By evening, the news of how Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Viktor had defeated Professor Quirrell had spread throughout the school like wildfire. Every corner of Hogwarts buzzed with discussion, and at dinner in the Great Hall, students noisily exchanged rumors and impressions of this unprecedented event, barely containing their excitement.
When Dumbledore rose to give the traditional start to the dinner, everyone accustomed to the full picture of the House tables immediately noticed something unusual: more than half of the Slytherins were absent. Their usually crowded table was unusually empty, causing puzzled whispers and curious glances among the students of the other Houses.
Professor McGonagall leaned towards Snape, who was sitting next to her.
— Severus, — she asked quietly, her voice full of suppressed concern, — where are all your students? Why are there so few of them?
Snape, without looking up from his plate of pudding, replied calmly:
— You'd best ask the Headmaster about that.
McGonagall looked at Dumbledore questioningly.
Noticing her gaze, he smiled kindly and said loudly enough for all the teachers to hear:
— They are having dinner separately tonight. Viktor decided to arrange their own celebratory feast.
McGonagall raised an eyebrow in surprise, a flash of genuine astonishment in her eyes. This was the first time this had happened in all the years she had taught at the school. Slytherins, known for their snobbery, adherence to tradition, and strict hierarchy, rarely broke established order, much less held separate feasts. But, thinking of how much the Slytherin students had surprised her with their exam successes, she softened and nodded.
— I think they've earned their celebration. They worked hard on their exams. If it weren't for the green attribute of their robes, I might even mistake them for Ravenclaws! — she said with a smile, causing a quiet chuckle from Professor Flitwick.
Flitwick himself supported her, nodding energetically, his tiny spectacles slipping down to the tip of his nose.
— I agree, Minerva! They did well! And I think that's largely thanks to our genius. It's strange the Sorting Hat sent him to Slytherin. I think my House would have been the perfect place for him. — At these words, Snape looked at him like a dog whose favorite bone was being snatched away, his lips tightening into a thin, barely noticeable line.
— Hmm, — Snape drawled, slowly raising his gaze to Flitwick, his voice cold as ice. — I recall you sighing with relief when he ended up in my House at the start of the year.
Flitwick looked away awkwardly, his face slightly flushed. On the first day, after Viktor had injured another student, he really had sighed with relief that this boisterous and unpredictable newcomer hadn't ended up in Ravenclaw. Not that he had anything against it... it was just that he was too kind and didn't know how to chastise students at all, which is why it was good for him to be the Head of Ravenclaw, as quiet children who loved spending more time with books usually ended up there. And Viktor simply exuded chaos.
McGonagall, ignoring the spat, continued:
— I wanted and am still ready to take him into my House. He's a very brave boy; I think he would make an excellent Gryffindor.
Snape slowly turned to her, his black eyes flashing, and he said calmly but firmly:
— That's only because you already knew of his talent, Minerva. And anyway, there's nothing to discuss here. Viktor will remain in Slytherin. Though he possesses incredible intelligence and great bravery, for the most part, he has shown his true talents this year: pride, narcissism, and cunning. And I think when he gets older, he will show us his ambition too. That makes him a perfect Slytherin.
Dumbledore, listening to them discuss Viktor so passionately, mentally agreed with Snape.
In the spacious, but dimmed, Duelling Club room, an atmosphere of an underground party reigned. In the middle of the room stood a long table, cleverly disguised as a festive setting: it was adorned with lush green and silver ribbons, reflected in the flickering light of magical candles.
Just over half of Slytherin had gathered around the table, eagerly awaiting the start of the celebration.
Viktor, like a boss, sat at the head of the table, with his faithful assistant Daphne beside him.
The table was laden with a ton of food: there was everything—meat, fish, salads, and, of course, mountains of sweets.
Viktor stood up to officially begin the event. His figure towered over the table, drawing every eye.
— Dear friends, fellow Housemates, the FUTURE of this world! — his voice, amplified by a light spell, sounded solemn and resonant. — This school year is over, full of challenges, intrigues, and undoubtedly, our undisputed superiority! We all put in incredible effort, each at their own level, to complete it with brilliance. And now I can proudly announce: we do not have a single "Acceptable" grade! Not a single one! And that, my dears, is your merit—well, a little bit mine too, of course. No, it's mostly my merit, but you did well too. In short, I want you to know, I'm very proud of you! HURRAH FOR SLYTHERIN! HURRAH, my friends!
He raised his goblet high above his head. Everyone, as one, stood up, raised their goblets, and in a single, powerful chorus that shook the walls, they shouted: "HURRAH!"
When Daphne took a big gulp from her goblet, her eyes widened in shock. She froze, staring at Viktor.
— Is... is this Butterbeer?! — she asked, her voice full of surprise.
Viktor, setting his goblet down on the table with a light clatter, settled back into his chair with a smug look.
— Well, yeah, — he chuckled, shrugging. — Daphne, did you think I'd celebrate our success with pumpkin juice? This isn't a tea party at Grandma's.
Astonishment was still written on Daphne's face.
— But... and the Headmaster... did Dumbledore allow it? — She stammered, recalling that Dumbledore had organized this separate table for them.
Viktor rolled his eyes as if it were the stupidest question in the world.
— Pffft, no, of course not! — He waved a hand to the side. — This is all thanks to Thomas! — Viktor pointed to a fourth-year student sitting further down the table, who stood up proudly and bowed gallantly, accepting his moment of glory. — I prepared the Ageing Potion, and he bought the beer in Hogsmeade!
The room erupted again: the Slytherins, seized by a new fit of enthusiasm, began to applaud, pound on the tables, and chant: "Thomas is the best!" and "To Thomas!"
Viktor smiled and shouted:
— Alright, guys, let's celebrate already! — Viktor clapped his hands. — Daphne! Music, please, music!
Daphne smiled, walked over to the magical speaker, and turned it on.
Their dinner was much livelier than the others: they ate, danced, and sang. At some point, Gemma and her friends even joined them. Out of sheer curiosity, she had decided to see what the Slytherins were so busy with that they missed dinner and knocked on the door. Viktor opened it, and without hesitation, invited her to the party. Gemma quickly ran off, changed into comfortable clothes, grabbed her friends, and joined the general merrymaking.
When Viktor stepped aside to catch his breath after another demonstration of his signature, eccentric dancing, George stumbled up to him. He placed a hand on Viktor's shoulder, making Viktor's eyes widen.
— Vi-Viktor, — George slurred, his tongue thick. — The party is ju-u-u-ust great! I've never, hic, had so much fun!
Viktor looked at him in surprise.
— How did you manage to get so drunk from one glass of Butterbeer? — He really had brought alcohol, but he had poured everyone only one glass, leaving the rest to Thomas with instructions to only pour for the upper years.
— Ha-ha-ha-ha! — George proudly shook his head. — I drank my glass, then... then Sophia said she didn't want hers, so I helped her out! And then, when Thomas and his friends went dancing, I stole a bottle from them! — he whispered. — Listen, hic, it doesn't matter, Viktor. You're too strict with me! No, don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful to you, — he pulled Viktor into a drunken hug. — But you, you're strict! You need to be kinder, Viktor!
The drunken George was stopped by his friends, who ran up and quickly started pulling him away, apologizing awkwardly to Viktor. George resisted, clearly unwilling to stop.
— Don't pull me! I just need to talk to him!
— George, we have more booze over there! — His friend tried to tempt him to finally drag him away from Viktor.
— Viktor! We have more, hic, Butterbeer! Come on, let's drink!
— I'll just sort a few things out here and be right there! — Viktor replied with a slight smile.
Pleased with this answer, George finally allowed his friends to lead him away. They literally carried him to the dormitory, far away, so he wouldn't cause any more trouble.
Viktor watched them go when Daphne approached him, a satisfied smile playing on her face.
— What's so funny? — he asked, rolling his eyes. — Better find Thomas and tell him to hide the alcohol better, or I'll hide the bottles in his backside myself.
Daphne's smile only widened. Without a word, she went to look for Thomas. Viktor shook his head, but then immediately straightened his shoulders and headed back to dance.
— Clear the way! Make room for the King of the dance floor!
The party lasted late into the night. Music boomed from the magically amplified speakers, and the green light of the dungeon gave everything a mysterious hue. Everyone danced and laughed loudly, some even managed to get into a fight—in short, everyone was happy. Even in the morning, when everyone woke up, they were still excitedly discussing the previous night's fun.
Waking up, Viktor finished packing his things and walked out into the Slytherin Common Room. Daphne was sitting by the fireplace, enthusiastically chatting with a first-year girl about something.
Viktor approached them.
— Is everyone up? — he asked.
Daphne nodded.
— Almost. Though not everyone is feeling great right now. There's one individual who was throwing up half the night, — she smiled.
— I can even guess who that is, — he smirked. — And where is our hero?
— In the first-years' boys' dormitory.
Viktor nodded and, without wasting time, headed there.
Entering the dormitory, he saw everyone but one boy happily packing their bulky trunks, anticipating the holidays.
George was sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over. His face was as pale as snow on mountain peaks, and dark circles were etched around his eyes.
— Hey, Demon! How are you? Will you be able to survive the day without puking up the Great Hall?
The boys finally noticed him.
George slowly looked up, his eyes red and hazy.
— They told me everything about last night, — he rasped. — You can kill me. Honestly, it couldn't get any worse.
Viktor merely raised a contemptuous eyebrow.
— Why bother? You've already punished yourself. You're a sight for sore eyes.
A stifled laugh filled the dormitory. George winced, his cheeks flushing slightly despite his pallor.
— I will never touch alcohol again, — he swore solemnly, as if taking an Unbreakable Vow.
— Ha-ha-ha! — Viktor rolled his eyes, his laugh dry and short. — If you only knew how many times I've heard that! — He stretched out his hand, and a dark vial with a potion materialized in his palm. — Here, drink this.
— What is it? — George walked over to him with difficulty and took the potion.
— Drink it, and you'll instantly feel human again. Don't waste time with questions.
The mention of instant relief erased his last doubts. George tore off the cork with his teeth and drained the potion in one sharp, bitter gulp. Almost immediately, his face flushed with a healthy, warm glow, and his gaze cleared. He took a deep, relieved breath.
— Haah! You're my savior!
— Alright, hurry up and pack. The farewell breakfast is waiting.
— Oh! And are we going to celebrate the House victory? — George jumped up, full of new energy. — Our House definitely won the Cup! We have to celebrate that!
Viktor froze. That thought had completely slipped his mind. By points, Slytherin should, of course, win the House Cup, but...
— Viktor, are you alright? — George waved a worried hand in front of him.
Viktor sharply returned to reality. He looked at him and nodded.
— I'm fine. What were you asking? Oh, right. — He raised his hand and gave George a light but noticeable swat to the back of the head. — You've celebrated enough already. That's enough for you. Pack your things, and I'll deal with something else.
He turned, not waiting for an answer, and quickly left the dormitory.