Bernadette closed her eyes. After a considerable stretch of thought, she made her decision: she had long since accepted that her own abilities were not sufficient to alter her fate. Perhaps it was time to take a few risks — to make some bolder moves.
Maybe this was precisely the opportunity that the soul exchange had been meant to open.
"Hm?"
Her gaze snagged on the very end of the page, where a few cramped, slightly uneven lines had been added in a smaller hand:
"I hesitated for quite a long time before deciding to ask this deeply impertinent question: does someone like you — a demigod — still experience the kind of monthly… physiological… occurrence that women have every month?"
Bernadette's expression went flat. She said, reflexively: "No."
Then she remembered he couldn't hear her, and immediately began to doubt herself. She genuinely wasn't certain — now that a man was controlling her body, whether that particular monthly occurrence might resurface was something she couldn't predict with confidence.
After reaching Sequence 4, most extraordinary persons still needed food and still used the bathroom, but those needs reduced significantly. By Sequence 2, one stepped outside the category of "human" entirely. But when that man was the one operating her body, those ordinary biological requirements seemed to return to normal levels — almost certainly tied to something at the soul level.
Now that she thought about it… the monthly occurrence that had been absent from her body for over a century might genuinely return during his exchanges.
When might it arrive?
She couldn't be sure.
But the thought of a man experiencing that particular variety of suffering —
The corner of Bernadette's mouth twitched upward, just slightly.
"I find myself rather looking forward to that day."
But the smile faded quickly. If he made a scene when the time came, the embarrassment would be hers to bear.
"…"
Now she was annoyed again.
Bernadette dropped the pages into her spatial pocket and gave a snap of her fingers, summoning the Invisible Servant.
"Squeak!!"
The Invisible Servant startled out of the air, shot her a quick sideways glance, then crept out cautiously.
"Tell me everything you observed over these past three days."
"Squeak~"
The Invisible Servant nodded urgently and began transmitting — not in sound, but in direct impressions of memory.
On the whole, it matched Vincent's account closely. Except for one detail: on the first day, he had given the Invisible Servant quite a scare. Bernadette held her chin and thought. "You're certain you sensed malice and danger in my eyes when I looked at you?"
"Squeak squeak. (Yes!)"
"I see."
She nodded, then erased the Invisible Servant's memories of the past three days as before. "Off you go."
"Squeak?"
It shook its head in confusion and slipped back into the spirit realm.
So there is still something he's hiding.
Bernadette wasn't surprised. Even if they had both agreed that trust was essential, that didn't mean either of them would hand over every secret without reservation. That would be foolish.
Which means he certainly knows I've had the Invisible Servant watching him.
She hadn't tried to conceal it, in any case. It was only their second exchange — surely she was allowed to keep one eye open.
She closed her eyes and ran through Vincent's letter once more in full, confirming she'd missed nothing. Then she looked back at the black compass in her hand.
If this truly was the wish compass Father had described — when I hold it, what does it point to? The place where Father is?
She thought for a moment, then channelled spirituality into the compass. She waited. Nothing happened. The needle spun and spun without settling.
"Has it broken? Or is it that the one my heart most desires is already…"
No.
She pressed her lips together and shook her head, then walked out to the balcony and leaned against the railing, holding the compass tight. Her gaze seemed to pass through time itself — and at the other end of it, she saw Father, laughing his great loud laugh, full of spirit and life:
"Want my treasure? I'll give it to you. Go find it! I put all the riches of the world in that place!"
Father. You're still alive. Aren't you?
Where are you?
Harry Potter's world.
Vincent set down Bernadette's letter, took out his wand, and swept the flat clean from top to bottom. Then he opened the refrigerator, took out the remaining cooked food, and tossed it in the bin by the door.
"Yeah. Seven days of the same thing. That was a bit grim."
He thought for a moment and let a small, pleased grin form. Right — next time I'll stock up on instant noodles. Every flavour available. I'll make sure no two meals repeat.
Wait.
This is my own body. If I do that, I'm the one who suffers.
Vincent pressed a hand to his forehead in resignation. That was the fundamental problem with body-swapping: you were the same unit. What hurt one, hurt the other.
He picked up Bernadette's requests again. Food — next time, more variety, proper nutrition, enough of it. Throw in some spending money. That should cover it.
Going out, making friends — based on my impression of the mysterious Queen, that should be fine. Learning magic — equally fine, for the same reason I want to master her extraordinary abilities.
He suddenly thought of something, walked to the calendar, and flipped through it. "By the numbers — the next exchange lands right around the Hogwarts start of term. If my interview went through, Bernadette will have to stand in for me at the Welcome Feast…" He paused. "Good thing she doesn't have to teach any classes. That would be a different kind of headache."
Bernadette — as the Muggle Studies professor?
Ha. She knows less about this world than the first-years do.
As long as she could get through the Opening Feast without incident, everything should be fine. The exchange after that would have to be dealt with when the time came.
In truth, Vincent had considered all of this before — even when he was under the pressure of the soul exchange, even when he'd still been deciding whether to accept the position at Hogwarts. His reason for going, at the core, was the ancient magic bound to this body — and after learning that the other world was the world of Lord of the Mysteries, the urgency had only grown.
The Sefirot offered a possibility, certainly — but what if LOTM's sword couldn't cut through HP's magic? Perhaps only magic could undo magic.
And Hogwarts had the books, the experts, and one very specific target that couldn't be missed: if this year passed without seizing it, the chance was gone forever.
The Philosopher's Stone.
The official account described it as the creation of the great alchemist Nicolas Flamel — a miraculous substance capable of transmuting any metal into pure gold and producing an Elixir of Life that granted immortality.
But the Stone's immortality was only longevity — it extended life without halting the ageing of the body. Even Flamel himself had become so frail that a slightly overenthusiastic movement risked breaking his bones.
And Voldemort — reduced to a mere fragment of a soul — had also taken a very keen interest in the Philosopher's Stone. That made Vincent suspect it had some connection to the soul itself. That was worth investigating.
To get his hands on the Stone, he would have to use the 1991 school year — seize the moment of Voldemort's attempt to steal it and move quietly through the chaos. In the end: the honour would go to Harry Potter, the Stone to Vincent, and the blame to Voldemort. Everyone could have a bright future.
To be continued…
