After parting ways with the four of them, Vincent headed back to his own office. It wasn't that he'd been bored and gone looking for trouble with Snape — he genuinely wanted Snape to have a proper word with those particular "problem students" before Bernadette's next turn.
Personally, he wasn't worried. Whatever mischief those little troublemakers could pull in class was, at worst, a few points docked and some detention. But Bernadette would be teaching next week, and to spare her any unexpected headaches, it was better to neutralise the hidden dangers in advance.
Coming down to the first floor, Vincent was just thinking about popping into the Great Hall for something to eat when a girl's voice rose in a heartbroken wail: "Waahh, Lina~ Lina~~ Where are you? Waaah, please don't hide from me, I'm begging you~"
...A breakup? But the voice was a girl's, and the name she was calling was a girl's too... England was truly something else. Even Hogwarts was this open?
Dumbledore, look at the example you've set!
"That girl looks rather familiar though... Oh, she's the one from a few days ago — the girl who 'found' that ragdoll cat. And 'Lina'... that must be the cat's name."
Another cat had gone missing?
Only a couple of days ago Hermione's cat had vanished, and the four of them had gotten caught precisely because of it. Lucky it was a cat that'd gone missing and not a rooster — otherwise Vincent might have started wondering if the Chamber of Secrets had been opened ahead of schedule.
Anyway. Tomorrow was the weekend. Better focus on drafting proper notes for Bernadette so she could get through the substitute lesson without any mishaps.
· ·
The weekend arrived with a rare stretch of fine weather, and several professors made plans to head down to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Vincent politely declined — he had preparations to make for Bernadette's next swap.
Over the past few days, he'd been trying his hand at playing the Broker. The good news was that he could play the role; the bad news was that the returns had been embarrassingly meagre.
Not surprising, really. What "needs" could a bunch of kids possibly have that required a Broker to resolve? At best it was slipping love letters to secret crushes, or finding someone to ghostwrite essays.
There was also Malfoy, who wanted someone to rough up Harry Potter; and the "enemy's son" in Slytherin, who apparently wanted someone to actually finish him off. As for the three biggest potential "clients" — Dumbledore, Snape, and Quirrell (Voldemort) — their needs were each more outlandish than the last, and Vincent hadn't the faintest idea where he'd even begin to source the kind of help they'd require.
Ask the Grim Reaper?
He didn't have those kinds of connections.
So the only thing generating any real "income" was arranging cross-house student collaborations on essays — slim pickings, but every little bit added up.
Vincent hunched over his desk, quill scratching steadily away. Just the class-related material alone ran to six or seven pages — first a summary of the week's key points, then suggestions for next week's lessons, covering every fine-grained detail. Once that was done, he moved into the real substance of the letter:
"...After returning from this swap, both the mysterious room and the Broker ability came back with me into my own world."
"Just as it works in your world, I can enter the room at will, add weight to the Scale through facilitating cooperation and transactions, and play the role of Broker."
"Honestly, I can't decide whether that's good news or bad news..."
"As for Harry Potter..."
The next two days blurred past.
On Monday morning, at around eight o'clock, the two souls completed their exchange once again. By now both of them were old hands at it — the whole process was practically routine.
Bernadette picked up the steaming cup of wolfberry tea sitting before her, took a sip, and reached for the man's notes.
She was eager to get to the bottom of Roselle's writing in this world, but the notes still needed reading first.
The first few pages were dense with text, and she ploughed through them with a furrowed brow — but she had to be patient. She had to read and memorise everything, because if she was going to avoid blowing her cover, she needed to know every last thing that had happened during his last turn.
Nearly twenty minutes later, Bernadette had committed it all to memory. She turned to the next page — and her pupils shrank sharply. She sat bolt upright.
"Both of them came over?!"
She stared hard at the words on the page, terrified of missing a single detail.
In that moment, Bernadette's thoughts ran remarkably parallel to Vincent's — both had seized on the implications behind this fact. But Bernadette's mind went one layer further: was this not further evidence that her world and his world were simply two different planets? That they all, in fact, occupied different corners of the same universe?
Yet there was something she couldn't quite work out: why would two different planets share so many identical features?
Only one moon. Only one sun.
Twelve months in a year, three hundred and sixty-five days, with leap years.
Twenty-four hours to a day, sixty minutes to an hour, sixty seconds to a minute.
Aside from language, script, culture, and the shape of the continents — the two worlds were nearly identical in every other way.
And most critically of all — the appearance of Roselle's writing!
Too many coincidences. Far too many.
Bernadette rubbed her aching temples and set the question aside for now, reading on.
The next section explained that Vincent had, as per her request, tracked down several books on ancient magical script — texts that might help her glimpse the fundamental nature of magic itself.
"And lastly — please forgive me one more line of rambling. I believe that in the coming week, with your intelligence and composure, teaching a classroom of ten-year-olds will pose absolutely no difficulty."
"If you feel up to it, wonderful. If you'd rather not, or find it a waste of your time, that's perfectly fine too."
"I've prepared a few films especially for you — all you need to do is play them for the class and set an assignment. Oh, one more thing — what did the last half of your note mean? And that book on magical creatures you left behind — where did you get it?"
He meant... that book written in Roselle's script.
He could tell from its contents that it was related to magical creatures?
So that man truly could recognise Roselle's writing...?
Bernadette's feelings were suddenly tangled. Part of her was glad — glad that she might finally be able to learn that script. Part of her felt a bewildering kind of grief, wondering how her father could have invented a writing system that apparently existed in another world entirely. And part of her burned with curiosity about what connection her father had to this place.
"And the very last thing — I am extremely interested in the method you use to channel your spirituality to reinforce your body and weapons. If at all possible, please do explain it in your next note. I am sincerely, genuinely, down on my knees begging you."
"Until then — may you have a pleasant holiday, Your Majesty."
Bernadette extended a hand, pressed her fingertip against the desk surface, channelled spirituality into it, and left a faint impression in the wood.
"...Isn't this just something anyone with hands can do?"
Wizards in this world could freely draw on their magic to cast all manner of spells — so why were they apparently incapable of this most basic, direct application of power? She had wondered about it before but hadn't dwelled on it. Turning it over now, it seemed less straightforward than it appeared.
When wizards in this world cast spells, they did consume magic — but the process was largely passive: cast a spell, expend some magic. That was the sum of most people's understanding.
No one seemed to care about the underlying logic — or more precisely, once wands and incantations became standardised and systematised, no one felt the need to anymore.
Seen that way, the invention of wands and spells — though it had made magic simpler, more convenient, and far safer, lowering the threshold for entry — had also quietly sealed another door shut.
That wasn't to say wands and incantations were a mistake. It was simply a matter of trade-offs.
The modern wizarding world was, by any measure, far larger in scale and far more sophisticated in magical application than anything that had come before.
"It seems that this visit, beyond studying Roselle's writing, research into ancient magical script will also be a major objective."
And — since that man could apparently use his Broker ability here, could she do the same?
A few minutes later, a faint smile spread across Bernadette's face.
She could.
To be continued…