted, he didn’t quite know what result he was looking for himself, but it certainly wouldn’t be some rigid deduction.
Seeing how quiet Vincent was, Theodore Nott breathed a small sigh of relief.
Good.
At least he seemed normal right now, so he probably wouldn’t do anything strange again.
It would be best to achieve his own goal while Vincent was acting normal; if that failed, he’d have to resort to harsher methods.
Like asking Draco Malfoy to lend him Goyle and Crabbe to beat Vincent up—the Malfoys probably had plenty of experience with that sort of thing.
Yesterday, after Theodore Nott left and his emotions had cooled down, he had realized that Vincent had done it on purpose.
Vincent had wanted him to leave, knowing Theodore Nott wouldn’t share a Potions classroom with anyone else except during lessons.
Vincent wanted to study potions alone—but what required such privacy?
Theodore Nott couldn’t stand Vincent pulling weird, stupid stunts on him.
He had to resolve this.
The two of them stared hypocritically at each other across nearly half the Potions classroom, the atmosphere falling deadly silent.
Today, Theodore Nott hadn’t come looking for Vincent on purpose.
He genuinely wanted to complete his potions experiment; certain hypotheses could only be tested through actual practice.
In Theodore Nott’s eyes, nothing was more important than his potions experiments.
Vincent was merely a minor interlude in his quest to complete them.
Once he finished the more important matter, perhaps he would direct some attention toward Vincent.
Seeing Vincent here again did leave him with a trace of confusion: Did the boy live in the Potions classroom?
Did he have nothing better to do than hang around here all day?
Ravenclaw’s schedule was different from Slytherin’s.
Though a few classes overlapped, they had their own free time.
He had thought that by picking a weekday when the Potions classroom wasn’t in use, he wouldn’t run into Vincent again.
Weren’t Ravenclaws supposed to be studying?
Theodore Nott hadn’t said a word, yet Vincent could read everything in his eyes.
“Ravenclaw doesn’t have class right now either. Our next one is Potions this afternoon.”
Theodore Nott: “…” He really was planning on moving into the Potions classroom.
“I don’t live here,” Vincent added.
“I went back to the Ravenclaw dormitory yesterday. I’ve just been spending extra time here recently because I have things to work on.”
Vincent didn’t know why he had spilled everything just by looking into Theodore Nott’s questioning gaze.
He hadn’t found anything useful, so staying here was only wasting time.
Saying too much to Theodore Nott would only provoke him.
Keeping a proper distance would lower Theodore Nott’s guard.
If someone eagerly pushed closer to Vincent, he himself would only be full of suspicion, worrying if they harbored ill intentions.
After Vincent answered, Theodore Nott didn’t speak again.
He lowered his gaze, concealing his eyes.
Theodore Nott had beautiful sapphire-like eyes.
Hidden beneath his long eyelashes, their emotions were unreadable now, but the downward tilt revealed his tightly pressed lips.
Silence settled between them.
With no other sound in the classroom, the quiet grew almost suffocating.
Vincent broke the silence first.
“You came back?” He tried his best to keep his tone flat, devoid of any inner emotion.
Theodore Nott nodded.
“Mm. I have some potion experiments to perform.”
His voice was slightly milder than yesterday, though caution still lingered in his eyes.
A tense standoff benefited neither of them.
Theodore Nott had no desire to tangle with a Ravenclaw lunatic; returning their relationship to a state of peaceful coexistence was the ideal outcome.
“Oh, looks like we really are bound by fate,” Vincent said, attempting to lighten the mood with a stiff smile.
Smiling came effortlessly to Vincent if he approached it as a pure performance.
Yet facing Theodore Nott—a young wizard he deemed so similar to himself—Vincent, whose disposition was not yet fully tempered, could not force out an unreserved, seemingly genuine smile.
He could do it with strangers, and he could do it with acquaintances.
It was only this delicate, ambiguous middle ground that Vincent didn’t know how to navigate.
Most people he encountered warmed up quickly after meeting; he only had to say pleasant things tailored to their liking, and they would readily lower their guard.
His only failure had been with Albus Dumbledore.
That old fox seemed relaxed on the surface, but what he really thought, only he himself knew.
Theodore Nott didn’t return the smile.
He simply walked to the far side of the room and began preparing his potion ingredients.
Taking several herbs from the shelves, he placed them delicately on the desk, then pulled out his cauldron and wand.
Vincent didn’t ask what he was brewing.
He merely watched Theodore Nott proceed with his plans from yesterday, prepping ingredients before adding them to his cauldron to simmer.
Sitting at opposite ends of the classroom, each tended to his own work, creating an unexpectedly peaceful atmosphere.
Theodore Nott shouldn’t have paid him any more attention, but the ingredients Vincent brought out were bizarre—none of them belonged to any potion a first-year would encounter.
Theodore Nott couldn’t resist glancing over twice.
Though Vincent didn’t raise his head, he acutely sensed the gaze.
Vincent hadn’t started brewing, but he hadn’t left either.
Theodore Nott had assumed he would leave soon, yet Vincent stayed put and even brought out a slew of strange ingredients.
“If you want to know what I’m making, why don’t you tell me what potion you came to brew first?”
An equal exchange—a completely reasonable trade.
“A healing potion. Just the ordinary kind,” Theodore Nott replied.
Vincent nodded slightly.
“A healing potion… that’s quite practical.”
As he spoke, he ran through various healing potion recipes in his mind, trying to guess which one Theodore Nott was making.
He had always known he was talented, but he hadn’t expected to adapt like a fish to water after entering Hogwarts.
Perhaps he really was a born wizard.
Theodore Nott added the ingredients to the cauldron in a specific order, then gave a light flick of his wand, igniting a flame beneath it.
Controlling the heat meticulously, he kept his eyes glued to the brew.
Theodore Nott spared a glance at Vincent, as if asking why he had stopped talking.
“I’m brewing a potion to strengthen the heart.”
A potion targeting a specific organ?
Theodore Nott seemed puzzled.
“Why not brew Essence of Dittany? It heals most wounds and has much broader applications.”
The healing potion he was brewing wasn’t Essence of Dittany either; it targeted skin conditions, specifically rashes caused by insect bites or damp environments.
“I’d love to, but what if the heart hasn’t been carved out yet?” Vincent said, almost like a joke.
Only Vincent knew that if this batch failed, he might actually have them send the child over, cut out his heart, and apply Essence of Dittany.
To gain a fresh, living heart, enduring a little pain was only reasonable, wasn’t it?
Theodore Nott took the comment as a light joke and an end to their conversation.
He settled down to make his healing potion.
All his ingredients were in the cauldron, requiring half an hour of careful simmering before the next step.
Vincent could tell Theodore Nott had skill and experience in potion brewing.
Refraining from disturbing him further, Vincent watched for a bit before turning back to his textbooks and library books.
Quiet once again enveloped the classroom, broken only by the crackle of flames beneath the cauldron and the subtle sizzle of ingredients.
Vincent and Theodore Nott worked separately.
Though they ignored each other without a word, the atmosphere was better than yesterday—still subtly tense, but devoid of yesterday’s hostile friction.
Vincent began to see Theodore Nott’s line of thought.
By adopting this approach, Theodore Nott hoped to maintain peace, ideally getting Vincent to stop watching him, so that once Vincent realized there was nothing special about him, he would abandon his probe.
It was indeed a clever strategy.
Having identified a difference with his control sample, Vincent knew this divergence might grow even wider in the future.
If someone stared at Vincent like that, Vincent would probably find a way to blind them directly, rather than solving the problem peacefully like Theodore Nott.
Didn’t people say pure-blood families were arrogant and haughty?
Take Draco Malfoy—if anyone dared observe his every move like that, he would definitely tell his father.
Did Theodore Nott refrain from doing so because he didn’t want to, or because he couldn’t?
Vincent knew the answer clearly in his heart, but he said nothing.
As time passed, Theodore Nott’s potion reached a critical phase.
The liquid in the cauldron began to glow softly, its color shifting continuously.
Theodore Nott’s expression turned even more focused as he carefully adjusted the flame, softly chanting incantations under his breath.
With the process drawing to a close, Vincent noticed for the first time that Theodore Nott possessed unique potion-making techniques—methods Vincent had never seen before.
He committed them to memory; his gains today were far greater than he had anticipated.
Finally, Theodore Nott’s potion was complete.
The liquid in the cauldron turned a clear blue, its glow stabilizing.
A satisfied smile touched Theodore Nott’s face.
He retrieved a small vial and carefully ladled the potion inside.
Seeing his success, Vincent offered a polite, “Congratulations. Looks like your potion turned out great.”
Theodore Nott glanced at him and nodded.
“Thanks.”
Though his voice remained cold, the intense hostility from before had vanished.
It seemed Vincent was acting a bit more normal now, no longer staring at him with that strange gaze.
“Could you share some of your brewing tips with me?” Vincent asked, making his tone sound as pitiable as possible.
People naturally sympathized with the weak, and paired with his face, this trick had never failed him.
Theodore Nott: “Don’t make me sick.”
Others might not know what kind of person Vincent was, but how could Theodore Nott not know?
There was no need to put on an act when both knew the truth.
Vincent pouted slightly.
“I just want to know the purpose of that specific move you made at the end. If you tell me, I won’t bother you like before.”
“So you do realize you were bothering me. I thought you were too crazy to understand. If that were the case, Headmaster Dumbledore should have sent you to St. Mungo’s instead of keeping you at Hogwarts to torment other students.”
In just a few words, the tension spiked between them once again.
After speaking, Theodore Nott lowered his eyelashes for a moment, then glared back, refusing to show weakness.
Yet from that brief shift in his eyes, Vincent caught a hint of hesitation and slight regret.
There really was no need to push him too hard.
He had been gentle while observing Harry Potter and other subjects; he didn’t know why Theodore Nott was so difficult to handle.
Or maybe it was because Vincent himself was just as difficult.
“Alright, I apologize. Tell me, how do you boost the success rate of your potions? Please?”
This time his words sounded far more sincere, stripped of his usual playful deceit.
Theodore Nott stared at him for a moment before ultimately sharing a few of his tricks.
“It’s nothing special, really. You just have to understand the properties of the ingredients thoroughly, then carefully control the heat and the brewing order.”
Vincent nodded.
“Mm, you’re right. But I think your handling of certain details is exceptional—like the way you used your wand to regulate the flame earlier. It was very clever.”
Theodore Nott froze slightly.
He hadn’t expected Vincent to observe his brewing process so closely.
“Oh, that? That’s just a technique I figured out myself.”
A trace of wariness rose in his mind, wondering if Vincent might use his technique for something sinister.
Vincent smiled.
“You’re very talented.”
Talented, just like him.
Theodore Nott looked at Vincent, bewildered.
He didn’t understand why Vincent had suddenly become so friendly.
“Why are you so interested in my brewing methods?”
“Or maybe I’m interested in you as a person?” Vincent was actually telling the truth.
Seeing Theodore Nott’s face darken again, Vincent threw up his hands in surrender.
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. I genuinely think you’re talented and just want to study potions together with you.”
He really couldn’t take a joke—though his temper was almost too good.
If Vincent were in his shoes, he would have thrown a punch long ago.
Theodore Nott glared at him, grabbed his potion, and turned to leave without responding.
Vincent merely chuckled, packed up his belongings and notes, and took his leave.
Another problem solved.
There was no rush with Theodore Nott.
They had seven whole years; he could take his time.
Perhaps he ought to reveal some of his real personality.
His usual routine didn’t work on Theodore Nott—he had tried it many times, yielding unsatisfactory results.
In this regard, they were quite alike—deliberate guises garnered no genuine response from either of them.
If Harry Potter had deliberately approached him with a pitiful act to win his sympathy back when they first met, Vincent would never have become friends with him.
He needed to adjust his strategy according to Theodore Nott’s attitude and temper.
If all went well, their connection might last far beyond seven years.
Vincent wanted to learn how to be a real human being from the people around him.
As he met more people, he realized that his way of thinking diverged greatly from the universal definition of a “human being.”
Being an outlier was a personality trait, sure, but before becoming powerful enough to stand entirely alone, Vincent wished to experience another way of living.
In a sense, Vincent felt he was still human—at least, he wasn’t someone whose first reaction to every problem was slaughter, which sounded like something a monster would do.