“Is there something you want to tell me?” Vincent asked, looking straight at Harry.
“Why suspect me first? I didn’t do anything,” Harry protested, though there was no real conviction in his voice.
He could never deceive Vincent; Harry had never managed to pull it off.
Forty-five seconds into Vincent’s stare, Harry caved.
Nearby, Ron heard every word clearly, but he continued playing deaf and dumb, showing no intention of speaking to either of them.
Fine.
Ron had made his position crystal clear: he wouldn’t talk, nor would he leave, so Harry had to act as his mouthpiece.
“It’s really nothing. We didn’t fight, and there wasn’t any fallout, it’s just…” Harry trailed off.
Vincent picked up the thread for him: “It’s just that suddenly, for no apparent reason, Hermione stopped talking to you?”
Hermione wasn’t a witch to hold petty grudges over minor trifles—except when it came to rules.
She cared deeply about rules.
Whether it was protecting the physical condition of library books or upholding school regulations, Hermione’s stance was uncompromising.
Vincent needed only one guess to figure out where the problem lay.
“Things were fine not long ago. What have you two been up to lately?”
Harry opened his mouth.
“It’s really nothing much… It’s just… if we can’t find what we need in the main section of the library, maybe the Restricted Section…”
“Are you trying to say that if you can’t find anything useful during the day, you want to sneak into Professor Snape’s office to take a look?” Vincent interrupted Harry’s cover story with a pleasant smile.
“Hermione doesn’t approve of your methods.”
Harry nodded.
Ron remained silent, but his expression clearly showed his agreement.
“It’s not that we wanted to break school rules, Vincent. It’s Hermione who stopped speaking to us.”
Bringing this up made Harry feel a bit aggrieved.
He didn’t want Vincent to think they were falling apart from internal conflict before even finding the answers they were looking for.
“We didn’t fight. Really, we didn’t,” Harry insisted.
“Right, no fight—just a little unpleasantness. If I hadn’t brought it up, how long were you two planning to let this drag on?”
Harry and Ron fell silent.
Vincent packed up the books on the table and stood up to leave.
“Think it over yourselves. I certainly won’t tell Hermione what you were planning. By the way, Harry, if you don’t hurry up, once I find proof against Professor Quirrell, your suspicion of Professor Snape won’t hold water anymore.”
Harry wanted to say something more, but Vincent left him with only a retreating back.
Leaving the library, Vincent headed straight for Gryffindor Tower.
“Hello, could you please get Hermione Granger for me?”
Neville Longbottom, who had been called out to, turned around with a look of confusion still on his face.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Unless Gryffindor’s portraits can step inside the common room to deliver a message for me, then yes, I suppose I am talking to you.”
Neville Longbottom looked around; there was no one here except him and Vincent.
“Oh, right. I’ll check for you, but you’ll have to wait a second—until I remember the password for the Gryffindor entrance.” Neville lowered his head in embarrassment, though whether from forgetting the password or from speaking to someone he wasn’t familiar with was hard to say.
“*Caput Draconis*,” Vincent said.
Neville slapped his forehead.
“Right, it’s *Caput Draconis*! Are… are you in Gryffindor, too?”
He wasn’t sure if he had simply forgotten this classmate.
“You… I think I kind of recognize you. You’re always with Harry and Hermione. Are you a Gryffindor too, and I just didn’t remember? Then you can just go straight in. You don’t need me to pass a message.”
Neville was already halfway to convincing himself.
Vincent knew who he was—Neville Longbottom, Hermione’s friend.
They didn’t have much contact, and their only interactions had been while with Hermione and the others, so it was completely normal for Longbottom not to remember him.
“No, I’m in Ravenclaw. I’m just friends with Harry and Hermione.”
“Hey, boys! Are you coming in or not? I’m standing waiting here!” The Fat Lady in the portrait interrupted their conversation.
Standing in front of the door chatting like that—go in or leave!
Otherwise, she wouldn’t even have time if she wanted to sing.
Vincent followed the Fat Lady’s lead and said, “Go on inside, Longbottom. I’m Riddle. If Hermione is in there, please ask her to step out for a moment. Thanks. *Caput Draconis*, Fat Lady. Please open up.”
Someone had spoken the password, so the Fat Lady naturally swung open the door.
Though in her heart she found it strange—how could a Ravenclaw know the Gryffindor password?
Neville only had time to toss back an “Okay” before stepping dazedly into the common room.
Vincent certainly wasn’t going to give him time to figure things out.
He was a Ravenclaw.
If Neville asked how he knew the Gryffindor password, Harry and the others would become the primary suspects, which wouldn’t be ideal.
With anyone else, Vincent might have offered a plausible explanation.
But with Neville Longbottom, he would likely forget the whole thing in a few minutes and not think of it again for a long time.
Vincent didn’t need to worry about it in the slightest.
Smiling at the Fat Lady, who was staring at him, Vincent said, “I heard someone say the password the last time I came looking for my friends. Don’t worry, Hogwarts students don’t usually burst into other houses’ common rooms.”
Usually, that was true.
The Fat Lady didn’t care all that much.
“It’s nothing, dear. It’s just a password, and it’ll change in a while anyway. Besides, you’re a Ravenclaw, not a Slytherin. What could you possibly do, knowing the Gryffindor password?”
That made a lot of sense, too.
As Gryffindor’s guardian, the Fat Lady had seen plenty over the years.
Hardly anything could surprise her—unless a Slytherin knew the Gryffindor password.
Hermione emerged soon after, looking far more composed than she had last time.
“Tell me you’re not here as a peacemaker for them.”
One look at Vincent told her he had just come from the library.
Harry and Ron were always meeting him there to talk things over, so she knew immediately that he must have just seen them.
“Oh, Hermione, you’re so sharp it makes me worry about how Ravenclaw is going to defend its reputation for loving study when the final exams roll around,” Vincent said with a smile.
“Loving study isn’t just a reputation—though I’ll accept the compliment,” Hermione said, her mood lifting slightly at Vincent’s playful joke.
“Coming to find me now… it isn’t still about Professor Quirrell, is it? I heard Fred and George did something recently. Does it have something to do with you?”
“You’re really putting me on the spot. I’m just a first-year Ravenclaw, what could I possibly do?” Vincent replied without batting an eye.
“I’m here because of Harry and Ron.”
Hermione looked ready to turn around and leave immediately, but she didn’t.
“What do they have to say to me?”
Vincent pulled out a piece of candy.
“Want some candy?”
*Is this what they wanted to say?*
Hermione didn’t take the candy.
The deep distrust in her eyes almost made Vincent laugh.
“Keen observation, Hermione. This is a Puking Pastille Fred and George gave me.”
Hermione didn’t want to leave anymore—she wanted to march Vincent straight to the Hospital Wing.
“You had better actually have a reason for being here. I’m very busy. The term is nearly half over, and there’s a mini-test before the Christmas holidays. I need to read.”
“Come off it, Hermione. That trick might work on other young witches and wizards from the Muggle world, but I’m a Ravenclaw. No professor goes out of their way to torment students right before the Christmas break.”
Except Professor Snape, perhaps.
“Harry and Ron are feeling a bit regretful. True, they didn’t explicitly say so, but I could tell—otherwise they would have stopped me from coming, and I wouldn’t be poking my nose into this,” he said before Hermione could speak up.
Hermione believed him.
She didn’t want to hold a meaningless grudge against her friends either.
“Besides, Hermione, without you around, who else is going to keep those two hotheads from losing points for Gryffindor?”
Vincent offered her a perfect way out, taking into full account any refusal she might have made and cutting straight to the point.
“If you’re still upset, you could secretly slip this Puking Pastille into their bread. When I bumped into Fred and George last time, they said they’d tested this prototype—it doesn’t have any major side effects, it just makes you lose your appetite. Once the real Puking Pastille is finished, I’ll share some with you.”
If it only made them lose their appetite, Hermione could accept that.
But if it caused unstoppable vomiting and someone accidentally ate it, that would be a real problem.