In the evening, immediately after dinner, Harry ran up to Victor almost at a sprint, whispered something in his ear, and immediately dashed off, without waiting for an answer, along with Ron, who was waiting for him at the doors.
Ever since Colin Creevey was found petrified, this pair had tried to keep as much of a respectful distance from Victor as possible. Thanks to Hermione, he knew that Ron seriously suspected him of being the Heir of Slytherin. Harry, of course, had his doubts, but he didn't want to quarrel with his best friend because of another acquaintance, preferring to remain neutral.
Victor entered Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione was already leaning over the cauldron, concentrating on stirring a thick substance that emitted a sharp, unpleasant odor.
— Hermione, you know, you could have asked me out on a date yourself, — he teased, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. — You didn't have to send Harry.
— This isn't a date, Victor, — she replied without even turning around. — Did you bring what I asked for?
Victor smiled and, with a slight gesture of his hand, a small pouch containing rare ingredients appeared. In the original story, Hermione would have had to sneak into Snape's office and risk expulsion, but Victor didn't want the girl to start down a path of thievery from such a young age, so he sponsored her himself. He could have given her a ready-made potion, but he didn't want to rush the course of events too much.
— I heard that you're trying to keep your distance from me because of Adele.
Hermione froze for a moment but didn't stop stirring the potion. She nodded slowly, looking at the bubbling sludge in the cauldron.
— After seeing how angry she got when I hugged you... I felt sorry for her. I don't know what she had to endure, but her story is clearly not an easy one. Seeing how she clings to you, I decided that I would appear nearby less often. Let her gradually get used to the fact that I am not a threat to her "territory."
Victor nodded approvingly, appreciating her level-headedness.
— Very mature of you.
— And communicating with you less is only for my own benefit, — she added with a serious face. — I don't want to pick up any bad habits from you.
— Now that just hurt! — Victor pouted, crossing his arms. — What are these "bad habits"?
Hermione, without looking away from the cauldron, cast an ironic glance at him:
— Look at Daphne. I've started to notice that she's becoming more and more like you. She used to be so pointedly serious, and now... sometimes she behaves so recklessly. She smiles for no reason, just like you, and jokes... let's put it this way, not always appropriately for the lady she was raised to be. In short, you've spoiled her.
Victor rubbed his chin, puzzled.
— Daphne makes dirty jokes? Hmm, strange, I haven't noticed that.
— When we are alone, she sometimes says things... that make my ears turn red, — Hermione shrugged vaguely.
— Well, well, — Victor chuckled, — I see your friendship is getting stronger and stronger.
— Yes, — she replied briefly. — Shared trouble brings people together.
Victor nodded, but then immediately frowned.
— Hey, what "trouble"?
Hermione didn't answer. She only smiled, focusing on the book that was lying next to the cauldron.
— Oh, never mind. By the way, where is Myrtle? — he asked suddenly, surveying the bathroom.
— She hid as soon as you walked in, — Hermione replied. — It seems she's terrified of you. What did you do to her?
Victor frowned in bewilderment:
— I don't think I did anything. I've never even interacted with her.
Moaning Myrtle, lurking in the far stall, pursed her lips resentfully. She was offended that he hadn't even noticed her last year. But she wasn't in a hurry to come out and voice her complaints—she still remembered his frightening aura.
— Well, I'll ask her when you leave, — Hermione sighed.
— Nope, I'm curious right now, — Victor snapped his fingers, and all the stall doors flew open with a bang.
Myrtle froze, sitting awkwardly on one of the toilets.
— Hey, stop eavesdropping. Come out and talk to us, — Victor ordered, not taking his eyes off her.
Myrtle shuddered and, after hesitating, slowly drifted toward them, hovering in the air.
— Are you afraid of me? — he asked directly.
At first, she nodded in fear, but then she straightened up abruptly and shook her head—she didn't know how to answer correctly without making him angry. Hermione, observing this strange behavior, shifted her gaze to Victor.
— Why are you afraid of me? Have we met before? — he repeated his question.
She fidgeted a bit, adjusting her glasses:
— You once came in here when I was resting on the windowsill. You stood in front of the mirror and started talking to yourself...
Victor thought back. He remembered. That must have been when he was hit by a powerful panic attack due to Quirrell.
— And what's so scary about that?
— You... you changed your facial expressions every time! — Myrtle trembled as she recalled. — As if there were two different people inside you: one was grinning insanely, and the other was shaking and crying. And at the end, you started emanating such... such a dangerous feeling that I thought I would die a second time!
Victor whistled in surprise:
— Whoa... So that's how it looked from the outside. Now I understand why they kept me in the basement for so many years.
— What?! In what basement? — Hermione dropped her spoon, and it hit the bottom of the cauldron with a quiet clang.
— Well, technically it was the "ground floor" for particularly dangerous patients. But at the asylum, everyone just called it the basement, — Victor explained casually.
Hermione froze in place, staring at him in surprise.
— Victor... So, when you joked about the certificate from the mental hospital... you... you weren't joking?
— Of course not, my dear, — he smiled as if he were talking about the weather. — I am an officially documented lunatic. I spent half my life in a mental institution until McGonagall pulled me out of there.
Hermione looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She only came to her senses when Victor began to wave his palm persistently in front of her face.
— Hey, hello? Did you break down?
— You... I... — she swallowed convulsively, trying to organize the chaos in her head. Finally, taking a deep breath, she asked: — How did it happen? Why did you end up... there?
Victor shrugged indifferently:
— One thing led to another. But don't worry, I'm much better now. Sometimes, of course, I feel like acting up, but I don't hear the voices anymore, and I'm thankful for that.
Hermione frowned. She realized he was dodging a direct answer, hiding behind a mask of indifference, but she didn't want to press him. She wanted to question Myrtle about the details of that episode, but found that the ghost had vanished as soon as the air smelled.
— Where did Myrtle go?
— Ran away while we were distracted, — Victor surveyed the empty stalls. — Listen, have you ever been curious about how exactly people become ghosts? Well, I get it: unfinished business, a thirst for revenge... But how does it work in practice?
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully:
— Like, Death comes, and you're like, "Hey, I've got stuff to do, can I hang around a bit longer?", and she's like, "Oh, sure, no problem, go ahead, dear." Or does Death not exist at all? But then why can't everyone do it? If I die, will I be able to become a ghost?
While he was reasoning, Hermione hardly heard him. She looked at the guy who always laughed, joked, and smiled, hiding such an abyss of pain behind that brightness. Something squeezed in her chest. She slowly approached and, without saying a word, hugged him tightly.
— Whoa! What's this sudden attack of affection? — he was surprised, but his arms obediently went around her back, hugging her in return.
Hermione stood there for a few seconds, inhaling his scent, and then quickly pulled away.
— I just... I just suddenly felt like hugging you.
Victor nodded approvingly.
— Do that more often, I definitely like it.
Hermione immediately turned back to the cauldron, hiding her flushed face behind a cloud of steam. Victor smiled, looking at the back of her head.
— Well, I have to go. I have some meeting scheduled with the prefect and Malfoy. I don't know why, but Daphne insisted on my presence.
Hermione only nodded silently without turning around, still trying to get her breathing under control.
Victor left the bathroom, casting a short glance at the snake-engraved faucet, and headed for the dungeons. Upon entering the Slytherin common room, he saw that Daphne, Gemma, and Draco were already waiting for him, having formed a sort of "council."
— Oh, you're already assembled? — he sat down in an armchair next to Daphne as if he owned the place. — Excellent. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish. Well, what is the occasion?
At that moment, footsteps were heard on the stairs. The four most influential Slytherins turned their heads in unison: a first-year student with a book in her hands was coming down. Seeing who was looking at her, the girl literally froze.
Gemma, recognizing her as one of her charges, asked gently:
— Where are you headed, dear?
— I... I wanted to read by the fireplace, — she stammered, clutching the book to her chest.
— Give us half an hour, and then you can come back, — Victor smiled at her.
The girl nodded hurriedly and hastened to hide in the bedrooms. Victor followed her with his gaze and sighed:
— Don't you think we need a separate room for such meetings?
Gemma looked at him expressively:
— We did have one. Until you turned it into your personal playground.
— Ah, right. It slipped my mind, — he waved his hand dismissively. — Fine, let's make this quick; we're taking the child's spot.
Gemma sighed deeply:
— I gathered you all to talk about the violence in Slytherin. Victor, I understand everything: someone offended your assistant. But cursing them so they can't get out of bed is too much.
She spoke very cautiously, almost tenderly, fearing to provoke him. Having verified that Victor wasn't angry, she continued:
— We started the year so well... Couldn't you have just discussed this like human beings?
Victor listened to her and nodded calmly:
— Sorry, Gemma, but I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't curse anyone.
The prefect was taken aback:
— And didn't you send two of ours to the hospital wing?
— No, — Victor shook his head honestly.
Draco frowned and slowly raised his hand:
— Actually... that was my order.
— What?! — Gemma cried out. — Why?! They're your people!
— Greengrass "asked" me, — Malfoy grunted, deflecting the blame.
All three stared at Daphne at once. She began to shift her gaze slowly from one to the other, and when she saw Victor's exaggeratedly surprised and deeply judgmental face, her eye twitched.
— I didn't ask to send them to the hospital! — she stated sharply. — I just demanded punishment. And how exactly—that was for Malfoy to decide.
— Er... well, I thought that's what you meant, — Draco excused himself.
Gemma rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily.
— Fine, it doesn't matter who exactly gave the order. As prefect, I don't want a repeat of last year. No offense, Victor.
— Too late, I'm already offended! — Victor turned away, pouting. — Someone got hurt, and you immediately decided it was my fault.
— Sorry, but you have a reputation, — Gemma gave a nervous smile. — Remember how many students you put in beds last year.
— Well, those are just guesses, unproven by anyone! And anyway... I'm for world peace now; in short—I'm a pacifist. — He smiled and made a peace sign.
Gemma shook her head, not believing him for a second:
— In short, let's solve such problems together. Meet, discuss... I'm even ready to hold trials. Fair trials.
— Oh great, another dig at me! Is that a hint that my trial wasn't fair? — Victor crossed his arms on his chest. — Did you invite me here today to insult me?
— No! I mean that we should eliminate violence.
She looked at him again, and Victor frowned:
— No, do you see this? Again she talks about violence and looks at me. I'm going to get up and leave right now. But... on the whole, I agree. Violence is a thing of the past. And I want to apologize for my assistant. Don't judge her too harshly, she just got very worried about her sister. Actually, she's a very good girl.
After talking a little more and reaching a general compromise, they parted ways.
— You shouldn't have agreed, — Daphne frowned as she climbed the stairs with him. — Without a display of strength, they'll relax quickly. Fear kept them in check perfectly.
Victor only chuckled quietly without slowing his pace.
— It doesn't matter anymore. I decided to be kinder myself. But if they decide that I've gone soft and start acting up... — He stopped for a moment and looked at her with a cold, piercing gaze. — I don't need anyone's permission or the prefect's approval to plunge Slytherin back into chaos.
They reached his room. Victor opened the door and, before entering, turned to Daphne once more:
— Remember, my dear. I won't let anyone lay claim to my crown. Snakes can only have one King. And that's me. Good night.
The door closed, leaving Daphne alone in the dim corridor. She stood thoughtfully, processing his words, and then a barely noticeable, triumphant smile appeared on her lips. Adjusting her robes, she headed to her room with a confident stride.