The Hogwarts Express hurtled along the tracks, its wheels clacking against the rails in a rhythmic beat.
Inside the train, the laughter and chatter of students blended together, bright with anticipation for the new term.
In one of the compartments, Vincent sat elegantly by the window.
He wore a neat school uniform, his tie tied impeccably and his hair combed without a strand out of place, displaying his fine upbringing in every movement.
From time to time, his gaze flicked toward the boy sitting opposite him.
Theodore possessed an innate aristocratic air, every gesture radiating composure and pride.
A trace of scrutiny lingered in his eyes, as though he maintained guard against everything around him—though in truth, he was merely wary of the stranger who had suddenly approached him.
In this contest of wills, a battle of composure would likely take too long to yield a winner.
Vincent decided to strike first and take control of the initiative.
His voice was gentle and warm, soothing as a spring breeze.
“Should I reintroduce myself so our conversation can get off to a good start?”
A perfect opening—bonus points.
Theodore didn’t understand, but he exercised restraint to answer politely.
“There’s no need, Vincent.” He could sense that Vincent’s warmth and forced humor were a bit too deliberate.
*If he wants to act, then let’s play along.*
Vincent distinctly noticed that Theodore’s attitude shifted after he agreed to chat.
*Putting on an act together?
Sounds fun.*
Theodore sat up straight, his hands resting on his knees, his true thoughts concealed behind years of family training.
*How naive of him to think he can hide it.*
At eleven years old, whether during his time in the orphanage or after being adopted, Vincent had yet to meet anyone who could successfully hide their emotions from him.
Perhaps due to precocity, or perhaps sheer natural talent, Vincent instinctively knew how to manipulate the feelings of others.
He began casting around for a topic.
“The Nott family is pure-blood, so you’re bound to end up in Slytherin. I’ve heard every house at Hogwarts has its own unique charm.”
Curiosity filled his eyes, as though he were truly engaging in nothing more than ordinary small talk.
Theodore replied indifferently, “Generally speaking, yes, but we have to wait for the Sorting Ceremony. What about you?”
His perfunctory tone was a bit too fake.
Vincent smiled, looking warmth itself.
“I’m looking forward to the Sorting Ceremony as well. But I feel that regardless of which house we end up in, we can stay in touch. Do you have any hobbies?”
Theodore frowned slightly.
He felt Vincent’s questions were becoming overly eager, and his vigilance heightened.
“I like reading books on magical history,” he answered simply, offering no further elaboration.
Vincent’s eyes brightened, and he quickly said, “What a coincidence! I’m very interested in magical history too. I’ve been reading a book about ancient magic spells recently—it has so much fascinating material. Have you heard of *A Concrete Guide to Ancient Spells*? I imagine the Hogwarts library will be full of interesting things.”
As he spoke, he observed Theodore’s reactions, trying to find common ground to deepen the interaction.
Theodore felt a flicker of interest—he was indeed familiar with that subject—but he showed none of it on his face.
“I’ve heard a bit about it,” he replied briefly, refusing to let Vincent see what he was really thinking.
Vincent continued to ramble on about his insights and conjectures regarding ancient spells.
On the surface, he was sharing knowledge, but in reality, he was secretly analyzing Theodore’s facial expressions and reactions.
He hoped to glean useful information from Theodore’s words to better use him as a research subject.
Theodore listened quietly, responding occasionally, but his mind was working at top speed.
He found Vincent’s behavior increasingly suspicious.
Beneath that enthusiasm seemed to lurk some hidden motive.
He had deliberately kept his distance from the beginning, yet the other boy had pursued him relentlessly, forcing him to play along.
It seemed that from Vincent’s very first sentence, Theodore had been marching to his beat.
As the train rattled onward, their conversation gradually ground to a stalemate.
Sensing Theodore’s guard, Vincent felt a touch of impatience.
Theodore, meanwhile, secretly resolved to deal with Vincent with even greater caution.
He was determined to find out what Vincent was really after and why he was being so strangely warm.
Back and forth it went—a tactical game where both sides knew the score, yet kept their masks firmly pinned in place.
Theodore had witnessed scenes like this countlessly before—between his father and his so-called business partners.
The elder Nott was not a father who doted on his child.
In his eyes, if his son failed to demonstrate satisfactory value, the act of passing on his bloodline was essentially meaningless.
Theodore had always been quiet.
In the vast Nott Manor, crying brought no warm embrace—only his father’s harsh reprimands and locked doors.
The sensation of being swallowed by darkness was unpleasant, so Theodore had learned what methods yielded the best results for him.
Take the unknown young wizard in front of him, for instance; he was clearly anything but simple.
He likely wasn’t a wizard raised in Britain.
Ordinary wizarding families couldn’t produce a child so shrewd and calculating.
Only old pure-blood families like theirs wished for their children to mature as early as possible so they could bring in value all the sooner.
Perhaps France—he remembered the Rosier family had once had a branch there—or perhaps Germany, whose magic school was quite reputable as well.
In the course of their conversation, Theodore had already guessed two countries, yet he still couldn’t confirm Vincent’s identity.
Vincent continued talking with keen interest, yet both of them knew full well that this conversation was utterly meaningless.
“Are you really that free? Or do you just have no friends in Britain to share a compartment with?”
Theodore was growing annoyed; he wanted to throw this insufferable boy out.
“Oh, hearing that hurts my feelings. I thought we were already friends.”
Under most circumstances, Vincent was a very “considerate” person.
He knew exactly how to make the person opposite him feel completely at ease, coaxing them into warming up to him so he could achieve the objective set at the start of the conversation.
Facing Theodore Nott, however, his mask was proving difficult to keep on.
Vincent felt more inclined to reveal the truer self beneath his friendly veneer, curious to see how this new subject would respond.
He had assumed Theodore would remain silent or continue to exchange pleasantries behind a fake facade, but Theodore’s actions were far more decisive and swift.
He stood up, grabbed Vincent by his collar, and shoved him out of the compartment.
“Talking to you was a delightful experience. I hope there won’t be a next time.”
The compartment door slammed shut in his face.
It took a moment for Vincent to process what had just happened.
*Did he just throw me out?*
*He threw me out!*
Vincent thought he would be angry, but in truth, the smile on his face was more genuine than any he had worn since boarding the train.
This subject was indeed just as he had expected—unpredictable and impossible to control.
That was precisely what he wanted.
Vincent had observed Harry to learn what society considered a pitied child to be; Ron and Hermione fell into the category of happy, loving families; while Theodore’s traits closely mirrored his own—a wealthy but unhappy home, neglected by the power at the top, yet firmly expected to mature into someone outstanding on his own once taught.
He had rejected his family and stayed in Ingram on his own.
If he had given in back then, he would probably be sitting in Theodore’s shoes right now.
He wanted to see what his alternate path would have looked like.
Everything he experienced in his life was dreadfully dull.
He could see right through the people around him and knew exactly how to steer events in his desired direction.
Such a life was convenient, of course, but at times, Vincent found it utterly boring.
Like his foster parents, whom he could tell at first glance were seeking a surrogate child, or Harry, whom he knew immediately was in desperate need of a friend.
Theodore was different.
Vincent could see the loneliness inside him—just like his own.
Theodore was right: this had indeed been a very friendly and memorable conversation.
At least, Vincent genuinely found it delightful.
*Slytherin, huh?*
Vincent began to consider whether he should join that house…
Well, he still wasn’t fond of places with too high a concentration of pure-bloods.
Being surrounded by a crowd of people who would inevitably grow obsessed with self-interest would make it impossible for him to breathe.
He preferred being around straightforward people like Harry and Ron, who could be dealt with in two sentences.
Not to mention his primary motive for coming to Hogwarts was simply to uncover magic and knowledge he had yet to master.
Ravenclaw was far better suited to him.
*Perhaps he could convince Theodore to enter Ravenclaw as well?*
Looking at the tightly shut compartment door, he could see through the glass that Theodore’s expression was laced with displeasure.
He was starting to look forward to life at Hogwarts even more.