After putting some distance between himself and the path, Victor finally opened his eyes and let out a quiet sigh.
That had been a golden chance.
Quirrell had been right there. One move and he could've ended the problem for the year. If the trio hadn't been there, he would have ended Quirrell on the spot with a single glance.
Still… it wasn't a complete loss.
If nothing else, Victor felt a certain satisfaction settle in his chest.
Ron Weasley was going to be traumatised.
Properly.
The kind of trauma that didn't fade in a week. Months, at least. Maybe years. Nightmares, sudden panic at rustling sounds, a lifelong distrust of anything long and scaly. Victor was almost impressed by how effective it had been.
Didn't he always say he never forgot things?
This was his revenge. For Ron's constant shit-talking about his family.
He still remembered Ron's face—screaming, eyes wide, legs giving up on life entirely. Compared to Harry and Hermione, who had at least tried to hold themselves together, Ron had gone down like a dropped sack of potatoes.
Honestly impressive.
Victor shook his head faintly, amused. If bravery were a currency, Ron would be permanently broke. The only reason he'd ended up in Gryffindor had to be blind luck.
***
The next day, the corridors of Hogwarts buzzed with their usual noise as students poured out of Charms class.
Harry and Ron had barely gone ten steps when—
Hssssss.
A low, unmistakable sound slid through the air behind them.
Ron froze.
His face drained of colour so fast Harry thought he might faint on the spot. Then Ron let out a strangled yelp.
"SNAKE!"
And he bolted.
He sprinted down the corridor like his life depended on it, knocking into a second-year, nearly tripping over his own robes, and disappearing around the corner in a blur of panic.
The corridor fell silent.
Every head turned.
Harry stood there, blinking, mouth slightly open.
"…What just happened?"
Behind him, Hermione slowed to a stop, already rubbing her temples.
Victor, walking beside her, wore a look of mild confusion so perfectly practiced it deserved applause.
"Umm," Victor said, glancing in the direction Ron had fled, "why did Ron just run like the castle's on fire?"
Harry hesitated. "Uh… last night he saw something in the Forest. It scared him. Badly."
Victor's eyebrows rose—just a touch. "You mean the Forbidden Forest?"
Hermione shot Harry a look, then sighed. "Yes. At night. We got detention."
Victor stopped walking.
"You went into the Forbidden Forest," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words, "after curfew?"
Harry scratched the back of his neck. "It's… a long story."
Hermione quickly filled Victor in—how Hagrid had shown them the egg, how it had hatched right in front of them, and how Professor McGonagall had caught them sneaking back into the castle and sentenced them to detention in the Forbidden Forest.
Victor let out a quiet sigh. So even without Draco getting involved, he thought, they still managed to end up there.
Then Harry slowed, a frown settling on his face as a thought finally clicked.
"Wait," he said. "Hagrid's always said he wanted a dragon egg"
"And then," Harry continued, more uneasy now, "the stranger he meets in the bar just happens to be carrying one?"
He looked between them. "Dragon eggs are rare. Illegal. You can't just walk around with one in your pocket."
"What are the odds? A man with a dragon egg, running into the one person at Hogwarts who'd do anything to get one."
Victor's expression sharpened. "Sounds less like luck," he said calmly, "and more like bait."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "To get Hagrid talking."
The realization hung heavy between them.
"And Hagrid," Harry said quietly, "knows things. About the castle. About what's being guarded."
Victor nodded once. "Which makes that 'chance meeting' a lot more suspicious than it looked."
They didn't waste another second.
All three of them took off at a run, heading straight for Hagrid's hut.
They found him sitting on the bench outside his hut, Fang sprawled at his feet.
Harry didn't bother easing into it.
"Hagrid," he blurted out, breathless, "that stranger you met in the pub—did you talk about Fluffy with him?"
Hagrid blinked. "Eh? Yeah, I s'pose I did," he said slowly. "Nice enough bloke, seemed right interested. We talked 'bout Fluffy fer a while. I even told 'im—" he hesitated, then sighed, "—told 'im I know what sort o' music Fluffy likes. Puts 'im straight ter sleep."
The moment the words left his mouth, Hagrid's face changed.
"…I shouldn'ta said that," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Harry didn't ask anything else.
He spun on his heel and bolted for the castle.
As everything finally lined up in his head, Harry understood.
The stranger Hagrid had met in the bar.
The dragon egg.
Fluffy guarding something hidden in the castle.
And the Philosopher's Stone.
The Stone could grant immortality. It could restore a body. That was why Snape wanted it—or at least, why he was involved. Because the real one after the Stone wasn't Snape at all.
It was Voldemort.
Harry didn't even need to think twice. He knew Voldemort was involved. Last night in the Forest, when he'd seen that hooded thing, his lightning scar had burned—sharp, hot, and unmistakable.
That was the proof that that thing was Voldemort.
The stranger. The Forest. The Stone. It all pointed to the same thing: Voldemort was trying to return, and the Philosopher's Stone was the key.
Harry's stomach twisted.
Now that his doubts were gone, there was only one thing left to do.
They had to tell Professor Dumbledore—before it was too late.
When they reached Professor McGonagall's office, the answer they got only made things worse.
Dumbledore wasn't at Hogwarts.
He'd been called away to the Ministry—urgently, apparently.
That was it.
Harry felt the last bit of hope drain out of him. If Dumbledore wasn't here, then no one else would believe them in time. Not McGonagall, not Flitwick—certainly not Snape.
And that was how they made the worst—and bravest—decision of their lives.
"If Dumbledore's gone," Harry said quietly, jaw set, "then we have to stop it ourselves."
Hermione looked terrified… but she nodded.
Victor, walking a few steps behind them, almost sighed.
They really were like this, weren't they?
Two eleven-year-olds who knew—knew—they had no business going up against a fully grown professor, possibly a Dark wizard, and yet still decided to go anyway. No backup. No plan worth the name. Just stubborn courage and a sense of right and wrong that refused to back down.
Reckless. Foolish. Admirable.
Victor hadn't expected the moment to come this early. In the original flow of things, there should've been more delay. More buildup. But fate had clearly decided to speed things up.
Fine by him.
Quirrell needed to die tonight anyway. The man had already outlived his usefulness, and letting Voldemort cling to him any longer was just inefficient.
So Victor followed them.
Not because he trusted their plan—there barely was one—but because he refused to let this end with Harry dead and Voldemort one step closer to a body.
Guess it's time to clean up, he thought calmly, eyes narrowing as they headed deeper into the castle.
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 60🔥
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