read morerrrrrr inpatrreon ilham20 Hermione had made up with her friends.
Just like Vincent had never quite pinned down when the friction between them started, the next time they all ran into each other they were the Gryffindor trio again.
That was probably just how friendship worked—some strange, invisible thread that could stretch thin over the oddest little things and then snap right back into place.
Vincent made another entry in his observation journal: Sudden arguments followed by equally sudden reconciliations are normal.
This is a phenomenon that can—and frequently does—appear between friends.
Friend.
Even the word itself sounded a little unhinged.
Vincent knew something still stood between him and the real world.
He hadn’t figured out what it was yet, but he would.
Human development was a process of moving from ignorance to understanding.
Experience brought growth.
And if there wasn’t enough time to live through everything firsthand, that was fine.
Vincent was excellent at observation.
Enough subjects under study could supply enough secondhand experience to reach the conclusions he wanted.
Since arriving at Hogwarts he had filled quite a few pages of that journal.
There were notes on Harry, of course, and on the new Gryffindors and Slytherins he had met.
One category stood alone, reserved entirely for Theodore Nott.
Someone so similar to him and yet completely different naturally deserved more attention.
Vincent’s suspicions about Professor Quirrell had not lessened, but right now Quirrell was not the most important thing.
The entire school had slipped into a cheerful, almost giddy atmosphere—Christmas was coming.
The holiday’s original roots were tangled up with religion.
The Muggle world had turned it into a festival of celebration, and even people who didn’t believe a word of the old stories still refused to turn down Christmas.
Wizards didn’t put any stock in Muggle religion.
To most of them the stories in those missionary books were probably less interesting than children’s fairy tales.
No one could say for certain why the holiday had begun in the first place.
Muggles traced it to religion; maybe wizards once had too.
No one bothered with the question anymore.
Mention Christmas and every mind filled with the same image: days when the very air seemed to taste faintly of sugar.
Hogwarts was a year-round boarding school.
Only on special holidays did the pathways to the outside world open.
Young witches and wizards could board the familiar Hogwarts Express, return to the homes they knew, and tell their families face-to-face everything that had happened at school.
Most students chose to spend the holiday reunited with their parents.
Every year there were one or two exceptions, and Hogwarts thoughtfully offered them the option of remaining at the castle.
Vincent’s adoptive parents had left Britain long ago.
After the last exchange of letters there had been silence again for quite some time.
Staying at school was the natural choice.
Why would he return to the cold, lifeless house on Privet Drive when he could spend a Christmas steeped in magic at Hogwarts?
He did like quiet.
But on a holiday like this, listening now and then to noise and laughter was something worth enjoying.
Harry, of course, stayed as well.
The idea of spending Christmas on Privet Drive with Aunt Petunia and the rest held zero appeal.
“Looks like it’s the two of us together for Christmas again this year,” Harry said, practically bouncing as he stuck close to Vincent’s side.
“Just so you know—this year’s present better not be chocolate.” Not far away Hagrid was dragging an enormous Christmas tree in through the front gates.
They had spotted him from downstairs; Harry stretched up on his toes to look, and Hagrid clearly noticed them in return.
Thick snow already blanketed the courtyard in front of the castle.
The trail Hagrid left while hauling the pine was impossible to miss.
Anyone admiring the scenery from a high window would have muttered that the man was a little too dedicated, still working in weather like this.
To ordinary students the tree was enormous.
To a half-giant it was nothing special.
“That tree is really beautiful,” Hermione said.
She wouldn’t be staying at Hogwarts, but even she couldn’t help staring at it.
The weather wasn’t ideal for standing outside chatting.
Harry and the others were on their way to class and had simply run into Vincent, which was why they had stopped for a few words.
Ron had also chosen to remain at the castle.
He could have gone home, but this year he preferred to spend Christmas with his friends—Harry, and Vincent too.
Mrs.
Weasley had no objections at all.
Apparently the family was going to visit one of their sons who was out of the country and spend the holiday with him.
That made Harry feel better; at least he wasn’t ruining anyone’s family Christmas.
All the Weasleys who hadn’t graduated yet were staying as well.
Over the Christmas holiday Gryffindor would be the most crowded house in the school.
“Hagrid, that Christmas tree looks fantastic,” Ron said.
He liked the tree just as much.
A Christmas tree was the soul of the holiday.
A handsome, well-decorated one would make the whole celebration better.
This was the tree that would spend Christmas with them.
“Aye, I picked it out careful,” Hagrid said.
“I’ll be draggin’ it into the Great Hall in a bit.
If you lot want, you can come help decorate it.” Hagrid still didn’t particularly like Vincent, but he had reached the point where he could simply ignore the boy without open hostility.
Actually talking to him the way he did with Harry and Ron, sharing personal things—that was still a long road away.
Hogwarts did not keep a tight leash on its students.
Little things like this were left entirely in their hands.
Hanging a few stars or pretty bows on a Christmas tree was something no one would refuse.
Even the sternest professor—McGonagall included—would find the students’ imaginative ideas pleasant.
Christmas.
A happy Christmas.
Vincent watched the snowflakes drifting down and almost thought he could smell a faint sweetness riding the cold air.
It wasn’t the cloying scent of sugar frosting, and it wasn’t the sharp bite of winter wind pouring through an open window.
He didn’t know how to describe it.
It simply carried the slightest trace of warmth.
Strange.
He was standing in the middle of ice and snow and somehow felt a little warmer.
Hagrid gave them a nod and started hauling the tree toward the Great Hall again.
Just before he left he cast what he clearly believed was a subtle glance at the boy standing beside Harry.
Even after all this time, even with Dumbledore’s personal guarantee, every time he saw this particular young wizard he still felt a faint unease.
Vincent was long used to it.
So his face made people uncomfortable.
A face this good-looking could still put people off—what on earth had the previous Riddle done to make everyone so furious?
While searching Hogwarts for traces of that earlier Riddle he had found the man’s trophy.
A Slytherin prefect who had won a prize at Hogwarts, who had even applied to stay on after graduation—only to be refused by Dumbledore.
Beyond that, what he had done after leaving school, where he had gone—Vincent could find nothing.
The events were too far in the past.
If that Riddle were still alive he would be a sixty- or seventy-year-old adult wizard now… Muggles and wizards were different; Vincent couldn’t bring himself to call him an old man.
If he were still alive there would be traces.
The professors at Hogwarts couldn’t possibly know nothing.
They were keeping it from him—whether on Dumbledore’s orders or by their own choice.
He turned his head, deliberately avoiding Hagrid’s probing look.
Observation that couldn’t give him any useful new information wasn’t worth responding to.
In the exact moment he turned, he saw Theodore walking away behind him—and the faint warm scent in the air suddenly grew stronger.
Ah.
Theodore.
Vincent found the whole thing made a lot more sense all at once.
If it was Theodore, then even in the middle of ice and snow a little warmth didn’t seem strange at all.