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In that time he had seen almost every young witch and wizard Britain produced.
Every Christmas he stayed at Hogwarts and ate the holiday meal with whatever students remained.
Pure-blood heirs among them, however, were a first.
Pure-blood families had their own peculiar principles and the kind of twisted social theater Severus had never respected.
Most of them valued their heirs highly.
Even when conflict existed inside the family, it was never for outsiders to see.
In public they always presented a harmonious front.
Back when Severus himself was still a student, that particular idiotic dog had already made a complete spectacle of himself, yet every Christmas his younger brother still felt obligated to ask whether he intended to come home for dinner.
So when Theodore said he would stay at Hogwarts and asked him to sign the permission slip, Severus had felt a flicker of doubt.
Only a flicker.
He had no interest in digging into whatever family tensions these children carried.
And now Theodore Nott was sitting beside that Vincent Riddle he particularly disliked.
Riddle.
Severus hated the name.
As for why the two of them had ended up seated together, that was a question for Dumbledore and whatever schemes currently occupied the old man’s mind.
Dumbledore was keeping things from him.
Their relationship had never reached the point of full candor, and Severus did not care—so long as the final outcome remained unaffected.
Harry Potter could not die.
Severus neither liked the boy nor wished him a pleasant life, but the boy could not die.
If he did, every effort they had already made would become meaningless.
Under that single condition, whatever else Dumbledore chose to do was none of Severus’s concern.
Theodore had already realized the seating arrangement was no accident.
Someone had arranged it behind the scenes.
He tried to read something from his Head of House, but Severus only lowered his eyes to the empty plate in front of him, as though the pattern on the china had suddenly become fascinating.
Vincent noticed Theodore looking toward the staff table.
He assumed the other boy was simply listening to Dumbledore’s speech and paid it no further attention.
“Theodore… would you like some juice?” He still did not understand why Theodore had stayed at Hogwarts.
Asking now would change nothing.
The boy was already sitting here, about to share a meal with him.
“Don’t force conversation when there’s nothing to say.” Theodore watched Vincent push the glass of juice toward his hand and found his own feelings difficult to describe.
Even he had not expected his father to take things this far—leaving him alone at Hogwarts in his very first year, not even planning to bring him home for Christmas.
There had never been any deep father-son affection between him and old Nott.
Compared to the Malfoys, every interaction in their family was built on interest.
Until Theodore came of age and inherited the family, they needed an adult wizard capable of preserving the Nott name.
Old Nott needed an heir who would continue the line and prove to outsiders that the family still had a promising future—thereby securing more profitable exchanges.
The balance was already precarious.
Theodore was simply too young for the cracks to show openly.
Once he graduated and reached adulthood, the tension between them would only grow sharper.
Under those circumstances, no one particularly wanted to listen to Dumbledore’s usual nonsense.
The headmaster, to his credit, kept it brief—just a few celebratory lines inviting everyone to enjoy the Christmas Eve feast.
“Being able to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas itself here at Hogwarts with all of you is a true happiness.
I hope each of you feels a touch of home’s warmth.
And I hope tomorrow’s Christmas dinner will see every one of you present without exception.” Dumbledore’s voice carried just the right amount of playful lightness.
“Of course, if anyone prefers to spend the day alone or has arranged a private celebration with a friend in some secret corner of the castle, we will understand completely.
The house-elves keep the kitchens stocked at all hours.
Feel free to help yourselves.
Opportunities to raid the Hogwarts kitchens at will are rare—cherish them.” It was the same charming little trick Dumbledore always used.
Most of the young witches and wizards around the tables smiled with easy relaxation.
Vincent noticed that, apart from Harry, almost no one paid the words any real attention.
He filed every syllable away carefully and kept his eyes on Dumbledore.
Only Harry treated this place as a true home and tried to draw family warmth from it.
Too much longing for family could lead a person to do reckless things in search of belonging.
The same principle applied to the imaginary family Harry carried in his mind.
He might one day discard pieces of himself simply to fit in.
People always craved most what they could not have, and they were willing to pay dearly for it.
Seven years was long enough for a child to form powerful bonds with Hogwarts.
Vincent had no doubt that, if necessary, Dumbledore would exploit that bond without the slightest hesitation.
The greatest white wizard in the world.
Vincent lowered his head and began to eat his Christmas dinner.
Today, nothing mattered more than this Christmas Eve feast.
After the meal, the more important question would be why Theodore had stayed at Hogwarts at all.
According to Hogwarts rules, once dinner ended the students were expected to return to their common rooms.
They could stay up all night if they wished, but they had to be inside their own houses.
Wandering the castle was not permitted.
A certain wise man had once said that rules existed to be broken.
Vincent was currently putting that principle into practice.
He was not breaking it completely.
Curfew had not yet fallen.
“If you’re planning to follow me into the Slytherin dungeons, you’ve miscalculated.
The two-headed snake at the entrance will bite you to death.” Of course it would not.
Even if the guardian had originally been left by Salazar Slytherin himself, these days it was little more than decoration and a door-lock.
It lacked the ability to leap up and kill a first-year.
Unfortunately, many of the younger students still believed the stories.
To them Slytherin was synonymous with evil; a door-lock that bit people seemed perfectly reasonable.
“Being bitten by such a historically significant artifact… should I consider that an honor?” Theodore: “…” “What exactly do you want?” “I haven’t been brewing potions lately, and I have no talent for improving charms.
If you’re looking for a genius, go to Ravenclaw.
The place is full of bookworms you can talk to.
Don’t waste your effort on me.” Theodore was irritated.
The letter from old Nott irritated him.
Vincent clinging to him irritated him.
The thought of Malfoy asking endless questions after Christmas irritated him even more.
Why could the people around him never simply mind their own business?
Why did their attention always have to land on him?
What connection did they even have?
Was it so difficult to leave him alone?
“I don’t want anything.” Vincent stopped at a safe distance.
“I just want to give you a gift.” The irritated words Theodore had been about to speak died in his throat.
“As you said, people from other houses can’t enter Slytherin.
So I have to give this to you now.” “Merry Christmas, Theodore.” Vincent had hoped his own gift would be a useful book, so he had chosen a comprehensive volume of charms.
“The Nott family probably doesn’t lack this book.
But reading a little more never hurts.
Giving a book is never the wrong choice.” Vincent had believed he was gradually closing the distance between them.
At least while they brewed potions together the atmosphere had been good.
For some reason, the moment they left the potions classroom that atmosphere shattered.
Theodore rebuilt an invisible glass wall around himself, making it impossible to approach.
Vincent did the same thing to other people, but when someone did it to him he found it far harder to accept.
People who could see through others rarely wanted their own thoughts seen in return.
Vincent was perfectly capable of keeping everyone at a thousand miles’ distance, extracting himself from all emotional exchange—yet he thoroughly enjoyed pulling other people into that same whirlpool.