Regarding that corridor, Vincent remembered that one of the rooms hid Nicolas Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone.
Its miraculous properties alone were enough to make Bald Plug-Face risk everything despite only existing as a spirit.
Poor Professor Quirrell had probably already been promised half the magical world’s land.
All he had to do was wait for the Dark Lord to return and reclaim his body.
Just as discussion in the Great Hall began growing louder, Dumbledore suddenly smiled brightly again.
“Before everyone heads to bed, let us sing the school song together!”
The teachers at the staff table all smiled rather stiffly.
Especially Professor Snape, whose smile wasn’t reaching his eyes and whose lips were visibly twitching.
With that level of workplace enthusiasm, Vincent seriously suspected Snape had entered through the school board’s back door courtesy of Blondie’s father.
Once he secured the Headmaster’s favor, that back door would be sealed shut immediately.
As Dumbledore waved his wand and long golden ribbons floated above the House tables, Vincent had already come up with countless plans.
Being a model student undoubtedly offered the highest success rate.
That meant Gryffindor’s future seven House Cups were practically guaranteed.
“Everyone choose your favorite tune—”
Dumbledore raised his wand with a smile.
“Ready…
sing!”
Teachers and students alike began singing according to the words written on the golden ribbons:
“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts,
Please teach us something new,
Whether old and bald or young with bruised knees too,
Our heads could use some filling,
With interesting things to do.
For now they’re full of empty air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
Teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back forgotten stuff,
Do your best and teach us well,
The rest we’ll do ourselves,
And we shall keep on learning,
Until we’re old as elves.”
Vincent nearly got dragged off rhythm by the twins singing in the tune of a funeral march.
Meanwhile, he was fiercely resisting them by singing in the melody of the Doraemon theme song from his childhood.
“It’s Blue Fatty!”
The well-read Hermione stopped singing after only one verse.
“Blue Fatty?”
Neville wrapped his arms around himself and trembled with laughter.
He could understand Fred and George being ridiculous.
But Vincent somehow surpassed even them.
His childish and playful singing voice managed to corrupt the remaining two within only a few lines.
Dumbledore even started conducting the final verses for the trio.
And after they finished—
He applauded louder than anyone else.
“Ah, music…”
He wiped tears from his eyes.
“Such magic.
Far more enchanting than anything we do here.”
After calming himself slightly, he smiled again.
“And now, bedtime.
Off to your dormitories.”
As Vincent followed Percy with the first-years, he completely overturned all his previous plans.
The amusing foreword in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them had been written by Dumbledore for his former student Newt Scamander.
Even after Newt’s expulsion, Dumbledore never hid his admiration for him.
To outsiders, Dumbledore seemed crazy.
But really, he was simply someone who followed his own heart.
Conquering him might actually be easier than McGonagall.
Walking up the marble stairs after leaving the Great Hall, Neville kept wanting to say something to Vincent.
“Do you think I got influenced by Fred and George?”
“No.”
Neville immediately denied it awkwardly after being exposed.
“I just think…
you’re acting kind of strange.”
Vincent nodded seriously.
“True.” Find the original chapter at g.com.
“Looks like my old illness is acting up again.”
“Illness?”
Neville suddenly looked worried.
“Like one of those incurable Muggle diseases?”
“In a way…
yes.”
Ahead of them, Hermione secretly perked up her ears.
Vincent sighed sorrowfully.
“It’s troubled me for years.”
“It attacks randomly.”
“What is it?”
Neville comfortingly patted his shoulder.
“Don’t worry.
Muggle diseases are nothing to wizards.”
Vincent dramatically lowered his head.
His eyes filled with sadness and despair.
“I’m afraid…
this is an illness even magic can’t cure.”
Hermione finally turned around.
“You should believe in magic.”
“Alright.”
Vincent looked directly into her eyes.
“Have you ever experienced not being shy?”
“Not caring what others think?”
“Not worrying about being laughed at?”
“Being completely comfortable anytime?”
“Of course!”
Hermione immediately walked beside him sympathetically.
“I feel like that every time I wait for exam results.”
“Then you definitely have the same incurable illness as me.”
Hermione frowned.
Vincent sighed again.
“No cure.”
“Even Professor Dumbledore probably can’t solve it.”
“So what is it?”
Both Hermione and Neville had become incredibly curious.
“Extreme social confidence syndrome.”
Before the little leather shoe could descend—
Vincent smoothly sidestepped.
THUD.
Neville’s eyes widened.
That stomp had absolutely murderous intent.
Vincent noticed everyone ahead had suddenly stopped.
His survival instincts immediately activated.
Pointing upward, he quickly changed the subject.
Floating in midair was a giant bundle of walking sticks.
“That’s Peeves.”
Percy lowered his voice.
“A ghost who enjoys causing trouble.”
Looking toward the flying sticks, he raised his voice:
“Peeves!
Show yourself!”
“Pbbbbt—!”
After a loud balloon-deflating noise, Percy calmly said:
“Would you like me to get the Bloody Baron?”
Poof.
A little man suddenly appeared in midair.
He had wicked eyes and a huge grin while sitting cross-legged atop the bundle of sticks.
“Hehehehe!”
He cackled. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
“Just a bunch of annoying little first-years!
Wonderful!”
Peeves suddenly lunged forward.
The first-years immediately retreated in panic.
“Go away, Peeves!”
Percy shouted.
“I’m serious!
I’ll tell the Bloody Baron!”
Peeves stuck out his tongue.
Then vanished directly above Vincent.
The sticks, however, remained.
And instantly rained down toward the three of them.
“Wingardium Levio—”
Hermione had barely drawn her wand and begun the spell—
When Vincent stepped forward.
Using his sturdy alder wand like a club—
Whack!
Whack!
Whack!
He knocked every single stick aside.
“Brilliant, Wayne!”
Percy looked genuinely impressed.
Vincent slightly bowed.
“Only doing what I should.”
Hermione awkwardly put away her wand.
Percy nodded approvingly.
“So?”
Vincent looked toward Hermione.
“Think your illness is acting up too?”
“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right!”
Vincent shrugged toward Neville.
“See?”
“She’s just as hopeless as I am.”
Hermione raised her shoe.
“Thank you for your diagnosis, Doctor Wayne.”
THUD.
After another stomp, she turned and followed the first-years toward the end of the eighth-floor corridor.
Nobody really understood whether Extreme Social Confidence Syndrome was actually impressive.
But Vincent?
Vincent definitely was.
Those few wand strikes alone weren’t something ordinary people could pull off.
“Did you learn fighting?”
Harry moved beside him.
“My dad taught me.”
“He was retired SAS.”
“Wow.”
Harry’s eyes widened.
“Can you teach me?”
Staring into Harry’s big eyes, Vincent immediately nodded.
“Of course.”
“You’ll love it.”
“Can we join too?”
Neville and Ron immediately raised their hands.
“Of course.”
Vincent felt deeply honored to become everyone’s instructor.
He had no idea how future Harry defeated Bald Plug-Face.
But one thing was certain:
A Harry trained in martial arts would probably start with a sweep kick and a takedown—
Then shove that socket-shaped nose directly into the dirt.
…
…
THNN
(End of this chapter)