(Vincent's POV)
Silence reigned in the Slytherin common room, a rarity I'd come to appreciate. The emerald glow filtering through the underwater windows cast long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. Most of my housemates were occupied elsewhere, leaving me to the solitude I preferred.
Across the room, Blaise Zabini idly flipped through a copy of Which Witch?, his usual bored expression firmly in place. Daphne Greengrass, seated by the fire, was engrossed in a thick volume on ancient runes, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Theodore Nott, perched on a window seat, was sketching something in a worn leather notebook, his movements precise and economical.
I leaned back in my armchair, savoring the quiet and the faint scent of old books that permeated the room. My gaze drifted to the Arithmancy textbook open on my lap, the intricate equations both fascinating and frustrating.
"Don't tell me you're actually enjoying that," Blaise's voice cut through the silence, a hint of disbelief in his tone.
"Some of us find intellectual pursuits stimulating, Zabini," I replied, my gaze not leaving the page.
"Stimulating?" He snorted. "Sounds dreadful. I'd rather face a rogue chimera than another one of those equations."
Daphne glanced up from her book, her expression dry. "Perhaps if you applied yourself occasionally, Blaise, you wouldn't find intellectual pursuits so daunting."
Blaise waved a dismissive hand, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Where's the fun in that, Greengrass? Besides, some of us are born with natural talents. We don't need to bury ourselves in books to excel."
"Natural talent takes you only so far," Theodore interjected, his gaze still fixed on his sketchbook. "Discipline and hard work are what separates the mediocre from the exceptional."
Blaise rolled his eyes. "You sound like my grandfather, Nott. Always banging on about hard work. As if life were meant to be all toil and no pleasure."
"There's pleasure to be found in mastery, Zabini," I said, finally looking up from my book. "In pushing yourself beyond your perceived limits, in honing your skills to perfection."
"Perhaps," Blaise conceded, his tone laced with skepticism. "But I'll take pleasure in it more… immediate forms."
I couldn't help but chuckle at that, a rare genuine smile touching my lips. Blaise, for all his posturing, had a point. Life was about balance.
The common room door swung open, interrupting our conversation. Adrian Pucey, a fifth-year Slytherin known for his gossiping more than his brains, hurried in, his face flushed with excitement.
"You'll never guess what I just heard," he announced, barely able to contain himself.
Blaise groaned. "Let me guess, Parkinson's cat finally developed a taste for Gryffindor ties?"
"Better than that," Adrian said, ignoring Blaise's sarcasm. "Lockhart's starting a Dueling Club and apparently the first duel will be between him and snape."
A beat of silence met this announcement. Then, a slow smile spread across Blaise's face.
"Now that," he said, leaning forward, "sounds like it could be…interesting."
"A Dueling Club?" Theodore echoed, his tone measured as always. "Interesting. Though I imagine Lockhart's idea of practical instruction differs significantly from, say, Professor Flitwick's."
"Oh, most definitely," Blaise said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "This has 'spectacular disaster' written all over it. Imagine the possibilities…"
He trailed off, no doubt already concocting some elaborate scheme involving jinxed wands or exploding cauldrons. I smothered a sigh. Leave it to Blaise to see chaos as an opportunity for entertainment.
"I wonder if he'll make us wear those ridiculous protective suits they use for dragon taming," Daphne mused, her lips curving into a rare smile. "Though I suppose even those wouldn't survive a direct hit from one of Lockhart's deflected jinxes."
"Maybe we should place bets on how long it takes before Snape shows him how it's done," I said, unable to suppress a smirk.
The thought of Snape, with his usual disdain for all things Lockhart, taking charge of the Dueling Club was undeniably appealing.
"Now that," Blaise said, leaning back, "is an idea I can get behind."
He pulled a small, leather-bound notebook from his robes and flipped it open. "First to predict the exact spell Snape uses to humiliate Lockhart wins ten Galleons."
I shook my head, though I couldn't help but be amused by Blaise's entrepreneurial spirit. "You're incorrigible, Zabini."
he replied with a wink, already scribbling down potential wagers in his book.
As much as I enjoyed our usual banter, a part of me couldn't shake off a nagging curiosity about this Dueling Club. Lockhart might be a blithering idiot, but he wasn't entirely inept when it came to charm work. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance to learn something useful amidst the inevitable chaos.
(Hermione's POV)
I couldn't believe I used to be a fan of Lockhart, the man on the first day of class only asked questions about himself and his books, honestly it was kinda sad.
Lockhart, his ego seemingly inflated tenfold by the prospect of leading a Dueling Club, spent the rest of the lesson outlining his grand plans. He spoke of "unlocking our inner warriors," of "mastering the art of combat," and, of course, of his own unparalleled expertise in all things dueling.
I rolled my eyes, exchanging an exasperated look with Harry, who grinned back at me. Ron, having abandoned all pretense of taking notes, had resorted to composing a rather rude limerick about Lockhart's supposed encounter with a yeti.
Finally, Lockhart reached the part we'd all been waiting for—or, in Ron's case, dreading.
"Now then, for our first meeting, I've invited a very special guest instructor," he announced, his voice practically dripping with dramatic flair.
The classroom door swung open, revealing the last person I expected to see.
Snape, his black robes billowing behind him, strode into the room, his expression a mask of icy displeasure. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees as he surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on Ron, who quickly shoved his limerick-filled parchment under his textbook.
A wave of nervous whispers rippled through the classroom.
"Professor Snape?" Lavender Brown squeaked, her eyes wide with apprehension.
"You're teaching the Dueling Club, sir?" Dean Thomas blurted out, earning himself a withering glare from Snape.
"Indeed," Snape drawled, his voice laced with an almost tangible disdain. "It seems Professor Lockhart, in his infinite wisdom, has decided that I'm the best person to demonstrate…proper dueling technique."
He shot Lockhart a look that could curdle pumpkin juice, and Lockhart, for once, seemed to shrink under his gaze.
"Right, then!" Lockhart said, his voice a little too high-pitched. "Professor Snape will now demonstrate a few…basic disarming spells. Please pay close attention!"
Snape, without a word, moved to the center of the room, his movements fluid and controlled. He raised his wand, his expression grim.
The air in the classroom crackled with tension. I swear I saw a few of the floating candles flicker nervously.
Lockhart, resplendent in a ridiculously flamboyant emerald green robe, strutted onto the platform, followed by a decidedly less enthusiastic Professor Snape. The contrast between them was almost comical. Lockhart, all preening vanity and exaggerated bravado, and Snape, a study in controlled disdain and simmering displeasure.
Lockhart launched into a typically self-aggrandizing speech about the importance of dueling, peppered with outlandish tales of his supposed victories. Snape stood beside him, his expression a study barely contained irritation.
Finally, the "demonstration" began. Lockhart, after much dramatic posturing, announced that he would be facing Professor Snape in a friendly exhibition match.
"My pleasure," Snape drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Before Lockhart could even utter the first syllable of his chosen spell, Snape's wand flashed. A jet of red light shot across the platform, sending Lockhart flying backwards. He landed in a heap, his ridiculous robe askew, his composure shattered.
The hall erupted in laughter, mine included. Even Ron couldn't suppress a chuckle. Lockhart, his face the color of a particularly ripe grapefruit, scrambled to his feet, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity.
"Well then," he blustered, "a bit of an enthusiastic start from Professor Snape!"
He cleared his throat, his voice trembling slightly. "Now then, any volunteers for our next demonstration?"
A beat of silence. Then, a voice cut through the tension.
"I challenge Vincent Van Doren!"
My head whipped around to see Draco Malfoy striding forward, his wand pointed aggressively at the Slytherin table. Vincent, his expression unreadable, rose from his seat and approached the platform.
I leaned closer to Harry and Ron, my heart pounding. "This is going to be good," I whispered.
(Vincent's POV)
Honestly, I was half-expecting Malfoy to challenge me. The prat had a talent for picking fights he couldn't win, especially where I was concerned. Still, I couldn't deny a thrill of anticipation as I mounted the platform.
Malfoy stood stiffly, his face pale but determined. His grip on his wand was tight, knuckles white. He might be an arrogant idiot, but I had to give him credit for at least having the guts to face me.
Lockhart, still flustered from his encounter with Snape, fumbled with his wand, clearly unsure of what to do.
"Ah, yes, Van Doren, excellent!" he chirped, his voice a little too high-pitched. "Now, remember, proper dueling etiquette demands—"
"I'm well acquainted with the rules, Professor Lockhart," I cut him off, my tone sharp.
Turning my back on the bewildered professor, I faced Malfoy. "Ready for round two, Malfoy?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "Or have you finally learned your lesson about challenging your betters?"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "This time will be different, Van Doren," he hissed, his voice laced with venom. "This time, you won't humiliate me."
"We'll see about that," I replied coolly.
The air crackled with tension as we raised our wands, the silence in the hall almost deafening.
"En garde!" Lockhart squeaked, finally regaining some semblance of control. "One...two...three...duel!"
Malfoy didn't hesitate. "Rictusempra!" he roared, a jet of silver sparks shooting from his wand.
I deflected it effortlessly with a flick of my wrist. "Is that the best you can do, Malfoy?" I taunted, my voice laced with amusement. "Pathetic."
Enraged, Malfoy unleashed a barrage of jinxes and hexes, his movements wild and undisciplined. I blocked each one with ease, moving with a speed and precision that surprised even myself.
"Give it up, Malfoy," I said, my voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "You're outmatched."
I needed to make a fuss out of this so to create a reputation, that's why I was antagonizing Malfoy even further.
"Shut up, Van Doren!" Malfoy screamed, his face contorted with fury.
He raised his wand again, but this time, I was ready.
"Stupefy!" I yelled, aiming for his legs.
The spell hit its mark, and Malfoy crumpled to the platform with a yelp, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Silence descended upon the hall, broken only by the sound of Malfoy's ragged breathing. I allowed myself a small smirk of satisfaction. It seemed two for two was becoming a habit.
I turned away from Malfoy's prone form and met Lockhart's gaze. The man looked like he'd seen a ghost.
"I believe that concludes our demonstration, Professor," I said smoothly.
As I descended the platform, murmurs erupted around me. I ignored them, heading straight for the Slytherin table, where Blaise, Daphne, and Theodore greeted me with smirks and pats on the back.
"Nicely done, Vincent," Daphne said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Though I'm not sure Lockhart will be asking you to demonstrate your 'dueling prowess' again anytime soon."
"Good," I replied, taking a seat. "I'd rather not be responsible for giving the man a heart attack."
(Hermione's POV)
I watched, speechless, as Vincent disarmed Malfoy with a wave of his wand. It had happened so fast, so effortlessly, that I almost didn't believe it. He was good. Scarily good.
"Bloody hell," Ron breathed beside me. "Where'd he learn to do that?"
"He's good," Harry muttered, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Too good, almost." He glanced at me, a crease forming between his brows. "You said you talked to him on the train?"
"Yeah," I said, surprised by the intensity in his voice. "He sat with me during the train ride here since I couldn't find you guys."
"Sat with you?" Ron scoffed. "Van Doren? As in, Slytherin "Prince" Van Doren? Since when does he just sit with people?"
"He seemed perfectly pleasant," I said defensively. "We talked about books, and music…"
"Books and music," Ron repeated skeptically. "Right. And I suppose he was regaling you with tales of his fluffy bunny collection."
I rolled my eyes. "He wasn't that nice, Ron. But he was polite, and we had a good conversation. He's Muggle-born, you know."
"Muggle-born?" Harry echoed, sounding surprised. He glanced back at Vincent, who was now laughing at something Blaise had said. "He looks like a pureblood."
"But don't let your guard down around him, Hermione. He's still a Slytherin." Harry said.
What I didn't mention was that Vincent and I had met a few more times in the library. We kept bumping into each other while researching for various assignments. I found his perspective refreshing. He was smart, direct, and surprisingly easy to talk to.
"Don't be so distrustful, Harry," I chided, though a tiny seed of doubt flickered in my chest. It was true that Vincent had been surprisingly open with me on the train, but maybe Harry had a point. Just because he wasn't a stereotypical Slytherin didn't mean he could be trusted completely.
"I'm just saying," Harry said, raising his hands defensively. "Be careful, that's all."
I nodded slowly.
The rest of the Dueling Club passed in a blur of disastrous pairings and near-misses. Neville, predictably, managed to transfigure his own head into a grapefruit. Ron's attempts at disarming spells seemed determined to backfire spectacularly. And Lockhart, his confidence thoroughly shaken, spent most of the session hiding behind Professor Snape, who looked like he was seriously considering hexing everyone in the room.
I managed to avoid being paired with anyone, much to my relief. After witnessing Vincent's display, I wasn't sure I was ready to test my dueling skills against a live opponent.
(Vincent's POV)
The aftermath of the Dueling Club was predictable. Lockhart, his ego sufficiently bruised, abandoned the idea altogether. Malfoy, nursing both his pride and a rather impressive bump on his head, steered clear of me. And I, much to my amusement, found myself elevated to near-mythical status among the lower years.
Back in the common room.
"You've become a legend, Vincent," Blaise said, his voice laced with amusement as we made our way to the library a few days later. "Rumors are flying. They're saying you're a direct descendant of Merlin himself."
"Don't be ridiculous," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "It was just a simple Stunning Spell."
"Simple?" Daphne scoffed. "You took out Malfoy without breaking a sweat. People are terrified of you."
"Good," I said, a hint of a smirk playing on my lips. "Let them be terrified. It'll make things easier in the long run."
(Hermione's POV)
The dormitory door burst open with a bang, making me jump and Parvati let out a little shriek of surprise. In tumbled Lavender Brown, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.
"Merlin's beard, Lavender! What happened to you?" Parvati exclaimed, rushing to steady her.
Lavender leaned against Parvati, still catching her breath. "I was just coming back from the library," she gasped, her voice trembling slightly. "I had to return a book before Madam Pince set her ghoul on me."
"The library's closed at this hour, Lavender," I said, frowning, closing my book. "What were you really doing out?"
She blushed, but before she could answer, her eyes widened again, this time with a touch of fear. "Anyway," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I took a shortcut past the Potions classroom, and Malfoy and his goons were there. They were waiting, I think. Blocking the corridor."
My blood ran cold. Malfoy and his gang had a nasty habit of lurking about, looking for easy targets, and Lavender, for all her bubbly personality, was easily intimidated.
"What did they do?" Parvati demanded, her eyes flashing.
"They started in on me about that awful song the Weasley twins keep playing," Lavender whispered, twisting a strand of her hair nervously. "You know, the one about Lockhart? They were singing it, but with really mean words about me and, well, Gryffindor in general."
She paused, taking a deep breath. "Crabbe and Goyle were kind of sniggering, and Malfoy…he had this look on his face, like he enjoyed seeing me scared. I thought they were going to hex me, or worse."
"Those little toads!" Parvati exclaimed, clenching her fists. "If I were there—"
"But you weren't there, Parvati," Lavender interrupted, cutting her off. "But someone else was."
We both leaned closer, hanging on her every word.
"I was frozen, didn't know what to do," Lavender continued. "But then I heard this voice say, 'Really, Malfoy? Bullying little girls?'"
"Who was it?" I breathed, my heart pounding.
Lavender's eyes widened as if reliving the moment. "It was Vincent Van Doren," she whispered. "He was passing by. Malfoy and his lot just…froze. He didn't even have his wand out or anything, but they looked terrified. I swear Malfoy went white as a sheet."
"No way!" Parvati breathed, her eyes wide.
"Van Doren?" I said, my mind racing. Van Doren had a reputation for being aloof and somewhat intimidating, but he was also fiercely intelligent and, from what I'd seen, utterly fearless. Still, defending Lavender Brown from Malfoy and his gang? It didn't quite add up.
"He just gave Malfoy this look," Lavender continued, she tried to make an intimidating face but failed miserably her voice hushed with awe, "and Malfoy just mumbled something and practically ran off, dragging Crabbe and Goyle with him. I've never seen them move so fast."
"He actually stood up to Malfoy for you?" Parvati said, her voice a mix of disbelief and awe.
Lavender nodded, her cheeks flushed. "He even asked if I was okay. I just mumbled something and hurried off, I was so flustered."
The three of us sat in stunned silence for a moment, trying to process this unexpected turn of events.
"Merlin's pants," Parvati finally broke the silence. "Van Doren's like… a dark knight, swooping in to save the day. This is going to be all over the school by morning."
"He is kinda scary though," Lavender admitted, shivering slightly. "But really brave, standing up to Malfoy like that."
I couldn't argue with that. I'd seen Van Doren in action during the dueling club; he wasn't someone you messed with. Yet, there was a part of me, a tiny part, that wondered what had motivated him to intervene.
As predicted, the next morning, the Great Hall was buzzing with gossip. Whispers followed Lavender Brown wherever she went, and she, relishing her newfound fame, recounted her tale with dramatic flair to anyone within earshot.
"…and then, there he was! Vincent Van Doren, looking all dark and dangerous, like one of those brooding heroes from those Muggle romance novels," Lavender gushed to a group of wide-eyed first-years, carefully lowering her voice for dramatic effect. "Malfoy practically wet himself!"
I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my amusement. Lavender's embellishments aside, the core of the story was true, and it had sent ripples of shock and, dare I say, admiration through Gryffindor Tower. Even Ron, who typically viewed anything Slytherin with deep suspicion, had to admit it was a "pretty gutsy move."
Harry, however, seemed less impressed.
"It's not like Malfoy was going to really hurt her," he muttered, stabbing at his porridge with more force than necessary. "He likes to threaten, but he rarely goes through with it, not unless he has his goons to back him up."
"I think it's the principle of the thing," I said, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "Vincent stood up for someone who needed help, even though it was Lavender and she's in Gryffindor."
"Maybe he's trying to score points with us," Harry suggested, his tone skeptical.
"Why would he care about scoring points with us?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "He practically runs Slytherin house first years, and half the school is terrified of him."
"Maybe he's tired of people being terrified of him," a voice said from behind me.
I turned to see Luna Lovegood, her silvery eyes wide and unblinking, taking a seat at our table. She had a way of appearing out of thin air, like some ethereal being, which was both unnerving and endearing.
"Do you really think so, Luna?" Lavender asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Luna nodded slowly, her gaze distant. "Sometimes, the loneliest people are the ones who try the hardest to keep everyone else at a distance."
Her words hung in the air, making me wonder if there was more to Vincent Van Doren than met the eye.
(Vincent's POV)
The whispers followed me like shadows. It was amusing, at first, the way the rumor mill churned, transforming a simple act of intervention into a heroic saga of epic proportions.
"Did you hear? Van Doren threatened to turn Malfoy into a ferret if he didn't leave Brown alone!"
"No, I heard he challenged him to a duel! Right there in the corridor!"
"My brother's friend's cousin said Van Doren can control people's minds! That's how he made Malfoy run away!"
Idiots, I helped Lavender because it was kinda the right thing to do but also would help improve my reputation a bit, it's good having people fear you but too much fear is not good.
I sat at the Slytherin table, ignoring the stares and the whispers as best I could. Blaise, however, was positively reveling in the attention.
"You've become a legend, Vincent," he said, leaning back in his chair, a smug grin on his face. "A champion of the downtrodden! A knight in shining armor!"
"Don't push it, Zabini," I muttered, keeping my voice low.
"He's got a point, though," Daphne said, her lips twitching in amusement. "You could leverage this. Imagine the possibilities."
"I'm not interested in 'leveraging' anything," I lied, my voice sharper than intended. "I saw Malfoy picking on someone weaker, so I intervened. End of story."
"Always the reluctant hero," Theodore said, his tone a mixture of amusement and something akin to respect.
I ignored them, focusing instead on my breakfast. The whole situation was ridiculous. I didn't need this kind of attention, this hero worship. It was a distraction, and a dangerous one at that.
The last thing I needed was Dumbledore hauling me into his office for a "chat."
Later that day, I ran into Hermione in the library. She looked up from her book and smiled. "I heard what you did for Lavender. That was… kind of you."
I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "Malfoy was being a prick. Someone had to put him in his place."
We ended up talking about a lot of things—classes, books, and even some normal subjects. Hermione was easy to talk to, and I enjoyed our conversations more than I cared to admit.
We chatted for a while longer, and I found myself looking forward to our library meetings. Despite everything, the rest of the year went by without any major events. I kept to my routine, focusing on my studies and training.
The air thrummed with anticipation as Dumbledore took the stage, his eyes twinkling as he surveyed the Great Hall, now adorned in emerald green and silver banners celebrating Slytherin's latest House Cup victory.
"Another year has come and gone," Dumbledore boomed, his voice echoing through the hall, "and as always, Hogwarts has been a stage for both triumph and tribulation." He paused for dramatic effect, his gaze sweeping across the room as if taking in every face, every whispered conversation.
"But tonight," he continued, his voice taking on a note of warmth, "we celebrate those who have consistently demonstrated excellence, both in their studies and in their character."
The usual speeches commenced. Dumbledore extolled the virtues of courage, wisdom, and kindness, conveniently glossing over the fact that Slytherin had a knack for winning the House Cup through a combination of cunning, ambition, and a healthy dose of rule-bending.
Finally, the moment I'd been both anticipating and dreading arrived.
"And now," Dumbledore announced, his eyes twinkling once again, "it gives me great pleasure to present this year's top student award to…"
The tension in the air was palpable, even more so than usual. I could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes upon me, a mixture of admiration, envy, and something akin to fear.
"…Vincent Van Doren!"
The Slytherin table erupted in thunderous applause, cheers echoing through the hall as I rose from my seat. Blaise gave me a playful punch on the arm, a smug grin plastered across his face. Daphne, her expression a mixture of pride and amusement, inclined her head in acknowledgment. Even Theodore, his usual stoicism firmly in place, offered a rare nod of approval.
I made my way up to the stage, ignoring the whispers and stares as best I could. Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and something…unreadable…offered me a warm smile as he shook my hand.
"Congratulations, Mr. Van Doren," he said, his voice barely audible above the din. "Your dedication to your studies is…remarkable."
"Thank you, Headmaster," I replied politely, though my tone did little to mask the coolness of my gaze.
As I returned to my seat, clutching the silver trophy engraved with my name, I couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had just shifted within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Whether this shift boded well or ill, however, remained to be seen.
The train ride back to London was a welcome reprieve from the scrutiny and gossip that had followed me for the past few weeks. Blaise, Daphne, and Theodore, true to form, provided a steady stream of witty banter and sarcastic commentary, their company a welcome antidote to the forced pleasantries of most social interactions.
"So, Van Doren," Blaise said, leaning back in his seat, a mischievous glint in his eye, "what are your plans for the summer? Aside from continuing your rigorous training regimen, of course?"
"Sleep," I replied without hesitation. "And maybe listen to some music and watch some movies."
"Speaking of muggle music," Daphne chimed in, her lips curving into a sly smile, "I hear that you're quite fond of something called… rock and roll?"
"It's good music…and different from the stuff they play at school" I said.
"Different good or different bad?" Daphne asked
"Different… loud," I countered.
The conversation, as it often did, meandered through a range of topics, from the latest Quidditch gossip to the merits of various magical theories. Despite my best efforts to remain emotionally detached, I found myself enjoying their company, their easy camaraderie a stark contrast to the often-stifling atmosphere of most social gatherings.
Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, the Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross Station, signaling the end of another school year.
I bade farewell to my friends, promising to owl them once I'd settled back in, and made my way through the bustling station. As I stepped out into the muggy London air, a familiar black car pulled up beside me.
"Good to have you back, Master Vincent," Mr. Turner greeted me as I got into the car.
I nodded curtly, returning his greeting with a polite, if somewhat distant, smile. As the car pulled away from the station, I leaned back against the plush leather seats putting my special backpack next to me and letting out a sigh of relief.
Back to normality. Back to the familiar comfort of my grandparents' manor.
At least for the next few months.
When I finally reached my room, I put my backpack onto the floor. I went to my cd player, and put on the Kansas CD on it, the familiar opening chords of "Carry On Wayward Son" filling my headphones.
"Now it's time for some real vacation," I murmured to myself, closing my eyes and letting the music wash over me.