"Wait, how much did you say you earned?" Ron asked hoarsely over breakfast.
"Adding it all up, I made about fifty-six galleons and four sickles," Vincent replied, earning a horrified look from Ron. "Is that a lot?"
It was now October, a month since Vincent had arrived at Hogwarts. His reputation as the Magic Chef had spread throughout the school, and students from all four houses—even some Slytherins—had been paying him to prepare meals. Vincent didn't discriminate; anyone who paid got fed.
Ron felt a pang of disbelief hearing that Vincent, a muggle, had earned more than he ever had in his life.
"Maybe I should become a cook," Ron muttered half-heartedly, prompting worried glances exchanged between Vincent and Hermione.
"I've just promised Headless Nick that I'd attend his Deathday party," Harry said plopping down next to them, "I'll miss the Halloween party if that's the case."
"Deathday party?" Hermione looked interested, "that sounds fascinating."
"Bit depressing celebrating the day you die," Ron commented.
Vincent got up, "Well I'm heading off."
"What have you got?" Hermione asked.
"I promised someone that I'd spend time with them," Vincent said, "I'll see you at the library later, okay?"
Hermione nodded enthusiastically, "Alright, see you then."
...
"—and that is a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Luna concluded, her voice dreamy as ever.
Since meeting her, Vincent had found himself frequently chatting with the odd Ravenclaw. He didn't mind it—in fact, he enjoyed it. Luna rambled about all sorts of strange things, but there was something soothing about the way she spoke, like she was letting him into a quieter, more magical part of the world no one else saw.
They were currently sitting near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, feeding Thestrals—skeletal, bat-winged horses that only those who had seen death could see. Vincent gently offered one a handful of raw meat while Luna sat cross-legged nearby, stroking Nyx, who rested peacefully on her leg.
"Hey, Vincent," Luna said quietly, not looking up. "Do you think I'm weird?"
Vincent glanced over, one eyebrow raised at the question. "Where did that come from?"
Luna looked slightly downcast, her fingers still gently scratching Nyx's head. The little pixie purred softly, her eyes closed in contentment.
"People say I do strange things," Luna said. "And that I talk about strange things. They think I'm odd."
"...And that bothers you?" Vincent asked, his voice gentler now.
"...A little," Luna admitted. "But more than that... it makes me wonder why you're here."
"Me?"
"I came up to you out of curiosity," she said, her silvery eyes meeting his golden ones. "But I didn't expect you to keep talking to me. And you keep coming back. So... I wonder why."
Vincent scratched his cheek, looking mildly embarrassed.
"...Because I like talking to you," he said honestly. "You're... refreshing. You talk about things no one else does. You're not trying to impress anyone. You're just... you."
Luna blinked, as if that answer surprised her.
"And besides," he added with a small grin, "you're not the only 'weird' one around here. I'm a Muggle with a temperamental pixie. I think we're both a little odd."
Luna gave a soft laugh, the kind that came from deep within. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The wind rustled the trees, the Thestrals munched quietly, and Nyx let out a tiny sneeze in her sleep.
"Thank you, Vincent," Luna said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He looked at her in surprise, caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone.
"For what?" he asked.
"For talking to me like I'm... normal," she said with a small smile. "You're the first person in a long time who's done that."
Vincent rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish. "You are normal. Just... unique. That's not a bad thing."
They both smiled quietly at that, sitting side by side beneath the early morning sky as they tended to a group of Thestrals. The creatures' delicate, skeletal wings folded gracefully as they fed, while Nyx fluttered between them, occasionally napping on Luna's lap or Vincent's shoulder.
"I know it's rude to ask," Luna said eventually, her gaze distant, "but who did you see die?"
Vincent paused, his hand resting gently on the Thestral's muzzle.
"...People I tried to save."
Luna left it at that. There was a silence, the kind that settled not in awkwardness, but in understanding.
A breeze rustled the trees nearby. Nyx stretched in Luna's lap before curling back up.
Then, with her signature dreamy tone and impeccable timing, Luna tilted her head and asked, "So... have you heard of Nargles?"
Vincent blinked, caught between a laugh and a sigh. "Nargles?"
And just like that, the weight of the moment lightened, drifting off like mist in the morning sun.
...
"What are you working on?" Vincent asked
"I'm just adding a few finishing touches to my charms report," Hermione said as she proceeded to write a couple more pages.
Vincent's eyes twitched slightly as he watched Hermione's 'finishing touches' to her work. He felt like saying something but decided against it. If Hermione felt like it more than who was he to interrupt.
"More importantly," Hermione took a glance at Vincent's pile of books, "I'm curious to what you're working on."
"Oh, this?" Vincent showed Hermione his book, "It's a bunch of potion formulas. I've been experimenting and have tried creating different potions. Here, these are the combinations that didn't blow up."
Hermione took the book before realizing what she was holding.
"I can't look at your original creations," she said, panicking slightly, "what if I sell the idea off as my own?"
"Would you?" Vincent asked with a bit of amusement in his eyes
"Wha-no!" Hermione said, "I'm just saying not to go around giving this to random people."
"Well I trust you," Vincent said.
Hermione smiled wryly at the naked trust Vincent showed her. It seemed he hadn't yet realized just how valuable an original potion recipe truly was. While it might not carry the same prestige as inventing a new spell, creating a unique potion was still a significant achievement—often enough to earn a wizard recognition, and in many cases, a small fortune through its popularization.
That said, there were several important factors to consider in the process. The first was the recipe's tolerance for error—or rather, its lack thereof. While precision should have been standard, many existing potion formulas suffered from vague or imprecise instructions. As a result, countless accidents had occurred when wizards failed to account for the subtle—but critical—adjustments needed during ingredient preparation or the method of mixing.
It fell squarely on the creator's shoulders to ensure every instruction was written with absolute clarity and accuracy. A well-documented potion, with clearly defined margins for error, could be followed even by a novice. Such transparency didn't just make the potion safer; it also increased its practical value and credibility.
Another major hurdle was the approval process. Before any potion could be distributed or commercialized, it had to be reviewed by multiple certified Potions Masters. Their task was to rigorously assess its effects, risks, and potential misuse. If a potion was deemed too dangerous, it would be classified as forbidden. In extreme cases, those involved in its review would even be required to erase their own memories of the formula—a precaution taken to prevent its recreation or weaponization.
Of course, that last point came with a few unspoken rules. If a potion wasn't publicized, then it wasn't officially known—and if it wasn't known, it couldn't be classified as illegal or forbidden. It was a quiet truth within the magical community that many Potions Masters kept a number of undisclosed formulas for their own purposes.
It was a rather unsettling thought—knowing that behind every skilled potion-maker could lie dangerous creations, hidden from the public eye. But there wasn't much anyone could do about it. As long as their research remained private and didn't cause any 'noticeable' harm, there were no repercussions. So long as they stayed in the shadows, the rules didn't apply.
Of course, some of those hidden potion formulas eventually find their way into the public—whether through accidents, carelessness, or unforeseen circumstances. And no memory charm is strong enough to fully contain that kind of spread once it begins.
One notable example is the Polyjuice Potion, which allows the drinker to assume another person's appearance. It originally gained popularity as a harmless novelty, often used in theatrical performances or playful disguises. However, over time, its potential for deception became apparent—and it began to be used for far more malicious purposes.
While the recipe became widely known and even appeared in some books, brewing or misusing the potion without proper authorization could result in a one-way trip to Azkaban.
The final point—and the main reason Vincent couldn't simply hand out his formulas without caution—was that he needed to be a certified Potion Master. Achieving this status required countless hours of rigorous study and practical experience. If Vincent wanted to give a potion to, say, a student, he would first need approval from another certified Potion Master to verify that the potion was safe for consumption.
In short, potion-making is an incredibly dangerous art, and the process of publicizing any research is just as, if not more, complex and challenging.
Hermione placed those thoughts back into mind as she focused on the present situation.
"Let's see here," Hermione sighed as she put down her homework to look at the notes, "well, it's not like his potions would be revolutionary or anything—!"
Hermione's eyes slightly widened as she read the notes. There were a total of eight original potions that he had made, including the one he used against Snape which was simply labeled Leg Strengthening potion.
"Leg strengthening solution, a variant of the strengthening solution. Increases the user's leg strength. By how much however I am unable to calculate."
"Sleep potion, a variation of the sleeping potion, one drink of this will instantly make the person fall asleep, but with the added effects of ridding all impurities in the body as well as ridding all manner of exhaustion or stress. Side effects can induce a small headache as well as diarrhea which is expected to be caused by the body expelling the impurities."
"Far Sight potion, allows the user to see far distances and has the added effect of improving one's eyesight slightly."
"Metalmorph potion, a work in progress. It allows the user to transform his or her body parts to metal at will. At the moment it transforms the body entirely to metal for one to two minutes but at the cost of making the entire body unable to move."
"Zero space potion. It makes the user weightless as if in space. No negative side effects are known yet, although weight has been lost during tests."
"Dragons breath potion, after consuming, the user will uncontrollably sprout fire from their mouths. Interestingly enough, while the fire doesn't harm the body, it does cause an incredibly spicy feeling in the throat."
"Lightning tempering potion, extremely hard to make. Has the effect of strengthening the body permanently, but at the risk of the user being in excruciating pain. Overly relying on such a potion could lead to permanent brain damage, if not death."
"Waterwalk potion, allows the user to walk on water for nine minutes. No side effects or additional benefits."
"While a few of these are questionable, the sleep potion would be wildly popular if it ever went public," Hermione thought as she skimmed the notes. "But most of these affect the human body in some way... What is Vincent trying to—?"
Her eyes widened. "Vincent," she said slowly, "are you trying to create a potion that gives you magic?"
"You're definitely the smartest in your year, Hermione," Vincent replied with a grin as he took the notebook back. "It's never been done before—but that's exactly why I want to try."
Hermione stared at him, her expression turning serious. "You do realize that if you succeed, it could throw the entire wizarding world into chaos? If this fell into the wrong hands, someone could raise an army of wizards out of Muggles."
"Relax," Vincent said as he jotted something down in the margins. "It's not like I'm going to hand this out to just anyone."
Hermione let out a small breath of relief. A potion like that... it could spark a war.
"How did you even get such accurate data on these?" she asked, curiosity overtaking her concern.
Vincent looked up, completely casual. "I drank most of them, obviously."
Hermione froze. "...You what?"
"Hey, I tested them for safety first!" Vincent defended himself. "I didn't just chug them without precautions."
"You're still reckless for drinking your own experimental potions," Hermione muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Especially that one—what was it—Lightning Tempering Potion?"
"I tested that one on insects first," Vincent explained. "The beetle I gave it to turned incredibly tough. One day I accidentally dropped a book on it, and not only did it survive, but the book had a beetle-sized dent in it."
Hermione blinked. "So, what happened when you drank it?"
"I didn't," Vincent said, pulling out a vial filled with a crackling yellow liquid. "Snape classified this one as forbidden. It massively increases strength, but it's lethal if your body or mind can't handle it. The beetle only survived because I gave it a tiny dose."
Hermione's eyes widened in alarm. "So... you could die from drinking it?!"
"Pretty much," Vincent said bluntly. But when he saw the panic flicker across Hermione's face, his tone softened. "But don't worry. I'm not going to use it until I'm absolutely certain it's safe—or until I can adjust the formula, so it won't kill me. So really, there's no need to stress."
Hermione let out a long breath, visibly relieved. But then a thought crossed her mind, and she looked at him hesitantly.
"So... that Zero Space Potion... you wouldn't happen to have it on you, would you?"
Vincent blinked. "Yeah? Why—do you want one?"
He pulled out a small, sky-blue vial and held it out to her.
"...Can I?" Hermione asked, her voice just a little too eager. Her cheeks turned pink as she avoided his eyes.
"Sure," he said, handing it over without hesitation. "But, if you don't mind me asking... why?"
"...No reason," Hermione mumbled quickly, clutching the vial and turning away, her blush deepening.
Vincent raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue.
"Oh!" Hermione said, seizing the opportunity to change the subject, "That Dragon Breath Potion—was that what caused all the chaos a few weeks ago?"
Vincent paused... then groaned, rubbing the back of his head.
"Please don't bring that up."
...
...Half a month ago...
"Oh, hello Mr. Wong," Lockhart said hopping into Snape's office, "have you seen dear Professor Snape?"
"No sir," Vincent said placing a cup filled with a red like liquid on the desk
"Wonder when I'll get my new vials," Vincent thought packing up, "starting to run out of— wait, where's my potion?"
"Hmm, this is drink is delicious," Vincent started sweating as he looked at Lockhart taking a huge gulp of the drink. "Tastes sort of spicy, ginger perhaps?"
Vincent glanced at Nyx who was pointing her finger at the door, indicating them to make a run for it.
"Oh, look at the time," Vincent said hurriedly he walked out. "Sorry Professor, I promised to meet Neville today, you know, to help him with potions."
"Don't worry my boy," Lockhart said. "Go help young Longbottom."
Vincent walked down the dungeon before running into Malfoy and his gang.
"Oh look, if it isn't the little—" Malfoy began.
"Oh, look it's rat," Malfoy's eyes twitched. "Sorry, can't talk, gotta run!"
"Wait wha—" Malfoy stood confused as Vincent ran off. "Run? Run from what?"
"Um, Malfoy?" Crabbe said tapping on Malfoy's shoulder.
"What is it?" Malfoy turned around to see a completely near-naked bald man running towards them with fire raging out of his mouth.
"Ahhhhhhhhh," they screamed as they ran for it.
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHH," the creature seemed to scream as it chased them from behind.
Lockhart felt like crying, his entire outfit was nearly burnt off leaving him barely clothed. His body wasn't affected by the flame, but his hair was. Being extremely close to the fire, the hair that Lockhart treasured was turned into cinders. He couldn't even talk properly as the insanely spicy feeling in his throat was extremely painful.
The next day, Vincent heard the rumors of the near-naked man spewing fire as he ran around terrifying all the Slytherins till Snape stopped him. Vincent was also treated to a well-deserved glare by Snape and small detention seeing that it was Lockhart who stupidly drank whatever liquid he found in a potion's masters office. Lockhart however, managed to regrow his hair with a potion, but was unable to look at Vincent properly for the next week or so.
...
"Yeah," Vincent thought. "That'll scar any man. Good thing no one recognized him."
He and Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon comparing notes and chatting intermittently before parting ways, agreeing to meet again at dinner with Ron and Harry.
As Vincent strolled through the corridors, he couldn't help but notice the glances and whispers that followed him. His reputation at Hogwarts had grown rapidly—between his title as the "Magic Chef" and word of his duel with Snape, his popularity had exploded. Some students had even started comparing his fame to Harry's.
He'd also caught wind of a rumored fan club... though, thankfully, he hadn't seen any actual proof of it. Yet.
"Heh, Longbottom—still dragging that fat arse around as usual?"
Vincent stopped just outside the castle at the sound of Malfoy's sneer.
Neville stood cornered, his back against the wall. His books were scattered across the ground, his robes rumpled, and a fresh bruise marked his cheek. Still, he stood tall, jaw clenched.
"I'm worth ten of you, Malfoy," Neville growled, his voice tight with anger.
Malfoy rolled his eyes and gave a mocking smirk. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Crabbe, Goyle—make sure he goes home looking worse than he does now. Not that his mum would recognize him anyway—oh wait..."
"SHUT UP, MALFOY!" Neville roared.
Malfoy just smirked and gave the order. Crabbe stepped forward, fist raised—only to have it caught mid-swing.
"Yo, Neville," Vincent said calmly, gripping Crabbe's wrist. "You alright, man?"
"Y-Yeah..." Neville muttered, hastily brushing himself off, clearly trying to save face.
Vincent sighed. "Let's talk after I deal with these guys."
"Crabbe, Goyle—get him!" Malfoy barked.
Crabbe lunged with his free hand. Vincent smoothly sidestepped, driving his elbow into Crabbe's stomach. As the larger boy doubled over, Vincent grabbed him by the collar and slammed his face upward into his knee with a sickening crack. Crabbe dropped like a sack of bricks, clutching his bleeding nose.
Goyle, thinking himself clever, tried to land a high kick. Vincent ducked low and swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Before Goyle could rise, Vincent's fist smashed into his jaw, knocking him out cold.
Malfoy stood frozen.
Vincent turned, eyes locked on him and began walking forward with deliberate steps.
"My father will—"
A clean right hook dropped Malfoy mid-sentence. He hit the ground hard, out cold.
Neville stared in disbelief. Years of being pushed around by Malfoy and his goons, undone in less than a minute. He blinked as if to confirm it wasn't a dream.
"Been a while since I last clobbered someone. That actually felt pretty good," Vincent flexed his wrists with a satisfied expression.
Neville mouth hung open, still stunned. "That was... amazing."
Vincent gave a half-shrug. "They had it coming. These are your books, right?"
Neville nodded silently as he accepted his books from Vincent, and together they walked away from the battered trio on the ground.
It wasn't until they reached the towering castle doors that Neville finally spoke up.
"Uh, thanks for the help, Vincent," he said, glancing sideways. "You were amazing—you completely wiped the floor with Malfoy and his crew!"
Vincent shrugged. "Don't worry about it."
At that moment, Nyx peeked out from Vincent's pocket, causing Neville to flinch slightly. He still hadn't quite recovered from the chaos of the "pixie incident" a month ago.
"H-Hello, Nyx," Neville said nervously.
The little pixie gave a cheerful wave before hopping up onto Vincent's shoulder.
"Vincent, um... could you help me with something?"
"If it's within my abilities, sure," Vincent replied easily.
Over the past month, Vincent had gotten to know most of the students at Hogwarts. While he still spent most of his time with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, he often chatted with others as well. Neville, in particular, had crossed paths with him quite a few times—usually when Vincent helped him with potions, or when they compared notes in Herbology. To Vincent's surprise, Neville was actually one of the best in the subject.
Neville came to a stop, took a breath, and blurted out, "C-Can you teach me how to fight?!"
Vincent halted mid-step and turned to him, blinking.
"Sorry, what?"
...
"Is this... okay?" Neville asked, adjusting the protective gear he wore.
"You'll be fine," Vincent reassured him. "Hermione made it, after all."
At the mention of Hermione, Neville visibly relaxed.
After yesterday's scuffle with Malfoy, the two had agreed to start training early in the mornings—meeting at the front of the Whomping Willow, before most students were even awake. Vincent had asked Hermione to whip up some makeshift protective gear, which she readily did once she found out it was for Neville.
"Don't judge him too harshly," Hermione had told Vincent. "He may seem unreliable at times, but Neville's probably one of the bravest people I've ever met."
Brave, huh? Vincent had thought at the time. There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity. Honestly, I'm more in the second category if I'm being honest. I just hope Neville isn't the same.
"Alright, Neville," Vincent said now, stretching his arms. "I've never actually taught anyone how to fight before, so this is new for me too. We'll start with something basic—punches. Guard up."
He raised his fists in a boxer's stance. Neville mirrored him as best he could, though his form was awkward and his movements stiff. Vincent stepped in slowly, studying Neville's posture as he tried to follow along.
"Relax—you're way too tense," Vincent said, gently adjusting Neville's arms and stance. "Fighting's as much about fluidity as it is strength. You've got to stay loose, or you'll wear yourself out fast."
"Keep your feet shoulder-width apart, twist at the hips when you punch—not the shoulders. Here."
Vincent demonstrated a quick jab, sharp and balanced. The motion was smooth, practiced.
Neville copied him, punching at the open air. It was still awkward, but this time, more stable.
"Again, right here," Vincent said, his open palm. Neville threw another punch, landing it with a satisfying thump.
Vincent nodded in approval. "Much better. Keep going like that, and Malfoy won't know what hit him."
Neville broke out into a wry smile at the encouragement as Vincent put on the mitts that Hermione made for him.
"Ok, let's start out with some combination, we'll pick up the pace as we go alright?"
"Yeah, that's fine."
"Good, let's get started."
...
Neville lay flat on the ground, drenched in sweat, while Vincent sat beside him, calmly sipping from a flask.
"You did good today," Vincent said, taking out another flask and handing it over. "Here, drink this."
Neville took it without hesitation and gulped it down. His eyes widened as the flavor hit him—it tasted just like warm chocolate chip cookies, rich and comforting. The fatigue in his limbs seemed to melt away.
"What was that?" Neville asked, astonished. "Some kind of potion?"
"In a way, yeah," Vincent replied with a grin. "Technically, it's a potion... but also kind of a drink. I've been experimenting a bit. You know how potion-making is a lot like cooking? I figured, why not flip it—make cooking like potion-making?"
Neville blinked. "Wait... that was water?"
"Comfort water," Vincent corrected proudly. "Boiled and infused with magic. The process is a lot trickier than it sounds, though."
Neville chuckled. "Living up to your nickname, huh? Magic Chef strikes again."
Vincent gave a relaxed smile in return.
They sat quietly for a while, watching the sun rise beyond the trees—two unlikely friends, sharing a quiet moment of peace at the edge of a long day's effort.
"Seriously though," Neville said, "I did awful, didn't I?"
"...Just a bit," Vincent admitted with a half-smile.
Neville sighed in resignation, flopping back on the grass as Vincent watched him in silence.
"But I meant it when I said you did a good job," Vincent said, taking another swig from his flask.
"I don't hear those words too often," Neville muttered. "I'm clumsy, I mess things up, and honestly... I'm a coward. Sometimes I wonder why I was even put in Gryffindor."
He paused, eyes fixed on the sky.
"But even with all that... do you think I can become strong?"
Vincent paused mid-sip, the flask hovering just short of his lips. In that moment, he was reminded of a small, golden-eyed boy who had once asked a wizened old man that very same question.
"That really depends on what you do from here on," Vincent said thoughtfully. "But... that's not what you wanted to hear, is it?"
Neville let out a long sigh, clearly disappointed by the vague answer. Vincent chuckled and gave him a small, reassuring grin.
"I believe you can be strong," he said simply.
Neville turned to him, surprised. Vincent held his gaze steadily.
"The fact that you're here right now, trying—putting in effort even when you're scared or unsure—that's what strength looks like to me."
Neville looked away, blinking rapidly to hide the moisture gathering in his eyes. Vincent didn't say a word, letting the silence settle comfortably between them as they sat together.
"What Neville needs most isn't strength," Vincent thought quietly, "but self-confidence."
And he was determined to help him build that—one step at a time, through their training.
...
Weeks flew by, and Halloween finally arrived. Vincent's life at Hogwarts had become deeply fulfilling. He spent each day in private lessons with Snape, steadily expanding his growing collection of original potion formulas.
Neville, too, had made impressive strides in his training. He'd even started to gain a bit of muscle—something that initially caught Vincent off guard. It turned out to be an unintended side effect of the Magic Drink he'd created. Though originally crafted just for flavor and refreshment, Vincent discovered it subtly accelerated muscle recovery and growth, making it an ideal supplement for training. While the results were barely noticeable at first, after a few weeks, Neville's stamina and strength had clearly improved. They'd even reached the point where Vincent could spar with him lightly, although he had to hold back a lot.
Vincent also spent a lot of time with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, while still making space for occasional chats with Luna, whose odd but insightful thoughts he'd come to appreciate.
"Hey Harry, why do you look so gloomy?" Vincent asked, noticing the expression on his friend's face.
"It's Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday party," Harry muttered, casting a glance at the bright Halloween decorations in the Great Hall.
"Oh... that's rough," Vincent said sympathetically—until he caught the hopeful, pleading look Harry was giving him. His eyes narrowed.
"Oh no," Vincent said, backing up slightly. "I am not going with you. You can't make me—"
...
"So I'm just the chef now, huh?" Vincent muttered, carrying a picnic basket as they made their way to the Deathday Party.
"...You wouldn't let your friends starve, would you?" Ron said innocently—earning a sharp glare from Vincent.
"Hey! Don't look at me like that. It's a party for ghosts—who knows if there'll even be food that living people can eat?"
Vincent sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm starting to think I've been way too nice to you guys lately."
Still, they had a point. What were the odds of there being actual food at a party for the dead? And if there was something, would it even be edible?
Those nagging questions were what finally tipped Vincent over the edge. He packed food just in case, despite insisting he wouldn't go. In the end, he'd been guilt-tripped into tagging along just so his friends wouldn't starve.
They passed the Great Hall, which was beautifully adorned with floating candles and the massive pumpkins Hagrid had carved for the occasion. The warm glow and festive chatter spilled out into the corridor, making it all the more inviting.
Vincent sighed, casting a longing glance inside.
"That looks really nice," he thought wistfully as he continued walking away.
Candles were leading to the party. Although it was extremely gloomy considering the soft, ghostly blue flame casting dark ghostly shadows. It grew extremely cold as they continued onward with Hermione shivering.
"Here, take it." Vincent handed Hermione his hoodie. "Don't think I've forgiven you lot, though."
Hermione blinked in surprise. "Oh, but what about you?"
"I'll be fine," Vincent said with a shrug. "Spent plenty of nights on colder streets than this."
"Th-Thanks," Hermione murmured as she slipped it on. "It's warm."
As they continued walking, they passed a dust-colored cat slinking through the corridor.
"Hey, Mrs. Norris," Vincent said casually, crouching to give her a gentle pat.
Most students avoided the caretaker's cat like the plague, but Vincent found her oddly endearing.
Mrs. Norris mewed softly, leaning into his hand with surprising affection before padding off into the shadows.
"Don't get what you see in it, I just want to kick the bloody thing," said Ron earning an eye roll from Vincent.
They soon heard an awful sound that resembled thousands of fingers scraping against the blackboard.
"That can't be music, right?" Vincent said horrified as they turned the corner.
"Welcome, friends," Nearly Headless Nick greeted solemnly, bowing low. "Oh, please, come inside."
The group stepped forward—only to freeze at the sight inside. Hundreds of ghosts hovered and drifted throughout the chamber, some gliding through each other as they danced awkwardly to what sounded like the wails of a dying organ.
"Should we... look around?" Harry asked uncertainly, already regretting the decision.
"Yeah, sure," Ron muttered, clearly uncomfortable. Vincent and Hermione nodded in agreement.
They wove their way through the ghostly crowd, doing their best to avoid passing through any translucent figures. As they moved, Hermione suddenly stopped in her tracks.
"Oh no—turn back. I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle."
"Who?" Harry asked, glancing around.
"She haunts a toilet on the fourth floor. It's a nightmare if you actually need to use the loo—"
"Wait, where's Vincent?" Ron cut in, looking around in confusion.
Harry and Hermione paused, then quickly scanned the room until they spotted Vincent—frozen in place, staring at the buffet table with a pale expression.
They rushed over and followed his gaze. A long table was laid out with what could only be described as culinary horrors: fish charred to cinders, cheeses buried in blue mold, and other unrecognizable monstrosities. At the center sat a massive cake, sagging under its own weight, with tar-like icing spelling out in shaky letters:
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington
Died 31st of October 1493
"This isn't edible... this food shouldn't even exist..." Vincent muttered under his breath, eyes wide with dismay.
Nyx, perched on his shoulder, gave him a sharp smack across the cheek.
"Ow—thanks, Nyx," Vincent said, rubbing his face. "I needed that. But seriously, that food... it's a violation of nature."
"You okay?" Hermione asked, concern on her face.
"Yeah, yeah. Just... let's go somewhere I won't lose my appetite."
"Agreed," Ron muttered, already turning away.
Without another word, the group slipped back into the crowd, eager to put distance between themselves and the haunted horrors of ghostly cuisine.
After weaving through a few more floating guests and avoiding an enthusiastic ghost choir, they found a quiet corner of the room—relatively empty and free of spectral interference.
Vincent set down the picnic basket and opened the lid.
"Holy Merlin..." Ron breathed, eyes wide with amazement.
"Did you make all this today?" Harry asked, stunned.
Vincent shot a pointed glance at the group. "Sorry, I didn't have much time—thanks to a certain someone." But they were all too focused on the small feast before them to notice the jab.
Inside the basket were golden meat pies with flaky, glistening crusts and perfectly stacked sandwiches filled with roast beef, caramelized onions, and a rich mustard spread—all arranged with careful precision. Nearby sat warm apple tarts, a jar of honeyed nuts, and several flasks of his own concoction: Comfort Water.
Everything was neatly packed in the picnic basket, filling the air with a rich, inviting aroma that made their stomachs rumble.
"Well, eat up—that's what they're here for," Vincent said, handing out small paper plates, while Nyx immediately dived into the honeyed nuts.
As they each took a bite, their faces quickly transformed from curiosity to delight.
Ron's eyes widened, as the flaky crust of the meat pie gave way to tender, savory filling rich with herbs and spices.
"Blimey, this is amazing!"
Harry's dug into the sandwich, filled with the tender roast beef and the subtle tang of mustard in the sandwiches.
"Seriously, this roast beef sandwich might be the best I've ever had."
Hermione blissfully enjoyed the perfectly balanced sweetness of the apple tart. Too busy eating to even so much as make a comment.
The rich, comforting aromas seemed to warm them from the inside out, filling the cool evening air with a sense of calm and joy. For a moment, the haunted atmosphere of the Deathday party was forgotten, replaced by the simple pleasure of good food shared among friends.
Vincent felt what little bit of grudge fade away as he watched his friends eat with satisfied expressions. He decided to take one of the sandwiches for himself. He chewed it slowly, savoring the contents, analyzing his own work before nodding in content.
"I think I did a pretty good job, don't you, Nyx?" Vincent said, watching the pixie happily crunch on a honeyed nut.
Suddenly, a voice echoed nearby, filled with disbelief. "I... I can taste!"
Heads turned sharply to see a ghost floating just behind them, eyes wide and mouth agape, utterly gobsmacked by the unexpected sensation.
For a moment, the lively chatter of the party fell silent, as if the entire room was holding its breath. Then, like a dam bursting, the quiet shattered into a frenzy of excited shouts and cheers.
"LET ME THROUGH!"
"IT'S BEEN SO LONG!"
"PRAISE THE LORD, I FEEL LIKE I HAVE A TOUNGUE AGAIN!"
"THIS IS THE BEST BIRTHDAY PARTY EVER!"
"YOU RULE, NICK!"
Vincent and the group stood, wide-eyed, as each ghost surged through the picnic basket, mouths agape. Every time they emerged, they looked as if they had just flown through heaven itself. Vincent could have sworn some even ascended—though it was difficult to be sure amid the chaos.
"Vincent, what did you do?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide, as Vincent quickly moved the basket aside to avoid being trampled by the ecstatic ghosts.
"...I may have overdone it with the Comfort Water," Vincent muttered. "I combined it with a few other ingredients to see what would happen. I didn't expect it to work quite like this."
"...I think we should get out of here."
"...Agreed."
Thankfully, they had already eaten a fair amount. Though it was a shame to leave such good food behind, Vincent comforted himself with the thought that it could be a gift for Nick.
Speaking of Nick, the ghost stood near the entrance, visibly moved.
"T—This is simply amazing. Thank you, thank you truly!" Nick sobbed softly as they made their way out. "I hope to see you again next year my friends!"
The group smiled, but once they were out of earshot, Ron muttered, "Yeah... no."
The group wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment.
"I wouldn't choose to go to a party like that again," Vincent sighed as he turned to the others. "But it was definitely interesting. What do you think, Harry? Think you'll be invited next year—? Harry?"
Harry had suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, eyes darting nervously around the walls and shadows, searching for something unseen.
"That voice again," he whispered.
"What?" Vincent asked, confused—only for Harry to bolt suddenly.
"It's going to kill someone!"
The rest of the group exchanged worried glances before sprinting after him.
They dashed up a few flights of stairs, arriving at a floor flooded with water.
"Is there something wrong with the plumbing?" Vincent wondered aloud, just before he collided with Harry.
"Harry, what's wrong—?"
Vincent and the others froze when their eyes caught sight of the chilling message scrawled across the wall:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED, ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE
"What's that... thing hanging underneath?" Ron asked, his voice trembling.
They all stared at the dark shape dangling below the ominous words—and then jumped back in horror.
Mrs. Norris hung by her tail from a torch bracket, stiff as a board, eyes wide and unblinking.
"Let's get out of here," Ron said urgently.
"Shouldn't we try to—" Harry began but was cut off.
"Trust me, we don't want to be caught here—Vincent?"
Ron was taken aback by the look on his friend's face—a fierce, focused intensity he'd never seen before.
Vincent's usual relaxed demeanor was completely replaced. It was like staring at a different person altogether, and if had to be honest...
...it scared him.
Before they could move, the pounding of hundreds of footsteps echoed up the staircases on either side. The chatter and whispers abruptly fell silent as the students caught sight of the hanging cat. The four were left alone in the middle of the corridor, tense and exposed.
Suddenly, a voice rang out:
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
Malfoy pushed forward through the crowd, a cruel smirk on his face as he stared at Mrs. Norris.