"You fought Snape?!" Hermione exclaimed, loud enough to hush half the Gryffindor table. Heads turned in their direction, students eager to catch the gossip.
"What did you do?" she pressed, eyes wide.
"I blew up his office," Vincent muttered, rubbing his forehead while continuing to eat. Harry and Ron froze mid-bite, staring at him like he was already a dead man.
"That last spell hurt like hell," Vincent added, wincing slightly at the memory.
It was early morning in the Great Hall, and most of the school had gathered for breakfast. Vincent had felt the whispers and stares the moment he'd stepped out of bed. Apparently, the news had spread fast.
"Good on ya, mate!" Fred grinned as he and George suddenly flanked Vincent, each throwing an arm around his shoulder.
"We should have done that years ago, right George?" Fred said.
"I know, what a way to go out," George nodded. "Blew up Snape's office and won the school's attention."
Vincent blinked. "Wait—won the school's attention?"
"You're basically a legend now," George said with a wink before they both sauntered off, cackling.
"Did you really give Snape that bruise on his face?" Harry asked eagerly. It was no secret he wasn't fond of the Potions Master.
"Yeah," Vincent said, pulling one of his rods from beneath his robe. "I threw this at him—got through his defense charm somehow. It even deflected a few spells."
Hermione leaned in, intrigued. "You said Dumbledore made these, right? Then it must be enchanted. Some sort of advanced charm work, maybe?"
She reached for the rod and gave it a swing—only to yelp and drop it.
"It shocked me!" she cried, cradling her hand.
Ron tried next, only to have the same result. "Blimey, that stings!"
"Must be a safeguard," Hermione muttered, rubbing her hand. "It probably only responds to Vincent. Dumbledore might've placed a protective charm on it to prevent theft or misuse."
Vincent reached over and gently took Hermione's hand, inspecting it for injury. He exhaled in relief.
"Doesn't look like it left a mark," he said, releasing her hand—only to realize how long he'd held it. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"
Hermione's face was already flushed red. "It's fine, really," she said quickly, avoiding eye contact.
Ron, on the other hand, was scowling—not that it escaped Vincent's notice.
"You want me to check your hand too, Ron?" Vincent asked with a smirk.
Ron recoiled like he'd touched a hot cauldron. "Bloody hell, no! I'm not gay, mate!"
That earned a round of laughter from the group. Even Hermione giggled despite herself.
"So, what do we have next?" Vincent asked, eager to change the subject.
Before anyone could respond, Professor McGonagall approached the table.
"Mr. Wong," she said crisply, "Professor Snape has requested your immediate presence in the dungeons. He also asks that your pixie accompany you."
Vincent stood and gave a nod. "On it, Professor."
As she walked away, Ron leaned over grimly. "You break a new record every hour. Try not to be the first muggle to die at Hogwarts."
Vincent rolled his eyes but couldn't help a small grin. "Noted."
He turned to leave, only to hear Fred and George chatting loudly behind him.
"So for funeral arrangements," Fred began thoughtfully, "I was thinking lilies—"
"—and a floating coffin," George added. "Real majestic-like."
"I'm not dead yet!" Vincent called over his shoulder, shaking his head as he made his way to the dungeons.
But the faint sound of laughter followed him the whole way down.
...
"You're what?" Vincent blinked.
"Are your ears full of dung, Mr. Wong?" Snape snapped, narrowing his eyes. "I said, I am taking you on as my apprentice—in both Potions and combat."
Vincent's eyebrows shot up. "So... I'm not in trouble?"
Snape's lip curled. "Breaking into a professor's office and tampering with personal property is more than enough to earn you detention for the rest of your academic life."
Vincent deflated. "Thought so."
"However," Snape continued, reaching into his robes, "your combat skills and particularly your potion-making ability have caught my attention."
He held up a glass vial containing a glowing mixture—Vincent's potion.
"This concoction is... unique. You combined a Strengthening Solution and a Girding Potion. Normally, mixing the two would destabilize the brew and render it useless."
He gave a pointed glance to the blue pixie perched on Vincent's head. "Yet with her assistance, you managed to achieve a precise balance. The result? A hybrid potion that amplified the strength of your legs—hence your absurd leap last night."
"A new potion..." Vincent murmured, intrigued.
Snape nodded. "Yes. Potions do not always blend neatly. Mixing effects can neutralize or override one another. But yours produced a new, functional result—a rare feat."
Vincent scratched his chin. "Okay, but... what's this about combat training?"
Snape's mouth twisted into a smirk. "The Headmaster has granted me permission to train you to fight against magical opponents. I understand your activities in London gave you some experience with hand-to-hand combat—but last night was your first duel with a wizard. Tell me, what did you learn?"
"Well..." Vincent coughed. "I gave you a bruise."
Snape's eye twitched.
"...and I found out I could deflect spells with my rods."
Snape recovered quickly, regaining his composure. "Once a day, you'll brew potions under my supervision. After that—combat. No pixie, no potions, just you."
"Yes, sir," Vincent said with a salute.
A vein in Snape's temple pulsed. "I'm going to enjoy this," he muttered darkly. There might not be an official punishment for the mess Vincent caused, but Snape was already planning a brutal training regimen to make up for it.
The next few days were some of the most grueling Vincent had ever faced.
Each morning, he began by sparring with the Whomping Willow—a one-hour "warm-up" that left him sore before classes even started. Then came a full day of lectures and magical instruction, followed by "remedial" training with Snape before dinner. Two full hours of potion brewing and combat.
And the potions weren't even the hard part.
Snape was relentless. No spells, no magical boosts—just Vincent, his rods, and Snape's merciless precision. Snape adapted quickly, using chairs, tables, and even cloaks to deflect the enchanted rods, knowing spells would be ineffective against them.
"Get up!" Snape barked after another hard knockdown. "Or do you want to go home to your muggle comforts?"
Vincent gritted his teeth and stood, bruised but not broken. "Ready, sir."
Snape raised a brow in mild approval. The boy was stubborn. Progress had come faster than expected—especially in Potions. Though the pixie was helpful, it was Vincent who had the instinct to guide the brew. By Snape's estimate, he was already working at a fifth-year level.
In combat, however, Vincent was something else entirely. Despite Snape winning every match so far, each one had been closer than the last.
On this particular day, they stood alone in a cleared classroom. All furniture had been shoved against the walls to make room.
"The moment I draw my wand, we begin," Snape said coolly.
For a long beat, silence hung in the room.
Then Snape's fingers closed around his wand.
Vincent launched forward instantly—already within striking range as his rod swung toward Snape's head. A table flew up to block the blow. Vincent leapt back, narrowly dodging a chair thrown from behind.
He twisted mid-air, landing on one knee.
Snape didn't give him a second.
More chairs soared toward Vincent from every angle. He rolled, ducked, flipped—his movements tight and sharp despite the pain in his limbs.
"He's slowing," Snape noted, raising his wand. "This ends now."
Vincent saw the oncoming barrage. Tables, chairs, and debris began raining from all sides. He weaved through the chaos, dodging narrowly—until his eyes locked on something above.
The chandelier.
In a split second, he hurled a rod—not at Snape, but at the ceiling.
Snape blinked in confusion. "Is he surrendering?"
A loud clang echoed as the rod struck the magical anchor suspending the chandelier. The enchantment broke. The fixture plummeted toward Snape.
Snape halted it with a flick of his wand—only to feel something cold press against his neck.
Vincent stood behind him, holding his other rod steady.
"My win," he panted... and then collapsed.
Snape stared, stunned. A moment passed before he sighed and lowered his wand.
The boy had done it. After just one week, Vincent had scored his first win. Many would call it luck. Snape, however, saw the truth—tactics, instinct, and adaptability.
He looked down at the unconscious student and scoffed. "Pushing himself to the brink. What a foolish boy."
And yet... Snape felt something stir. Amusement? Pride? Fondness?
If anyone had been watching, they might have gasped. Severus Snape, feared Potions Master, gave a rare and genuine smile.
Just a small one.
But it was there.
...
"I think Snape's going too far!" Harry burst out. "He's practically using Vince as a punching bag!"
The group was huddled together in the Gryffindor Common Room, books and parchment scattered across the table as they worked on their homework. Since word got out that Vincent had become Snape's apprentice, reactions had been... mixed, to say the least. Most of them thought it was a terrible idea. Only when Vincent mentioned that Dumbledore had personally approved it did anyone reluctantly stop objecting.
But that was before they saw what it was doing to him.
Every day, Vincent came back bruised and battered, practically dragging himself into the Common Room. Today, it was the bandages on his head that finally made Harry speak up.
Vincent, slouched in an armchair, cracked a tired smile. "I actually beat him once today."
The table went quiet.
"So... I think I'm making progress."
"Well, tomorrow's a rest day," Hermione said gently. "Why don't you use it to actually rest and recover?"
Vincent opened his mouth to protest but then saw the glare Hermione gave him—meant to be stern, intimidating even.
To him, it was the opposite.
He sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine. Can't resist that face anyway. I'll rest tomorrow."
Hermione blinked. "What face?"
"That glare of yours," he muttered. "It's way too adorable to resist."
Hermione went silent. For the rest of the evening, she didn't say a word to Vincent and refused to look in his direction.
But when she got into bed that night, her mind wouldn't let it go.
"It's way too adorable to resist."
Her cheeks warmed. "He can't be serious... can he?" she thought, pulling the covers over her head. "I mean, I'm just... me. A bookworm. I'm not even that—"
She cut the thought off with a sigh and lit the tip of her wand, reaching for a book on her nightstand. "No use thinking about it. He's just being Vincent. Too honest for his own good..."
But as she settled into her late-night reading, something odd caught her eye—scattered feathers near the beds.
She picked one up and turned it over between her fingers.
"...Chicken feathers?" she whispered to herself.
She looked around, confused. Who would be walking around the dorm with feathers like this?
Hermione scanned the room again and shrugged. "Probably nothing," she murmured. "Not my business."
She climbed back into bed without noticing one critical detail—one of the girls' beds was empty.
...
"So, about what I said last night, I lied," Vincent said to the pixie who was currently gobbling down some grapes, "I mean, I just managed to defeat Snape, that means I can't stop improving right?"
Vincent was currently sparring against the Whomping Willow, he woke up extremely early as to avoid confronting Harry and Ron, not to mention Hermione as she would probably curse him to sleep. The thought of it gave Vincent shivers.
"Oh yeah," Vincent ducked under a branch before doing a backflip out of the range of the tree, "I still haven't given you a name have I?"
The pixie stopped munching and glared at Vincent who chuckled nervously, "My bad, I shouldn't have neglected you like that, tell you what, I'll make something yummy for you to eat as an apology. After this, we'll head straight to Hagrid's ok?"
The pixie's eyes started glowing as it threw its arm in celebration.
"Now, what should I call you?" Vincent said as he wiped the sweat off his head, "Hmm are you a girl?"
The pixie nodded its head, "Huh, then how about Delia?"
It shook its head.
"Rose?"
"Ava?"
"Lin?"
"Well, I'm running out of ideas you know?" Vincent gave a wry smile at how picky the pixie was, he sat there thinking while the pixie continued to finish her grapes, "Hmm, what would be a good name for you?"
"How about Nyx?" said a voice to his left
Vincent turned to see a blond-haired girl with a near-white skin and silver-like eyes.
"Luna Lovegood," she said holding her hand out
"Vincent Wong," Vincent gave her a handshake, "I like your eyes."
"...Thank you," Luna said, caught off guard for a moment before smiling softly. "Yours is quite beautiful as well—such a lovely shade of gold."
Vincent rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. "Thanks, I guess. What brings you out here?"
"I was curious," Luna said simply, stepping closer to the pixie, who tilted her head at the newcomer. "I wanted to speak with the first Muggle in Hogwarts history."
She knelt slightly to meet the pixie's gaze. "I overheard you wondering about names. How about Nyx?"
"Nyx... like the Goddess of the night?" Vincent vaguely remembered the name from mythology.
"Yes," Luna nodded. "Pixies are often seen as pests in the wizarding world," she added, prompting a defiant squeak from the pixie. "But Nyx was a goddess who could be both kind and fearsome. Like your pixie—clever, unpredictable, but clearly devoted to you."
Vincent glanced at the tiny creature. "What do you think? Nyx?"
The pixie looked at Luna, then back to Vincent, and gave a small, firm nod of approval.
"Alright then," Vincent chuckled. "Nyx it is. Thanks, Luna. That actually helped a lot."
Luna blinked. In all her years, she'd been called odd, loony, even creepy—but almost never helpful. And never thanked like that.
"Um... Luna?" Vincent asked, noticing her distant expression.
She blinked again, then smiled—genuinely, brightly. It was the first time Vincent had seen her truly beam.
"Yes. I'm fine."
They chatted for a few more minutes until Nyx tugged Vincent's ear, pointing insistently toward Hagrid's hut.
"Looks like someone's getting impatient," Luna said, amused.
"Yeah, I promised her I'd cook something," Vincent laughed. He grabbed his hoodie and slung it over his shoulder. "It was really nice talking with you, Luna. You've got a lot of interesting thoughts."
Luna's eyes widened again at the casual kindness. Then she nodded, voice gentle. "If it's alright… I'd like to talk more. Not every morning, just… once in a while."
"Of course. Anytime," Vincent said with a smile and a wave. "See you around, Luna."
"Goodbye," came her dreamy response, floating after him as he headed toward Hagrid's hut.
Vincent glanced at Nyx, who was perched on his shoulder. "She's a nice girl, don't you think?"
Nyx huffed and pinched his cheek.
"Ow! Alright, alright. Let's go feed you already."
...
"Oi, Vincent!" Hagrid called through a mouthful of food. "I really despise ya right now."
Vincent blinked, amused. "Oh? Why's that?"
"Yer food's too bloody good," Hagrid said, pointing his fork at him accusingly. "Can't eat nothin' else now without comparin' it to this stuff. Gimme more o' that smoothie to make up for it."
It had only been a couple of days since Vincent officially started at Hogwarts. After his usual early-morning training, he stopped by Hagrid's hut for breakfast. That first morning, Vincent had stared in horror at the mountain of truffles and rock-hard sweets Hagrid served. One bite nearly cracked a tooth. As a thank-you, he offered to cook something instead.
Hagrid, never one to refuse help, had happily agreed—only to regret it an hour later. One bite of Vincent's meal ruined the Great Hall's food for him. Everything else just tasted bland in comparison. Worse yet, Vincent's cooking was healthy. Since then, Hagrid had taken to waking up extra early every few days, hoping Vincent would drop by again.
Today's menu? Spinach and ricotta crepes with a honey-banana smoothie.
"Hello, my good dear Hagrid!"
Hagrid's face instantly fell at the voice.
He reluctantly opened the door to see none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, grinning like always.
"For the last time," Hagrid grumbled, "I know how to get kelpies out of a well."
"Ah, but you see," Lockhart said as he breezed in uninvited, "I happen to know a very efficient method—easier than banishing a banshee! Have you read my book on the subject—?"
He finally noticed Vincent sitting at the table and gave him a winning smile. "Mr. Wong! Delighted to see you. How are we today?"
"Not too bad, Professor," Vincent said politely. "Though, can I ask something? Why'd you name your broomstick after yourself? Feels a bit... vain."
Lockhart's eye twitched. "Why, I assure you, I'm one of the humblest wizards you'll ever meet!"
"Oh? Who made that list?" Vincent asked innocently. "Also, how many people usually come to your birthday parties?"
Hagrid nearly choked on his crepe.
Lockhart coughed awkwardly, pretending not to notice the jab. "Ah, well, I— Is that one of my pixies?"
Nyx hissed from Vincent's shoulder.
"Oh, don't be like that," Lockhart said wistfully. "I've taken such good care of you little fellows. But sometimes... you have to let them go."
Vincent wordlessly passed Nyx another smoothie to keep her from lunging at him.
"Well!" Lockhart clapped his hands. "It's been a delight! Mr. Wong, I'll see you in class. Hagrid, always a pleasure. And to you, little Nyx—"
"Her name's Nyx," Vincent said sharply. "Remember it."
"Ah, Nyx!" Lockhart nodded with mock solemnity. "Lead a good life."
He swept out of the hut, calling back, "Oh yes! I'll leave you a signed copy of my book! And perhaps a photo—signed by none other than Harry Potter!"
Vincent and Hagrid stared at the closed door for a long moment.
"Well," Vincent said, "That's one way to start the morning."
Before Hagrid could respond, another knock came.
He groaned. "If that's Lockhart again—"
But his expression immediately softened as he opened the door. "Bin wonderin' when you'd show up! Come in, come in."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped into the hut, surprised to see Vincent already there.
Just as Hermione opened her mouth to say something, Ron suddenly gagged—and spat out a slug into the bucket he was carrying.
Vincent's eyes widened. "What the heck happened?!"
"Help Ron, then we talk," Harry said grimly.
Once they were settled—with Ron clutching his bucket—Vincent helped dish out food.
"Why was Lockhart here?" Harry asked between bites. His eyes went wide. "This is amazing."
"He's been buggin' me about kelpies again," Hagrid said gruffly. "Actin' like I've never seen one before. He was ramblin' on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'd eat my kettle."
"But Dumbledore thought he was the best man for the job," Hermione pointed out.
"He was the only one who applied," Hagrid said, rolling his eyes. "People reckon the post's cursed."
"What about you, Vince?" Harry asked. "Why're you here?"
"Finished my training and thought I'd stop by for breakfast," Vincent said. "Gotta move or I feel rusty."
"So who'd he try to curse?" Hagrid asked, nodding toward Ron.
"Malfoy," Harry said darkly. "He called Hermione something—I didn't catch it."
"He called her a mudblood," Ron muttered before vomiting another slug.
Vincent, exchanged confused glances with Hermione and Harry, who both also didn't seem to know the term. "A what?"
"Mudblood's a foul insult," Ron said, wiping his mouth. "It means someone with Muggle parents. Some pure-blood families think they're better than everyone else."
"Wow. That's just... pathetic," Vincent muttered. "Hermione's brilliant. Blood shouldn't matter."
"Too right," Hagrid agreed. "There isn't a spell Hermione can't learn."
Hermione blushed again. That's the third time this week, she thought helplessly.
"Oh yeah, Harry," Hagrid said with a sly grin, "I've been hearin' about your signed photos. Why haven't I got one?"
"Haven't you?" Vincent said dramatically. "Why, I'll be glad to deliver one personally—just three sickles!"
Harry's head snapped up so fast Vincent thought it might break.
"I'm not giving out signed photos!" Harry hissed, scandalized. "If Lockhart's spreading that around—"
Vincent and Hagrid burst into laughter.
"We're jokin', Harry!" Hagrid chuckled. "Told Lockhart to get lost earlier. You don't need him to be popular."
"Bet he didn't like that," Harry said, cracking a smile.
"Not one bit," Hagrid said, still grinning. "Ron, ya want anythin' to eat?"
"No thanks," Ron moaned, spitting another slug. "Better not risk it."
"This food's delicious," Hermione said. "Have you... improved your cooking?"
"Actually," Hagrid beamed, "Vincent made all this. Bit of a wizard in the kitchen, he is."
Everyone stared at Vincent, who scratched his head, embarrassed.
"Really?" Harry asked, shocked. "You made this?"
"Cooking's a hobby," Vincent shrugged. "Sister An taught me."
Harry and Hermione exchanged impressed looks. Just when they thought they had a handle on who Vincent was—he pulled out another surprise.
Ron spat another slug into the bucket, staring at the crepes longingly. "This is torture."
"Want to see what I've been growing out back?" Hagrid asked
They spent the whole morning talking with Hagrid about school life and other mundane things. Hagrid showed them his pumpkins that he was carefully growing with 'a little bit of help' which came in the form of magic. When Ron found out about Ginny visiting with Vincent, he couldn't help but feel overprotective of his sibling.
"She's already got a crush on Harry, can't have her get another one on you mate," Ron warned.
"She's at that age where she's interested in guys, she'll grow out of it," Vincent said as they all trudged back to Hogwarts, "besides, she's a good girl, have a bit more faith, Ron."
As soon as they got to the castle, they were greeted by Professor McGonagall.
"Ah, Potter, Weasley," Professor McGonagall called, "Your punishments have been decided upon tonight. Weasley, you will help Filch polish the trophy room, no magic, elbow grease."
Ron looked pale. Vincent heard that Filch, the caretaker, was hated by practically every student in the school.
"And you, Potter, will help Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail."
Vincent glanced at Harry who had a horror-stricken face, "Oh n- can I get the trophy room instead?"
"He requested you particularly," McGonagall said with a small smile, "eight o'clock, don't be late."
The two boys looked like Christmas was canceled as they slumped towards the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione and Vincent just gave a shrug at each other before eating their meal. After eating Vincent's food, she felt that the meal was rather lacking.
"Filch will have me there all night," Ron murmured, "there's got to be a hundred of those things to clean."
"I'd trade with you anytime," said Harry gloomily, "I've had a lot of practice already at my uncle's place, answering Lockhart's fan mail, he'll be a nightmare."
Since Harry and Ron didn't seem in the mood for conversation, Vincent spent the rest of the afternoon with Hermione. She guided him through tricky parts of their homework, while he returned the favor by helping her with potions-related questions. Thanks to his one-on-one lessons with Snape, Vincent's knowledge of potion-making was sharp and up-to-date—nearly rivaling Hermione's own.
"–so that the potion turns into this type of color, that's how you know it succeeds," Vincent explained.
"Thanks, Vince," Hermione said.
"No problem," Vincent said. "You've already helped me with three other subjects—not to mention, your potion-making skills are probably the best in your year."
Hermione smiled. "You're picking it up quickly. At this rate, it won't be long before you take that spot."
"I don't really count," Vincent replied, glancing over at Nyx, who was fast asleep on Hedwig. "I'm a muggle. I only got this far thanks to Nyx."
But deep down, a flicker of envy stirred. It surprised her—how quickly Vincent was mastering something that had taken her years of dedicated study. She pushed the feeling aside, yet it lingered in the form of a question she couldn't quite silence.
"His ability to absorb information... it's incredible. Almost unnatural," she thought, watching him with a thoughtful, almost analytical gaze. "There's something unusual about it. About him."
Once again, Hermione found herself wondering about her new friend—what he'd been through before arriving at Hogwarts, and what secrets still lingered beneath the surface.
She shook the thoughts from her mind and turned her attention elsewhere.
"Harry and Ron should be at their detention by now, right?" she said, glancing at the clock.
"Probably," Vincent replied, his gaze drifting to the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.
Without another word, he suddenly bolted toward the boys' dormitory, leaving Hermione blinking in confusion.
He returned moments later, his arms full—skewers, a cutting board, utensils, ingredients, and a few curious-looking pieces of equipment. Hermione stared at him, as did half the common room.
"What on earth are you doing?!" she asked, eyes wide, watching as Vincent began setting up beside the fire. "I don't think—"
"I read the rules, Hermione," he interrupted, already arranging the skewers, "and there's nothing that says you can't cook in the common room."
"Where did you even get all that?"
"Hagrid gave me a bunch of ingredients a few days ago," he replied, slicing vegetables. "I didn't want them to go to waste. As for the equipment, I had Sister An send it over by owl—it was meant to help Hagrid, really. Poor guy's got nothing but a cauldron and a kettle."
Hermione looked torn between protesting and watching in fascination as Vincent got to work. He prepped the meat and veggies with practiced ease, tenderizing and marinating everything before threading them neatly onto skewers. He then set a compact grill over the fireplace.
If it had been a normal fire, the smoke and heat might have been a problem. But Vincent had discovered that Hogwarts fireplaces were magically enchanted: no stray ash, no dangerous heat, and oddly perfect for cooking.
While the food cooked, he set up a nearby table with platters, wiping his hands clean as he monitored the skewers. He rotated each one carefully, making sure everything browned evenly.
About a few minutes later, he stood back, satisfied.
"Well, that went well. I'll just need a spell to clean the—"
Vincent froze. The room was silent.
Every student in the common room was now staring at the skewers with hungry eyes, drawn in by the rich, mouthwatering aroma. Even Hermione had gone quiet, eyeing the food as though in a trance.
"Uhh..." Vincent glanced around nervously before awkwardly offering a skewer to Hermione. "Here's yours?"
"Thanks!" she snatched it from him so fast that he blinked at his now-empty hand.
The rest of the room zeroed in on her.
Hermione took a bite—and practically lit up. Her eyes widened with delight, and she gave a small, involuntary hum of satisfaction.
"Umm, excuse me?" a young first-year boy asked timidly. "Can I have one too?"
"Sure, kid." Vincent handed him a skewer.
The boy took a bite. "This is delicious!"
That was all the encouragement the room needed.
"Can I have one too?!"
"I'm Jenny, seventh year—I'll help you with your homework!"
"Hey, don't scam the kid! I'm Mike, sixth year—I'll protect you from bullies!"
"Three sickles!"
"Four!"
"Nine!"
It had somehow devolved into an impromptu auction. Vincent looked around helplessly and met Hermione's amused gaze.
Her expression clearly read: You started this.
"She ditched me!" Vincent thought in disbelief.
"Alright! Calm down, everyone!" he called out. The noise died down. "Two sickles per serving. That's fair, yeah? Now form a line—youngest to oldest. No cutting!"
To Hermione's amazement, everyone complied.
Over the next half hour, Vincent dished out skewers to nearly the entire common room. By the end of it, he flopped into a chair.
"Phew... made about fifty sickles," he muttered. "Well, at least that clears out Hagrid's pantry..."
"Are you going to keep doing this?" a small voice asked.
Vincent looked up and saw a first-year girl smiling at him.
"Your food was really good. Thank you!"
He froze for a second. Her expression reminded him of the kids at Sister An's orphanage whenever he cooked for them.
He smiled softly. "Yeah... I'll do it again tomorrow."
"Great! I'll come back!" she said happily, skipping off.
Vincent let out a quiet chuckle. "Looks like I found myself a part-time job."
"Well," Hermione said between bites, "if you do open a stall, make sure to reserve one for me."
"You got it."
As he started cleaning up, Vincent glanced around the common room—dozens of students, chatting and eating, the air filled with the warm scent of grilled food.
He couldn't help but smile.
"Huh... I haven't seen Ginny in a while," he murmured. "Wonder where she is."
...
"So, what do you think about that weird voice—?" Harry paused mid-sentence as he and Ron stepped into the Gryffindor common room.
The moment they crossed the threshold, an irresistible aroma hit them like a charm.
"Why does it smell so bloody good in here?!" Ron exclaimed, eyes wide.
Both boys' stomachs growled in unison. After serving detention until nearly midnight, they were starving.
"Oh, you're back," Neville said, still awake and rummaging around the room. "Lost my toad again..."
"Neville, what happened in here?" Harry asked, still sniffing the air.
"Vincent cooked," Neville replied simply. "Used the fireplace to make something he called shish kebabs. I swear, Harry, it was heavenly."
"HE WHAT?!"
Harry and Ron turned toward the fireplace, which still flickered warmly—mocking them with the lingering scent of perfectly grilled meat.
They exchanged a look, then both glared toward the boys' dormitory, where Vincent was no doubt fast asleep without a care in the world.
"We're gone for a few hours," Ron grumbled, "and he turns into Hogwarts' personal chef. Would it have killed him to save us a skewer?"
The two boys went to bed grumbling, stomachs empty and hearts full of betrayal.
Little did Vincent know, by the time the sun rose, his reputation as the Magic Chef of Gryffindor would begin spreading like wildfire.