By a sunlit window, a few young witches and wizards were huddled together, finishing their respective homework assignments.
Yes, even the most legendary Savior had to do homework.
Otherwise, forget saving the world—he wouldn’t even be able to save himself.
Harry was still pondering Severus Snape’s dark, secret plans, while Vincent stuck firmly to his own intuition.
That was a good thing; if you couldn’t trust yourself, what in the world was left to trust?
So…
Quirrell definitely had a problem.
“Dumbledore letting someone like that serve as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is suspicious in itself,” Vincent said.
“But it’s really hard to hire a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts,” Ron said, propping his head up with one hand while holding a quill in the other, scratching out a word only after a long pause.
Hearing Vincent and Harry suspecting a Hogwarts professor, he added, “Legend has it that You-Know-Who cursed the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. No matter how hard they try, a new professor has to be hired every year. That’s why it’s getting harder and harder to fill the position.”
A curse?
Vincent narrowed his eyes.
Even a teaching post could be cursed?
“I still think the problem is Professor Snape. Maybe you should pay more attention to him?” Harry suggested to Vincent once again.
Harry was undoubtedly the happiest to learn that Vincent had a suspect.
It would be even better if Vincent suspected the same person he did.
Harry believed Vincent’s sharp brain could come up with cleverer ideas to help them prove their theory.
But the boy in whom the Savior placed such high hopes splashed cold water on his enthusiasm without hesitation.
“Pay attention to him the way you do, using methods everyone can see right through? Harry, if Professor Snape really had a problem, he would have made his move on you long ago. He’s a very intelligent man.”
Vincent’s first impression of Professor Snape had been extremely deep.
A man who walked like a sudden gust of wind drew attention wherever he went.
But that wasn’t why Vincent kept an eye on him.
Rather, it was the extraordinarily gloomy look in Severus Snape’s eyes.
Harry had shared with him before that during the Sorting Ceremony, the Sorting Hat had wanted to place him in Slytherin.
Luckily, it hadn’t.
Otherwise, right under his nose, who knew how Severus Snape would have tormented Harry?
For now, Vincent didn’t know the origin of Snape’s resentment toward Harry.
Surely Snape wouldn’t target the Savior just because Harry ended up in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, deciding he was a tasteless brat who deserved to be picked on?
Undeniably, Snape was indeed very sharp.
One could tell from his expertise in Potions and his endless stream of biting remarks that he possessed a brilliant mind.
“No Potions Master is a fool. Safely fusing a cauldron full of ingredients with conflicting properties to brew a successful potion is no easier than navigating human relationships.”
Having attended Potions class and truly engaged with the subject, Vincent now understood why Snape had described it as a subtle science and exact art during their first lesson.
To bend those ingredients to one’s will required precise magic control, detailed knowledge of every component, and even a touch of luck.
If Severus Snape weren’t exceptionally intelligent and powerful, then he would have to be a spoiled darling of God blessed with unreal luck.
Harry opened his mouth, wanting to counter Vincent’s argument.
But then he remembered that in all the time he had known Vincent, the boy had hardly ever been wrong.
His confidence wavered.
Had he really been barking up the wrong tree all along?
“But he really does target me! And I didn’t do anything! He can’t just decide I’m a hopeless case just because I couldn’t answer his questions the first time, can he?”
“Maybe it’s not just you. Everyone knows Snape is a weird, unpleasant professor. He doesn’t go any easier on Neville than he does on you.”
Ron scratched his head.
He didn’t know whether Snape was a good guy or a bad guy, but he certainly wasn’t a good professor.
Harry had his reasons for suspecting him, but Vincent’s logic made sense too.
“Hagrid also thinks Snape isn’t a bad person. Right now, everything is just speculation. We can only confirm which theory is right once we find solid evidence,” Hermione said, joining the conversation.
She was reluctant to suspect a professor who taught them, even if Snape’s teaching ethics were less than stellar.
It was a very objective statement, and both Ron and Harry silently conceded the point.
Vincent didn’t care much about Snape.
He was far more curious about whether an eye could actually grow on the back of Quirrell’s head.
This was the wizarding world.
Even bizarre things should be considered fairly normal here.
Even if Albus Dumbledore popped up one day and told him he had been a woman before becoming a man, Vincent would probably believe it.
While Harry and the others were already discussing how to find proof that Snape was evil, Vincent was pondering how to approach Quirrell.
Nothing revealed a person better than speech.
Granted, words could be fabricated, and lies were most convincing when mixed with ninety percent truth.
He didn’t need to believe everything—just extract the reliable parts.
No one could talk completely off the cuff without referencing reality; every lie had to rely on a grain of truth.
That grain was precisely what Vincent wanted.
A student asking the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor a question was as ordinary a scene as could be.
*
Hogwarts corridor, afternoon.
Vincent “coincidentally” ran into Professor Quirrell in the corridor.
Judging by his direction, Quirrell had just left the library, holding a thick book on magic in his hands.
Seeing Professor Quirrell, Vincent put on a look of pleasant surprise and stepped forward immediately, his face brimming with sincerity.
“Professor Quirrell, sorry to bother you. I’m Vincent. I have a few questions about Defense Against the Dark Arts I’d like to ask you.”
In the eyes of the Hogwarts professors, Vincent was quite a talented boy.
Several of them brought him up often, so Quirrell was not unfamiliar with him.
Teachers always liked smart, obedient students, and Vincent had used this advantage to build good relationships with all of them.
Although a few professors occasionally looked at him with strange expressions, they all held back whatever discomfort they felt and taught him with everything they had.
The truth behind the story was important, but wasn’t becoming powerful enough even more enticing?
Once he was strong enough, someone would naturally come to deliver the truth to his doorstep.
Vincent was in no rush for that day to arrive, and he was happy to spend time discovering new things around Hogwarts.
Every time he saw those uneasy looks, Vincent felt deeply curious about what the former Riddle had done to leave such a lasting impression on these professors.
Right now, though, he was more interested in what Professor Quirrell thought of him.
Suddenly stopped by a student, Professor Quirrell’s first reaction was fear.
After taking a deep breath, he adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and stammered, “Oh, h-hello, Vincent. W-what… what is your question?”
Professor Quirrell was probably the staff member least familiar with Vincent.
The man acted as if he had an allergy to humans; seeing any wizard made him extraordinarily nervous, like a kangaroo ready to leap ten yards away at any moment.
Seeing Vincent approach now, he grew even more anxious, his entire body trembling involuntarily.
Watching Professor Quirrell’s reaction, Vincent’s suspicions deepened.
He asked nonchalantly, “Professor, I’ve run into a few puzzles while studying Defense Against the Dark Arts lately. For example, how should we deal with powerful Dark creatures?”
This wasn’t much of a real question—what kind of powerful Dark creatures could a first-year student possibly encounter?
But he knew Professor Quirrell wouldn’t refuse to answer.
Quirrell’s public persona was that of a timid, cowering professor who could never say no to anyone.
Now that a student actively approached him with a question, what choice did he have other than stammering out an answer?
Quirrell naturally didn’t want anyone to suspect his disguise, so he had to remain trapped inside this shell, acting out the script assigned to his persona.
Who could say life wasn’t a script?
Everyone was trapped within their own character persona; as long as you understood someone’s persona, you could effortlessly manipulate their life.
Sure enough, Professor Quirrell didn’t refuse.
Even facing a mere first-year, he continued trembling and stuttering.
Professor Quirrell rubbed his hands nervously.
“W-well, when facing powerful Dark creatures, we must… must stay calm and use our magical knowledge to defend ourselves. B-but, th-that’s not absolute. Sometimes, Dark creatures are extremely powerful, and we might need to seek… seek the help of greater magical power.”
Vincent nodded slightly and pressed further.
“Then Professor, have you ever encountered a particularly powerful Dark creature yourself?”
Flicking his eyes over Quirrell, Vincent tried to spot any magical artifact used for surveillance—something that would allow Quirrell to easily watch him even with his back turned.
Quirrell wore nothing more than an ordinary wizard’s robe.
The only strange things were the odd smell wafting from it and various indefinable trinkets hanging off him—likely meant to ward off the terrifying creatures he was so afraid of.
Vincent couldn’t tell which ones were functional, so he paid attention to every single item, planning to cross-reference them with materials from the library to see if any matched.
Professor Quirrell’s body shuddered slightly.
He clearly hadn’t expected Vincent to have another question.
A flash of panic crossed his eyes, though he quickly regained his composure.
“I… I, well, in my research, I have indeed encountered some powerful Dark creatures, but those were all in books and literature. In reality, I haven’t actually run into… such powerful Dark creatures.”
Vincent keenly caught Quirrell’s momentary lapse and probed further.
“Professor, I heard there’s a type of Dark creature called a Dementor. They’re terrifying and can consume human souls. If we ever encounter a Dementor, what should we do?”
At the word “Dementor,” Professor Quirrell’s face turned pale in an instant, his voice stammering even harder.
“D-Dementors… those are truly terrifying beings. We… we must learn to use the Patronus Charm to resist their attacks. But the Patronus Charm is exceedingly difficult to learn, requiring immense magical power and willpower.”
It was all part of maintaining his persona.
When terrifying magical creatures were mentioned, Quirrell’s reaction fit the “cowardly” label to perfection.
Vincent watched Professor Quirrell, reviewing the entire conversation in his mind.
Although Professor Quirrell’s answers were completely by the book and his behavior lacked any obvious flaw, Vincent couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Dementors were the guards used by the Ministry of Magic at Azkaban.
Vincent had used Dementors merely as an opening topic.
What he truly wanted to ask was:
“Professor Quirrell, I heard there’s a type of Dark magic called the Imperius Curse. What happens if someone is controlled by the Imperius Curse?”
The Imperius Curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses.
It was said that once controlled by the caster, a person would obey their every command, losing their own free will.
Could Quirrell be in such a state?
If the caster’s command was for him to play his role and act as an insider for them, would the person still retain self-awareness?
Vincent had never come into contact with Unforgivable Curses.
The library records glossed over them in a few brief sentences, fearing that young wizards might stumble into terrifying knowledge.
Perhaps deeper research was kept in the Restricted Section, but Vincent had no way inside for now.
For some reason, whenever he subtly dropped hints about wanting to enter the Restricted Section, all the professors involuntarily stopped him, urging him to focus on wholesome magic in the main library instead.
Hearing the term “Unforgivable Curse,” Professor Quirrell’s voice trembled even more.
“Th-the Imperius Curse is a most evil Dark magic. If controlled by the Imperius Curse… one loses their own will and becomes a puppet of the caster.”
Another completely standard answer.
The absence of flaws was, in itself, a flaw.
Vincent stared intently at Professor Quirrell and asked, “Professor, if someone is controlled by the Imperius Curse, how can we save them?”
If Professor Quirrell still retained self-awareness, could he realize he had been cursed?
Vincent had no way to test this theory, so he simply buried the suspicion in his heart for the time being.
Before issuing the offer letter, Albus Dumbledore must have thoroughly investigated Quirrell before inviting him to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The past Professor Quirrell certainly wasn’t this pathetic, incapable sight.
If Quirrell still had his own consciousness, Vincent’s words might actually stir a reaction in him.
Professor Quirrell swallowed hard and said, “If someone is controlled by the Imperius Curse, we must find the caster to lift it. There is no counter-curse for an Unforgivable Curse; other than targeting the caster, there is no good solution.”
Having probed for a long while without getting a satisfying result, Vincent decided to take his leave.
“Thank you for the explanation, Professor. I understand.” Vincent gave a slight bow.
Vincent had already heard the full story of why Professor Quirrell ended up like this from Ron.
Ron’s older brothers were quite well-known at Hogwarts and knew almost everything that went on; as the youngest brother, Ron naturally picked up plenty of gossip from them.
Judging by Quirrell’s reaction to Dark magic and the Unforgivable Curses, he likely wasn’t under mind control.
If not mind control, could it be defection?
Professor Quirrell naturally had no idea what the well-behaved Vincent was thinking.
He nodded and turned to leave.
The instant Professor Quirrell turned around, Vincent felt that sensation of being watched once again.
He looked up, staring intently at the back of Quirrell’s head—wrapped in a long turban—and confirmed his suspicion.
How arrogant.
Knowing full well that Vincent had come over to test him, Quirrell still dared to stare at him so brazenly.
Did he think Vincent could never discover the truth, or did he simply not care about a mere first-year?
Whichever it was, Vincent felt deeply looked down upon.
Just wait.
He would definitely make Quirrell pay for his actions.
For some reason, even though Vincent had arrived prepared to leave empty-handed, that final glimpse of lingering scrutiny left him feeling intensely annoyed.
He began to wonder about the rumors passed around by the Weasley twins.
Some speculated that Professor Quirrell wrapped his head in a turban because he had some head condition that couldn’t handle the wind, or because something terrifying was growing on it, forcing him to wrap it up tight so no one else could see.
He had to find a way to take off Quirrell’s turban.
Only by unwrapping that troublesome cloth could he find out whether there really was an eye on the back of Quirrell’s head—an eye that never stopped watching him.