Victor stepped confidently across the threshold of the hospital wing, his cane tapping a rhythmic beat against the stone floor.
— Hermione, dear, how are you holding up?
— Go away! I don't want to see anyone! — came a muffled voice from beneath the blankets. — Your mockery is the last thing I need right now.
— Mockery? Whatever are you talking about? Such a thought never even crossed my mind.
— Don't pretend you don't know! — Hermione rustled the sheets indignantly.
— Oh, I know, but how could I possibly laugh at you when I literally can't see a thing?
— What? — Hermione finally poked her head out. Her face had almost returned to its human form, but a pair of ginger cat ears still poked through the top of her head, twitching nervously. — Victor, what happened to you? Why are you wearing a blindfold?
— Gotcha! — Victor instantly produced a camera and pressed the shutter. A flash momentarily illuminated the ward. — Even if I can't see you right now, it won't stop me from enjoying the photo later.
— What happened to your eyes?
— I decided to replace them with something more... functional, — he made his way toward the bed. Hermione jumped up immediately and gently caught him by the elbow, helping him sit down.
— More functional? What was wrong with your old ones?
— They were too ordinary. Boring, — Victor gave a warm smile.
— Can I see?
Victor nodded. Holding her breath, Hermione leaned closer. Her fingers, delicate and slightly trembling, carefully lifted the edge of the fabric. Victor raised his eyelids.
Hermione froze. Before her was the Sharingan—blood-red spheres with fixed black symbols that seemed frighteningly bottomless.
— Well? Are they pretty?
— They look so... cold. As if there's no life in them, — she whispered.
— It's temporary. In a couple of weeks, they'll be filled with power. But you didn't answer: are they beautiful?
Hermione slowly lowered the blindfold.
— They are... impressive. Но, to be honest, I liked your old blue eyes better.
— Don't worry. If Nick did everything right, I'll be able to mask them, and you'll see them again.
— Is this Flamel's work?
— My idea, his execution, — Victor stood up and, without asking permission, made himself at home by sprawling out on her bed over the blanket.
— Shouldn't you be in class right now? — Hermione asked.
— I'm officially exempt. One of the perks of being "blind," — Victor smirked and stretched out, taking up almost all the space.
Hermione lay down beside him, feeling the warmth radiating from him.
— Can I touch it? — he suddenly asked, reaching out his hand. — I want to understand how bad it is.
— It's already perfectly fine, — she replied.
— Is that so? Then why are you still here?
Hermione flushed a deep red. She hesitated for a second, then carefully took his hand and placed it on top of her head. Victor's fingers sank into her thick hair and immediately met something soft. He felt a furry cat ear twitch under his touch.
Victor broke into a satisfied smile.
— So that's how it is... I can't wait until I can see this in the photo. It will be my greatest treasure.
In response, Hermione suddenly burst out laughing.
— What? — Victor asked, raising an eyebrow. — What did I say that was so funny?
She leaned in close and whispered directly into his ear:
— You'll never see it. Because you were holding the camera the wrong way. All that's captured there is your own smug face.
— What?! No, that can't be! — Victor tried to feel for the camera, but Hermione deftly intercepted it.
— Hey, give it back! Don't you dare bully a blind man, it's immoral!
— I don't feel sorry for you, — smiling, she tossed the camera onto the next bed.
— Fine, I'm offended, — Victor pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. — I'm not talking to you anymore.
— Good, — Hermione closed her eyes contentedly, leaning her shoulder against his. — Then let's just be quiet.
After a few seconds, Victor broke the silence:
— So, a cat hair in the Polyjuice Potion, then?
Hermione sighed.
— Yes. A stupid mistake.
— And what, did your plan fail?
— Not at all. Harry and Ron successfully transformed into Crabbe and Goyle, got into the Slytherin common room, and questioned Malfoy. It seems Draco has nothing to do with it. Но we have a significant lead: the Chamber of Secrets has been opened before.
— Curious, — Victor turned his head slightly. — And what is your next step?
— I'm going to find out exactly when it happened last time. I'm sure there must be records in the old archives.
— Good luck. And how was your Christmas?
— Boring. And yours?
— I slept through it. Because of the strain from the eyes, I blacked out for the entire holiday and only woke up yesterday.
— And you rushed straight back to school? I didn't know you were such a diligent student, Victor.
— Of course! Education is light; I simply love learning, — he smiled.
— Liar, — Hermione laughed. — If that were true, you'd be in class right now.
— Alright, I admit it. I had my "nuances."
— Care to share?
— Hmm. You remember Perenelle, don't you?
— Yes, a lovely woman, — Hermione remembered Flamel's beautiful wife.
— Remember this: never make that lovely woman angry. In her rage, she is more terrifying than any Dark Lord.
Hermione looked at him in surprise:
— So, you simply ran away?
— And I did so very rapidly, — Victor admitted with a smirk. — It was the only way to survive.
— WHAT, IN THE NAME OF MERLIN, IS GOING ON HERE?! — Madam Pomfrey's thunderous cry made Hermione flinch. The matron burst into the ward, hands on her hips. — Moss! You again? Why are there three students lying on the floor in the corridor?!
— Madam Pomfrey, don't be cross. They just decided to take a nap. They'll wake up and leave soon, — Victor replied imperturbably, without even turning his head toward the entrance.
— Ha-ah... — the matron pressed a palm to her forehead, sighing heavily. — Just don't leave them there for long.
When Madam Pomfrey's footsteps faded, Hermione looked at Victor suspiciously:
— What did you do?
— Oh, nothing special. Daphne assigned me guards, and their stomping became unbearable. I had to put them to sleep. Damn... It seems I'm rapidly losing my authority in Slytherin if they listen to that girl while completely ignoring me.
Hermione shook her head gently:
— They do listen to you, Victor. It's just that, like Daphne and me, they are genuinely worried about you.
— I don't need babysitters. Even blind, I am capable of looking after myself.
— And how exactly? — Hermione asked challengingly.
Victor stood up, and a cold, confident smile touched his lips. He froze, tilting his head slightly as if listening to the heartbeat of the castle itself.
— Next to your bed is a nightstand. On it is a book and a plate from... — he sniffed, — a cherry pie. And in the corridor are three Slytherins who just woke up and are currently desperately trying to eavesdrop on our conversation.
No sooner had he finished speaking than hurried, stumbling footsteps were heard outside the door.
— There, — Victor added, — they've moved away now.
— How do you do that? — Hermione was amazed.
— I listen. I smell. I feel. A clear picture formed of sounds and vibrations takes shape in my mind. If I try hard enough, I can even catch the pulse of energy in your body.
— Is that because of the new eyes?
— No. I could do that before, but blindness has forced me to use this instinct at full capacity. So, darling, although I've lost my sight, it doesn't mean I've become helpless, — with a confident motion, he gripped his cane. — Get some rest, Hermione. And if you're worried about me—find the one who opened the Chamber and save me.
He smiled, turned, and without bumping into a single chair, walked out into the corridor.
— Well, sleepyheads? Had a good nap? Then march off to class; I'll make my own way to the common room!
Hermione listened to the steady tapping of his cane as it receded and couldn't help but smile, touching her cat ears with her fingertips.
— I will definitely find out who it is, Victor. I promise.
Victor sat by his desk, shrouded in semi-darkness. With the tip of his wand, he lazily traced glowing rings in the air; they slowly settled onto the floor and melted away the moment they touched the carpet.
The door creaked softly, and Daphne entered the room. She froze for a moment, looking at his motionless figure.
— Victor, are you coming to dinner?
— No, I'll stay here. I need to think some things over.
— Shall I bring you something, then?
— Yes... I would appreciate that, — he replied shortly, without turning his head.
— Alright.
As soon as Daphne left, the lock on the door clicked shut. Victor placed his wand on the table. The air beside him rippled, and an exact copy of himself emerged from the shadows. The second figure sat on the bed, crossing one leg over the other.
— Created an illusion just to have a chat?
— My head is too crowded with thoughts. I need to discuss them with someone, — Victor replied with a smile.
The copy laughed:
— Brings back memories, doesn't it? The asylum... sitting in an empty room, talking enthusiastically to ourselves. Having such a good time! All that's missing for the full atmosphere is the screaming behind the walls.
— Yes. It's just a pity that you aren't him, — Victor smiled faintly, but this time without a trace of sarcasm.
— Hahaha! That's where you're wrong. He was you, and I am also you. Though I admit, he was starting to show his own will. A real personality.
— Enough melancholy, — Victor interrupted. — You aren't here for nostalgia. Let's discuss what we're going to do about our silly little Hermione.