Neville dejectedly lowered his wand. "Why can you make it so thin and short?"
"It's the matchstick, not me."
Feeling offended, Vincent's face darkened as he pointed at his forehead. "Imagination. You have to imagine it becoming thinner and shorter."
"Okay..." Neville shrank back, lowering his little head.
Not intending to hold it against him, Vincent patiently began guiding the three people nearby.
McGonagall, standing at the podium, nodded to herself.
Being outstanding yourself was nothing. Being able to bring those around you along was what truly mattered.
Whether it was through enthusiastic help or being seen as a rival.
She looked toward the other side of the first row, where Hermione had already successfully turned her matchstick into a needle.
Nothing was more frightening than comparison.
Watching the young witch frown as she repeatedly made the needle thinner and shorter, McGonagall felt immensely grateful that Vincent had chosen Gryffindor.
Six years.
For six years, Gryffindor had suffered the humiliation of losing to Slytherin. She would make them pay it all back, with interest!
Just look at how pleasing Vincent was. Even after guiding Harry and Ron, he had not forgotten the students in the second and third rows.
In contrast, not a single one of those clever Little Eagles had successfully produced even a needlepoint.
McGonagall clenched her hands tightly beneath the podium.
This year, Gryffindor would surely put an end to Slytherin's dream of seven straight House Cups!
With McGonagall's tacit approval, Vincent switched seats with Ron.
"Need some help?"
Hermione looked up, her gaze like that of an injured lion.
He paid no attention to her aggression and merely turned his little short needle back into a matchstick.
"You can't be overly fixated on the length and thickness. You need to relax first and stop keeping yourself