Sunday. Viktor, as usual, was holding his remedial classes. He was explaining the finer points of brewing the Draught of Living Death, paying special attention to the details: temperature, brewing time, and when and in what order to add the ingredients.
— Did you get all that down? — he asked. — If you do everything exactly as I said, you can consider your end-of-year Potions exam passed.
Viktor walked over to the teacher's desk, where Daphne was sitting, absorbed in a book. He sat on the desk and looked around the classroom. The students were in groups: some were casting spells, waving their wands, others were writing something down, some were reading, and a few were just chatting.
Viktor frowned, noticing how many people were in the class. He turned to Daphne.
— My assistant, tell me, am I a bad teacher?
— Why would you think that? — Daphne asked in surprise.
Viktor jumped off the desk and addressed everyone.
— Alright, I don't get it. Either I'm a bad teacher, or Slytherin is full of idiots. Why do more of you keep showing up for every class? You there, — he pointed to a group of older students. — What year are you?
— Fifth, — one of them replied.
— And what are you doing here? I'm only teaching the younger years.
— Homework, — the boy answered.
Viktor's eyes widened.
— What? And why here?
— I don't know, — the student replied. — The atmosphere is just nicer here than in the common room, and if we don't understand something, we can ask.
Viktor thought for a moment.
— Well, that's acceptable. And you? — he looked at a girl. — You haven't asked a single question. What subject are you falling behind in?
— None, I'm an honors student, — the second-year girl replied. — It's just interesting here.
Viktor's frown deepened.
— So are there even any people here who actually need help to pass their exams?
Out of about forty people, only five raised their hands. Viktor's eyes widened. He looked at Daphne.
Daphne shrugged.
— It's your own fault. School is boring, so some students started coming here. They asked you to teach them things not even related to school material, and you helped. Others found out about it and started coming too. That's how this became their Sunday spot.
Viktor looked at everyone in surprise.
— What did you turn my remedial class into? And here I was wondering why I don't have anyone to yell at anymore! It turns out my courses have become a fun place to spend the weekend.
Someone asked, — Does that mean we can't come anymore?
Everyone looked at Viktor with pleading eyes.
— I don't really care, you can come, — Viktor replied. — But since you're here, let's at least do something useful.
Someone shouted, — Teach us how to fight!
Viktor let out a surprised laugh.
— Fight? I have little experience myself. What makes you think I can teach you anything?
— Well, you managed to get away from a Death Eater, — the student replied. — Tell us how you did it.
Viktor proudly puffed out his chest, but then his face darkened.
— Wait. What do you mean 'got away'? Where did you get that idea? I actually won that battle.
Everyone looked at him in surprise. He turned his gaze to Daphne.
— Daphne, does the whole school think I ran away from a Death Eater?
Daphne blinked.
— Well, they say you were seriously injured. So we just assumed you ran into him but managed to escape.
Viktor looked around at everyone.
— You've been thinking I lost this whole time?
— Not lost, but got away, — one of them replied. — And that's normal, because he's a Death Eater and we're just kids. Anyone who ran into him would have met a sad end. We're weaker than they are.
Viktor's body suddenly began to tremble, and the student's words, spoken so casually, hit him harder than any spell. Memories flashed before his eyes.
Weeping. A small, fragile figure huddled on the floor, clutching a bleeding arm.
— Why are you doing this?! Please, let me go! — he begged, but the man with yellow teeth just smiled maliciously.
— Why am I doing this? Because you're weak, — a magical whip whistled through the air, and with each strike, a new wound appeared on Viktor's body, while an ugly woman in ragged clothes standing nearby laughed loudly, clapped her hands, and screamed:
— Weak, weak, weak...
Viktor came to. A wave of nausea suddenly hit him. Without a word, he ran out of the classroom. When the door slammed shut behind him, someone timidly asked:
— Did he get offended?
But no one answered him. A deathly silence fell over the classroom.
Viktor ran to the first bathroom he found. He vomited into the sink. Turning on the water, he splashed his face. His hands were shaking, and his heart was pounding wildly. His breathing was heavy. He didn't understand what was happening to him. Panic was frozen in his eyes. Trying to calm himself, he washed his face again.
Then he looked in the mirror, but instead of his reflection, he saw the face of a seven-year-old boy—the same boy who had once appeared just as suddenly and saved his life.
In a completely white, solitary room, a small figure lay curled up, constantly mumbling to himself:
— I'm not lying, I'm not lying...
Suddenly, a voice next to him said:
— No, you're not.
Viktor opened his eyes, got up from the bed, and saw a child, an exact replica of himself: the same clothes, the same voice, the same eyes. But unlike his own eyes, they were full of life.
— Who are you? — he asked.
The boy smiled brightly:
— Hi, I'm Viktor, Viktor Moss. And you?
— I'm Oliv...
— No! — his double interrupted him and repeated again. — I'm Viktor Moss.
— Yes... my name is that too. I'm Viktor Moss, — he said.
— Good. And what are you doing here?
— I'm here because no one believes me, — he answered sadly.
— Oh, and I'm here because I have a severe case of complex post-traumatic stress disorder. Do you know how I can get out of here?
— You need to get better, — Viktor answered thoughtfully.
— That's a good idea, — the double said with a smile, beginning to disappear. — I'll get better, and they'll let me go. Thank you!
Viktor tried to grab him:
— Wait, don't go!
But he only caught air.
— I'm not going anywhere.
Viktor looked around and saw his double lie down on his bed.
— That's my bed!
— Pfff, don't be greedy, — the second Viktor laughed. — There's plenty of room. Come on, don't be shy, lie down with me. But I'm warning you, I like girls, so keep your hands to yourself.
Viktor cautiously approached and lay down next to him. He silently stared at the ceiling. After a few seconds, he let out a heavy sigh:
— I've gone mad.
The double laughed:
— Yes, one hundred percent. Now we just need to get better.
— Or at least pretend we're better, and get out of here, — Viktor continued.
The double stretched toward the ceiling and said with a smile:
— Yessss... to freedom.
Viktor looked at him, and seeing that radiant smile, without even realizing it, he smiled for the first time in five years.
Viktor looked at his reflection and whispered:
— Viktor.
The boy in the reflection laughed.
— My God, look at you. You had a panic attack and you're crying like a baby in a girls' bathroom. Ha-ha-ha!
Viktor wiped his tears.
— I'm not crying.
— Then what are you doing here? — the double asked. — What were you so scared of? The fact that reality wasn't so cheerful? First you lost to Dumbledore, and now you almost died at Quirrell's hands and realized that you're weak?
Viktor's body trembled. The boy in the reflection looked at him seriously.
— Who am I?
Viktor looked into his eyes and, after a pause, answered:
— I... I'm Viktor Moss.
The boy smiled.
— Answer me: did Viktor Moss have an easy life?
— No, — Viktor shook his head.
— What did Viktor do when things were difficult?
His gaze became calm.
— He didn't give up.
— Yes! I never give up! I fight and I win! And what are you going to do?
Viktor froze. His heart calmed down, his body stopped trembling. Looking into the mirror, he suddenly began to laugh.
— It's strange to ask yourself that when you've already given the answer.
The boy also laughed and began to disappear.
— Yes, I already gave the answer.
Viktor stood by the sink, looking at his reflection and processing what had happened. He had lost to two wizards—one completely, the other almost. He was weaker, and that discovery had triggered a panic attack, especially when he remembered his "beloved parents'" words that the weak must obey the strong.
— To hell with the old man, — he said. — Don't interfere? Leave it all to Harry? No way, Quirrell is mine! I'll prove that I'm stronger, and one day I'll bring the old man to his knees too. Ha-ha-ha-ha!
Viktor turned and headed for the exit but suddenly stopped. He returned to the sink, looked at the faucet with a snake engraved on it, and began to hiss:
— Ssshh...spssss...shssshss...sp...shss...
He waited for a while, but nothing happened.
— Well, I tried, — he muttered.
After he left, a translucent head with two pigtails and glasses appeared from a bathroom stall. She whispered in fright:
— What was that?
Moaning Myrtle, as always, was sobbing in the bathroom when Viktor ran in. She was very frightened when he started talking to his reflection, asking and answering his own questions.
Viktor entered the library and headed to its most distant section, where a forbidden door with a gate stood. He waved his wand, and the gate opened. Suddenly, he heard a cold voice:
— Mr. Moss, what is the meaning of this? Trespassing into the Restricted Section during the day—you're quite brave.
Looking around, he saw Snape standing between the bookshelves. He smiled and said:
— I'm not trespassing. I'm openly visiting. — And he continued to walk.
Snape looked at him calmly and said:
— The knowledge kept there can be just as dangerous as it is useful. Be careful what you read. — Then he took a book from a shelf and left.
Viktor watched Snape leave.
— Thank you, I'll keep that in mind.