Victor watched with undisguised pleasure as Snape's Expelliarmus sent Lockhart on a long and very picturesque flight.
— He flew beautifully... — he drawled with a satisfied smile. — I wonder if Snape would let me go up against him? I would take great pleasure in tossing him across the hall.
Daphne raised an eyebrow, not taking her eyes off the professor, who was frantically adjusting his robes, trying to maintain a shred of dignity.
— Where does all this hatred for him come from?
— Because of his whining, Dumbledore forced me to attend every one of his classes. You know, even the Sorting Hat turned out to be much more decent: for instance, it kept the secret that I was the one who stole it. Although once, when the Headmaster wasn't in his office, it yelled at me quite a bit, but it never gave me away to Dumbledore.
Daphne turned to him sharply, her eyes widening.
— You stole the Sorting Hat?
— Yes. Adeline asked, and you know I can't refuse her anything, — Victor suddenly leaned forward, his gaze focusing on the dueling platform. — Oh, look. It's started. Harry versus Draco. Who are you betting on?
Daphne squinted, appraising the duelists.
— I think Malfoy will win without any trouble. It's unlikely Potter knows even one decent combat spell.
— Well, wouldn't be so sure, — Victor crossed his arms, carefully watching Harry's every move. — That boy somehow managed to defeat the Dark Lord himself.
— That wasn't Potter, that was his mother, — Daphne parried coldly. — He was just an infant then.
As they spoke, the duel broke out without warning. Draco, not waiting for Lockhart to finish the count, thrust his wand forward sharply.
— EVERTE STATUM!
A flash of blinding white light burst from the tip of Malfoy's wand. Harry was literally blown back by a powerful impulse: he flew backward, performing several somersaults in the air, and landed on the wooden boards with a crash. A gasp of horror and admiration swept through the hall.
But Harry jumped up faster than anyone expected. His face was flushed, and his eyes flashed fiercely behind his glasses. He slashed his wand through the air in response:
— RICTUSEMPRA!
A golden beam struck Draco right in the chest. He flew up, somersaulted, and landed on his backside right at Snape's feet. The professor, frowning, hauled his godson up by the scruff of his neck with a grip of steel and shoved him back toward the center of the platform.
Draco, gasping with rage, decided to end it with one blow. His voice slipped into a serpentine hiss:
— SERPENSORTIA!
The tip of his wand exploded, and a huge black cobra fell heavily onto the platform from the black smoke. It reared up, hood flared, and hissed threateningly, staring straight at Harry.
Snape, seeing Potter's confused expression, moved forward slowly, not taking his hands from the wide sleeves of his robes.
— Don't move, Potter. I'll get rid of it now...
— Allow me, Professor! — Lockhart interjected, flashing his toothy smile. — I can handle this snake myself!
He swished his wand dramatically, shouting:
— ARANIA EXUMAI!
The snake, caught by a magical kick, flew toward the ceiling and fell back with a heavy thud. Victor just shook his head.
— Complete idiot... — he said.
The enraged cobra, instead of vanishing, turned toward the Gryffindor boy and prepared to strike. And then the hall fell silent. Harry walked slowly toward the snake. From his throat came an inhuman, chilling hiss—icy, guttural, bone-deep.
— S-s-sa-ha-e-sss... — Harry hissed, and every sound echoed in the dead silence of the hall.
The snake froze. It slowly turned its head toward Potter, its hood collapsed, and its aggression was replaced by strange obedience. Harry continued to hiss, walking closer, until the cobra finally calmed down, literally bowing its head before him.
Snape, whose gaze had grown sharp, stepped forward.
— VIPERA EVANESCA! — he said coldly.
The cobra burst into orange flames from within and in a second disintegrated into gray ash, leaving behind only a cloud of smoke. Everyone present looked at Harry as if seeing him for the first time—and in those gazes was undisguised suspicion.
— Potter is a Parselmouth? — Daphne turned to Victor, stunned.
Victor just shrugged indifferently, watching the dissipating smoke.
— Looks like it. Well, I think we can wrap up the lesson here.
Daphne shook her head, not taking her eyes off Harry.
— Victor, the lesson just started.
— O-o-oh, what a drag... — Victor sighed heavily, showing with his whole demeanor how much he was suffering from boredom.
He was tired of standing. He waved his wand lazily, and an elegant dark wood armchair materialized out of thin air behind him. Its legs and armrests were entwined with artful stone snakes whose eyes seemed to follow everyone present. Victor sprawled out in it, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest. Silence reigned. The students looked at him, but no one dared to say anything—you had to be a real fool to challenge Victor.
Harry, unable to stand the oppressive tension, climbed down from the platform and headed for the exit at a fast pace. Hermione and Ron, exchanging worried glances, immediately followed him.
— Hey! — Victor raised his hand indignantly, pointing at the closed door. — What is this? Why are they allowed to leave, and I'm not?
Daphne gracefully settled onto the massive armrest of his chair.
— If you leave now, Slytherin will lose a hundred points, — she reminded him with a faint smirk.
— Damn... how I hate that idiot Lockhart, — Victor grumbled, leaning back exhaustedly and pouting while watching the lesson continue.
Meanwhile, Gilderoy, trying his best to ignore the recent incident, clapped his hands, trying to regain the audience's attention.
— Well then! Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter showed us a very energetic duel! But let's agree: in the following rounds, we use only disarming spells! Now, who is next... — His gaze landed on Victor, who was lounging nonchalantly in his armchair in the middle of the hall. — Mr. Moss! I invite you to the platform!
— No thanks, I'll pass, — Victor cut him off without even moving. — Let George go instead.
George, standing nearby, fidgeted nervously:
— What, me? Maybe someone else? I was just about to check...
— GEORGE. GET. UP. THERE. NOW! — Victor barked.
At that tone, George jumped, and, forgetting about the stairs, literally leaped onto the platform in one awkward motion. Lockhart, seeing that he was being openly ignored, cast a helpless glance at Snape, looking for support.
Snape slowly rolled his eyes.
— I believe Mr. Moss has no need to prove anything on this platform, — the professor cut him off without even looking at Gilderoy. — Who wishes to keep Mr. Barnes company?
Seeing that Snape had openly taken Victor's side, Lockhart flinched. A sickly flush flooded his cheeks, and his fingers, clutching his wand, turned white. He was furious: public neglect from a student was a painful blow to his bloated ego. Gilderoy let out something resembling a chuckle, trying to maintain a shred of authority before the hushed hall, though unmasked resentment froze in his eyes.
A Ravenclaw boy raised his hand.
— Professor, may I?
Lockhart nodded hurriedly, relieved that the attention had shifted, if only for a moment.
— Mr. Racy, please, step up!
Victor lazily lifted his head without changing his relaxed posture.
— George, if you lose, I'll be your next opponent.
George forced a convulsive smile and glanced at his opponent. The Ravenclaw looked confident, perhaps even overconfident. George began to frantically calm himself: "Come on, George, you've done this hundreds of times. Just breathe."
After the mandatory bow, they stepped apart. Lockhart waved his arms enthusiastically:
— Now, on the count of three! Disarm your opponent! I repeat: only disarm!
— One!
— Two!
— Three!
The Ravenclaw barely had time to inhale to shout the spell, but George was faster. No unnecessary words, no extra movements—just a sharp, honed flick of the wand. A powerful invisible impulse struck true. Racy's wand flew out of his hands, describing an arc, while the boy himself stood with a stunned expression and his mouth agape.
The hall plunged into dead silence. George looked at Victor uncertainly. The latter smiled approvingly and gave a thumbs-up.
Beaming with happiness, George politely thanked his disarmed opponent and hurried back to the group of Slytherins. However, his jubilation was replaced by bewilderment when he caught the strange, almost frightened look of his friend, Oliver.
— What's wrong? — George asked in a whisper.
— You... did you just use non-verbal magic?
— Really? — George blinked in confusion.
— Yes! You didn't make a sound!
George's eyes widened. He only now realized that in the heat of the fight, under the pressure of Victor's authority, he had simply forgotten to shout the spell. His body, on pure reflexes, had repeated what they had practiced hundreds of times in the Fight Club.
Snape narrowed his deep black eyes. He suspected Victor's underground training, but he didn't expect them to be this effective. Teaching a second-year—and not the most talented one, either—a non-verbal Expelliarmus? That was no small feat.
— See? — Victor puffed out his chest proudly, winking smugly at Daphne. — That's my school. I trained him.
Daphne just rolled her eyes.
— I think he was just scared to death of you. I'm sure if you weren't there, he wouldn't have been able to repeat it.
Victor rolled his eyes.
— Whether it was fear or pure luck doesn't matter. What matters is that now he knows what he's capable of. And realizing his own strength will make him train ten times harder.
He shifted his gaze to the platform, where other students were preparing for the next duel, and frowned.
— Listen, what if, strictly by accident, all the students were to get injured at once—would this lesson end?
Daphne looked at him calmly, not even batting an eyelash.
— I think so. But who would injure them? You're supposed to be kind and non-violent now.
Victor looked her in the eyes for a long time and sighed sadly. A small toy car appeared out of nowhere in his hand, which he began to focus on rolling along the carved armrest of his chair.
— Vrrrm-ooo-om... vrr-rr-rr, — he hummed quietly, completely immersed in the process.
Daphne, watching this sudden bout of childishness, just sighed heavily and looked away.