After that incident, time passed quietly.
No one brought up the three-headed dog again. Between homework, classes, and trying not to lose more house points, it slowly slipped into the background.
Whatever it was guarding, it was clearly being guarded for a reason—and none of them were in a hurry to test their luck a second time.
Life at Hogwarts moved on.
During that time, one thing changed noticeably: Harry Potter was no longer just another first-year. He had been taken in by the Gryffindor Quidditch team and was training regularly as their Seeker—the youngest the house had ever had.
The news spread quickly through the school.
At the Slytherin table, Draco's face soured the moment he heard it. "A first-year?" he scoffed. "That's ridiculous."
Victor barely reacted. He continued eating, unfazed. To him, Quidditch was entertainment—nothing more. He enjoyed watching it the way one enjoyed films: fun to observe, not something he felt the need to participate in.
Just because you like watching it doesn't mean you want to act in it, he thought.
Classes continued as usual, and nowhere was that more obvious than in Potions.
Professor Snape, true to form, seemed to single Harry out at every opportunity. Questions Harry couldn't answer. Mistakes that somehow counted for double. And every time—
"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape would say coolly.
By the end of the week, Gryffindor's point total looked visibly wounded.
Hermione, however, took it as a personal challenge.
She raised her hand in every other class, answered questions with near-perfect precision, and earned points wherever possible. Charms, Transfiguration, even History of Magic—if there were points to be gained, she was determined to reclaim them.
"It's not fair," she muttered once, scribbling furiously in her notes. "House points shouldn't depend on whether a professor dislikes someone."
Victor watched this with mild amusement—and a bit of pity.
He admired the effort, but the House Cup itself meant very little to him.
Points, cups, banners, he thought. Nice decorations. Not exactly life goals.
Power, knowledge, freedom—those mattered far more.
Like that, the days passed, and soon it was Halloween.
The castle buzzed with a different kind of energy—floating pumpkins appeared in the corridors, faint traces of sweet smells drifted through the air, and students were far more distracted than usual.
That afternoon, they had Charms class.
Professor Flitwick stood on a tall stack of books behind his desk so he could be properly seen, his high, squeaky voice carrying easily across the classroom.
"Today," he announced cheerfully, "we will be learning the Levitation Charm."
He waved his wand, and a feather on the desk rose gracefully into the air.
"This charm is called Wingardium Leviosa," Flitwick continued. "And it is not just about saying the words. Proper wand movement is essential."
He demonstrated carefully, tracing a smooth motion in the air.
"Swish… and flick," he said brightly. "Remember—swish and flick, not a jab."
The classroom filled with murmured incantations.
Hermione's feather rose almost at once, lifting cleanly into the air and hovering perfectly above the desk. She smiled, clearly pleased with herself.
"Excellent, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick squeaked happily. "Five points to Gryffindor!"
Victor's feather followed just as smoothly, rising without the slightest wobble. He let it hover there, steady and controlled, while his attention drifted to the rest of the class. He'd mastered this spell long ago.
Behind them, Ron was having far less success.
"Wingardium Levios—" he muttered, jabbing his wand at the feather.
Nothing happened.
Hermione glanced back despite herself. "You're saying it wrong," she said. "It's Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. You have to make the 'gar' longer."
Ron frowned, clearly annoyed, but tried again.
There was a sharp crack.
His feather shot straight up, brushed him on the face, and fell back onto the desk.
Laughter rippled through the room.
Ron's ears went red as he shot Hermione an irritated look. Hermione didn't notice—she'd only been trying to help—but Victor did. To Ron, it probably looked like she was showing off again.
Before Professor Flitwick could restore order, another shout rang out.
Seamus's feather suddenly burst into flames and smacked him square in the face.
"AH—!"
Smoke filled the air as Seamus stumbled back, singed and coughing.
Professor Flitwick hurried over at once, waving his wand frantically. "Goodness me! Mr. Finnigan, levitation spells are not supposed to produce fire!"
Like that, the Charms lesson ended.
The students poured into the corridors, their chatter echoing off the stone walls. Spirits were high—Halloween was just ahead, and the promise of a grand feast later that evening lingered pleasantly in the air.
Ron walked beside Harry, still looking irritated. He kicked lightly at the floor as they went.
"She didn't have to say it like that," Ron muttered. "Everyone already knows she's clever."
Harry glanced at him. "She was only trying to help."
Ron shrugged. "Yeah, well… it doesn't feel like that."
He hesitated, then his frustration spilled out. "She was just trying to show off—show that she knows more than me. That's why I never liked her."
"From the moment I met her. She and that Victor are the same. Always correcting people. That's probably why they don't have any friends."
"…Is that so?"
The voice came from behind them.
Ron stiffened.
Harry turned around first.
Victor and Hermione were standing there.
Victor's expression was calm, but there was a sharp edge behind his eyes. He had honestly thought that, after his intervention in the plot, Ron might have matured a little. Instead, it seemed his inferiority complex was still very much intact.
Hermione, on the other hand, had gone very still. Her hands tightened around her books.
For a brief moment, Victor genuinely considered using a curse. Nothing serious—just the Slug-Vomiting Charm. Something harmless. Something educational. Something that would stop Ron from saying stupid things for a while.
He forced the thought down.
'Control,' he reminded himself.
He could handle insults. He had an adult mind, after all.
Hermione didn't.
She was only eleven, and those words struck straight at her heart.
Her eyes shimmered. She tried to say something, failed, then turned and ran down the corridor.
"Hermione," Victor called, already stepping after her.
He stopped after only a few steps and turned back to Ron.
"Until now," Victor said evenly, "I didn't hate you. I thought you were just loud and careless."
Ron swallowed, suddenly unsure.
"But now I do," Victor continued. "Because you just insulted someone who was genuinely trying to help you."
Ron opened his mouth. "I—"
"You didn't like it when my brother spoke to you like you were beneath him," Victor cut in. "Yet you just did the exact same thing."
"That's not—"
"At least my brother says it to your face," Victor said coldly. "That makes him honest. You waited until you thought no one was listening."
He turned away. "Grow up."
Victor broke into a run, following after Hermione.
Harry remained where he was, staring at Ron.
"…Ron," he said quietly, "I think you messed up. Big time."
Ron didn't answer.
*****
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