Time flew by rapidly for Victor. He had fallen into a sort of routine: he only attended half of his classes, preferring to dedicate his time to self-improvement in the Room of Requirement. Beyond the Fight Club, at Adele's initiative, he had taken to training her in the art of magical combat, and, of course, Luna invariably came along with his sister. Victor was pleasantly surprised to discover a hidden talent in the girl. Certainly, she was not the monster of magic that he, Adele, or Hermione were, but her abilities were quite unique. Victor also tried to ensure that these training sessions did not hinder his sister's progress in Potions; he was certain that if not for his own hyper-awareness and photographic memory, Adele would have already provided him with serious competition.
In the Room of Requirement, Victor leaned over the cauldron and nodded with satisfaction.
— Perfect. The color, the consistency... You're a clever girl, Adele. This is an excellent Shrinking Solution.
Adele wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, exhausted, and let out a deep breath.
— Phew... That was exhausting. I've been struggling with it for over two hours!
— Two hours is nothing, — Victor laughed. — One time I brewed Felix Felicis for a whole month, and that was only thanks to Snape's hints. If you prepare it alone from scratch, it takes over half a year.
— Can I see it? — Adele's eyes ignited with curiosity.
— Sorry, I gave it away as the grand prize at a competition, — Victor replied. — Well, that's all for today. Time to head to dinner. And don't forget: we're leaving for home tomorrow. If you want to take anything with you, get it ready now.
He affectionately stroked her hair, and Adele turned with a satisfied smile toward Luna, who had been sitting motionlessly in a deep armchair the entire time, completely immersed in reading a massive tome bound in black leather.
— What are you reading, Luna? — Victor inquired.
— Did you know that Herpo the Foul was also a Parselmouth? — she asked without lifting her eyes from the page.
Victor suddenly frowned. He strode swiftly over to her and took the book.
— Hey... That's my book. How did you get it?
— I found it with Adele, — Luna replied calmly.
Victor cast a stern glance at his sister. She only shrugged.
— I took it off your desk, — Adele confessed. — Is it true? That you can split your soul and live forever?
A heavy, oppressive silence fell over the Room of Requirement. Victor looked at the two girls, in whose eyes there was a childish, pure curiosity that was completely out of sync with the book's subject matter.
— Yes, it is possible, — Victor sighed, giving in. — But splitting the soul leaves an indelible, rotten mark. Creating Horcruxes is a deal with the devil. It grants ghostly immortality at the cost of completely losing one's humanity, sanity, and very form. It's a path to nowhere. If there are no more questions—it's time for us to go.
Luna slowly raised her hand:
— And who is the devil?
Adele stared at her friend in surprise:
— Are you seriously asking that?
— Adele will explain it to you later; she understands such things better than anyone, — Victor cut in, ushering the girls toward the exit. — And now—march, out of here.
When the doors slammed shut behind them, Victor returned to the table and looked at the book. It was the original diary of Herpo the Foul—a rare grimoire he had once discovered in the Flamel family's secret archives. Placing his palm on the cover, he felt a foreign, cold will emanating from it. Victor closed his eyes, concentrating, and when he opened them, the book vanished, dissolving into the magical space of the Room of Requirement.
— Let it stay here, — he whispered. — The last thing I need is for these pages to fall into the hands of some foolish student.
Stepping out of the room, he quickly caught up with the girls, and together they headed to the Great Hall, where the pre-holiday dinner was already in full swing.
After seeing the girls off following dinner, Victor returned to the Slytherin dungeons. However, upon crossing the threshold of his room, he froze: Dobby was frolicking on his bed, jumping happily.
Victor's reaction was instantaneous. A short gesture—and the elf, squeaking in surprise, froze in mid-air. The next second, he was tossed toward the ceiling, where magical branches burst from the stone masonry, binding the uninvited guest tightly.
Dobby looked down in terror and guiltily tucked his huge ears.
— Good evening, Victor Moss! — he squeaked. — Dobby has completed your task!
Snapping his fingers, the elf easily freed himself from the wooden bonds and landed in front of Victor, holding out a sealed envelope. Victor squinted as he took the message, and then, softening, lazily patted the elf on the head.
— Well done, Dobby. You did a great job.
The elf's eyes widened to the size of tea saucers and instantly filled with tears. He burst into loud, heart-wrenching sobs:
— Oh-oh-oh! Victor Moss praised Dobby! No one... no one has ever praised a poor elf!
— That's enough, Dobby, stop crying, or you'll get my carpet wet, and this is natural wool, by the way, — Victor winced. — Fix the bed and you can go back to pestering Harry Potter.
— Thank you! Dobby will never forget Victor Moss's kindness! — the elf vanished with an enthusiastic pop.
— Seems he's already forgotten I was blackmailing him, — Victor muttered, inspecting the perfectly made bed.
He sat down at the desk and opened the envelope. As his eyes raced across the lines, a cold, anticipating smile blossomed on Victor's lips.
— William Brown... a little spy, — he whispered, folding the letter. — Well, this is getting truly interesting.
Without hesitation, he headed to the Headmaster's office. Entering Dumbledore's office without knocking, Victor carelessly dropped into an armchair, not even waiting for an invitation.
— I'll have raspberry tea with lemon, — he said casually.
Dumbledore slowly descended from the upper tier of the library and settled into the armchair opposite him. As soon as he sat down, two cups appeared on the table on their own, exuding a subtle aroma of berries and citrus. Victor took his cup and began to slowly blow on the steam, not taking his eyes off the Headmaster. A faint smile played on his face.
— What has put you in such high spirits at this late hour? — Dumbledore asked gently.
Victor took a sip of tea, savoring the taste.
— Let's just say I stumbled upon something extremely... interesting.
Dumbledore leaned forward with interest. Victor set the cup on the saucer and leaned back in the chair, relaxing.
— How is the case of the arsonist maniac progressing?
Dumbledore frowned noticeably.
— The Ministry believes he has long since left Britain. There is not a single piece of evidence that could lead them to you.
Victor nodded understandingly.
— And who was leading the investigation?
— Alastor Moody, personally, — Dumbledore replied. — You made far too much noise, Victor.
— Is that so... And does Moody trust you?
This question made Dumbledore genuinely surprised.
— Undoubtedly. We are old friends, and the years of war against Voldemort forged an even stronger bond between us.
Victor only smiled and, taking a letter from the inner pocket of his robes, carelessly held it out across the table.
— You should seriously rethink the strength of your friendship, given that he sent his own nephew to spy on me without your knowledge.
Dumbledore opened the envelope. As he read, his expression grew increasingly stern, and a deep crease appeared between his brows. Finally, placing the letter on the table, he sighed deeply.
— Ha... The loss of an old friend's trust is exactly what I needed right now, — the Headmaster tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully.
Victor took another sip of tea and remarked casually:
— You should choose your friends more carefully.
The Headmaster looked at him heavily from under his half-moon glasses.
— Do not forget that all of this started only because I covered for you and hid you with the Flamels. That is the price I paid for your freedom.
Victor smiled brilliantly, but there was not a drop of remorse in that smile.
— Yes, and I am sincerely grateful to you for that.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair wearily, rubbing his temples.
— Do you think he knows it was me?
— No. Otherwise, you would already be on trial, — Dumbledore shook his head. — Most likely, Moody suspects that you are somehow connected to him. He probably figured out that Death Eaters were hunting you, and put two and two together.
— Reasonable, — Victor agreed.
Dumbledore suddenly leaned forward, his gaze turning to steel.
— Victor, I forbid you from taking any action against William Brown. Do not dare touch the boy.
Victor rolled his eyes.
— I told you I've changed; I'm a pacifist now. Besides, what could he possibly find out? The letter only contains reports on the Fight Club and that Slytherin is completely under my control, blah, blah, blah—in short, everything about my daily life at school. Ah, how hard it is to be such a public figure, — he sighed wearily. — I can't even go to the bathroom without someone knowing about it.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, ignoring his vanity.
— By the way, about your club. I have heard of Mr. Barnes's success. Do you not want to make it official and train the whole school?
— No, thanks, — Victor winced. — My little snakes are enough for me. If it was amusing last year, now that there are more of them, it's beginning to be exhausting.
— A pity. You would have made an outstanding teacher.
— The secret is proper motivation, — Victor rose from the chair, adjusting his robes. — You need to constantly remind them that if they don't try, they will be beaten.
— I'm afraid your methods are not quite suitable for school, — Dumbledore replied.
Victor only shrugged, heading for the exit.
— Effective, nonetheless.
— Victor, — the Headmaster called after him. — I will speak with Alastor. I will find out exactly what he is up to.
Victor nodded briefly, without turning back, and left, leaving Dumbledore alone.