Victor sat on a high stool in the middle of the workshop, swinging his legs.
— Why this oppressive silence? Just tell it like it is.
Flamel sighed heavily, not daring to look up.
— To make these eyes take root, they required a piece of your soul. They have literally bitten into it, grown inside.
— I know. I felt it—it was painful, — Victor replied calmly, adjusting his blindfold. — But it doesn't matter. The main thing is that I'm becoming stronger. I can practically feel my mana increasing.
— Yes, the energy contained within the crystals is gradually merging with your source, nourishing your life force. But your soul has sustained great damage, Victor; even I don't know how to fix it.
— And what are the consequences? — he inquired curiously.
— Your soul was incredibly strong to begin with. Being a mage of such order, you could have easily crossed the two-hundred-year mark. But now... — Nicolas paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. — Now, you might only live to be a hundred and fifty.
Victor froze for a moment, then let out a short, dry laugh.
— Pffft... And where is the downside in that?
— You aren't listening to me! — Flamel exclaimed. — Your life has become shorter! You gave up decades of your future for the sake of these eyes!
— Nicolas, — Victor rose slowly, feeling for his cane. — Perhaps for you, having lived six centuries, a hundred and fifty years isn't much. But for me, it's an eternity. To be honest, I'm not sure I'll want to walk this earth for even a hundred years. So, if there are no side effects other than "early" old age—I'm going. I am deathly hungry.
Flamel frowned, looking at the boy's back. Maybe he was indeed overdramatizing? Ordinary wizards live on average from ninety to a hundred and ten years, and only the greatest reach a century and a half. From that perspective, Victor was still destined for longevity.
His thoughts were unceremoniously interrupted by a deafening crash.
— Damn it! Where did this table come from?! — came Victor's shout as he collided with the furniture.
Nicolas shook his head and sighed resignedly.
— The exit is the other way. Let me walk you before you demolish my workshop again.
The following morning, Perenelle stood with her arms crossed, looking at Victor and Adele with clear disapproval.
— Perhaps you should stay until your sight returns? — there was anxiety in her voice.
— Oh, come on, Grandma. Nicolas said the adaptation would take no more than two weeks. I'll manage somehow, — Victor shrugged carelessly, adjusting the blindfold over his eyes.
Perenelle sighed heavily, realizing that arguing with him was useless.
— Fine. As soon as you start seeing again—write to me so I don't worry.
— I promise. Missy, to Hogsmeade, please.
The elf nodded respectfully, snapped her fingers, and the children vanished.
— Well, they're gone again, leaving us two alone, — Nicolas tried to put his arm around his wife, smiling ingratiatingly.
— That changes nothing, Nick. You are still sleeping in the guest room. I am still furious, — she said coldly and walked away without looking back.
Flamel only gave a self-deprecating chuckle under his breath.
Appearing in the middle of snowy Hogsmeade, Victor gripped the handle of his cane tighter.
— Adele, find some decent establishment. We need to warm up.
— Are we not going to the castle? — the girl asked, surprised.
— No. I'm too lazy to trudge through snowdrifts on foot, — he raised his hand, and in his palm, a tiny white canary wove itself out of pure light. The bird fluttered its wings. — Fly, little one. Tell Dumbledore I'm here.
Adele watched, mesmerized, as the glowing bird melted into the winter sky.
— When will I learn to cast without a wand just as easily?
— One day, dear. One day.
Half an hour later, as they sat in a cozy corner of the Three Broomsticks, the door burst open, admitting a cloud of steam and Albus Dumbledore.
— Victor, I am the Headmaster of the school, not your personal messenger... — he started, but noticing the blindfold and the boy's whitened hair, he froze instantly. — What happened to your eyes?
Victor didn't stir. He sat motionless, hands clasped, like a stone statue. Dumbledore looked inquiringly at Adele. She merely shrugged casually, continuing to devour a chocolate pudding.
— He's been sitting like that for ten minutes. Meditating, — she explained matter-of-factly.
— Meditating?
— Yes, he does that often, usually in the mornings.
Victor suddenly took a deep breath.
— Interesting... — He slowly turned his head toward Dumbledore and broke into a grin. — Director, what an honor. I am glad to SEE you.
Adele rolled her eyes tiredly.
— Did you appreciate the joke? — Victor continued, pleased with himself.
— Quite witty, — Albus replied dryly, sitting down opposite them. — And what about your eyes?
— Oh, I just improved them a bit.
— Improved them to total blindness?
— Ha-ha, not funny, Professor. Adele, are you finished?
The girl, scraping the last of the pudding, nodded in agreement, but seeing his expectant look, she slapped her forehead.
— Yes, I'm done.
— Well, excellent, — Victor stood up, grabbing his cane. — In that case, Professor, I don't SEE a reason to stay here any longer.
Dumbledore gave a weary sigh, and in the next moment, space folded. They found themselves in his office, amid ticking instruments and sleeping portraits.
— Adele, dear, I think it's time for you to go to class, — the Headmaster said gently.
The girl frowned, not letting go of her brother's hand.
— Don't worry, — Victor squeezed her palm reassuringly. — The Headmaster will take care of me.
Adele glanced at Albus, and he gave a short nod. Only then did she, albeit reluctantly, leave the office.
Victor, tapping the floor with his cane, cautiously approached the desk and sank into a chair.
— Can you see after all? — Dumbledore watched his movements closely.
— I can't. I'm learning to feel. It's damn exhausting, — Victor leaned back in the chair.
— And yet, what happened to your eyes?
— I told you, I improved them. The blindness is a temporary effect; it'll pass soon. Better tell me what I've missed while I was gorging on croissants in France.
— Your friend, Hermione Granger, is currently in the hospital wing. She was experimenting with Polyjuice Potion and accidentally turned into a cat.
— Curse it! And I'm missing that? — Victor slapped the armrest. — I hope someone at least took a photo of her?
— I doubt it, — Dumbledore shook his head.
— That's a shame. But alright, I don't SEE it as a major loss.
— You won't stop, will you? — Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
— Ha-ha-ha! No, I don't SEE any reason to.
Dumbledore sighed.
— I spoke with Alastor.
— Oh? And what did you find out?
— As I thought, he links you to the Firestarter. Moody believes you're acting as bait: provoking the children of former Death Eaters at school, and when they come for revenge, you lead them straight to him.
— What a vivid imagination! Does he not think that's a bit too complex a plan?
— I told him the same. He seemed to agree, but warned that his nephew would continue to watch you. I suppose it's just professional instinct.
— I see. So, what shall we do? Have a tea party?
— Perhaps you should follow Adele's example and head to class?
— What? Absolutely not! I am officially ill; I'm entitled to a total exemption from the educational process, — Victor protested.
— In that case, you could have stayed home in France.
— I couldn't. Adele shouldn't skip school, and she wouldn't have come back without me.
— And the real reason? — Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon spectacles.
— Alright, Adele is only part of the truth. The second reason is that Grandma needs to cool off. Let's just say she isn't thrilled with my new persona.
— In short: you made a mess, feared Perenelle's wrath, and ran away?
— Exactly. You are damn perceptive.
The office door swung open abruptly. Victor heard the dry rustle of a robe and familiar heavy footsteps.
— Professor, here is the potion you ordered, — came Snape's voice. The vial landed on the desk with a clatter.
— Thank you, Severus.
— Professor Snape! Long time no SEE! — Victor exclaimed joyfully, turning his head toward the sound. — How were your holidays? I'm sure you missed me terribly.
In response, an icy silence fell. Victor sniffed the air.
— Is he gone already?
— Yes, — Dumbledore confirmed, putting the potion in a drawer.
— He actually missed me. He's just very shy.
Dumbledore couldn't help but smile. It was the first time in his life anyone had called Severus Snape "shy."
By lunchtime, the Great Hall was filled with the hum of voices. Adele kept looking back at the Slytherin table and, not seeing her brother, her frown deepened with every minute.
— Adele, you aren't eating a thing, — Luna noted, tilting her head.
— I'm worried about Victor. We shouldn't have left him alone; he's surely gotten lost! I'll go look for him— but before Adele could jump up, the doors behind the staff table opened.
Victor entered alongside Dumbledore. The entire hall fell silent instantly. His new appearance—snow-white hair and a thick blindfold—made a huge impression.
— Hello everyone! Glad to SEE you all, — Victor's voice echoed in the silence. — Now, will some kind soul help a poor blind man find his seat?
Daphne had already begun to stand, but Adele was faster. She ran to her brother and gripped his elbow tightly.
— Thank you, dear. — Under the gaze of hundreds of curious eyes, Victor proceeded to the snakes' table.
— Astoria, move over, — Daphne commanded her sister in a tone that brooked no argument.
— But there are plenty of other seats!..
— Astoria, this is his seat, — the elder Greengrass snapped.
— That's right, girl. This is my seat, and I would be extremely grateful if you returned it, — Victor added, stopping right in front of her.
Astoria clicked her tongue irritably but moved nonetheless.
— Thanks, sis, you can go back to your table now, — Victor gently touched Adele's shoulder.
— Can I stay and eat with you?
— No, dear, go back to Luna. I'm capable of getting a spoon into my mouth without outside help.
When Adele left, Daphne finally asked:
— What happened to you?
— Decided to change my hair. Well, does it suit me?
— To be honest, black suited you better.
— Really? Oh well — his hair turned black again in the blink of an eye. — It's all just an illusion anyway.
— Is the blindfold an illusion too? — Daphne peered closely at his face.
— No, that part is real. I have indeed gone blind for a while.
— "For a while"? Fine. That means we need to assign you a round-the-clock guard until you start seeing again.
— What? Why? — Victor felt for a fork.
— You seem to have forgotten that the Heir of Slytherin is on the loose. While you're in this state, you are vulnerable.
Victor sighed, finally finding his fork.
— Fine, if it makes you feel better, let there be a guard. Now, dear, tell me: where is the orange juice and is there anything meat-related?
Daphne couldn't help but smile as she placed a piece of meat on his plate.