“I’m curious—why weren’t you sorted into Gryffindor? I recall you being on quite good terms with Potter.”
Draco liked flattery—a common human trait—but that didn’t mean he was an idiot.
“What are you trying to get out of me? Considering you actually know how to speak properly, I might just tell you.” Arrogance radiated from Malfoy’s every word.
“Oh, I was wondering about Theodore Nott. Do you know anything about his situation?”
Vincent was starting to develop a liking for this “simple-minded” young master—he was refreshingly direct.
Draco’s expression froze.
“What did you say?”
Theodore Nott?
Malfoy and Nott were on decent terms, but expecting Malfoy to spill news about Nott…
was Vincent Riddle trusting Malfoy’s character a bit too much?
“Why on earth do you think I’d tell you that? You don’t have what it takes to obtain information of that level from me.”
“What I have what it takes to do? Draco, you will find out soon enough, just not right now. Besides, I doubt a Malfoy would accept a friend who lacked ability.”
Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window, casting dappled shadows over them and lending a peculiar atmosphere to their conversation.
Draco clearly hadn’t expected his provocation to meet such a response.
Normally, anyone hearing words like his would show displeasure—though Draco never saw anything wrong with what he said.
Vincent had his own calculations.
His initial intention had merely been to use Draco Malfoy to learn more about Theodore Nott.
If he couldn’t get what he wanted from Malfoy, then naturally he had no need for a friend who served no purpose.
In truth, the Malfoy family’s philosophy wasn’t wrong at all: making friends was, at its core, an exchange of mutual benefits.
Vincent didn’t know yet what benefits this friendship would bring him, but sooner or later, he would reap the returns.
Like a dormant cicada, he gathered energy for the ultimate payoff.
Even if he committed a few foolish acts before his end, it would be entirely understandable.
Recalling how Harry had tried to recruit him two days ago to investigate the secret of the fourth-floor corridor, Vincent felt he was making a massive sacrifice.
Compared to the overly trusting Gryffindors, Slytherins were indeed much harder to manage.
Draco Malfoy was proof enough, and Theodore Nott was even more so.
Since he hadn’t struck a decisive blow early on to secure Theodore Nott’s friendship, he could only resort to indirect means.
Yet this plan seemed destined to fall through as well; Draco Malfoy’s understanding of Theodore Nott was exceedingly superficial.
“Nott has always preferred to keep to himself. He’s an oddball in Slytherin—none of the pure-blood families can get along with him. Just like his father, isn’t he?”
Draco’s voice drifted in the air, tinged with contempt for Nott’s aloof demeanor.
Could there really be someone in Slytherin who acted cooler than Draco himself?
Nott was unpopular and kept to himself.
Even if people gossiped about him behind his back, it was only in passing.
After all, they were just first-year newcomers who hadn’t attracted much attention yet.
What Draco cared about was the prefect position in fifth year.
According to Slytherin tradition, the prefect had to be the most outstanding and authoritative student among them.
Naturally, he had no doubt in his own abilities.
The only thing Nott possessed that rivaled him was family lineage.
Nott’s temperament guaranteed he would never gather as much support as Draco, so Draco saw no need to pay him any further attention.
Why bother paying attention to someone who offered no competition?
Vincent remained silent, neither agreeing with nor refuting Draco’s subtle disparagement of Theodore Nott.
Just as he had guessed, the elder Nott was indeed an unpopular pure-blood.
Vincent smiled faintly, his mind working rapidly as he pieced together a clearer picture of Theodore Nott from these brief fragments.
A loner—in that respect, Nott was quite like him.
Thinking about it that way, why had his assessment back in the Potions classroom been wrong?
The final outcome had favored Vincent, yet as an aspiring scientist driven by curiosity, he still wanted to know where the variable had gone awry.
Deep in thought, Vincent suddenly felt an intense gaze piercing his back like a sharp needle, instantly shattering his reverie.
He whipped his head around, sweeping his eyes across the corridor.
People were passing back and forth in a lively bustle.
Students rushed off to class or chatted in small groups; none of them seemed remotely suspicious.
Yet in this mundane and ordinary scene, that piercing gaze lingered stubbornly.
Reconstructing the sensation, Vincent traced the potential trajectory of the gaze.
He spotted a few upperclassmen huddled together in conversation, laughing freely, completely unbothered by his glare.
The only potentially odd person in that direction was Professor Quirrell, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts—not because his current actions were particularly suspicious, but because his entire presence was inherently bizarre.
Professor Quirrell was walking away with his back turned, his slightly hunched silhouette unremarkable amidst the crowd.
With his back facing Vincent, he couldn’t possibly be looking at him.
Surely he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head?
Yet this was the wizarding world.
Nothing was beyond possibility.
Vincent stared intently in that direction for so long that even Draco Malfoy sensed something was off.
“What is it, Riddle? Is something wrong?”
Draco’s voice snapped Vincent back to reality.
*You calling me by my surname is what’s wrong,* Vincent thought.
Turning back, Vincent offered a polite smile.
“Nothing, Draco. I just thought I heard someone call my name, but I didn’t see anyone when I looked back.”
Riddle—the surname was both familiar and strange to him.
From his birth until now, very few people had called him by his surname.
Harry and his other close friends called him Vincent, while the professors at Hogwarts might append his surname when referring to him, though even they preferred his given name nowadays.
Since arriving at Hogwarts, he had intentionally blurred the connection between himself and that surname.
So far, aside from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid, no one had displayed any overt reaction to it.
Perhaps it was simply because Hagrid was terrible at hiding his emotions, but Vincent dared not drop his guard.
If someone held a grudge against the name Riddle and sought revenge on him, he would be paying for a debt that wasn’t his.
He was just an adopted child, after all.
Vincent lowered his eyes and shook his head, burying his uneasy thoughts.
“It’s nothing, Draco. You can just call me Vincent.”
His eyes swept once more over the upperclassmen and the receding figure of Professor Quirrell, the doubts in his heart growing stronger.
If it was Professor Quirrell, why had he been staring at him like that?
Vincent turned his attention back to his conversation with Draco.
He tried to glean more details about Theodore Nott, but Draco’s knowledge proved quite limited.
As time passed, their conversation drew to a close.
This conversation went far smoother than their encounter back in Diagon Alley.
Only after extracting every useful piece of information Draco possessed did Vincent satisfiedly bring it to an end.
The delighted grin on Draco Malfoy’s face made it clear he was completely oblivious to Vincent’s true motives, thoroughly thrilled that someone knew how to cater to his ego so well.
After parting ways with Draco, Vincent walked down the corridor alone, his mind still occupied by the mysterious gaze and Theodore Nott.
For now, the matter with Theodore Nott wasn’t urgent.
They already had an initial connection, and becoming friends was only a matter of time.
Once they were friends, Vincent would have a perfectly legitimate reason to interact with him regularly and monitor every change in him.
It was that piercing stare that left him feeling uneasy.
Perhaps he should go see Dumbledore and dump the problem onto him.
After all, the Headmaster had been watching him anyway.
Since he was already paying attention, he might as well double as a bodyguard.
Wasn’t he supposed to be the greatest wizard of light in the world?
Protecting a first-year student ought to be child’s play for him.
The thought had barely crossed his mind when he bumped into Headmaster Dumbledore right around the corner.
“Are you getting used to life at Hogwarts, Vincent?”
“Of course, Headmaster Dumbledore. In fact, I was just looking for you.”