"Oi, Van Doren! Think you could sign this for me?" A Gryffindor sixth-yea grinned, holding out a tattered piece of parchment.
Vincent paused, a polite smile playing on his lips as he scribbled his name. Around him, the Hogwarts corridors buzzed with a nervous energy, the usual end-of-term excitement tinged with a newfound awe. Whispers of "Voldemort Slayer" followed him like a shadow, his name scrawled in emerald green graffiti on almost every available surface.
Slytherin house had thrown him a party of sorts, even though he technically did not won the tournament since potter was the one that returned with the cup, but killing the dark lord apparently trumped that.
"Can't believe you took down You-Know-Who with a gun," a Ravenclaw girl giggled, her eyes wide with a mixture of admiration and disbelief.
Vincent shrugged, "It was… effective."
He felt Daphne's hand tighten on his arm, her grip possessive.
As they entered the Slytherin common room, Blaise rushed towards them, his face alight with excitement. "Vincent, mate, you're a bloody legend! Gryffindors are actually being nice to you!"
Theodore, offered a rare smile. "Well done, Van Doren. You've certainly… made an impression as he handed Vincent the newspaper."
The Daily Prophet, meanwhile, proclaimed Vincent Van Doren a hero. "Voldemort WAS Back, Meet the Dark Lord Slayer" the headline screamed, its bold black letters practically vibrating with excitement.
Vincent just nodded, his gaze drifting towards a shadowed corner where Draco Malfoy sat, his eyes burning with a cold, silent fury. Their gazes locked for a fleeting moment, a silent clash of wills, before Draco looked away, his jaw clenched tight.
(Vincent's POV - Room of Requirement)
"I still can't bloody believe it," Blaise said, shaking his head as Vincent recounted the events at the graveyard and what his plan was to kill voldemort.
"Horcruxes," Theodore murmured, his voice low. "Splitting your soul… That's… unthinkable."
"It's dark magic, Theodore," Vincent said, his voice flat. "Darker than you can imagine."
Blaise shuddered. "Ugh. Sounds nasty. But you took care of the Death Eaters, right? Gave those bastards what they deserved?"
Vincent nodded,"The ones at the graveyard won't be bothering anyone anymore, But there are still Voldemort followers out there, I expect them to retaliate against me at some point."
He looked at Daphne, his expression softening slightly.
"I did what I had to do," he said, his voice a low rumble. "It was the only way to stop him."
She replied with a short nod and squeezed his hand.
(Hermione's POV - Somewhere In the Castle)
I found Vincent. I was basically hunting him all day, he was surprisingly alone without Daphne and the other two,I almost dashed to him, my footsteps echoing on the stone floor.
"You" I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and a strange feeling. "You manipulated Harry. You put him through a living hell for your own gain."
Vincent, his blue eyes cool, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. He stood, towering over me, "It was necessary, Hermione," he said, his voice calm, steady. "Voldemort was going to return, and I was the only one who could stop him."
"Necessary?" I spat, my voice thick with scorn. "You call that necessary? Vincent! You knew Harry was going into a Trap! And then you… you just left him there!"
"Voldemort needed Harry's blood for the ritual," Vincent countered, his gaze unwavering. "And I used that to my advantage. I eliminated the Death Eaters, and then I brought Voldemort here, where I could end him."
"You could have warned someone! You could have told Dumbledore!" my voice cracked, my anger threatening to spill over. "You didn't have to do it alone! You didn't have to put Harry at risk!"
"And what would Dumbledore have done, Hermione?" Vincent asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "He would have hesitated. He would've allowed those death eaters to walk away. He would have tried to find a… "peaceful" solution. And we both know that wouldn't have worked."
He took a step closer, their bodies almost touching, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. "I made the hard choices, Hermione," he said, his gaze boring into mine. "And I saved Harry. I saved all of you."
His words, laced with a chilling certainty, hung in the air. I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me, his presence, his intensity, almost overwhelming. I knew he was right. Voldemort was dead. The threat was gone. But his methods… the manipulation… it left a bitter taste in my mouth.
"You're a monster," I whispered, her voice trembling.
"Perhaps," he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
My anger was suddenly replaced by a surge of reckless defiance, I slammed my fist against his chest. He barely flinched. I was so close, his scent – a mix of woodsmoke and magic, of danger and something darkly alluring – filling my senses.
And then, without conscious thought, I was kissing him. A deep, passionate kiss, my tongue tangling with his, a desperate attempt to erase the fear, the anger, the confusion that swirled within me.
Vincent's arms went around me, pulling me closer, his body a wall of heat and strength against mine. For a moment, I lost herself in the kiss, in the feel of his lips, the taste of him.
And then, just as suddenly, I pulled away, breaking the spell. Shame and confusion flooded me, my face burning. I turned and fled, my heart pounding, leaving Vincent standing alone, a bewildered frown creasing his brow.
(Vincent's POV)
I watched as hermione left, when she was out of sight I could feel smirk form in my face, "I knew she had a crush on me, But this was something else, maybe she can be useful, I'm sure that dumbledore will be watching me like a hawk from now on, she can be my ears and eyes into his order of the phoenix."
And she isn't a bad kisser either.
(General POV)
"Intriguing," Snape muttered, pacing Dumbledore's office. "The boy's past… it's not that surprising, his parents died in a car crash. His grandparents were… reclusive, to say the least. Their business dealings… very profitable."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the intricate workings of a silver clock that ticked with an ethereal melody. "And his magic, Severus?"
"Powerful. Controlled. He uses spells I've never seen before, combinations that… defy conventional understanding." Snape hesitated, his dark eyes narrowed.
He sighed, the weight of his worries etching lines into his face. Vincent Van Doren was a force of nature, a storm brewing on the horizon.
(Hogsmeade, June 27th - General POV)
Hogsmeade bustled with a giddy energy, students crowding the shops and pubs, savoring before the long summer break. Vincent, his hand intertwined with Daphne's, felt the stares, the whispers, the weight of a thousand eyes upon him.
"You're a celebrity, Vincent," Daphne said, her voice a mix of amusement and a touch of pride.
He smiled, a rare genuine smile that softened the hard lines of his face. "Just for now, Daphne. Just for now."
They ducked into The Three Broomsticks, the warmth of the pub a welcome escape from the crisp evening air. The scent of butterbeer and woodsmoke filled the air, a comforting blend of magic and normality.
"One butterbeer, please, Rosmerta," Vincent said, leaning against the bar.
"Coming right up, Vincent," the barmaid replied, her eyes twinkling. "And one for the lovely lady?"
Daphne nodded, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.
They found a quiet table near the fireplace, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows across their faces. For a moment, Vincent allowed himself to relax, to enjoy the simple pleasure of Daphne's company, the warmth of the fire, the taste of the sweet, frothy butterbeer.
As they left the pub, the sun was sinking low on the horizon.
When Vincent's instincts enhanced by the runes start to kick in, there's people following him and Daphne, they're among the trees.
He stops and turns back, pushing Daphne behind him, wand ready.
There was no gun. Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, had confiscated it, claiming it was a "necessary precaution" given Vincent's recent… demonstration, he would get it back.
"Whoever you are, you can come out now", He said. And from the trees a large figure appeared followed by some others.
Fenrir Greyback and two more werewolves, their faces contorted into snarling masks of bestial rage, materialized behind them, blocking the path.
"Who sent you?" Vincent demanded, his voice cold, his blue eyes narrowed.
Greyback snarled, He lunged, his claws slashing, but Vincent dodged, his movements fluid, his wand a blur as he deflected the attack.
"Confringo!" A jet of blue flame erupted from Vincent's wand, engulfing one of the werewolves in a fiery explosion. The creature screamed, its fur burning, its flesh sizzling, before collapsing to the ground, a charred, smoking husk.
"Tell me who sent you," Vincent repeated, "And maybe… maybe I'll make your death quick."
Greyback just snarled again, his eyes burning with a murderous hate. He lunged, but Vincent was ready.
"Sectumsempra!"
Invisible blades sliced through the air, carving deep wounds into Greyback's flesh. The werewolf howled in pain, blood spurting from a dozen gashes, but he kept coming, his rage fueled by a primal, bestial fury.
Vincent didn't hesitate. He unleashed a barrage of spells, each one aimed with deadly precision. Stupefy. Reducto. Diffindo. The forest echoed with the sounds of battle – spells colliding, screams of pain, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.
"Bombarda!"
One of the werewolves was hit dead on, he basically exploded like a blood balloon, covering vincent robes in blood.
Greyback, wounded but still dangerous, lunged again.
"Diffindo!"
The severing charm sliced through the air, a whisper of magic that ended with a sickening thud as Greyback's head detached from his body, rolling to a stop at Daphne's feet.
Silence descended upon the forest, broken only by the ragged gasps of Vincent's breath and the drip, drip, drip of blood onto the damp earth.
(Daphne's POV)
I stared at the carnage, my stomach churning,mind reeling. I'd never witnessed such violence, such cold brutality. And yet… a part of me, a dark, hidden part, was… thrilled.
I looked at Vincent, his chest heaving, his clothes stained with blood, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that both terrified and captivated me. He was a monster. A savior.
"You… you killed them," I whispered, my voice trembling.
Vincent nodded, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek. "They were a threat. I… eliminated them, I knew the remaining death eaters would retaliate but didn't think it would be this soon."
He looked at me then, his gaze piercing, and I saw a truth reflected in his eyes – a truth that chilled her to the bone. She was weak. Helpless. A liability.
"I Know what you're thinking daphne, I will help you get stronger, you already are for someone your age, we just need a little bit more time." He said.
I need to be stronger, I need to be able to fight… like him.
(General POV)
The silence of the pathway to Hogwarts was shattered by the sound of footsteps pounding on the path. A group of Ravenclaw seventh-years skidded to a halt at the edge of the clearing, their eyes widening in horror at the scene before them.
"What the fuck" one of them gasped, his hand flying to his mouth.
Another girl, her face pale, let out a strangled scream.
Vincent, his chest heaving, his wand still clutched tightly in his hand, looked at the newcomers with a mix of weariness and annoyance. "Go get a Professor or Dumbledore," he said, his voice a raspy command.
Daphne, still staring at Greyback's severed head, felt a hand on her shoulder. One of the Ravenclaw girls, her face pale but her eyes filled with a strange mix of fear and admiration, guided her away from the carnage.
It wasn't long before Dumbledore and Snape arrived, their faces grim, their wands drawn. The forest floor was illuminated by the eerie glow of their Patronuses – a majestic phoenix and a sleek silver doe – casting long, flickering shadows across the gruesome tableau.
"What happened, Mr. Van Doren?" Dumbledore asked.
Vincent gestured to the mangled remains of the werewolves, "I was walking back to the castle with daphne when this werewolf and his pack ambushed us. They were… waiting for me, I was expecting retaliation from the Death Eaters at some point but not this soon, they must really hate me.", He said with a chuckle.
Snape, his black eyes scanning the carnage, his lip curled in a sneer, knelt beside Greyback's headless body. "Three fully grown werewolves," he muttered, his voice laced with a grudging respect.
"It was… messy," Vincent admitted, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek and pointing to his outfit that was now covered in blood.
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on Vincent, a mixture of concern and a chilling premonition swirling within him. The boy's power was undeniable, his ruthlessness evident in the brutal efficiency of the attack. But there was something… unsettling… about the calmness with which he described the carnage.
"Are you injured, Mr. Van Doren?" Dumbledore asked, his voice gentle.
Vincent shook his head,"I'm fine it's not my blood."
"Did he say who sent him?" Dumbledore asked, his voice gentle but his blue eyes piercing.
Vincent shook his head. "He just… attacked. I tried to question him, but…" He gestured to the severed head, its eyes staring vacantly at the sky.
Dumbledore looked at the group students that had gathered at the scene, their faces pale, their whispers a frantic hum against the backdrop of the forest's eerie silence.
"You lot can go," he said, his voice a dismissal that brooked no argument.
The students didn't need to be told twice. They scurried away, their footsteps fading into the night.
Dumbledore turned back to Vincent, "It seems the threat is far from over, Mr. Van Doren," he said, his voice low.
Vincent nodded, his gaze fixed on the spot where Greyback's head lay, its eyes staring vacantly at the moonlit sky. "They'll come for me, Headmaster," he said, his voice a quiet certainty. "They'll keep coming. Until I'm dead, or they are, but I will be ready."
(Hogwarts - General POV)
The news that the "Dark lord Slayer" had been attacked by a pack of werewolves spread through Hogwarts like wildfire. Whispers turned to gasps, awe to apprehension. The Daily Prophet, never one to miss a dramatic headline, proclaimed: "DarkLord Slayer Attacked: Payback?"
Vincent, however, barely paid it any mind. He couldn't afford distractions, not with his plans for the summer taking shape.
He did not take the exams this year, of course, as hogwarts champion he was allowed to skip them, at least this year.
And then, just like that, the term was over.
The castle buzzed with a frenetic energy as students packed their trunks, said their goodbyes, and anticipated the freedom of the summer holidays. Vincent, however, felt a different kind of anticipation – a sense of purpose.
(King's Cross Station, 3rd of July - General POV)
The usual end-of-term chaos at King's Cross Station was amplified tenfold by the presence of the "DarkLord Slayer." Whispers followed Vincent as he moved through the bustling crowds, his name echoing in hushed tones, his face recognizable from the countless Daily Prophet articles that had plastered his image across the wizarding world.
"That's him, Mum! That's the one who killed You-Know-Who!" A young boy, his eyes wide with hero worship, pointed at Vincent, nearly poking his mother in the eye with his wand.
"Shhh, Timothy, don't point," his mother hissed, her gaze fixed on Vincent with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
A gaggle of giggling girls, their Hogwarts robes askew, gathered their courage and approached him, their faces flushed with excitement. "Mr. Van Doren, could we… could we have your autograph?" one of them squeaked.
Vincent, a polite smile masking his inner impatience, obliged, scribbling his name on a scrap of parchment.
He said goodbye to Daphne at the train, "I'll owl you, we will meet during the summer" he had said, his lips brushing against hers as he kissed her goodbye.
His eyes caught a flash of familiar bushy hair near the station entrance. Hermione. She was standing with Harry and Ron, their faces animated as they argued about something – probably Quidditch, Vincent thought with a wry amusement.
Their gazes met across the crowded platform, a silent clash of unspoken emotions. Hermione's breath hitched.
Then, as if realizing she'd been caught staring, she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. Harry, sensing the tension, turned, his green eyes narrowed with a mix of suspicion and resentment as he followed Hermione's gaze.
Vincent met Harry's stare, a cold smile playing on his lips. He knew Potter would never understand. Would never accept the choices he'd made, the sacrifices he'd deemed necessary.