Vincent stood in puzzled silence at the foot of a staircase, watching Professor Quirrell’s gradually receding figure, his brows faintly furrowed.
The professor’s words from moments earlier kept echoing through his mind, yet they had given him none of the answers he craved.
The black-haired boy tightened the robes around himself.
The dark fabric looked almost dull in the dim light.
His rounded fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the robe while his mind worked at full speed.
That fleeting change in Quirrell’s expression just now—a flash of barely perceptible terror that had crossed his eyes before being quickly masked—had not been the ordinary fear people showed toward a threatening weapon.
It looked as though he had truly experienced it.
The Unforgivable Curses.
Judging from Quirrell’s reaction when the Imperius Curse was mentioned, it was not that one.
There was no external control of his mind.
His reaction to the Unforgivable Curses had still been extreme.
The Killing Curse was impossible, which left only the Cruciatus Curse.
Had he been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse?
It sounded entirely consistent with the image of a Dark Lord who killed without blinking.
Vincent’s gaze moved back and forth between the upper and lower ends of the staircase, indecision weighing on him.
Should he continue downward to dig for more of Quirrell’s weaknesses, or return to the Ravenclaw common room and rest properly?
There was no chance of finding anything useful today.
Students hurried past him, footsteps and low voices weaving together, yet Vincent seemed to exist in a different space entirely.
His thoughts were completely immersed in his own world; for a time he failed even to notice the passage of minutes.
Time, however, had not abandoned him.
When Vincent finally returned to himself the sun had already shifted a great deal.
The sunlight that had once fallen across him had faded, and shadows had closed in.
In the end Vincent drew a deep breath, turned, and walked toward the Ravenclaw common room.
Only by resting properly could he keep a clear mind and continue exploring this mystery more effectively.
The present confusion and fatigue would not make him lose reason.
He needed to calm down and reorganize his thoughts.
Lying on his dormitory bed, Vincent’s mind settled into stillness.
This matter could not simply be set aside.
He had to keep searching for more clues.
Although he could not break the rules and deliberately attack Professor Quirrell just to see what was under the turban— —Wait.
He truly could not do that.
The risk of violating school rules was too great.
That was not his style.
But he knew of people who, in order to satisfy their own curiosity, did not mind breaking school rules at all.
The next day Vincent deliberately waited in a corner not far from the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, watching for Hermione.
Yes—he had specifically sent someone into the Gryffindor common room to call Hermione out.
Of course it had to be Hermione.
It could only be Hermione.
Hermione was calm and sharp.
Even if Vincent said certain things, she would not impulsively do something risky.
He trusted her a great deal.
“Hello, Hermione,” Vincent greeted her softly.
Hermione looked at him with some surprise, unsure why he had called her out.
“Vincent, what did you need me for?
Harry and Ron aren’t in the common room, and I don’t know where they are.
Maybe I can ask Neville for you—they get along well.” Hermione’s relationship with Harry and the others had grown a little strained lately.
Vincent had noticed.
Or rather, he had long predicted that this day would come.
Hermione was more rule-abiding; Ron and Harry were impulsive and tended to think in scattered directions.
Unless something happened that could clear the air between them, they would only drift further apart.
Vincent was currently considering whether he should give them such an opportunity.
But that was not the purpose of today’s visit.
“No need, Hermione.
I came looking specifically for you.” Vincent lowered his head slightly, looking a little mysterious.
“If I want to discuss academic questions with someone, no one is more suitable than you.” Hermione seemed to smile.
Vincent continued, “Do you remember my earlier guess?
Books say that dark magic can cause changes in a person’s body.
Assuming my guess is correct—and this is only an assumption; I have no intention of deliberately targeting the professor—if the assumption holds, who knows whether Professor Quirrell has come into contact with dark magic?” Hermione frowned, not understanding why Vincent had suddenly brought this up with her.
These words might have been more suitable for someone else—last time, when Vincent said he suspected something was wrong with Professor Quirrell, Ron and Harry had been unable to offer any useful reference opinions.
Wanting to talk it over with her was reasonable enough.
Hermione had thought that because she had recently grown more distant from Harry and the others, Vincent would no longer discuss such matters with her.
But… Hermione admitted she was rather happy right now.
“Ahem.
That possibility can’t be ruled out.” Hermione cleared her throat, organized her thoughts, and answered his question.
“Professor Quirrell is the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, so of course he has knowledge of dark magic.
I read in a book somewhere that dark magic really can affect a person’s mind and appearance.” She imitated Vincent’s earlier phrasing: “If—and this is only an if—Professor Quirrell truly researched dark magic, wrapping his head in a turban every day could indeed be a side effect of dark magic.
But this is only our conjecture.
You mustn’t do anything reckless.” It was precisely because Harry and Ron always disregarded school rules that their relationship with her had become so unfriendly lately.
Fortunately she did not need to repeatedly warn Vincent.
He was a measured person who would not act rashly.
Sometimes Hermione felt she was far less calm than he was.
Vincent was a Ravenclaw; they always planned before they acted.
She trusted him.
Vincent’s eyes flicked toward the corner, and his tone rose a fraction with tension.
“Professor Quirrell privately researching dark magic would be a very serious matter.
If dark magic damaged his mind… we still have Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.
Older students might be fine, but first-years like us… This is only a guess, of course.
I don’t mean anything else by it.” Hearing Vincent’s words, Hermione assumed he was deliberately emphasizing that he was not targeting Professor Quirrell.
She could understand his concern.
After all, the dangers of dark magic were well known.
Besides, Harry was still suspecting Professor Snape, and he was nowhere near as considerate of other people’s feelings as Vincent was.
She patted Vincent’s shoulder.
“Of course I know.
You’re only suspicious.
Headmaster Dumbledore must have investigated the professors thoroughly before they took up their posts.
It might just be our conjecture.
Harry said you’re very capable, and he was right—I never even thought of the possibility that dark magic could change the body.” Vincent and Hermione talked a little longer before the young witch returned to Gryffindor first.
Vincent watched the red robes that had lingered in the corner for quite some time finally disappear, then started walking away himself.
His heart was full of anticipation; he hoped his words would attract the attention of certain people.
He had barely taken a few steps after turning when he saw the Weasley twins, George and Fred, walking toward him with matching grins.
They greeted him cheerfully.
They moved fast.
As expected of the two of them.
When it came to people willing to break school rules and openly go against a professor just to satisfy their own curiosity, who could be more suitable than the Weasley twins?
He had not deliberately used them.
This was mutual benefit.