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Chapter 74 - Chapter 74: The Gossip About Vincent

The question drew the attention of everyone at the table. Bernadette considered it for a moment before answering.

"I think wizards and Muggles simply represent two different branches of a very long human story. Wizards chose magic; Muggles chose technology. Neither is inherently superior to the other — they're two different possibilities, two different directions the same species chose to take."

"If both had continued developing along their own paths, I believe each would have arrived at something remarkable in its own right. But wizards, it seems, stopped walking somewhere around four or five centuries ago. Muggles, on the other hand, have kept moving every single day. In all the time that we've been congratulating ourselves on our superiority, we've been quietly left behind."

This was a conclusion Bernadette had drawn after reading through what Vincent had written — and one she personally agreed with entirely.

It reminded her of her own world. Before her father appeared, the centuries had rolled by with barely a ripple — Extraordinary abilities could transform an individual, but not a civilisation. It had taken her father to shatter that stagnation and forge something new.

And what he had used to do it was the power of technology.

"Is that so?"

Quirrell lowered his head and took a sip of wine. "A rather unexpected answer."

Bernadette's eyebrow lifted. In the brief moment just before he'd spoken, she'd sensed something — a faint, unpleasant quality emanating from this garlic-soaked professor. Because he disagreed with her opinion?

The other professors had fallen into quiet thought, which was understandable. Most wizards related to Muggles from a position of assumed superiority — simply choosing not to look down on them was considered generous. Being told that wizards had actually been overtaken was a different thing altogether, and even those professors who were kind-hearted toward Muggles found it difficult to swallow.

"Ahem."

Dumbledore cleared his throat at exactly the right moment. He raised his goblet with a smile. "It's a happy occasion tonight — let's not let it get too serious. A toast to you all."

When the headmaster drinks to you, you can hardly refuse. Goblets were raised all round.

A few drinks later, smiles had returned to most faces — Snape being the notable exception — and warm conversation filled the hour. By the time the feast wound down, it had stretched to well over an hour.

When the students had eaten themselves into a contented stupor and sat too stuffed to move, Dumbledore tapped his goblet lightly, the dishes vanished, and he said in a pleasant voice:

"I expect many of you have already heard that we welcome two new professors this year. First, Professor Quirrell, who will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Quirrell leapt to his feet and waved eagerly. Most students responded with warm applause.

"And second, Professor Vincent — who will be teaching Muggle Studies."

Bernadette rose and gave a brief, calm nod.

Another round of enthusiastic applause — but woven through the crowd were other things too. Eyes that held confusion. Surprise. Shock. And, from the direction of the Slytherin table, something that looked very much like anger.

Strange.

What reason would any student have to hold such strong resentment toward Vincent?

"Oh, I've got it!" Fred Weasley suddenly sat bolt upright at the Gryffindor table. "I just remembered where I heard that name — Professor Vincent!"

Harry's ears immediately perked up.

Ron, who had snatched a chicken leg in the last moment before the food disappeared, spoke through a mouthful. "Is he famous or something?"

"In a manner of speaking!" George cut in. "It was last year — Fred and I got caught by Snape on one of our night-time excursions…"

Fred cleared his throat. "You can skip that bit."

"Right, fine — anyway, we were set to cleaning Snape's office as punishment. And we happened to come across a register of old Slytherin students."

"Happened to," said Fred.

"Alright, we weren't exactly being subtle about it — we were looking for something to use as leverage against Snape. But the point is, the register was there, and Professor Vincent's name was in it."

Harry frowned. "That makes sense, doesn't it? If he was in Slytherin, why would his name being on the list be worth mentioning?"

"Because next to his name there was a note: Expelled in fourth year."

"What?"

The one who let out a startled gasp wasn't Harry — it was Hermione, who had been eavesdropping from close by.

"That — that can't be right." Hermione's expression was one of genuine shock. "Hogwarts is the finest wizarding school in Britain. Why on earth would they hire someone who'd been expelled as a professor?"

She caught Harry's look and added quickly, "I'm not saying anything against Professor Vincent. I just mean — logically, it doesn't quite make sense."

Harry thought for a moment. "Did the register say why he was expelled?"

"Fighting!" said the twins, in unison.

"Fighting?"

Ron was genuinely surprised. In the past two years, the Weasley family had received any number of owls regarding the twins and their various school misdemeanours — and more than a few of those had involved fighting. Yet here they both still were.

Fred adopted a suitably mysterious expression. "We were baffled too — it's been stuck in our heads ever since. It must have been one extraordinary fight to get someone actually expelled from Hogwarts."

"My money's on him blowing up a classroom," George offered. "Or putting a professor through a wall. Maybe worse."

"You know, next to him, everything we've done looks positively underwhelming."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"And of course," Fred went on, lowering his voice, "if the name on a register was already interesting, the fact that he came back as a professor is somehow even more so. There has to be a story there."

George dropped to a theatrical whisper. "Do you think he could be Dumbledore's secret son?"

"???"

Hermione stared at him. "I've heard the headmaster is over a hundred years old!"

"McGonagall's, then?"

"Pardon?"

"It can't be Snape's."

"???!"

The conversation spiralled rapidly from there into increasingly unlikely territory, and only the announcement of the school song finally derailed it.

Dumbledore dabbed at his eye afterward with evident sincerity. "Music — it truly is a greater enchantment than anything else we do within these walls."

He looked at Bernadette. "When I first received your application, my immediate instinct, I confess, was to bring you to Hogwarts as a music teacher. I seem to recall you could play nearly anything, even as a small child."

"I could perhaps take that on as well?"

"Ah — sadly the Ministry rejected my proposal for a new subject." Dumbledore shook his head with genuine regret. "But perhaps at the Hallowe'en feast, you might perform something for us."

"I'd be happy to."

After a gloriously discordant whole-school rendition of the school song, the students were escorted to their dormitories by their prefects, and Bernadette was shown through Hogwarts's labyrinthine staircases by Professor McGonagall to her quarters for the year — a reasonably comfortable room on the fifth floor, in the section of the castle set aside for staff.

Hogwarts professors weren't obligated to live in the castle, but each had a room reserved for them. You used it or you didn't.

Until she had a proper feel for this world, Bernadette had no intention of sleeping anywhere else.

"Vincent."

McGonagall had hesitated for some time before she finally couldn't help herself. "That staff you've been carrying — what exactly is it for?" She could just make out a faintly agreeable scent drifting from it.

"It's my wand."

The older witch blinked, thoroughly nonplussed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well — I've been researching a few magical techniques that I was worried might damage my regular wand," Bernadette explained, "so I went to see Mr. Ollivander about something more durable, and… he gave me this."

"So it truly is a wand?"

"More accurately, it's wand material. Wood that a wand could be made from."

McGonagall's expression cleared. "Ah. That makes sense."

"Well. It has been a long day — you should rest. Good night, Vincent. I hope the days ahead treat you kindly."

"Thank you. Good night."

Bernadette locked the door. She set down her trunk, the staff, and the inexplicably-acquired bundle of miscellaneous junk she'd been hauling around, then retrieved pen and paper and sat down to write a message to Vincent.

"Vincent. Hello."

To be continued…

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