When the classes ended, the students began to stand up and leave the room. Astoria wanted to talk to Victor about something, but noticing that Adele was already standing beside him, she frowned and left silently with the rest.
— Why did you get so angry with Greengrass today? — Luna asked, clutching her textbook to her chest.
Adele huffed:
— Have you forgotten that she threatened Victor? How does she dare act now as if it never happened? — She glanced at the silent Victor, who was still sitting in Professor Flitwick's seat. — I shouldn't have been stopped back then. I wouldn't have killed her, but I definitely would have taught her a proper lesson.
Victor didn't answer, remaining immersed in a deep silence.
— Victor, do you hear me? — Adele called out louder.
— Mmm, what? Sorry, I was lost in thought. What did you ask? — he finally reacted.
— She said that there was no need... — Luna began, but Adele cut her off:
— I asked: are you coming with us to the Room of Requirement?
— Maybe later. Right now, I want to take a walk around the school, — he smiled, rising from his seat.
Stepping into the corridor, Victor didn't say another word and simply walked away. Adele watched him go and sighed sadly. She understood everything: almost two weeks had passed, and his sight still hadn't returned. Victor didn't complain and tried to act as usual, but she could see how much he was struggling. He wandered through the castle, looking for tasks, conversations—anything to avoid being alone with his thoughts.
She didn't know how to help him. And what could she do if even Nicolas Flamel himself could only shrug his shoulders?
Victor wandered through the corridors, rhythmically tapping his cane. In truth, there wasn't much need for it anymore—he had learned to navigate the space with frightening precision—but he liked it. The cane added a touch of mystery and a certain "coolness" to his image, in his opinion.
Suddenly he stopped, and an expectant smile blossomed on his face. Rounding a corner, he slowed his pace, hearing muffled voices more clearly:
— Fred, hurry up and finish, otherwise Filch will catch us!
— Don't rush me, Filch is locking up classrooms in the other wing right now, we've got time. Better help me.
Victor silently gripped his cane to keep it from tapping and moved forward. He moved so quietly that the twins didn't even sense his presence until he stopped right behind their backs. He froze, savoring the moment, and listened to their bustle.
— Alright, it's done, let's go.
— Ha-ha-ha, yeah, let's get out of here!
The twins turned around happily—and instantly froze in their tracks, bumping into Victor. Fred exchanged a quick glance with George, putting a finger to his lips, and they tried to quietly slip past. But as soon as they drew level with him, Victor abruptly extended his cane, blocking their path.
— And what are we doing here? — he asked, slowly turning his head toward the twins.
The twins were surprised but quickly tried to slip through the other side. Before they could take a single step, they gasped and tumbled to the floor: twisted bindings erupted from the stone right beneath their feet, dead-locking their ankles.
— Ignoring people is not nice, — Victor said softly. — And ignoring me is also extremely foolish.
He approached the door they had just been busy with and pressed his palm against it. Victor understood everything immediately—the door had been enchanted with rather complex charms. Had anyone turned the handle, it would have emitted a piercing, deafening shriek.
— You have incredible talent, — Victor thoughtfully ran his fingers over the wood. — I must admit, in your field, you are true geniuses.
He slowly turned around. Complex patterns flared on the door, and a moment later the charms vanished with a hiss, completely burned away by his magic.
— Hey, what are you doing?! — the twins protested as the stone bindings rose higher, locking them up to their waists. — Do you have any idea how long we were collecting the right ingredients?
— Yeah, they actually cost a fortune! — the brothers shouted all at once.
Victor merely smirked, ignoring them as he headed in their direction.
— What do you think it means to "be a genius"? I think it's someone for whom everything is manageable, a person who can do anything. But today, I suddenly had my doubts. — Lost in thought, he lowered his cane to the floor, and his voice sounded cold. — A genius is just a person who has a certain advantage over others, but overall, they aren't anything special. Failures break them just like everyone else. — He smiled and began to walk away. — How lucky I am that I am not just a genius, but a real monster. And we monsters never give up.
When the tap of his cane finally faded, the brothers looked at each other.
— What kind of nonsense was he talking? — George muttered, watching stone bindings envelop Fred, tightening already up to his throat.
— I don't know, — Fred smirked smugly, — but I think Victor Moss just called me a genius.
— Pffft, are you deaf? He clearly meant me! I distinctly heard him say, "George, you're a real genius."
They lay in their stone cocoon, blinking at each other, and suddenly burst into laughter together.
— Fred, look, I'm a caterpillar! — George exhaled, jerking his shoulders in an attempt to move.
Victor, who had already managed to walk quite far, heard their laughter. He only smiled faintly and shook his head.
— Idiots.
After he stopped the brothers, Victor wandered in solitude until evening, when at one point he bumped into Dumbledore.
— Oh, excuse me, please, — he smiled, though there wasn't a hint of remorse in his voice.
Dumbledore shook his head wearily. He understood perfectly well that Victor had done it intentionally.
— Are you that bored? — the Headmaster asked. — Perhaps you should start attending classes instead of bothering the teachers?
— I don't want to. And I'm not bothering them; I even help sometimes. Today, for example, I bailed out Professor Flitwick. By the way, where are you going?
— It's dinner time; I'm going to the Great Hall.
— Is it that late already? Fine, I suppose I'll head back to my room.
— You aren't going to dinner? — Dumbledore asked in surprise.
— No, not now. I need to come to terms with the loss of my eyes, think about the future... or maybe I'll just hug my pillow and cry quietly. By the way, I might disappear for a while—most likely, I'll lock myself in the Room of Requirement.
Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon spectacles, a shadow of concern flickering in his eyes.
— You are worried about your sight, Victor. Don't worry, I know a couple of reliable ways to get it back for you.
Victor smirked—a cold smirk.
— I couldn't care less about my sight. I'm doing just fine as it is.
— Then what is the matter? — Dumbledore asked, confusion sounding in his voice for the first time.
Victor turned and walked toward the stairs, tapping his cane.
— A dream, Director. I'm grieving over a dream that didn't come true, — he threw over his shoulder without even turning around.
Dumbledore remained standing in the corridor, watching the receding figure. Finally realizing that no matter how much he thought, he wouldn't be able to understand what was going on in that boy's head, the Headmaster shook his head and headed for the Hall.
Entering the common room, Victor didn't go up to his room. Instead, he sank into a chair right in front of the fireplace.
— Ha-ah... Mood's as bad as it gets, — he muttered, listening as the last Slytherins left the common room laughing. He puffed out his cheeks in annoyance, turning toward them. — Not good. Not good at all. I need to explain to them that if the King is depressed, the whole kingdom must suffer too.
A ghastly, expectant smile slowly blossomed on his face.
Daphne and her sister were returning from dinner. Victor's loyal assistant listened with a stony face to Astoria's endless complaints:
— She's so full of herself, acting like a queen! So brazen... You know what she said? That she's the best in the year! Yeah, sure! There was some competition... Hmmm, I just try not to stand out so I won't be considered a nerd.
Daphne sighed wearily:
— Why are you so worked up about Adele? — Ever since dinner, Astoria hadn't stopped talking, criticizing Victor's sister.
Astoria frowned:
— She just annoys me!
Daphne shook her head:
— It runs in the family. Just try not to cause her any trouble: that girl is just like her brother. They both seem to have serious issues in the head.
Approaching the doors of the Slytherin common room, Daphne stopped in confusion: a whole group of students was huddling at the entrance.
— Daphne, finally! Please, calm Victor down, — one of the upperclassmen turned to her.
— Victor? What's with him?
— As soon as someone enters, he hangs them from the ceiling. Are we supposed to sleep in the corridor?!
Daphne scanned the pleading faces of her housemates and sighed heavily:
— Let me take a look.
She walked confidently through the crowd and peered into the common room. The scene was surreal: Victor was lounging regally on the sofa, basking in the warmth of the fireplace, while about a dozen students hung helplessly from the ceiling—some of them already sobbing quietly in fear.
Daphne frowned and stepped inside. Everyone in the corridor held their breath, expecting her to be hoisted into the air as well, but she didn't even slow her pace, calmly reaching the sofa and stopping right in front of him.
— And what are you doing? — Daphne asked, looking at the students hovering under the ceiling.
— Oh, you know, contemplating life, — Victor answered without even turning his head.
— Mmm-hmm, — she nodded. — And are they bothering you?
— Too cheerful, — he replied calmly.
Daphne looked at the kids frozen at the entrance and at those dangling their legs helplessly under the ceiling.
— Let them down, please. It's not right for Slytherins to spend the night in the corridor.
Victor sighed heavily, and at that very moment, the spell dissipated: the students fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Daphne turned to the crowd:
— Come in. And disperse quietly to your rooms, without any noise.
The students, trying not to make a sound, slipped inside like shadows. Astoria tried to approach her sister, but Daphne, with a barely noticeable gesture, pointed to the stairs, ordering her to leave.
When they were left alone, she sank into the chair beside him.
— Is everything alright?
Victor was silent for a long time before answering:
— I can't quite tell myself. Right now, I feel a colossal disappointment. Am I alright? Probably, yes. But still—it's damn frustrating.
— I didn't understand a thing, — Daphne admitted. — But can I help with anything?
Victor turned toward her and, with a sigh, shook his head:
— I doubt it, but thanks. Well, alright, I've shown everyone that I'm in a bad mood, now I'll go grieve in my room. Maybe I'll pull a magazine out from under the bed... Anyway, if anything truly urgent happens—come in. Just be careful: I doubt you'd want to see what I sometimes do when I'm alone.
With one last smile at her—strange and almost tender—he stood up and walked unhurriedly toward the stairs, tapping his cane.
Daphne remained sitting in the silence, looking at the empty sofa. She hadn't understood a word, but she realized one thing clearly: right now, it was best to leave him alone.
Once in his room, Victor leaned his cane against the corner and collapsed onto the bed. The lock on the door clicked, sealing him in total solitude.
Crimson smoke thickened beside the bed, and his exact copy materialized from it. The clone looked at the original and cautiously sat on the chair. They sat in silence for a long time.
— Are you going to be quiet? — Victor asked.
The clone turned to him:
— I'm just not in the mood for talking at all.
Victor nodded:
— I know. But I didn't create you to be quiet.
— Ha-ah, fine, — the clone sighed wearily, moved closer, and conjured a notebook out of thin air. — So, Victor, what do you think is the true reason for your depressive mood?
Victor settled more comfortably on the pillows, crossing his arms over his chest.
— You know, Doctor, today I suddenly realized that I might be left without a Sharingan. And it's like—so what? I never had one. It would be more appropriate to grieve about the fact that I destroyed my own eyes, but the fact remains: I want a Sharingan. I always wanted one. And it—it seems it doesn't want me back.
The clone listened intently, quickly writing something in the notebook.
— You wanted a lot of things. In your past life, you dreamed of becoming someone like Tony Stark. And as a kid... I think you wanted to hook up with Stella from Winx?
— Wasn't it Flora?
The clone pondered:
— I think you wanted them all. In puberty, you even looked at Gadget from "Rescue Rangers." But that's not the point now. You dream about a lot of things; why did you get upset specifically because of the Sharingan?
Victor thought about it.
— I think it's because my dream of becoming an Uchiha was so close. It was practically in my hands. You see, it's like bringing a child to an amusement park but leaving them to watch from behind the fence. Like: Well, there it is, go on, get on the carousel, ride it!, but the damn fence won't let you in. And all you can do is watch the others spinning around and sigh.
— Listen, I'm going to say something silly, but maybe it's worth turning away from the fence? Stop staring at the carousels and play behind the fence with what you have?
Victor sat up abruptly on the bed:
— But I want to go on the carousel! Ugh, I've had enough of you... I want a Sharingan, even if it's a dud. — He ripped the blindfold from his eyes. — Even if it's useless, I won't give up on them.
The copy shook its head:
— You didn't understand me. I'm not saying to remove them—by the way, that's hardly possible anymore; they've fused too tightly with your soul. I'm saying: stop hoping that they'll work tomorrow, and start moving on with your life.
Victor frowned:
— And why did you decide that they won't work? You know, Nick is sometimes wrong too. Maybe they just need more time? No, I've decided: I will stay in this room until the Sharingan activates. — Victor nodded to himself. — Yes, it's decided. That's what I'll do.
— Well, alright, if you've decided everything... — The clone smiled, throwing away the notebook, which dissolved in the air. — You know, thoughts about Gadget have me a bit stirred up. Maybe we should pull out some magazine?
— Get out, you pervert!
Victor snapped his fingers, and the clone dissolved into red smoke.
— My magazine he wants, — Victor muttered and, with a predatory smile, reached his hand under the bed. — I can handle this part myself.