Breakfast in the Great Hall at Hogwarts was always a noisy and chaotic spectacle, but today, for Viktor, it was something more. He entered the hall with a light gait, as if strolling through his own estate, with Daphne Greengrass following him like a shadow. She kept slightly behind, her posture tense, her gaze flitting across the students' faces. The Slytherin first-years who had witnessed his performance yesterday hastily lowered their eyes or turned away as he passed their table. The others, the older students, simply cast bewildered glances at the strange duo, not entirely understanding the reason for such quietness among the youngest snakes.
No sooner had Viktor stepped through the Great Hall doors than Hermione Granger practically flew to him, as if on a towline. Her brows were furrowed, and her face held a mix of relief and concern.
"Viktor! How are you?!" she asked anxiously, her voice a little louder than usual, attracting the attention of a few Gryffindors.
Viktor smiled broadly, completely carefree, as if he'd had the best night of his life. "I'm perfectly fine, my dear little witch! The group here is simply excellent! I couldn't have dreamed of such a group!" He gestured to the Slytherin first-years, who quickly lowered their eyes to their plates, avoiding his gaze.
Daphne, standing behind Viktor, quietly rolled her eyes, her face expressing the deepest skepticism about the "excellent group."
Hermione, who clearly missed this silent gesture, glanced at Daphne. Her gaze became suspicious. "And who is this?" she asked, a hint of annoyance already in her voice.
Viktor beamed as if he'd just received the best gift in the world. "Oh, this is my new friend! Meet Daphne Greengrass. Daphne, this is Hermione Granger, my wonderful... uh... acquaintance." He deliberately paused, allowing Daphne and Hermione to assess each other.
Daphne gave a barely perceptible nod of greeting, her face remaining impassive, but her eyes showed weariness from the situation. Hermione, however, just stared at Daphne, her jaw slightly agape, as if she couldn't believe her eyes. Then, pursing her lips in annoyance, she hissed through clenched teeth:
"I'm very glad you found yourself... A FRIEND." She emphasized the last word with such poisonous intonation that you could cut it with a knife.
Viktor raised an eyebrow in surprise, then his face broke into an even wider smile. Without a word, he pulled Hermione into a tight hug, making her squeak.
"My sweet little witch is jealous of me!" he exclaimed with delight, his voice full of happiness. "My God, I'm so happy!"
Hermione instantly blushed, her face turning crimson. She pushed him away with all her might, her movements sharp and full of embarrassment. "Who would be jealous of you?!" she hissed, her voice betraying a slight tremor. Then she spun around abruptly and practically ran to the Gryffindor table, her hair streaming behind her like a fiery broom.
Viktor stood with a wide, smug smile, watching her retreating back. "Ah," he sighed, as if heavily but pleasantly, "being popular is my curse."
Daphne, who had seen and heard it all, simply rolled her eyes, her face expressing complete disgust at his narcissism.
"Alright, let's go have breakfast," Viktor said, heading towards the Slytherin table. She silently followed him. Sitting down at the table, Viktor, having filled his plate with food, suddenly changed the subject. "Listen," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "from Gemma's gang, who's the weakest link? The one who'll break first?"
Daphne pondered. She quickly ran through a list of well-known Slytherins in her mind, trying to objectively assess their weaknesses. "That would probably be Marcus Flint from the Flint family," she replied, after a slight pause.
Viktor thought about it. "And what does he look like?" he asked.
"Fourth year, a boy with... very big teeth," Daphne replied, wincing slightly.
"Oh yes, I've seen him!" Viktor exclaimed, his eyes widening at the memory. "My God, those teeth! Does his whole family have teeth like that? Or is he just 'lucky'?"
Daphne shook her head. "No, but some do have certain defects." She pronounced the word with a hint of pure-blood disgust.
"Defects?" Viktor squinted. "Did they have a goblin in their lineage or something? Or do they constantly hit their heads against walls?"
Daphne looked at him strangely, as if he had said something completely unimaginable. "No! They are completely pure-blood; the Flint and Nott families have been marrying each other for over two hundred years."
Viktor, who was drinking pumpkin juice at that moment, suddenly choked, sputtering the drink. Juice spurted from his mouth in a small fountain. Daphne looked at him strangely again.
Viktor, finally catching his breath, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "That's... that's incest!" he rasped, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
Daphne blinked in surprise. "Why? They're not marrying their brothers and sisters. A girl from one family marries a boy from another."
Viktor shook his head, still not fully recovered from the shock. "Yes, but if that's been going on for over two centuries, doesn't that mean their blood has already mixed long ago? It's like marrying your tenth-generation cousins! It's... it's a genetic lottery, Daphne!"
Daphne froze, her eyes wide. She looked as if she had been hit on the head. "I... I never really thought about it that way," she mumbled, her voice full of genuine surprise. Pure-bloods rarely considered such things from a genetic perspective.
Viktor nodded, his face taking on a more serious expression. "Well, alright," he said, waving his hand. "That's their business, let's not interfere. As someone once said: 'incest is a family affair'." Then he looked at her again, his gaze demanding. "Now, here's your task: by lunchtime, I want to know his class schedule. And I don't care how you find out. Enlist all the first-years you want, but by lunchtime, I need to know where he'll be and when. Understood?"
Daphne nodded. "Understood." She stood up from the table, her face focused.
The first lesson was Transfiguration, with Professor McGonagall. Viktor took a seat next to Daphne, who, despite his presence, was already immersed in note-taking as if nothing unusual was happening. The class was full, Gryffindors and Slytherins sitting on opposite sides.
At the beginning of the lesson, Professor McGonagall, a strict but fair woman, swept the class with an observant gaze that stopped on Draco Malfoy.
"Mr. Malfoy," she said, her voice dry and demanding, "I heard you visited the hospital wing yesterday with rather severe facial bruises. May I ask what happened?"
Malfoy, sitting at his desk, flinched. He stood up, hesitated, his gaze darting to Viktor. He trembled, his face, though hidden beneath fresh bruises, turned pale.
"Nothing, Professor... " he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "I just... just fell badly. Very badly."
McGonagall looked at him strangely, her penetrating eyes seemingly seeing through his lie. Then she shifted her gaze to Viktor, who sat with a slight smile. Noticing her gaze, he merely smiled innocently; she sighed and looked back at Malfoy.
"Be very careful from now on, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said, her voice strict, but without judgment, only a warning.
Malfoy quickly nodded and sat back down with relief. McGonagall, turning to the blackboard, continued the lesson, in which she demonstratively transformed into a cat, eliciting gasps of admiration and startled cries.
At that moment, the classroom door suddenly burst open, and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stumbled in, breathing heavily.
"Ugh, made it!" Ron panted, gasping for air. "Can you imagine the old hag's face if we'd been late!"
The fluffy grey cat sitting on the teacher's desk suddenly leaped, and, mid-air, transformed into Professor McGonagall, who approached the latecomers with an icy expression.
Ron choked and swallowed. "That was simply brilliant," he mumbled, his face turning crimson.
"Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, her voice as sharp as a razor. "Perhaps it would be more beneficial to turn Mr. Potter and yourself into pocket watches? Then you would arrive on time."
"We... we got lost," Harry stammered.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps into a map? I trust you'll find your seats without a map." She pointed to the desks.
Viktor smiled. He was inwardly overjoyed. He had seen this moment in the film before, laughed at it, and now here he was, sitting in class, watching it live. It was surreal.
"Too bad I didn't bring popcorn," he muttered to himself, stifling a chuckle.
The next lesson was Potions, taught by Professor Snape in the dark, gloomy dungeons. As the students entered the classroom, the heavy scent of burnt feathers and moldy fur immediately hit their noses. Snape stood at the blackboard, his black, beady eyes scanning the students.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began in his soft, yet menacing voice, which seemed to emanate from the very depths of the dungeons. "There will be no foolish wand-waving here, as in some other classes. You will require," he paused, "absolute knowledge of formulas, precise measurement of ingredients, and the ability to keep your emotions in check. I don't expect you to love me, but those of you who work diligently may be able to avoid my... displeasure."
He shifted his gaze to Harry. "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Hermione, sitting next to Viktor, immediately shot her hand up, practically bouncing in her seat, her elbow nearly hitting Viktor in the face.
Viktor, rolling his eyes, whispered to her: "Hermione, put your hand down! You're embarrassing me in front of wizards!"
She glared at him, her eyes flashing, but did not lower her hand.
Snape ignored Hermione, his gaze still fixed on Harry. "Well, Potter?!"
Harry blinked in confusion. "I don't know, sir."
"Tut, tut," Snape hissed. Then he turned, his gaze sweeping past Hermione and stopping on Viktor. His eyes, black and penetrating, seemed to bore into him.
"Mr. Moss," Snape said, his voice a little louder, as if he had decided to make an example. "Since you are so enthusiastically commenting on your neighbor's behavior, perhaps you can answer. What is the difference between aconite and wolfsbane?"
The class held its breath. Everyone knew that Snape loved to swamp students with questions far beyond the first-year curriculum. Hermione, who knew the answer but wasn't asked, nervously bit her lip.
Viktor, to everyone's surprise, didn't even flinch. He calmly looked at Snape.
"None, Professor," Viktor replied clearly and without hesitation. "They are two different names for the same plant. Aconite is also known as wolfsbane or monkshood. It is used in sleeping potions and can be fatally dangerous if improperly prepared."
A low murmur went through the class. Snape froze for a moment, his eyebrows slightly raised, and something akin to... surprise appeared on his face.
"Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Moss," Snape pronounced, his voice as even as ever, but with a hint of... satisfaction. "An excellent answer. Keep up the good work, and perhaps you'll make a decent potioneer."
After the lesson ended, Daphne approached Viktor. Her face was serious, and she handed him a rolled parchment.
"Marcus Flint's schedule," she said softly.
Viktor took the parchment, his eyes scanning the written lines. A smile appeared on his face. He looked at Daphne.
"How did you get it?" he asked, his tone approving.
Daphne shrugged. "One of our first-years has a sister also in fourth year. She found out."
Viktor still stood with a smile, nodding. "Good. Very good. See? You can when you want to. When there's motivation, any obstacles are surmountable."
Daphne merely rolled her eyes, clearly tired of his lectures, but acknowledging his point.
A bloodthirsty smile appeared on Viktor's face. His eyes gleamed with an ominous fire.
"Now it's my turn," he pronounced.