The morning breathed freshness, and the London streets were bathed in warm, gentle sun, making the asphalt gleam. Viktor strolled lazily along the sidewalk, slowly eating an ice cream cone. While the cool ice cream melted on his tongue, he watched the hustle and bustle of the Muggle world detachedly.
Passing a tall, modern, entirely glass-clad skyscraper, Viktor, lost in thought, suddenly bumped into a large man in an expensive, impeccably tailored, charcoal-black suit as he abruptly stepped out of a parked limousine. The man's entire appearance, from his expensive watch to his cold gaze, practically screamed: "I am very rich." The man contemptuously pushed Viktor aside.
— Watch where you're going, kid! — he growled arrogantly.
Viktor frowned, his gaze fixed on the ice cream cone that had fallen from his hand and was now slowly melting on the asphalt. He even thought he heard its last, tragic words: "Oh, what a cruel death under the cruel scorching sun!" He slowly raised his eyes to the culprit, who was joined by two huge, grim bodyguards.
The man sneered dismissively, clasping his hands behind his back.
— What are you staring at? Didn't your parents teach you to apologize, or have you swallowed your tongue?
Viktor, immobile and calm as a porcelain doll, smiled. Looking directly into his eyes, a blinding, cold white light flashed in his piercing blue pupils. It was instantaneous, like a lightning strike, caught only by the man himself. He frantically began to blink and rub his eyes, as if trying to erase what he had seen. When he refocused on Viktor, the boy was already walking away serenely. The man stood still, frozen, and stared meaninglessly at his retreating back.
— Boss, are you alright? — one of the bodyguards asked worriedly, noticing their client standing motionless.
— Y-yes, — the man replied, rubbing his eyes one more time. He shook his head and hurriedly entered the glass building.
Viktor calmly entered the nearest store and bought himself a new ice cream. Thanking the clerk with his charming smile, he stepped back outside. In the very next second, the peaceful city noise was shattered by the piercing, crisp sound of breaking glass, followed by the frightened, high-pitched screams of the crowd.
Viktor unhurriedly raised his head. On the very top floor of the glass skyscraper that the man had just entered, one of the huge windows had shattered into fragments. A dark, indistinguishable silhouette froze in the empty opening for a moment, and then it plummeted like a stone.
A fraction of a second later, a horrible, muffled thud was heard, similar to a bag of wet sand falling, which made many catch their breath. The street filled with the hysterical screams of passersby.
Smiling, Viktor unwrapped his ice cream with complete composure. He took a large bite, and then serenely walked on. A real panic was growing around him: screams, running people, approaching sirens—but he paid no attention to this chaos, continuing his walk undisturbed.
Returning home, Viktor quickly took a shower, washing off the London dust, and immediately headed to the kitchen to prepare lunch. Since he had soberly assessed his financial situation, he had stopped eating out at various establishments and, for the sake of economy, had started cooking for himself. At first, it wasn't very edible, but Viktor ate everything anyway—even through tears and internal disgust, he felt bad throwing food away. Gradually, learning from his mistakes, he got better; he even started to enjoy cooking.
Bringing the tray of food to the living room, he returned to the kitchen and brought a can of cat food. Pouring it into the bowl, he immediately attracted the attention of a huge, ginger cat. When Hermione and her family left for vacation a week ago, she asked him to look after Crookshanks. Well, asked? Actually, she just showed up on his doorstep, shoved the huge ginger cat into his hands without warning, along with a bag stuffed with cat food cans, muttered a quick "Bye!" and silently left. Stroking the cat, Viktor turned on the radio and began to eat to the sound of loud pop songs.
Suddenly, a song was abruptly cut off. The calm voice of the announcer reported: "Today, for unknown reasons, one of the wealthiest men in England committed suicide, throwing himself out of the window of his company's headquarters. The reason for this tragic act has not yet been established..."
Viktor snapped his fingers, and the radio instantly fell silent. He looked at the cat, which was staring motionlessly at him, clearly begging for seconds.
— Why are you looking at me like that? I had nothing to do with it. Maybe he had some business problems, and couldn't take it, — Viktor shrugged innocently. He continued to eat, causing the cat to stare even more intently at him.
— Alright, alright, don't look at me like that, yes, I'm guilty! — Viktor surrendered. — But who knew Muggles were so weak against magic? I thought the curse would wear off, and he would be fine. It was just an accident, accidental manslaughter.
Seeing that Crookshanks continued to stare at him, he exploded:
— Aaaah! Fine, you're right! I fully knew what I was doing, and when he fell, I was thoroughly amused! — Viktor sighed. — There, are you satisfied now?
Crookshanks, realizing that no seconds were coming, disdainfully turned away and flopped onto the rug.
— Hey, are you offended? Well, I'm sorry I yelled! Yes, you're right, I shouldn't have killed him. It's just that after I killed that guy in Diagon Alley, I felt that pleasant sensation again, when you punish a scumbag. But you're right, I shouldn't have killed him today, I could have just crippled him. Although... maybe he deserved it? You know, rich people can be very nasty sometimes. Did the Puddifoot's situation teach you nothing?
Leaning back in the armchair, he sighed.
— Yes, I guess you're right. Something needs to be done about this. I shouldn't be killing everyone, God, it's all because of childhood trauma...
Looking at the cat, he frowned.
— I know, but they just suck! How can they take so long to find out where I live? Hey, there's a bounty on my head! Doesn't anyone even try? Doesn't anyone need money? — He looked at the ceiling, clasped his hands, and began to pray:
— Lord, if you exist, please let a bunch of scumbags break in right now, and I can have some fun, creating such a massacre that Quentin Tarantino himself would come to shoot a movie because of the immense amount of blood!
Finishing his prayer, he looked expectantly at the front door. One second, two, three... Nothing.
— Haaaah! See? Nothing!
Then he looked thoughtfully at the cat.
— Do you think I should go to Knockturn Alley myself? Well, I don't know, it's kind of dangerous, and I'm not ready at all yet... Wait a minute, though!
He jumped up abruptly, waving his hand and sending the tray with the dishes into the kitchen. And headed for the stairs to the second floor. A few minutes later, a cloud of red smoke flew into the living room at high speed.
Viktor stood in front of the cat and asked in an altered, mechanical voice:
— How do I look? — He was wearing an entirely black suit, a deep hood on his head, a smooth red mask without a single opening on his face, and two long swords were visible on his back.
— What do you mean "a pathetic parody"? It's not a parody, it's a tribute! — Viktor argued, addressing the unperturbed cat. — What am I even explaining to a stupid cat! That's it! If they won't come to Daddy, then Daddy will go for them himself!
He turned around and left the house, slamming the door.
Crookshanks watched him leave, lazily yawned, and settled back down to sleep.
Suddenly, the door opened cautiously, and Viktor walked back in, carefully closing the door behind him. He looked at the cat, which had once again turned its attention to him.
— Why didn't you tell me it was still daytime outside?! The neighbor was looking at me so strangely; she probably thought I was cosplaying some comic book hero!
— And while I was coming back, I remembered something... — He tore off the mask and asked in his usual voice: — Do you happen to know how to get to Knockturn Alley?
обычным голосом: — Вы случайно не знаете, как добраться до Косого переулка?
To find Knockturn Alley, Victor came up with a brilliant idea that, in his opinion, was the only logical way: to become the most conspicuous live bait possible.
For three days now, he had been strolling through Diagon Alley, hoping someone would finally take the bait. Currently, he was sitting at a table outside Florean Fortescue's, working on his fourth serving of clotted cream ice cream. The picture-perfect scene of a happy child enjoying a dessert was utterly ruined by his dark, scowling face. He stared at the cone as if he were eating something deeply unpleasant instead of a treat. Suddenly, a wide, predatory grin spread across his face. He quickly finished the rest of his ice cream, jumped up, and began a leisurely stroll down the alley, pointedly lingering at the shop windows.
Stopping in front of the broom shop where the Nimbus 2001 was on display, he was approached by two suspicious-looking characters. One gave a broad grin, revealing neglected yellow teeth, while the other glanced nervously around. Watching their "teamwork," Victor had only one thought: Professionals.
— Interested in that broom, kid? — asked the one with the grin. — Of course, what young wizard wouldn't want one of those! You know, my friend and I play Quidditch all the time, — he looked at the second man, who nodded hastily. — And I actually bought one of these recently.
Victor put on the most innocent, wide-eyed look he could muster and asked, squinting slightly:
— Really?
— Yes, but I had a nasty spill in the last game and, I'm afraid, I can't even climb onto a broom anymore, — the wizard sighed theatrically.
Victor adopted a sympathetic, mournful expression.
— I'm so sorry! It must be some kind of serious, very contagious injury?
Watching them exchange smug glances, utterly convinced he had swallowed the hook, Victor thought to himself: Maybe I should go into acting? My delivery is flawless. I could be the next Macaulay Culkin. Make a bit of extra galleons on the side.
— It's alright! I'm getting too old for this anyway, — the wizard continued. — But you know, seeing such a handsome and bright boy, I thought: why not just give it to you?
— Oh, no! You can't! It's so expensive! I couldn't possibly take it! — Victor protested, desperate yet polite.
— Heavens, what a kind boy! Now I want to give it to you even more. Don't refuse, it would make me happy to know you're the one flying it!
Victor pretended to weigh the decision heavily, then nodded.
— That's the spirit! Come with us, I live just around the corner.
As they walked through Diagon Alley, both wizards kept glancing over their shoulders like paranoiacs, telling him to stay close so he wouldn't "get lost." Upon reaching Gringotts, they turned down a narrow, dark path. The bright Diagon Alley was abruptly replaced by a grim, oppressive atmosphere: wizards in filthy robes loitered about, and the air grew heavy with the smell of dust and dampness. Looking around, Victor stopped and frowned.
Seeing his reaction, the wizards tensed, ready to draw their wands in case he tried to bolt.
— Is this... Knockturn Alley? — Victor asked incredulously.
— Yes, my house is just up ahead. Don't be scared, no one will touch you while you're with us, — the yellow-toothed one reassured him quickly, eyes darting around nervously.
But Victor stood frozen to the spot, right on the boundary between light and shadow.
— To is, if I had, say, wanted to get to Knockturn Alley, I could have just asked any passerby in Diagon Alley for directions? — His voice was filled with icy realization. — This isn't some secret lair for dark wizards, it's just another, dirtier part of the street?
The wizards exchanged bewildered looks.
— Well... yeah. Anyway, let's keep moving, it's not far...
— Hahaha! — Victor burst into a loud, self-deprecating laugh, cutting him off. — Good grief! I spent two days wandering Diagon Alley like an idiot, and I could have just asked for directions?!
The wizard who had been silent the whole time frowned and asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously:
— Kid, you alright? Let's go, or have you changed your mind about the Nimbus?
Victor calmed down instantly. Collecting himself, he pointed toward a dark, empty alleyway branching off the main path of Knockturn.
— I still want it, but let's duck in there first.
The wizard was surprised.
— Why?
— Well, I just love walking into dark, deserted places. It's a bit of a hobby of mine, — Victor drawled with a wide, manic grin.
— What the hell does it matter! If he wants to go there, let's go! — the yellow-toothed one hissed excitedly to his partner. — It's perfect! We'll knock him out there and turn him in for the reward!
Then he turned back to Victor, gave an oily smile, placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, and led him into the ominous darkness.
— Don't mind him, he's just afraid of the dark.
The second wizard, watching them disappear into the gloom, felt a shiver run down his spine. Something chilling told him that something was very wrong with this boy and that he should run and not look back. But, remembering the massive reward on the boy's head, he silenced his screaming instincts and followed them into the dark.