By a sunlit window, several young witches and wizards sat clustered together finishing their homework.
Yes—even the greatest savior still had to finish his assignments.
Otherwise, never mind saving the world; he wouldn’t even be able to save himself.
Harry was still turning over Snape’s supposed evil plans in his mind.
Vincent insisted on trusting his own instincts.
That was only right.
If a person stopped trusting himself, what else in the world was worth trusting?
So… Quirrell definitely had a problem.
“Dumbledore letting someone like that teach Defense Against the Dark Arts is already suspicious in itself,” Vincent said.
“But Defense Against the Dark Arts professors are really hard to hire,” Ron replied, propping his head up with one hand while the other held a quill that took forever to make a single mark.
Hearing that Vincent and Harry thought a Hogwarts professor was problematic, he added: “There’s a rumor that the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts was cursed by You-Know-Who.
No matter what anyone does, a new professor has to be hired every year.
That’s why it’s gotten harder and harder to fill the position.” A curse?
Vincent narrowed his eyes.
“I still think the one with the problem is Professor Snape.
Maybe you should pay more attention to him?” Harry said to Vincent once more.
Knowing that Vincent had a suspect of his own made Harry the happiest of the group by far.
If the person Vincent suspected turned out to be the same one Harry suspected, even better.
Harry believed Vincent’s mind would come up with far more brilliant ideas that could help them confirm their theories.
The boy on whom the savior had pinned such high hopes unceremoniously poured cold water on him.
“Watch him the same way everyone already does?
Harry, if Professor Snape really had a problem, he would have made a move on you long ago.
He’s a very clever man.” Vincent’s first impression of Professor Snape had been extremely strong.
Anyone who walked as if the wind followed him would attract extra attention wherever he went.
But that was not the reason Vincent focused on him.
It was the particularly gloomy look in Severus Snape’s eyes.
Harry had once shared that during the Sorting the hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin.
Fortunately it hadn’t; otherwise, right under Vincent’s nose, Severus Snape might have found any number of ways to bully Harry.
Vincent still did not know the origin of Snape’s dislike for Harry.
Surely it couldn’t be simply because the savior had gone to Gryffindor instead of Slytherin and therefore, in Snape’s eyes, lacked taste and deserved to be targeted?
What was beyond doubt was that Snape was indeed very intelligent.
Just from the way he handled potions and the endless stream of cutting remarks that came out of his mouth, one could tell this was a man with a sharp mind.
“No potions master is ever a fool.
Making ingredients with completely different effects blend smoothly into a successful potion is no easier than navigating human relationships.” Only after attending Potions class and truly engaging with the subject had Vincent understood why Snape had called it a subtle science in the very first lesson.
To make that collection of ingredients obey one’s will required precise control of magic, thorough knowledge of the materials, and even a touch of luck.
If Severus Snape was not sufficiently clever and powerful, then he could only be a child of God blessed with outrageous good fortune.
Harry opened his mouth, wanting to refute Vincent’s view, but then remembered that in all the time they had known each other Vincent’s words had almost never been wrong.
A flicker of doubt stirred in his heart.
Had he really been looking in the wrong direction all along?
“But he really does target me specifically.
I haven’t done anything.
He can’t just decide I’m a hopeless case because I couldn’t answer correctly the first time he asked me questions.” “Maybe it isn’t only you.
Everyone knows Snape is an odd one—an 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 counted as a good person or a bad one; he only knew the man was not a good teacher.
Harry had his reasons for suspicion, and Vincent’s argument also made a certain amount of sense.
“Hagrid doesn’t think Snape is a bad person either.
Right now everything is only conjecture.
Until we find actual evidence that proves something, we can’t confirm which theory is correct.” Hermione joined the conversation.
She was unwilling to suspect the professors who taught her knowledge, even if Snape’s professional ethics left something to be desired.
It was a thoroughly objective statement.
Both Ron and Harry tacitly accepted it.
Vincent did not care much about the matter of Snape.
He was far more interested in whether Quirrell might have an eye growing on the back of his head.
This was the magical world.
Even if something astonishing happened, it should still count as ordinary.
If one day Dumbledore jumped out and told him that before becoming a man he had been a woman, Vincent would believe it.
While Harry and the others discussed ways to find proof that Snape was a villain, Vincent was thinking about how to approach Quirrell.
Nothing revealed a person more clearly than speech.
Of course words could be used as disguise—truth mixed with one part falsehood was always more believable—but he did not need to believe everything.
As long as he could extract the majority of what was credible, that would be enough.
No one could completely detach from reality and speak pure nonsense.
Every story had to rest on a foundation of partial truth.
That partial truth was exactly what Vincent wanted.
A student asking the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor questions was the most ordinary scene imaginable.
Hogwarts corridor, afternoon.
Vincent “happened” to run into Professor Quirrell in the corridor.
Judging by the direction he was coming from, the man had just left the library, still holding a thick magical tome.
Upon seeing Professor Quirrell, Vincent put on a look of pleasant surprise and immediately walked forward, his face full of earnestness.
“Professor Quirrell, sorry to disturb you.
I’m Vincent.
I have a few questions about Defense Against the Dark Arts that I’d like to ask you.” In the eyes of the Hogwarts professors, Vincent was a child of considerable talent.
Several of them mentioned him often and were not unfamiliar with him.
Teachers always liked clever, obedient students.
Vincent made full use of that advantage to maintain good relations with all of them.
Although a few professors still looked at him with faintly strange expressions, every one of them suppressed that slight sense of wrongness and taught him with their full effort.
The truth of the story was important, of course—but wasn’t possessing sufficiently powerful strength even more tempting?
When one’s strength was great enough, people would naturally bring those stories to his door and tell him.
Vincent was in no hurry for that day; he was also willing to spend time discovering new things inside Hogwarts.
Every time he saw those strange looks, Vincent grew curious about what the previous Riddle had done to leave such a deep impression on this group of professors.
Right now, however, he was more interested in what impression Professor Quirrell held of him.
Suddenly stopped by one of his own students, Professor Quirrell’s first reaction was fear.
After a deep breath he pushed his glasses up his nose and stammered, “O-oh… h-hello, Vincent.
Wh-what questions do you have?” Of all the staff, Professor Quirrell was probably the one least familiar with Vincent.
The man seemed to suffer from some kind of human allergy; the sight of any wizard made him extraordinarily nervous, looking as though he might bounce ten meters away like a kangaroo at any moment.
Now that Vincent had drawn closer, Quirrell grew even more tense, his body trembling involuntarily.
Watching Professor Quirrell’s manner, the doubts in Vincent’s heart only deepened.
He asked calmly, “Professor, while studying Defense Against the Dark Arts recently I’ve run into a few points of confusion.
For example—when facing a powerful dark magical creature, how should we respond?” It was not really much of a question.
What kind of powerful dark magical creatures could first-years encounter?
But he knew Professor Quirrell would not refuse.
The outward image the man presented was that of a timid, shrinking professor who never refused anyone.
Now that a student had actively come to ask questions, what else could he do except stammer out an answer?
Of course Quirrell did not want anyone to suspect his disguise, so he could only remain trapped inside this shell and continue according to the story that belonged to the role.
Who could say that life itself was not a script?
Everyone was confined within their own character setting.
Once you understood the other person’s setting, you could easily manipulate their life.
Exactly so.
Professor Quirrell did not refuse them.
Even though he was facing only a first-year student, he still answered while trembling.
Professor Quirrell nervously rubbed his hands together.
“Th-that… when facing a powerful dark magical creature, we must… must stay calm and use the magical knowledge we’ve learned to defend ourselves.
B-but… this isn’t absolute either.
Sometimes the power of dark magical creatures is extremely strong.
We may need to seek the help of even greater magical force.” Vincent gave a small nod and continued pressing.
“Then, Professor, have you ever encountered any particularly powerful dark magical creatures yourself?” His eyes rapidly scanned Quirrell from head to toe.
Vincent wanted to find some magical monitoring device on the man that would allow him to watch others easily even with his back turned.
Professor Quirrell wore only the most ordinary wizard’s robes.
The only things that could be called odd were the strange smell clinging to them and the various unidentifiable little charms hanging from them—perhaps meant to defend against the terrifying creatures he feared.
Vincent could not determine which one might be useful.
He could only pay attention to every single one and later compare them with the materials he had found in the library to see if anything matched.
Professor Quirrell’s body trembled slightly, as if he had not expected Vincent to have further questions.
A flash of panic crossed his eyes, but he quickly recovered.
“I… I, well, in my research I have indeed encountered some powerful dark magical creatures, but those were all in books and literature.
In reality I have not yet truly met… any dark magical creatures that powerful.” Vincent keenly caught the abnormality and probed further.
“Professor, I’ve heard of a dark magical creature called a Dementor.
They’re extremely terrifying and can suck out a person’s soul.
If we encounter a Dementor, what should we do?” The moment he heard the name “Dementor,” Professor Quirrell’s face turned pale and his stammer grew worse.
“De… Dementors… those are extremely terrifying beings.
We… we must learn the Patronus Charm in order to resist their attacks.
But the Patronus Charm is very difficult to learn.
It requires strong magical power and willpower.” This was merely the performance required by the character setting.
When terrifying magical creatures were mentioned, Quirrell’s reaction perfectly matched the label of “timid.” Vincent looked at Professor Quirrell and reviewed every part of the conversation so far.
Although Quirrell’s answers were perfectly conventional and the state he displayed contained not the slightest flaw, Vincent still felt that something was off.
Dementors were the guards used by the Ministry of Magic to watch Azkaban.
Vincent had chosen Dementors as the opening of the conversation.
What he truly wanted to ask was: “Professor Quirrell, I’ve heard of a dark curse 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 it, a person would obey every command of the caster and lose their own will.
Was it possible that Quirrell was in such a situation?
If the caster’s command had been to play his role and act as a spy, would that person still possess self-awareness?
Vincent had never encountered the Unforgivable Curses.
The materials in the library only mentioned them in a few brief sentences, as if afraid of exposing young witches and wizards to anything too terrible.
Deeper materials were probably stored in the Restricted Section, but Vincent had no way of entering it yet.
For some reason, whenever he so much as hinted at wanting to enter the Restricted Section, every professor would instinctively stop him and urge him to study more of the positive, uplifting magic available in the open library.
At the mention of an Unforgivable Curse, Professor Quirrell’s voice began to tremble as well.
“The Im… Imperius Curse is an extremely evil form of dark magic.
If controlled by the Imperius Curse, a person loses their own will and becomes a puppet of the caster.” Another perfectly conventional answer.
The lack of any flaw was itself a problem.
Vincent fixed his gaze tightly on Professor Quirrell.
“Professor, then if someone is controlled by the Imperius Curse, how do we free them?” Did Professor Quirrell still possess self-awareness?
Could he realize that he himself had been cursed?
Vincent had no opportunity for experimentation; he simply stored the suspicion away in his heart for now.
When Dumbledore invited Quirrell to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, he must have thoroughly investigated the man before issuing the appointment letter.
The previous Professor Quirrell could not possibly have been this incompetent.
If he still retained his own consciousness, Vincent’s current words might truly be able to provoke a reaction.
Professor Quirrell nervously swallowed.
“If someone is controlled by the Imperius Curse, we need to find the caster in order to lift it.
There is no counter-curse for the Unforgivable Curses.
Apart from attacking the caster, there is no good solution.” After probing for quite a while without obtaining a satisfactory result, Vincent decided to take his leave.
“Thank you for the explanation, Professor.
I understand.” He gave a slight bow.
As for the story of how Professor Quirrell had become this way, Vincent had already heard the complete version from Ron.
Several of Ron’s older brothers were fairly well-known at Hogwarts and knew most of what went on; as their youngest brother, Ron had naturally learned a fair amount from them.
Judging from Quirrell’s attitude toward dark magic and his reaction to the Unforgivable Curses, he should not be under mental control.
If it was not mental control, then was it a defection?
Professor Quirrell of course had no idea what the currently well-behaved-looking Vincent was thinking.
He nodded and turned to leave.
The moment Professor Quirrell turned his back, Vincent once again felt that sensation of being watched.
He raised his head and stared tightly at the cloth-wrapped back of Quirrell’s head, confirming his own conclusion.
How arrogant.
Knowing full well that this visit was a probe, the man still dared to stare so openly.
Did he believe Vincent would never uncover the truth, or did he simply not take a first-year student seriously at all?
Either way, Vincent felt thoroughly underestimated.
Just wait.
He would definitely make Quirrell pay the price for what he had done.
Somehow, even though Vincent had come prepared to gain nothing, that final act of open scrutiny left him especially irritated.
He began to suspect the gossip the Weasley twins had spread—that some people guessed Professor Quirrell kept his head wrapped in cloth because there was something wrong with it, something that could not be exposed to the wind, or because something terrible had grown there, which was why it had to be bound tightly so no one else could see.
He needed to find a way to remove Quirrell’s turban.
Only by getting rid of that obstructing thing would he be able to know whether an eye—an eye that never stopped staring at him—had grown on the back of Quirrell’s head.