For several days, Victor barely left his room. No one knew exactly what he was doing in there, but all of Slytherin suffered from his presence, which could be felt even through the closed doors. During that entire time, he stepped out only once—on the very first day, irritated by the laughter of female students in the corridor.
He simply stepped out and froze, looking in their direction. Although his eyes were not visible under the blindfold, the girls froze on the spot, as if paralyzed; they felt his heavy, angry gaze with their very skin. Victor remained silent for several minutes, and all that time, the students were afraid even to breathe under that deathly calm. Finally, without uttering a single word, he turned around, entered his room, and slammed the door with a thunderous bang. Only then could the girls exhale, collapsing to the floor, utterly exhausted by the invisible pressure of his aura.
He opened the door for no one: not Hermione, not Daphne, not even his own sister. On the third day, George, deciding he'd had enough of this "depression," dared to do something reckless. Donning a ridiculous jester costume and breaking the magical lock, he stepped inside.
A mere couple of seconds later, George tumbled back into the corridor. His face was deathly pale, and his gaze was vacant and glassy. He slid down the wall, took off his jester's cap, and, staring at a single point, began to mutter incoherently:
— The true King of Snakes... Are we really the same age? I... I don't believe it...
The Slytherins surrounded him, showering him with questions, trying to find out what he had seen in that room, but George only continued to whisper distantly, as if broken by what he had witnessed:
— King of Snakes... it's not just a title...
One morning, Daphne and Adele approached his door. Adele knocked cautiously:
— Victor, a letter from Mr. Flamel has arrived for you.
The door did not open. Sighing, Adele simply slid the envelope into the crack under the door.
— What did Mr. Flamel write? — Daphne asked softly.
— Ha-ah... I'm afraid it's very bad. It seems he has lost his sight forever.
— What was so wrong with his normal blue eyes? — Daphne whispered in confusion.
— Nothing. But for some reason, he wanted these so badly that he was willing to sacrifice his life for them.
Standing and talking by the door for a little longer, they eventually left for their classes without receiving an answer.
A few hours later, Victor left the room and headed for the Room of Requirement. The corridors were empty—everyone was in lessons, which was for the best. At that moment, an aura so thick, dark, and crushing emanated from him that even the portraits on the walls tried to turn away, and the castle spirits hid deep within the stone walls in fear. Due to his internal state, Victor didn't even notice the door to the Room of Requirement swinging open on its own before he even had a chance to think about it.
Stopping in the middle of the room, he slowly pulled the knot and tore the blindfold from his eyes. Before him, there was still only impenetrable darkness.
— Ha-ah... — he exhaled, and in that sound was not relief, but a harbinger of a storm. — Damn... Damn! DAMN IT! A-A-A-A-AH!
He could no longer hold back. All the disappointment that had been building up during this time erupted. Until the very last moment, he had hoped he would wake up one day and see the world, but every morning he was met with void. The letter from Flamel was the final straw—a verdict that he initially accepted as a cold fact, but inside, a poisonous resentment began to grow. The harder he tried to suppress thoughts of the Sharingan, the more unbearable this internal torture became. He clenched his teeth so hard that the sound of grinding enamel seemed to echo throughout the room.
Victor began to smash everything around him. The Room of Requirement turned into a testing ground for his uncontrolled magic. Shelves flew into splinters, furniture turned to dust, and walls were covered in deep cracks under the pressure of his aura. He screamed, venting all his frustration until not a single intact object remained. It took him a long time to finally exhaust himself. At last, amidst the ruins and swirling dust, he took a deep, heavy breath.
— Ha-ha-ha, so I'm not meant to be an Uchiha, — Victor laughed, throwing his head back, and then tied the blindfold back on. — Well, to hell with it. If it didn't work, it didn't work.
He focused, feeling the magic of the room respond to his will.
— Make a dojo, sweetheart. We're going to train. My blindness has made me slower—I'll have to fix that with blood.
The Room of Requirement obediently transformed: the space expanded, turning into a vast training field. Bowls with blue flames flared up along the edges, and from the shadows, like nightmares come to life, faceless mannequins began to rise. As soon as he took a step, they lunged at him. Unlike past training sessions, Victor was noticeably slower: one strike, a second, a third—he began to miss. His body became covered in bruises and cuts. After a particularly heavy blow to the jaw, blood trickled down his cheek. Victor stepped back, frowning as he wiped his face, and prepared for a new assault. When one of the mannequins rushed forward, he sliced it in half with a lightning-fast, precise movement.
— Don't pity me, — Victor hissed irritably. — Continue at full strength. I can take it.
The mannequins froze for a fraction of a second, and then, as if understanding the command, took up combat stances and descended upon him as a mob. He fought, completely losing track of time. Finally, the mannequins stopped appearing, and he quickly dealt with the remaining ones. Victor stood in the center of the hall; his clothes had turned into rags soaked in blood, which flowed in continuous streams down his body.
— I didn't say stop, — he said coldly, gripping the hilt so hard his knuckles turned white. — Continue!
But no new opponents appeared. Realizing that the Room of Requirement was refusing to obey, Victor frowned, but feeling his body trembling from exhaustion, he was forced to calm down.
— Fine, if you're tired—rest a bit.But we'll continue later. This time, let's check how precise I am with magic.
Since this was no longer related to self-harm, the Room of Requirement complied. The walls moved apart, transforming into a complex labyrinth with moving targets: some zoomed past at high speed, others flared up and vanished in the most unexpected places. A table materialized before him, stocked with vials of healing potions, water, and clean towels. Victor approached the table, quickly found the necessary potion, and downed it in one gulp. The cuts began to close before his eyes. Wetting a cloth, he began to carelessly wipe the dried blood from his body.
When he finished tidying himself up, the table vanished. Victor turned back to the range.
— Come on, sweetheart, let's go!
The targets moved into chaotic motion. Victor began to shower them with spells, but at first, it went poorly: the beams sliced through the air inches from the goals. He spent the entire night like this. Only toward morning did the situation change: now he was hitting every target the moment it appeared, and sometimes even destroying them in advance, anticipating the moment of their emergence.
He was drenched in sweat. Physically, his body was still holding up, but mentally, he was on the edge of exhaustion. And yet, Victor did not stop. He entered a kind of trance, sensing the space around him as sharply as never before. But more importantly—he felt his own body and his soul down to the smallest fiber. A single tear rolled out from under the blindfold, but he continued to fire. He felt them. Just a tiny bit, on the edge of perception, but his new eyes responded. They were waiting. Waiting for the moment when they would become one with him. Trying to hasten their awakening, Victor dived even deeper into himself and suddenly froze.
His hand stalled in the air; the spell faltered and went out. In the very depths of his soul, he touched something else—something mysterious, frighteningly ancient, yet strangely familiar. No sooner had he fleetingly come into contact with this power than he was literally thrown out of the trance. A surge of blood erupted from his mouth. Victor wiped his lips with his hand in bewilderment.
— What was that?.. — He frowned, pausing in thought, but a second later, a triumphant smile blossomed on his face. — Well, alright, that's not important now. Phew... How you scared me, you little rascals. And I had almost come to terms with not becoming an Uchiha. That damn Flamel, it's all because of him! Spouting nonsense, making me offend my lovely eyes... Well, no matter, I'll settle the score with him yet.
He headed toward the exit, and a clean towel materialized on his shoulder on its own.
— Thank you, — Victor began to wipe the sweat. — Listen, I know you can't speak, but still... let this moment of weakness of mine stay between us, deal?
After this training, his perception changed. He began to see everything around him much more clearly. It wasn't normal sight—rather, a strange sense of "looking from the side," as if he saw the world in third-person mode. And when he peered into the distance, the space zoomed in like a telescope, even though the lenses still seemed a bit smudged.
— Well, alright, now—shower and sleep, — with a satisfied smile, Victor slammed his katana into its scabbard and left the Room of Requirement.
Walking down the corridor, Victor caught the gazes of students every now and then and heard muffled whispering. But due to his extreme fatigue, he was too lazy to look into the reasons for such attention.
— You... you! Just what is wrong with you?! — he heard an indignant cry as he was descending the stairs.
— Oh, girl, good morning, — he called out lazily.
— What "morning"?! Why are you wandering around the school naked? — Astoria asked, blushing deeply while unable to tear her eyes away from his trained, sweat-soaked torso.
— What do you mean, naked? — Victor felt his legs and frowned. — I'm wearing pants.
— That's not enough! You should be fully dressed!
— I don't understand what you're complaining about. The girls upstairs seemed to like it very much.
Astoria tilted her head up and saw a crowd of female students on the upper landings: they were whispering shyly and blushing, but persistently continuing to watch Victor.
— By the way, where is my Adele?
— She's still having breakfast, — Astoria grunted.
— Oh, right, breakfast. I think I'll drop by the Great Hall too.
— No! You can't go there looking like that!
— Why? I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since... er... I forgot since when.
Astoria sighed wearily, walked over, and, unceremoniously grabbing him by the arm, dragged him along.
— Come on. I'll walk you to your room, you'll change, and only then will we go to breakfast.
Walking behind her, Victor frowned in annoyance:
— Too many steps. Let's do this: you walk me to the room, and then you bring me food yourself.
— I'm not your maid and I don't intend to serve you! — she huffed.
— Such a grouch... Call my Daphny, she'll take care of me, — he grumbled resentfully.
— I don't understand at all how my sister puts up with you.
— She's just a good assistant, — Victor broke into a smile.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he and Astoria reached the Great Hall, but there was no food left. The girl simply shrugged, noting that he was "just unlucky," and was about to lead him back, but he refused. Victor sent her to her lesson, which she was already hopelessly late for, and headed straight to Dumbledore's office. The kind Headmaster, of course, did not leave him hungry. Returning to his room, Victor intended to finally fall into a slumber, but as if to spite him, sleep wouldn't come.
It was nearing lunch when the door to his room suddenly burst open from a heavy strike.
— Victor! What did you do to my sister?! — Daphne flew in. Her face was distorted with anger and alarm.
At lunch, she had heard nothing but gossip about how Astoria was wandering around the school today holding hands with a half-naked Moss. Not finding her sister in the Great Hall or their shared dorm, Daphne had succumbed to a bad premonition.
— Hi, Daphne. And what was I supposed to have done to your sister? — he asked calmly, not turning around. Victor was occupied with a canvas.
— Stop pretending! I know you were together. Where is she?! — Daphne marched toward him, but Victor made a barely noticeable gesture with his hand, and she froze, locked by an invisible force.
— Wait... one last stroke left.
He ran the brush over the canvas and nodded with satisfaction. The paper flew into the air on its own and stuck to the wall.
— Simply perfect, — he smiled.
Only then did Victor approach Daphne and gently turn her face toward the wall. The force holding her relaxed, but what she saw made her heart skip a beat. The entire wall was covered in drawings of red spheres with intricate patterns, and in the very center, two enormous eyes stared back at her. The Sharingan was drawn skillfully and in detail, and coming to life with the help of magic, they scanned the room, stopping on her. It seemed to Daphne that this gaze penetrated deep into her soul.
— Tell me, aren't they beautiful? — he hugged her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head. — They are magnificent, aren't they? And soon they will be mine. Very soon.
Daphne began to shake. His whisper was saturated with possessive madness. Being in his arms, she did not feel protected—on the contrary, a pure threat emanated from Victor. Those drawn eyes weighed on her psyche. She felt that she could move again, but didn't dare to even stir.
— Come on, darling, admit it... what do you feel? — he whispered in her ear again.
— Victor, I'm scared. It hurts, — she squeezed out in a trembling voice.
He immediately pulled away, realizing he had squeezed her too tightly in his embrace.
— Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to. But why fear? Aren't they magnificent?
Daphne was finally able to take a full breath.
— They are beautiful, but... they are terrifying.
— Then they are perfect, — he concluded with a blissful smile.
— And scary, — she added, but he was no longer listening. Victor froze before the wall, staring at the drawings as if hypnotized by his own idea.
Daphne, seeing his state, feared for her sister even more.
— Victor, please, where is Astoria?! — she grabbed his arm, trying to bring him to his senses.
— Mmm? Girl? — he finally focused his attention on her. — How should I know? I saw her last this morning.
At that moment, a panting Slytherin appeared in the doorway.
— Daphne! We found your sister! Snape kept her after class for some blunder.
Hearing this, Victor burst into laughter:
— Did you really rile everyone up because of that?
Daphne exhaled wearily, but looking at Victor, she shuddered again. Victor shook his head, and the door slammed shut with a deafening bang right in the face of the classmate, locking itself with all its latches.
— Did you really think I did something to your sister? Am I that kind of person in your eyes? — Victor asked softly.
— No... It's just that over the last few days, you've changed a lot. You've been acting much stranger than usual. And what you said before locking yourself in? And that you were walking around half-naked with her this morning?..
Victor sighed. Taking Daphne by the hand, he pulled her toward him and, sitting in the armchair, settled the girl on his lap. Daphne blushed deeply but did not resist. He comfortingly stroked her back, chasing away the remnants of fear.
— Come on now. Just look me in the face and tell me: am I capable of such a thing?
Daphne gazed into his features for a long time until she felt a prick of shame.
— Yes... Sorry, I don't know what came over me.
— Ha-ha-ha! It's okay, I'm not angry. I'm in too good a mood. You know, I've been through a hell of an emotional week: first I descended into the abyss of despair, and then—whoosh!—and soared to the top of the world! — Victor cried out joyfully, almost childishly. — Darling, I'm so happy!
Daphne, looking at his delight, couldn't help but smile. She was genuinely glad that he had finally come to his senses.
— So while we were going crazy with worry here, you were just drawing?
Victor laughed, hugging her tighter:
— No, the drawings were just now. Before that, I was just reading and sleeping. A lot of sleep.
— And what did you do to George? He's been out of sorts all day.
— George? I didn't do anything to him. I had just come out of the shower when he burst in. Seeing me, he muttered something about a "King of Snakes" and bolted out.
Daphne, sitting in his arms, became even more embarrassed. She had already seen Victor without clothes and, she suspected, guessed why George was so upset.
— Can you... can you let me go? — she asked quietly, stuttering.
— Don't you like it?
— It's not that I don't like it, it's just that it's sort of... — her voice was becoming quieter and quieter.
Victor smiled, suddenly leaned forward, and covered her lips with his. Daphne froze, not understanding what was happening, but gradually began to respond to the kiss. When they pulled away from each other, she hid her burning face against his chest.
— What was that just now? — she asked in a whisper.
Victor affectionately stroked her hair:
— I don't know. I just felt like it. And you know: if I want something—I do it.
They continued to sit in silence. Daphne hugged him, listening to the beat of his heart, while Victor, with a triumphant smile, looked at his drawings on the wall.