Victor stepped out of the taxi opposite his house and, sharpening his senses, instantly detected the presence of a pair of unfamiliar wizards inside. Shaking his head, he decided not to risk it and headed toward the Granger home instead. Stepping onto the porch, he raised his hand to ring the doorbell, but froze for a split second. Quickly setting his doubts aside, however, he pressed the button.
A few minutes later, Victor was sitting at the table, casually chatting with Hermione's father. Still, the whole situation felt rather odd to him: Adele was clearly sulking at him for some reason, while Hermione, by contrast, looked at him with open awe and adoration.
— Here, I found them! Take these and be sure to put a few drops in before bed. But if it hasn't cleared up by tomorrow, definitely see a doctor—you shouldn't play around with your eyes, — Mrs. Granger said as she entered the room and handed Victor a bottle of eye drops.
Victor had managed to stop the bleeding, but the whites of his eyes remained an inflamed red, making it look as though he were suffering from a severe allergic reaction.
— Mum, there's no need for that. He can easily heal himself—Victor is the best potion-maker in the entire school! — Hermione sighed with resignation.
— It's fine, I'll use them anyway. It's much easier than hunting down ingredients and brewing a potion for such a minor thing. Thank you so much, Mrs. Granger.
Hermione's mother gave a satisfied nod and shot her daughter a look of subtle triumph.
Hermione merely rolled her eyes; she understood perfectly well that Victor was saying this out of pure politeness—he undoubtedly had a stash of ready-made potions tucked away somewhere. What Hermione didn't know, however, was that neither ordinary treatment nor magical potions would help him anyway. After all, his eyes were not merely human organs, but two incredibly complex alchemical spheres crafted by Nicolas Flamel.
— Anyway, Victor, don't get distracted. Look here: I'm buying four houses in a former industrial town. A friend of mine in high places, — he pointed a finger meaningfully toward the ceiling, — told me that this town will soon be completely unrecognizable. Once they gentrify it, it's going to transform entirely! Mark my words, the prices on these houses will quadruple, maybe even quintuple!
— Oh, stop it already. Why are you bringing that up again? Victor isn't interested in that at all, — Mrs. Granger chided him.
But her husband had no intention of stopping—he was far too intoxicated by the tantalizing prospect of striking it rich.
— Woman, what do you know! I'm sharing experience with the lad; one day this will come in very handy for him. Oh, look, they even wrote about it in the paper! — he caught sight of a headline dedicated to the exact district where he was eyeing property. — Ha-ha-ha! Soon everyone will be rushing to buy up real estate there, but I've already arranged everything: tomorrow we sign the papers, and four houses right in the town center will be ours!
Victor cast a polite smile at the newspaper spread, but in the next instant, his eyes widened ever so slightly.
— I think you'd be better off considering buying shares in this company instead, — he said, pointing his finger at a small article just below.
Hermione's father squinted and read the headline aloud:
— "Computer War Lost? Investors Massively Unloading Apple Shares"... Ha! Why on earth would I buy their stock? That company is at rock bottom right now! I know your generation is obsessed with all these trendy new technologies, but there's no reason to lose your head over it. Remember this, Victor: the safest, most profitable investment is land and real estate. Even if a project fails, you can always sell them and recoup at least part of your money. As for this "Apple" of yours, I doubt it has much time left at all.
Victor merely offered a quiet chuckle and gave an ambiguous shrug, choosing not to push the argument any further. One day, Hermione's father would inevitably recall this conversation—and he would certainly be kicking himself then.
They ate dinner amidst a pleasant, unhurried conversation. Victor genuinely enjoyed the cozy atmosphere, even though he still hadn't fully figured out why Adele kept sulking at him.
Late in the evening, Victor and Adele prepared to leave. After saying goodbye to their hosts, they stepped out into the street—Hermione volunteered to walk them to the gate. The moment they were alone, she couldn't contain herself any longer:
— Is it true?.. Did you really defeat an entire gang of werewolves all by yourself?
Victor raised an eyebrow in surprise and turned his gaze to Adele. But she seemed not to care in the slightest, ostentatiously ignoring him and staring straight ahead into the distance.
— Yes. They weren't particularly strong, so it didn't prove too difficult, — Victor answered calmly.
Hermione stared at him without blinking:
— Wow... I knew you were strong, but... my goodness, that strong?!
Victor flashed a self-assured grin:
— What's wrong? Finally realized just how cool I am? Well, just so you know: if you want a piece of this perfect guy, you're going to have to try really hard.
— Ha-a-ah... And just like that, you ruined it again! — Hermione sighed. — Now it doesn't matter how strong you are at all. You're still the same arrogant, annoying, childish...
She cut herself off as Victor gently pressed his index finger against her lips:
— Stop praising me. I already know I'm an absolute miracle.
Hermione rolled her eyes and gently pushed his hand away, though she didn't let go of his palm right away.
— Are you going back to France again? — she asked softly, a touch of sadness in her eyes as she looked into his.
— Yes. But don't worry: I still have some business left here in England, so I'll be coming back often to visit you.
Her eyes lit up instantly:
— Really? Do you promise?
Victor smiled and nodded:
— By the way... your mum is watching us from the window.
Hermione hurriedly yanked her hand back and spun around toward the house, catching only a glimpse of the curtain smoothly sliding shut behind the glass. The girl flushed a deep crimson in an instant—she was impossibly embarrassed that her mother had caught them in a moment like that.
— Ahem... Well, goodbye. And don't forget, you promised! — She started to lean forward, intending to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, but catching Adele's razor-sharp glare, she abruptly changed her mind, whipped around, and bolted back into the house.
— Damn it, where is that taxi? — Victor frowned, looking around nervously.
— A taxi? What for? Your house is right across the street.
— There are Aurors lurking around over there. And damn it, those bastards drank my Beaujolais Nouveau! I spent a thousand dollars on it! Oh well, I memorized their faces. Now it's personal. I'm going to make them regret what they did; now only their suffering will restore my peace of mind.
Adele looked at him in surprise—he truly had changed. The Victor she used to know would have merely grumbled a bit and let the matter go. Ever since that incident with her parents, Victor had forced himself to show restraint: he could strike terror into people, but he never crossed the line, adhering to a peculiar sort of pacifism. But right now, standing before her for the first time, was the real Victor Moss. The very one who forgave no one and spared no one. It was this exact Victor who had once scared the living daylights out of all of Slytherin—incredibly ruthless, cold, and cunning.
— Are you alright? — Adele asked softly, taking his hand.
Victor was just about to reassure her when he suddenly felt someone else grab the back of his t-shirt from behind in a death grip. An icy chill instantly ran down his spine.
— A ghost! — he immediately shoved Adele behind his back and dropped into a combat stance.
— It is I, Mr. Moss! — Dobby materialized in the air.
Except, unlike his usual dirty pillowcase, the house-elf was dressed impeccably—in a neatly tailored, perfectly fitted little suit. Before bringing Adele to the Grangers, Victor had ducked into Diagon Alley with the elf and completely re-dressed him. And while passersby had shot them utterly bewildered looks, Victor hadn't cared in the slightest.
— Dobby, don't ever do that again! That is not pleasant! — Victor let out a defeated sigh, lowering his hands.
Truth be told, Victor feared very little in this life, and he saw ghosts in the castle every single day. But when someone invisible suddenly grabs your clothes from behind—it's terrifying. Especially now, when his magic and senses had sharpened to such an extreme that he caught every single movement for dozens of meters around.
— Forgive Dobby... Dobby did not mean to scare master!
Victor calmed down a bit and, looking at the house-elf, asked:
— Hey, Dobby, why are you still here anyway? Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely grateful to you for getting us out of that hellhole and looking after my sister... But that's it now, you're free.
Dobby's eyes immediately filled with tears, and his ears drooped guiltily:
— Did Dobby do something wrong? Did Dobby make Mr. Moss angry?..
— No, of course not, I told you: I'm grateful. But I thought that was the end of it. Aren't you a free elf? You have no reason to follow me around anymore.
— What should Dobby do then? — the elf asked, timidly raising his large-skulled head.
— Well, now you can do absolutely whatever your heart desires. I don't know... Travel, see the world, experience things you've dreamed of.
The elf fell into deep thought for a moment:
— Dobby has always dreamed... of working.
Victor and Adele exchanged a bewildered look.
— Uh... You mean serving another pure-blood family like the Malfoys again?
Dobby shook his head frantically:
— No! As a free elf! Working for... for a wage, — he uttered the last word in a barely audible whisper, blushing furiously. For a house-elf, asking for money in exchange for labor still felt like a terrifying disgrace. But while accompanying Lucius on business, Dobby had seen wizards who worked for the Malfoys: they were not slaves, they were free, and they received real Galleons for their labor. Dobby simply couldn't live without work, but he didn't want to become anyone's slave again either. He wanted to be a real employee.
Victor frowned thoughtfully. Finding paid work for a house-elf in the Wizarding World was practically impossible—hardly anyone would want to pay an elf. Of course, he could ask Perenelle or Ben to look for something... After all, even Muggle-born wizards had an extraordinarily tough time finding a decent place in conservative Magical society, to say nothing of a free house-elf. How many talented mages had abandoned the Wizarding World precisely because of this and returned to ordinary Muggle professions!
As he pondered this, Victor paused for a moment. A highly promising idea began to quickly take shape and expand in his mind.
— Tell you what, Dobby... You can go explore for a bit, see the world. Or keep an eye on Potter—that boy is always getting into trouble. But make sure to stop by Ben's shop once a week. I'll get in touch with you through him. I think I can find a suitable job for you.
— Really?! Thank you, Mr. Moss! — Dobby's large eyes shone with pure delight.
— Save your thanks for later. For now, go enjoy yourself. Consider yourself officially on vacation. Good luck! — Victor gave the elf a couple of friendly pats on the shoulder. — Oh, and here comes the taxi!
Dobby slowly began to fade into the air, watching as Victor and Adele climbed into the back seat of the pulled-up car.
— Driver, what took you so long? We could have walked there by now! — Victor's voice carried over.
— Sorry, kid, had to stop for gas, — the driver replied.
— Oh, you don't say, mate? The whole car reeks of fast food. You could have at least opened the windows to air it out!
Realizing he had been caught red-handed, the taxi driver decided to exercise his right to remain silent.
Watching the yellow car drive away down the street, Dobby broke into a happy smile.
— Dobby is on vacation... Heh-heh-heh... Dobby is on vacation, as a free elf! — he snapped his fingers merrily and vanished with a dry pop.