Viktor was in a great mood that morning. He walked to breakfast, whistling a cheerful tune, his step light and springy. Suddenly, a shout in the hallway interrupted him.
— VIKTOR! — Harry Potter ran towards him.
Viktor stopped.
— Oh, Harry, hi! How are you? What's new? Why did you call? — He didn't let Harry get a word in, continuing to rattle off questions. — I think today is a wonderful day, just marvelous! God, it's so fun with you, but I have to go to breakfast.
Viktor impulsively hugged him, squeezing him tightly.
— Bye, I'll miss you. — Then he turned and continued walking, humming a song.
Harry, frozen in place by the unexpected hug, finally came to and ran after him.
— Viktor, wait! I need to talk to you! — he shouted.
Viktor, without stopping, asked:
— About what?
Harry, walking beside him, was breathing heavily.
— I wanted to thank you for yesterday.
Viktor stopped abruptly and asked, surprised:
— For yesterday? — He looked in the direction of the hospital wing, and a gleam appeared in his eyes. — Oh, you mean that? Don't thank me, it was nothing. But, Harry, I didn't think you hated pure-bloods so much.
Harry looked at him strangely.
— What are you talking about?
— What are you talking about? — Viktor squinted. — Yesterday at the match, you stopped Snape from knocking me off my broom and even got hurt because of it.
Viktor stared at him for a long time, then started laughing loudly. Calming down, he patted Harry on the shoulder.
— No thanks are necessary, we're friends.
Harry replied:
— Thanks anyway. Not everyone would so desperately save someone by putting themselves in danger.
Viktor proudly puffed out his chest and said smugly:
— Yes, I am.
He was about to continue on, but Harry stopped him.
— I need to warn you. Snape was very angry today. He came from the hospital wing and was muttering something about you. It seems he was looking for you and, not finding you, got very angry. Be careful and don't walk alone.
Viktor smirked.
— Don't worry about me. You'd better take care of yourself.
He continued walking, laughing, while Harry stood in place, still watching Viktor's retreating back.
Back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry saw Hermione and Ron. Hermione immediately went up to him.
— Did you see Viktor? Where is he? I need to talk to him.
Harry, still lost in thought, replied:
— Yeah, he went to breakfast.
Hermione exclaimed, annoyed:
— What?! It's ten in the morning and he's just going to breakfast? He's getting lazy! Fine, I'll go to him.
She left the common room. Ron, noticing Harry's strange behavior, asked:
— Are you okay?
Harry nodded.
— Yeah. It's just... talking to Viktor... I got a feeling he wasn't saving me.
Silence fell between them. Ron, thinking, said:
— But Hermione said Madam Pomfrey told her he lost consciousness from magical exhaustion.
Harry replied:
— Yeah, but after talking to him, it doesn't seem like he was casting a spell to save me.
Ron thought for a moment, then said:
— What if it was the other way around? What if he was trying to knock you off?
Harry asked, surprised:
— Him? But why would he do that?
— Because of the game, — Ron replied. — You saw how serious he was. And when he saw you were near the Snitch, he tried to stop you.
Harry shook his head.
— No, he couldn't have, I don't think so.
Ron continued:
— Harry, he's a Slytherin. The Sorting Hat put him with the snakes for a reason. And remember the rumors about him: he's very cruel. Do you think he couldn't have stopped you so his team would win?
Harry didn't answer. He didn't want to believe it, but a seed of doubt had been planted in him. After a long thought, he replied:
— No, I don't think it was him. You and Hermione yourselves said you saw Snape casting a spell, and it stopped when Hermione distracted him. Maybe Viktor was affected by something else. I don't think he's that cruel.
Suddenly, Neville ran into the common room. Out of breath, he began to speak:
— Guys, did you hear? They're saying in Slytherin that Viktor beat up twelve people yesterday! There's no proof, because they won't talk, but last night only Viktor was in the hospital, and this morning there were twelve beaten-up Slytherins there! Madam Pomfrey is furious and went to complain to the Headmaster.
Hearing this news, Harry and Ron just stood and stared at each other.
Somewhere in the Hogwarts corridors...
— NO! I DON'T WANT TO! It's the weekend, and I'm going to rest!
Hermione was dragging Viktor by the hand towards the library.
— I'm bored on my own, and you're coming with me! — she said.
Viktor began to look around, trying to find a way to escape.
— Look! — he suddenly exclaimed. — There's a flying pig!
Hermione just tightened her grip on his hand and, without slowing her pace, continued to drag him.
— I don't believe you. That trick won't work twice.
Viktor pouted.
— You think I don't have more tricks up my sleeve? — Hermione stopped and looked at him. Viktor smirked, freed his hand, and, making strange gestures, shouted: — Substitution Jutsu!
Nothing happened. Hermione just looked at him like he was an idiot. Viktor started examining his hands and muttering:
— Strange... But in "Naruto" it worked!
Hermione grabbed his hand again and continued to drag him. Viktor cried out:
— NOOOOOO!
But Hermione didn't pay any attention to his cries. She continued walking with Viktor in tow, a bright and satisfied smile shining on her face.
In the evening, Viktor went back to his room. He looked exhausted, but it wasn't the kind of exhaustion from a grueling workout or a good fight. It was an draining, mental fatigue caused by Hermione's relentless pressure.
— Well, there goes my whole weekend, — he muttered, flopping onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling, his face expressing the deepest grief.
Looking around the room, he noticed his diary on the duvet. It was an unassuming notebook with a dark leather cover, in which he kept notes on his observations and plans. He got up, took a pen from the desk, returned to his bed, and, opening the diary, began to write, quietly muttering:
«Dear Diary,
I cannot describe the pain and humiliation I have endured over the last two days. Yesterday, I was beaten up by an old man. Not some legendary monk who can knock people out with one finger. No, it was just an ordinary old geezer with a stupid smirk... okay, he's not entirely ordinary either.
And today, a little girl abused my brain all day long. I tried to run, pretended I saw flying pigs, but she is relentless! Her grip is strong, her will is like a steel cable. She dragged me through the corridors, and I was completely powerless. Just a pathetic, crying puppy, sniffle, sniffle...»
He reread the lines, nodded to himself in satisfaction, and closed the diary as if putting a final period on this humiliating day.
He sprawled on the bed, glancing at his desk. His alchemy notes were there, filled with small, neat handwriting.
— So, we've studied the theory, — he said aloud, — now I need practice, but I have no materials or tools.
Viktor began to wonder where to get everything. He could ask Dumbledore, but the thought itself filled him with revulsion.
— No, — he hissed, and his voice took on a threatening tone. — If I see that stupid smirk one more time, I'll burn his entire school to the ground, and then I'll find where he's hiding and burn him, too.
Suddenly, his eyes widened as if he had remembered something very important.
— How could I forget! The Room of Requirement! — He abruptly jumped off the bed. — Wait, where is it? Fine, I'll walk around the school and find it quickly.
He left the room, full of determination, but his confidence quickly evaporated. After several hours of wandering through the endless corridors, his face was covered in sweat. He had already checked the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors. He walked back and forth, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silence. Portraits shook their heads in disapproval, and ghosts tried to avoid him. He was irritated but persistent.
— WHERE IS THIS STUPID ROOM?! — he yelled, his voice cracking.
Exhaling, he continued his search. A couple of hours later, exhausted and worn out, he found himself on the eighth floor, opposite a tapestry depicting a Troll learning ballet. He began to repeat like a mantra, like a spell:
— I need a room for practicing alchemy, I need a room for practicing alchemy, I need a room for...
Behind him, one of the walls, the very one opposite the tapestry, began to smooth out. The stone blocks moved, merging into a perfect flat surface, and then an old, oak door silently appeared. Viktor fell silent. He stopped, and his eyes lit up. He walked in.
Looking around, he froze in awe. The room was huge, bathed in soft light and filled with everything an alchemist could dream of. In the center was a gigantic table, piled with test tubes, retorts, and alchemical furnaces. Ancient manuscripts hung on the walls, and on the shelves were hundreds of jars with rare ingredients: powdered unicorn horn, dried mandrake petals, dragon's blood, and even, judging by the smell, basilisk venom.
— Finally, — Viktor whispered, and a crazy smile appeared on his face.
He waited for the door behind him to close. Closing his eyes and thinking that he needed more space, he imagined everything disappearing and a clean, empty room remaining before him. Opening his eyes, he nodded. Then he pulled out his wand.
— I've been looking for you for four hours, you stupid room! — he growled. Pointing his wand at the very center of the room, Viktor gathered all his rage and impatience into one destructive spell.
— BOMBARDA MAXIMA!