I thought you and Potter got along pretty well.” Draco enjoyed flattery; that was only human nature.
It did not mean he was a fool.
“What exactly do you want to find out from me?
Since you actually know how to talk, I can tell you.” Arrogance colored every word.
“Oh, I wanted to ask about Theodore Nott.
Do you know anything about him?” Vincent was starting to like this “simple” young master.
He was so refreshingly direct.
Draco’s expression froze.
“What did you just say?” Theodore Nott?
The Malfoys and the Notts were on decent terms.
Wanting to dig up information on Nott through Malfoy—was Vincent Riddle placing a little too much faith in Malfoy’s character?
“Why would you think I’d tell you something like that?
If you want information of that level, I’m afraid you don’t have the ability yet.” “How much ability I have?
You’ll know soon enough, Draco.
Just not right now.
I imagine the Malfoys wouldn’t make friends with someone who has no ability at all.” Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled light and shadow across them and adding a peculiar atmosphere to the conversation.
Draco clearly had not expected his words to receive that kind of reply.
Normally, anyone who heard him speak that way would show displeasure—though Draco himself never felt there was anything wrong with what he said.
Vincent had his own calculations.
From the very beginning his plan had been to use Draco Malfoy to learn more about Theodore.
If he could not get what he wanted from the boy, then of course he had no need for a friend without ability.
In truth the Malfoy family’s way of thinking was not wrong at all.
Making friends was essentially an exchange of benefits.
Vincent still did not know what benefits the friends he made would eventually bring him, but one day he would receive a return.
He was like a cicada lying dormant, storing energy for the final harvest.
Even if he did a few foolish things before dying, it would be understandable.
Thinking of Harry’s attempt a couple of days earlier to drag him into investigating the secret of the fourth-floor corridor, Vincent felt his sacrifice had already been considerable.
Compared with the Gryffindors, who trusted others far too easily, Slytherins were indeed harder to deal with.
Draco Malfoy was like that.
Theodore Nott was even more so.
Since the first strike had failed to make Theodore Nott his friend, he could only take a more roundabout route.
This particular plan was going to fall through after all.
What Draco Malfoy knew about Theodore Nott remained completely superficial.
“Nott has always preferred to keep to himself.
He’s an odd one out in Slytherin.
With so many pure-blood families around, not a single person can get along with him.
He’s a lot like his father, isn’t he?” Draco’s words drifted through the air, carrying a faint note of disdain for Nott’s aloof behavior.
Someone in Slytherin was actually cooler than him?
Nott was not popular and kept to himself.
Even if people gossiped about him behind his back, it was only casual talk.
They were all first-years who had just started school; none of them had attracted any real attention yet.
What Draco cared about was the prefect position after fifth year.
According to Slytherin custom, the prefect had to be the most outstanding and the most respected person.
He naturally did not doubt his own ability.
The only area in which Nott could compare was family background, and Nott’s temperament meant he would never gather as much support as Draco himself.
Therefore Draco simply stopped paying attention to him.
Someone without competitive power was not worth watching.
Vincent remained silent and did not agree with Draco’s veiled criticism of Theodore.
Just as he had guessed, Old Nott was indeed an unpopular pure-blood.
He gave a soft laugh and let his mind race, trying to piece together a fuller image of Theodore Nott from these scattered remarks.
Preferring solitude—that point was similar to himself as well.
If he thought about it that way, why had his judgment in the Potions classroom been wrong?
The final result had still favored Vincent, yet a future scientist with an exploratory spirit still wanted to know where the variable had been.
Vincent was deep in his own thoughts when he suddenly felt an extremely intense gaze stab into his back, sharp as a thorn that instantly shattered his concentration.
He spun around and scanned the surroundings.
The corridor was lively with people coming and going.
Students hurried to class or stood in small groups talking.
Nothing looked particularly strange.
Yet in that ordinary, everyday scene the intense gaze clung to him like a shadow.
Vincent carefully recalled the sensation and looked in the direction the gaze might have come from.
A few upper-year students were clustered together talking, their faces wearing careless smiles, completely unaware of Vincent’s eyes on them.
The only person who might have been odd was Professor Quirrell from Defense Against the Dark Arts—not because of anything particularly strange he was doing at the moment, but because the man himself was strange.
Professor Quirrell was walking away with his back to Vincent.
That slightly hunched figure was unremarkable among the crowd.
Someone with his back turned could not possibly be looking at him.
Unless he had eyes growing on the back of his head?
This was the magical world.
Anything was possible.
Vincent stared in that direction for a long while—long enough that even Draco Malfoy began to feel something was off.
“What’s wrong, Riddle?
Is something the matter?” Draco’s voice pulled Vincent out of his thoughts.
You calling me by my last name right now is already pretty off.
Vincent turned back, a polite smile on his face.
“Nothing, Draco.
I just thought I heard someone calling my name.
When I looked there was no one there.” Riddle.
The surname felt both familiar and strange to Vincent.
From the day he was born until now, very few people had addressed him by his last name.
Harry and the friends he had made later all simply called him Vincent.
The professors at Hogwarts sometimes added the surname when mentioning him, but even they preferred his given name these days.
After entering Hogwarts he had deliberately blurred the connection between that surname and himself.
So far, apart from Hogwarts’s gamekeeper Hagrid, no one had shown any obvious reaction to the name.
Perhaps it was only because Hagrid was bad at hiding his emotions.
Vincent did not dare lower his guard.
If someone held a grudge against that surname and decided to take revenge on him, it would be far too unfair.
He was only an adopted child.
Vincent lowered his eyes, shook his head, and hid the strange thought away.
“It’s nothing, Draco.
You can call me Vincent.” His gaze swept once more over the upper-year students and the gradually receding figure of Professor Quirrell.
The doubt in his heart only grew stronger.
If it really was Professor Quirrell, why would he stare at him like that?
Vincent returned his attention to the conversation with Draco.
He tried to extract more information about Theodore Nott, but what Draco knew was limited.
As time passed their talk gradually drew to a close.
This conversation had gone far more smoothly than the one in Diagon Alley.
Only after Vincent had obtained every scrap of information Draco possessed did he finally stop, satisfied.
The pleased expression on Draco Malfoy’s face made it clear he had no idea what Vincent had actually been doing.
He was simply happy that someone could speak in a way that suited his tastes so perfectly and make him feel this good.
After saying goodbye to Draco, Vincent walked alone down the corridor, still thinking about that mysterious gaze and Theodore Nott.
For the moment Theodore’s matter was not urgent.
They already had a point of contact.
They would become friends soon enough.
Once they were friends, Vincent would have a perfectly legitimate identity and reason to seek him out often and observe every change in him.
That gaze, however, still left him a little unsettled.
Perhaps he should go find Dumbledore and dump the matter on him.
The old man had been watching him the entire time anyway.
Since he was already paying attention, he might as well take on the extra job of bodyguard.
Wasn’t he the greatest white wizard in the world?
Protecting a first-year student should be easy.
The thought had barely formed when Vincent turned the corner and ran straight into Headmaster Dumbledore.
“Are you settling into life at Hogwarts, Vincent?” “Of course, Headmaster Dumbledore.