"I'm sorry." Vincent mumbled to no one while putting his face in his hands.
Harry just stood silently patting his friends back as he stared at the destroyed hallway. Vincent's Thunderbolt potion blew a giant hole in the wall as well as a giant crater in the floor. Students were walking around wondering what the hell happened.
"How much did you use?" Harry asked.
"One vial," mumbled Vincent.
"Just one vial caused this?!" Harry thought in astonishment.
The two of them walked back to the Gryffindor Tower to find Ron and Hermione, but they were gone. They walked around looking for places they would be.
"The library perhaps?" Vincent suggested, "Hermione might be there, Ron's another matter though."
As they exited the library they bumped into Percy Weasley, Ron's 'perfect' brother.
"Oh, hello Harry, Vincent," he said earning a nod from Vincent, "excellent flying yesterday Harry, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup – you earned fifty points! Vincent, your food made the game oh so more enjoyable to watch, just make sure to give us, Prefects and teachers a heads up before doing something similar."
"You haven't seen Ron or Hermione, have you?" asked Harry.
"No, I haven't," said Percy, his smile fading. "I hope Ron's not in another girls' toilet."
Vincent and Harry both watched Percy walk away as they exchanged looks. The two boys soon found themselves in front of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"You think she's in there?" Harry asked slightly fearful of Myrtle's crush on him.
"Just get in there Harry," Vincent said with an amused smile, "who knows, the relationship could work—"
"Don't you bloody dare finish that sentence Vince," Harry said glaring at Vincent who started laughing as they walked through the bathroom doors.
"Vince, Harry?" Hermione's voice called out from one of the bathroom stalls, "are both of you here?"
"Yeah, we're here Hermione," Vincent said as he opened the stall.
An old cauldron was perched on the toilet, with a small crackling sound underneath
Harry was about to open his mouth when Ron beat him too it.
"We know about Colin, Professor McGonagall was telling Professor Flitwick this morning. The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," Ron said furiously, "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin."
"You did hear how Vince encountered the monster right?" Harry mentioned causing the Hermione to drop the potion book while Ron smacked his head against the stall wall.
"HE WHAT?!
"Guess they didn't hear," Vincent thought.
"Vince, are you ok?!" Hermione asked worriedly.
"I'm fine," Vincent said, "but the more important thing is that I now know something about the monster. It seems to have the ability to petrify people just by looking at it."
"Bloody hell," Ron said paling slightly, "How is anyone supposed to fight against it?"
"There's another thing," Harry added, "Dobby came to visit me last night."
Ron looked surprised while Hermione and Vincent exchanged glances.
"What the hell's a Dobby?" Vincent asked.
"Dobby is a House elf that warned me to not return to the school this year," Harry explained, "it was also him who blocked the platform nine and three quarters entrance and tampered with the Bludger to stop me from going. He also mentioned something about the Chamber of Secret's being opened before."
"Dumbledore did mention that as well," Vincent said remembering last night, "if Rat, sorry Malfoy is the culprit, then it could have been his father that opened it before. But the culprit could have been someone else for all we know."
"It's the best plan we've got for now," Hermione said with a sigh, "and Vince isn't going to be here for Christmas so it will be up to the three of use to do this."
"Don't mess up guys," Vincent said earning a glare from the three of them.
"Us, mess up?" Hermione said, "Who blew up the courtyard? Who angered Snape? If anything, you should be more worried about yourself!"
"I was joking," Vincent said chuckling nervously.
...
"You only have five more to go Mr. Wong," Snape smirked as he observed Vincent making a potion known as the Draught of Peace.
Vincent grimaced slightly as he stirred the pot. He was just being punished for blowing up the school yard. Snape, being the vicious man, he was, had ordered ten cauldrons full of the Draught of Peace potion.
"This is a potion for fifth year students," Vincent thought tearfully, "one tiny mistake can ruin the potion, not to mention it takes an extremely long time to make."
Vincent had about two cauldrons going on at the same time while Nyx was sitting by the sidelines eating grapes. This potion mostly consisted of manual labour and waiting, so Nyx only had to enhance an ingredient or adjust the fire temperature every so often. Snape particularly choose this potion to make Vincent work.
"Hm, satisfactory," Snape muttered as he looked at the ten cauldrons filled with light silver liquid.
"What else do you want?!" Vincent thought, his eyes twitching.
"Professor, I'm planning to make another potion that requires these ingredients," Vincent said showing Snape a list of potion ingredients
"And what, is this particular potion?" Snape asked.
"Polyjuice potion sir," Snape looked suspiciously at Vincent who kept talking, "I want to see if I can modify it somewhat with—"
Snape, who was originally filled with suspicion, now couldn't help but have his eye twitch at Vincent's rambling about the potential potion combinations he could make.
"Enough," Snape snapped, glaring at Vincent. "I'll give you the ingredients—so long as you don't misuse them. I trust you're aware of the risks and complications surrounding such a potion. Submit the proper reports and leave nothing out. If I so much as suspect you of anything... unsavory, consider your privilege revoked."
"Huh, maybe Professor Snape is a nice guy." Vincent said to Nyx as they walked away with the ingredients.
Snape heard the remark and wondered why he doesn't just outright strangle the boy.
Vincent walked back to Hermione who was still currently in the bathroom stall checking on the potion.
"And that's how you got the ingredients?" Hermione raised an eyebrow as she added the ingredients in the cauldron.
"Yep. Although, I'm now going to have to ask that you set aside a portion of the potion once you're done for me to experiment with. I need to show at least something to the Professor, so he doesn't get suspicious. Hope that doesn't complicate things too much."
Hermione just sighed as stirred the potion hard. Harry and Ron decided to head back early to finish off some homework as there was really nothing they could do here.
"So, Vince," Hermione asked as they walked back to the Common room, "what do you need to go back for?"
"I need to check in with Sister An and the orphanage kids," Vincent said with a smile, "I just want to see if they're doing fine, and London as well. Not that I don't trust Sister An, but I'd like to see what's its current state."
"Oh, ok," Hermione said as they walked up some stairs.
"Since it's Christmas, do you want anything in particular? And while we're on the subject, do you know what Harry and Ron would like?"
Hermione looked at him with a questioning gaze. "People usually keep their presents as a surprise Vince."
"I know, it's just... I've never given anyone a present before," Vincent scratched his cheek sheepishly. "At least, not to anyone my age anyway. Since I have the cash now, I thought it'd be a good time to give it a go."
Hermione looked thoughtful. "Maybe something that will last for a while?"
"Not a lot to go by Hermione," Vincent said smiling wryly.
"Well, then you have to figure it out yourself, don't you?" Hermione said with a grin. "Deciding what to give others...that's part of the joy of Christmas you know. Besides, haven't you heard that it's the thought that counts?"
It was Vincent's turn to look thoughtful.
"Then...if I give you a toad...would you appreciate it?" Vincent asked.
He received his answer in the form of a small kick in the leg. Hermione gave him a very deadpan expression.
"Don't even think about it."
"It was a joke!"
...
"Dueling club?" Ron read the announcement out loud, "do they think that Slytherins monster can dual?"
Despite what he said, they all decided to check it out. Vincent joined since he had received a notice by Professor Snape that their lessons would be cancelled that day.
At eight o'clock, students were gathered in the Great Hall. The tables all lines up in one row making a stage of sorts.
"Wonder who's teaching," Vincent said.
"As long as it's not—" Harry trailed off with a groan as soon as he saw Lockhart come up on stage wearing plum colored robes.
"Huh, so that's why we don't have any lessons today." Vincent muttered to himself, seeing Snape follow behind, looking as venomous as ever.
"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works." Lockhart announced.
"Professor Snape here has agreed to help me demonstrate how to properly conduct a wizard dual. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!" Lockhart promised.
"He should worry about himself," Ron whispered to the group, "Snape looks like he'll kill him."
"Now, let's begin!"
Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.
"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."
"Yeah, he's dead," Vincent thought seeing Snape's face look utterly murderous.
"On three, two, one—"
Both of them swung their wands at each other with Snape saying, "Expelliarmus!"
Vincent saw a red flash of light that threw Lockhart a few feet back, off the stage and onto the cold hard floor.
"...Really?" Vincent thought over the sounds of the cheering Slytherins, "I don't know what I expected, but that was extremely disappointing."
"Is he alright?" Hermione asked worryingly.
"Who cares," Harry and Ron replied while Vincent just shrugged.
"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see..."
Vincent just stared at the man in disbelief. How could someone be so shameless?
At Snape's suggestion, Lockhart had everyone pair up for dueling practice. Vincent, who didn't know a lick of magic, was perfectly content to sit this one out—until Malfoy made a beeline straight for him.
"Wong! Face me—unless you're too scared," Malfoy sneered, his eyes gleaming with spite. Clearly, he hadn't forgotten the beating he received not long ago.
"...Okay?" Vincent replied, slightly puzzled but willing to play along. It was a good chance to see how he measured up against someone his age, even if that someone was Malfoy.
He briefly considered using his rods, but that felt like overkill. Barehands will do, he figured, cracking his knuckles. As they bowed—Vincent respectfully, Malfoy with a curt jerk of his head—Vincent made his move.
"Filthy little Muggle, let me show you your place—!" Malfoy started, just before a fist stopped inches from his face, making him flinch and roll away in a panic.
"Huh. Were you not ready?" Vincent asked innocently. "I stopped it right in front of you. Why'd you roll away?"
"Damn you!" Malfoy snarled, raising his wand. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Vincent ducked under the near-invisible spell and swept Malfoy's legs out from under him with a clean kick.
"You alright?" Vincent asked, standing over him.
"Shut up!" Malfoy snapped, scrambling to his feet. "Taranta—?!"
Before he could finish the spell, Vincent reached out and casually plucked the wand from his hand. Malfoy froze, staring at his now-empty fingers, then at Vincent—who was already inspecting the wand like it was some kind of novelty item.
"So, um..." Vincent scratched his cheek. "I win, right?"
Malfoy looked ready to throw a punch but hesitated—clearly remembering how well that went last time.
Vincent, meanwhile, turned his attention to the rest of the duels with an odd look on his face, silently questioning whether any of this counted as proper magical instruction.
To call it a mess would be an understatement.Vincent glanced over just in time to see Ron cast a spell that promptly backfired—right into the face of Seamus Finnigan, who staggered back coughing in a puff of smoke.
Harry, meanwhile, was locked in a bizarre exchange with a Slytherin boy, the two of them taking turns firing harmless but chaotic spells. One made the other spin uncontrollably, while the next had its victim dancing on the spot like a puppet on strings.
Then there was Hermione—locked in a full-on headlock by a much larger girl, neither of them even bothering to use wands. Vincent blinked in disbelief before rushing over to pry the girl off, muttering, "What is wrong with this class?" as he pulled them apart.
"You ok Hermione?" Vincent asked, trying his hardest to keep the bigger girl at bay.
"Yes, all good," Hermione rubbed her throat, "thanks Vince."
"Anytime," Vincent glared at the bigger girl who froze as soon as her eyes met his golden ones, "get the hell away from her, you hear me?"
"Y-yes," the bigger girl stumbled back in slight fear.
Vincent would come to learn that Hogwarts had a long-standing issue with its curriculum—specifically, when it came to dueling and practical defense against the Dark Arts. It wasn't for lack of trying; far from it. The problem lay largely with those who taught the subject—or rather, the lack thereof.
For years, no Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had lasted beyond a single school year, whether due to accidents, resignation, or unexplained circumstances. The trend was so consistent that many believed the position to be cursed. Whether superstition or truth, the rumor eventually settled into accepted fact.
Those best qualified to teach the subject were often the first to sign up—and, inevitably, the first to leave once the year ended. As time wore on, all that remained were the desperate, the delusional, or the dangerously optimistic. This dwindling pool of candidates meant that the quality of instruction steadily declined, with Hogwarts scraping the bottom of the barrel just to fill the role. More than a few hires barely met the minimum qualifications—if at all.
One such example, was before him, trying his hardest to create order amidst this mass chaos.
"Stop! Stop!" Lockhart yelled.
"Finite Incantatem!" Snape yelled.
A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done.
"Dear, dear," Lockhart looked throughout the Great Hall, seeing various injuries, "I think I better teach you how to block unfriendly spells. Let's have a volunteer, Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you–"
"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox."
Neville's round, pink face went pinker till he felt a pat on his back.
"Don't worry about it," Vincent said, "you're still improving."
Neville nodded before surprising Snape with a look of determination.
"Hmm interesting," he thought, "young Longbottom seems to have some backbone after all."
"How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape, eyes swept towards the two students.
Malfoy, still with rage walked up to the stage glaring at his other hated enemy, Harry. Snape bent down and whispered something in his ear causing Malfoy to smirk.
"Now Harry, when Malfoy points his wand at you, do this." Lockhart said as he tried to do some weird wand waving till he dropped it, "Whoops."
Vincent face palmed himself, "How does he do it, how does he screw up this badly?"
Malfoy was mad. He was beaten not once, but twice by a muggle, the very thing he despised. He glared at Harry smirking, if he couldn't beat Vincent, then the famous Harry Potter would do.
Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"
"What, drop my wand?"
But Lockhart wasn't listening.
"Three – two – one – go!" he shouted.
Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, " Serpensortia!"
Vincent watched as the end of Malfoy's wand exploded as a long black snake fell to the floor.
"One of Professor's Snape's spells," Vincent thought glumly remembering the amount of times Snape used this particular spell on him. The only difference is that Snape usually summoned more than one.
"I'll get rid of it..." Snape said enjoying Harry standing there motionlessly.
"Allow me!" Lockhart said brandishing his wand, "Alarte Ascendare!"
There was a loud bang with the snake flying through the air before landing back on the ground. it started slithering towards Justin Finch-Fletchley.
Vincent was about to rush forward when he noticed Harry walking towards it. Harry started speaking in a strange hissing sound that resembled a snake. Vincent turned his eyes back to the snake which turned docile as it looked at Harry.
"Neat trick," Vincent looked around the room before noticing all the scared looks from everyone, "What are they scared about?"
"What do you think you're playing at?" Justin yelled at Harry before storming out the hall.
Everyone looked at Harry with fearful eyes. Ron ran up to Harry before dragging him out the hall with Hermione following. Vincent turned and caught the curious look of Snape who gave a nod in acknowledgement. Vincent returned the nod before running after the duo.
He made it in time to the Common Room to hear Ron interrogating Harry, "You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?"
"I'm a what?" asked Harry.
"A Parselmouth!" said Ron, "You can talk to snakes!"
"What's wrong about that?" Vincent said taking a seat next to Hermione.
"It's a big matter," said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."
Harry and Vincent exchanged looks with Harry looking in shock and Vincent furrowing his eyebrows.
"Exactly," said Ron, "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something—"
"But I'm not," said Harry with panic.
"You'll find that hard to prove," said Hermione, "He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be."
"The rumor that Harry's the heir of Slytherin, this doesn't help much at all," Vincent concluded grimly.
Harry looked more than morbid at the thought, making the rest of the group exchange helpless gazes.
"Parseltongue, I wonder... can I learn it? Maybe I can use a memory potion or something and have Harry speak it for me. If I can do that, maybe I can somewhat sway the consensus that it's something only for Dark Wizards," Vincent pondered thinking of ways to help his friend.
His thoughts were cut short as the group stepped into the common room, where the flickering firelight cast long shadows across the stone walls and lit up a familiar head of red hair. Ginny Weasley sat alone by the hearth, her gaze fixed on the flames, a quiet unease written across her features.
Without a word, Vincent slipped away from Harry, Ron, and Hermione as they headed toward the dormitories. His footsteps were light as he made his way over to her.
He wasn't sure why he didn't call Ron over—or say anything at all. Maybe Harry had enough on his plate for one night. Maybe Ron would be a bit too blunt, or maybe... maybe it was something else. A strange, gut-deep instinct that something wasn't right. Something he couldn't explain—but couldn't ignore, either.
Whatever the reason, Ginny Weasley looked like someone who needed help.
"Ginny!"
She jumped slightly and turned, blinking up at him in surprise. "Vince? What are you doing here?"
"I haven't talked to you in ages and that's the greeting I get?" he said, putting on a mock-offended expression.
Ginny gave a small laugh. "Sorry, my bad."
Vincent waved it off with a grin. "I'm just messing with you. I came to see how you're doing."
At that, Ginny tensed ever so slightly. "I—I'm fine," she said quickly. "Hogwarts is great. Making friends has been a little tricky, but... I think I'm managing."
Vincent watched her carefully. "Ginny, are you sure that's everything?"
She went quiet. A long, heavy pause hung in the air.
"...Sorry," he said gently. "I don't mean to push. But if something's bothering you—if you ever need anything—I'm here. All you have to do is ask."
She looked up, her eyes meeting his—wide, uncertain, and catching the firelight like glass. For a moment, her lips parted, as if she were about to speak... but then she closed them again and offered a small, strained smile.
"Thanks, Vince. Really."
Without another word, she stood and made her way toward the girls' dormitory, leaving Vincent behind—watching her retreating figure with quiet concern.
...
"I think that's everything," Vincent murmured as he looked over his packed luggage. "Huh... this feels kind of sad."
"You done packing, Vince?" Ron asked, poking his head into the room.
"Yeah, all set." Vincent glanced around the dorm. "It's only been a few months, but this place already feels like home."
"Hogwarts does that to people," Ron said with a shrug. "Fancy a round of chess? For all her brains, Hermione still can't beat me."
"I'll pass. Where's Harry?"
"Went to apologize to Justin about yesterday," Ron muttered as they walked toward the Common Room. "If you ask me, that bloke doesn't deserve it."
"Where you off to, Vince?" Hermione asked without looking up, her focus locked on the chessboard.
"Going to see Dumbledore," Vincent replied as he stepped through the portrait hole.
He made his way through the quiet corridors until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.
"Lemon drop," he said aloud, smiling faintly as the wall split open to reveal a spiral staircase.
"The old man really loves his sweets," Vincent thought as he began the climb.
Vincent stepped into the office and immediately noticed it was empty. The portraits that lined the walls were all fast asleep, gently snoring in their frames. The Sorting Hat sat exactly where he'd last seen it, motionless and quiet.
He approached Fawkes, the phoenix, who perched on a golden stand near the window. The bird looked incredibly unwell—its feathers dull, its posture drooped. If Vincent remembered correctly, this was normal. Phoenixes were said to die in a burst of flame and be reborn from the ashes.
"Poor guy," Vincent muttered softly, reaching out to gently stroke the bird's feathers.
Fawkes let out a wheezy, raspy noise—something between a cough and a hiccup. Vincent blinked.
"...I'll take that as a thank you," he said with a small smile, continuing to pet the ailing creature.
Vincent was just deciding whether to talk to the Sorting Hat when two people entered the room. Harry and Professor McGonagall both looked in surprise as Vincent waved at them.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Wong?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"I'm leaving tomorrow so I wanted to ask the headmaster for something," Vincent said earning a nod from the teacher.
"I'll go call the headmaster, both of you wait here."
Vincent and Harry were left alone in the office.
"What happened now?" Vincent asked.
"Nearly Headless Nick and Justin were petrified," Vincent's eyes widened before turning serious.
"It can petrify ghosts?" he thought before noticing Harry looking at the Sorting Hat, "Go for it, Dumbledore shouldn't mind."
Harry put on the hat and sat there for a good while. Vincent looked through some of the notes he and Hermione arranged during some of their study sessions.
"Man, Hermione's amazing," he thought as he looked through the detailed notes, "she's already gotten all the information on the necessary ingredients to make the potion and possible theories on other ingredients that could combine with it."
"Ah!" Vincent glanced at Harry who witnessed Fawkes burst into flames, leaving a pile of ashes on the floor.
It was at this point Dumbledore came in.
"Professor," Harry gasped, "Your bird – I couldn't do anything – he just caught fire–"
"About time, too," he said smiling, "He's been looking dreadful for days; I've been telling him to get a move on."
"It's a phoenix Harry," Vincent explained as he put his notes away, "when it's time for them to die, they burst into flames and are reborn from the ash, see?"
The three of them looked as a newborn bird poked it's head out of the ashes.
"It's a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day," said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. "He's really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets."
Before anyone can say anything, the door burst open revealing Hagrid carrying a dead chicken.
"It wasn' Harry, Professor Dumbledore!" said Hagrid urgently. "I was talkin' ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had time, sir —"
Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid kept talking while waving the rooster in agitation, sending feathers everywhere.
"It can't've bin him, I'll swear it in front o' the Ministry o' Magic if I have to."
"Hagrid, I —"
"— yeh've got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never —"
"Hagrid!" said Dumbledore loudly. "I do not think that Harry attacked those people."
"Oh," said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. "Right. I'll wait outside then, Headmaster. Oh...Hello Vince."
Vincent gave a small wave in greeting as Hagrid stomped out looking embarrassed.
"Harry, do you have anything to tell me?" Dumbledore asked kindly.
Harry hesitated before saying something, "No, there isn't anything."
The two of them looked at each other for a long time before Dumbledore waved his hand, "You can leave now Harry."
Once Harry had left the office, Dumbledore turned to Vincent with a gentle smile. "So, what brings you here, Vincent?"
Vincent stepped forward and held out his two rods. "It's these," he said. "I want to add something to them before I leave."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with curiosity as he accepted the rods. "Hm. And what is it you need?" he asked with a warm chuckle.
Vincent paused for a moment, then gave a small grin. "Nothing too big... just a favor before I go."
...
The next morning came far too quickly.
At the platform, the sky was painted with the soft gray light of early winter, steam hissing from the waiting train. Vincent stood by his luggage, chatting with Harry, Ron, and Hermione one last time before departure.
"Don't blow anything up while I'm gone," he joked, grinning.
"No promises," Ron replied with a smirk.
"Try to relax a little over the holidays, will you?" Hermione added, adjusting his scarf.
"I'll do my best."
Ginny stood slightly behind the group, almost blending into the background. She hadn't said much—just offered a quiet wave when their eyes briefly met. The others hardly noticed her, just another student seeing a friend off—but Vincent did.
He gave her a small nod before turning to board the train.
Vincent stepped onto the train and scanned for a place to sit. Spotting Neville and Luna nearby, he made his way over.
"Mind if I join you?" Vincent asked with a small smile.
Neville looked up, pleasantly surprised. "Of course! There's plenty of room."
Luna offered him a dreamy smile. "Train rides are always better with good company."
Vincent settled between them, feeling a rare calm as the countryside blurred past the window. Their easy chatter filled the compartment, softening the quiet ache of leaving.
"See you soon, guys!" he called, waving one last time as the train began to pull away.
His friends waved back until he vanished into the curling steam and snow.
The trio lingered a moment longer before turning back toward the castle. It wasn't until later that night, gathered in the Common Room, that it really hit them.
Without Vincent, the castle felt quieter. A little less alive. Like some essential spark had gone missing.
...
Back in London...
"What if the Trespasser catches us?"
"As if, that guy's been replaced by a sword wielding psychopath."
"Well either one of them wouldn't be bothered with petty thieves like us."
A hooded figure was gazing down onto three thugs who were getting ready to rob a small shop.
"...What kind of caretaker am I to be doing this?" she sighed in frustration to no one in particular.
When Dumbledore first brought her the child, she had thought it to be a hassle, an inconvenience. Especially so since she had just gone into hiding from those in the Wizarding world.
Vincent had proven relatively easy to care for—at least during the day. He did his chores without complaint, helped in the kitchen, and constantly pestered her with questions about the wizarding world. His curiosity was endless, and with every little interaction, she felt her fondness for him grow—slowly at first, then steadily with each passing day.
Which made his nightly habits all the more frustrating.
Even as a child, Vincent would sneak out, night after night. He prowled the streets in silence, always searching—for someone to help, someone in need, someone hurting. No matter how many times she scolded, reasoned, or pleaded with him, nothing worked. There was something inside him—deep and unshakable—that she simply couldn't reach.
In desperation, she finally tried to stop him the only way she knew how.
She sealed the orphanage doors with enchantments, hoping it would keep him inside. Hoping it would keep him safe. She told herself it was the right thing to do.
But it was a mistake.
She woke one night to the sound of pounding—sharp, brutal, and unrelenting. When she rushed to the front hall, what she saw froze her blood.
Vincent was at the front door, slamming his fists into the handle over and over. The floor beneath him was slick with blood. His hands were mangled—skin torn open, fingers broken, white bone visible beneath shredded flesh. And still, he didn't stop.
What haunted her most wasn't the damage.
It was his eyes when he turned to look at her.
There was no rage. No blame. Just a quiet, hollow calm. He didn't blame her for locking him in, he simply took it as is and even seemed to understand her actions.
Tears streaming down her face, she asked him why he hadn't broken a window. Or used something other than his fists.
His reply was soft. Almost matter of fact.
"I didn't want to break too many things," he said. "I figured the door handle would be the cheapest to fix."
She had wanted to be angry with him—for being reckless, for destroying himself so senselessly. But that fury never came. Because deep down, she knew the truth.
It wasn't the boy's fault.
It was hers.
She'd missed the warning signs—missed how profound the damage already was. His unusual resistance to memory charms should have told her something; instead she treated it as a curiosity. She hadn't grasped the depth of his fixation, the lengths he would go, the pain he was willing to endure if it meant helping someone else. Now she understood: Vincent would keep rushing into danger even if it cost him his life.
There was no erasing what had happened, but she could make a promise.
'If I can't stop him, then I'll do whatever it takes to bring him home alive.'
"I wonder, if that Old Coot foresaw such an outcome," she thought bitterly, her footsteps echoing along the rooftop's edge. A cold wind whipped at her robes as she stared down at her hands—clean, untouched.
But to her, they might as well have been soaked in blood.
"Maybe... this is my punishment," she thought, the words echoing only in her mind. "Maybe this is what I deserve."
She chose to place the thoughts in the back of her mind she placed her hand the hilt at her side, ready to draw her sword, only to pause when she spotted a shadowed figure approaching the three thugs. A smile tugged at her lips as she calmly stood back, ready, and waiting to assist if needed.
Not like that would happen.
"What was that?" asked one of the thugs hearing something.
"It's probably a bird," one of the thugs grabbed a hammer, aiming to smash the window, "as soon as I break it the alarms will go off, so we need to hurry. Now on my count, one, two, thr—?!"
A hand struck the side of the man's face, followed by a small, hooded figure hurtling past—moving with speed and strength far beyond their size. Using the momentum, the figure twisted mid-air and slammed the thug into the ground, sending a spray of snow bursting upward.
"You little bast—!" one of the other thug's roared, swinging a fist.
The figure ducked beneath it and countered with a sharp crack to the jaw using an iron rod. The blow stunned the man, leaving him wide open. In a blur, the hooded figure unleashed a flurry of rapid strikes to his torso. The thug tried to shield himself with his arms, but the blows tore through his guard like paper. One final strike to the side of his head dropped him cold.
"Screw you!" another thug shouted, lunging to grab the attacker's legs. But the hooded figure flipped backward, landing squarely on the shoulders of a third thug before slamming the rod straight into the bridge of his nose. The man crumpled instantly, unconscious before he hit the ground.
The last thug scrambled to his feet, grabbing a metal bin lid and raising it like a shield.
"Stay back!" he warned, panic rising in his voice.
The hooded figure responded by tossing both rods in opposite directions, the motion so swift it confused the thug. His eyes followed one—just in time to see it bounce off a wall and shoot toward him.
With a yelp, he raised the lid just in time to block it—but his eyes widened as the rod ricocheted again, arcing cleanly back into the attacker's hand.
"No wa—"
He didn't see the second rod coming. It slammed into his jaw with a dull crack, and he dropped like a stone.
The rods spun back into the figure's hands, who sheathed them with smooth precision before tying the unconscious men together. One of them, still barely conscious, lifted his head weakly—just in time to see the hooded face staring down at him.
"Guess who?" came a low voice.
A fist met his face, and he saw nothing more.
Moments later, Vincent Wong climbed back up the building, now standing beside another hooded figure.
"I'm back, Sister," Vincent said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Sister An gave a small smile, the wind catching the edge of her cloak.
"Welcome back, Vincent."