Adele looked around the luxurious living room and then gave him a questioning glance.
— This is my villa. I bought it last year and hired a cleaning company that comes once a week.
Adele nodded. She had almost forgotten just how rich her guardian was in the Muggle world.
— Isn't it time for us to head back to France?
Victor sat down on the sofa and shook his head heavily:
— No, I need to wrap everything up here first so we can leave with a clear conscience.
Seeing Adele nod again with a completely unreadable, cold expression, he sighed deeply and raised his hands in a placating gesture. The girl let out a soft gasp when he suddenly pulled her toward him: before she could even process what was happening, she was already sitting on his lap. Victor wrapped his arms around her gently and stroked her back.
— Little one, what has made you so upset? Is it because I left you behind during the operation?
Adele looked him dead in the eye and, pouting, spoke up:
— Why did I have to learn about your past from Grandmother, while you told Hermione everything yourself? Do you trust her more? — When she had recently told Hermione the details of how Victor dealt with the werewolves, she had expected to see animal terror or disgust on her friend's face. But there was none of that. Later, she even found out that Hermione had known about Victor's past killings and his stint in the psychiatric clinic for a long time.
Victor let out a soft laugh:
— Ha-ha-ha... Because of that? That was a complete accident! I just went to "cry on her shoulder" while she was cursed, and I kept blabbering non-stop. How was I supposed to know she could hear me the whole time?
Adele listened closely to his explanation, but her expression remained the same—cold and withdrawn. Feeling him still tenderly stroking her back, she gave him a strange look. All of this felt somewhat different. The same warmth, the same gentleness, but... something subtle had changed. In fact, ever since he came back, something about his familiar demeanor seemed to have cracked.
— Your clone was right. You've changed.
Victor raised his eyebrows in surprise:
— You think so?
— Yes.
Victor nodded thoughtfully:
— Well... I suppose you're right. I think I've finally truly returned. Or rather, woken up. Hm... you know, this whole school year feels like a surreal dream to me now. It's so strange.
— A dream?
— Yeah. You know, like someone else was acting in my place all this time.
Adele sighed. She didn't fully grasp his words, but she had long since grown accustomed to his oddities. Adjusting herself to get more comfortable in his embrace and listening to the steady, calm rhythm of his heartbeat, she quietly closed her eyes, lost in her own thoughts: "He is mine... Only mine. No bitch is ever going to take him away from me."
After a while, Victor noticed she had fallen asleep, muttering something softly under her breath. With a faint smile, he gently scooped her up, carried her upstairs, and laid her in bed.
Returning to the first floor, he popped into the kitchen and brewed two cups of fresh tea. Carrying them along, Victor walked into the living room, where Albus Dumbledore was already sitting on the sofa, calmly looking around and thoughtfully tapping his fingers against his knees. The Headmaster was placidly inspecting the house, though his gaze kept fixing stubbornly and intently on one specific spot in the room.
Victor placed one cup in front of the Headmaster and took the other for himself before taking a seat on the sofa beside him.
— Lovely house, — Dumbledore said with a smile.
Victor gave a brief nod:
— Yes, I like it too.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Dumbledore took a calm sip of tea and finally broke the quiet:
— I am glad you are back, Victor.
The boy looked at him and offered a subtle smile:
— Yes, me too. And I won't be doing any more foolish things like that—it's far too dangerous. I got so deeply into character... let's call it "Victor the Pacifist," that at one point I nearly lost myself completely.
Dumbledore nodded understandingly.
— Thank you, I suppose. Though I must admit I'm curious: will you really not regret this? — Victor asked, staring intently into his eyes.
Dumbledore paused for a second, then let out a quiet sigh and shook his head:
— While I am far from pleased with everything regarding your true nature, Victor... it is nevertheless far better than the spineless wreck hiding in my office over a girl.
Victor burst into genuine laughter:
— Yeah, "Victor the Pacifist" was hideously stupid... But, — he looked at the Headmaster with a smirk, — you certainly made good use of him, didn't you?
Dumbledore chuckled and didn't bother to deny it, merely giving a nod in reply.
— And yet... why did you decide to help me?
Dumbledore looked down at the cup in his hands and gave a light shrug:
— You were going to snap sooner or later anyway. It fully dawned on me when you lost your temper because I looked into your sister's memories. And you know... at that very second, I thought to myself: "There he is, the very Victor I remember." The boy who conquered Slytherin. Who was ready to stand up to the greatest wizard in England simply because he cheated in a Quidditch match. The boy who fought Quirrell, nearly died, and then only grew stronger and defeated him. And when you did nothing, just took Adele and left... I actually felt a slight sense of disappointment.
Victor listened to him with an amused smirk:
— I killed Death Eaters—you let me off the hook for that. And now you sent me straight to Fenrir yourself... What about your principles?
Dumbledore hummed softly, and behind the darkness of his spectacles, a familiar, cunning glint flared up in his blue eyes:
— You know me, Victor: I like to keep everything under control and direct the flow. I cannot afford to exert my full strength given my status... But that does not mean I cannot arrange things so they fall into place my way without even raising my wand. — His gaze turned deadly serious. — Do not misunderstand me: I am still firmly convinced that killing is the absolute worst possible outcome. But sometimes I am forced to step over my own principles. I doubt anyone in this world will miss Greyback... And losing such a fine piece on my board was simply something I couldn't afford.
Victor nodded calmly. On one hand, it thoroughly annoyed him to be openly called someone's piece. But on the other... "A fine piece, huh? Well, not the worst evaluation."
They lapsed back into silence, broken only by the soft, steady clinking of porcelain cups and saucers.
— Why did no one react? — Victor asked softly. — When children become mages, doesn't it register automatically in the Hogwarts Book? Why didn't you do anything when Greyback had been kidnapping them for years?
— It is far from that simple, — Dumbledore sighed. — In time, you come to realize that certain pieces tend to drift away from the board. I attempted to pressure the Ministry of Magic on numerous occasions, but it proved utterly futile. Virtually the entire upper echelon there is corrupt to the core. They passed a law prohibiting werewolves from attending school and explicitly stated that it was no longer my responsibility—claiming they would handle it themselves. Still, I already had a certain plan for the future.
— Well, I suppose that doesn't matter anymore, — Victor scoffed. — I solved that little problem of yours.
Dumbledore nodded:
— As I said: an excellent piece. Minerva will be genuinely relieved... You know, she fell into a deep depression every single time she went through the rosters, sent out owl letters, and discovered another child had fallen into the hands of werewolves.
Victor, annoyed at being referred to as a piece on a board yet again, glared at the Headmaster:
— You need to understand that I'm not just any ordinary piece. At any moment, I can become a player myself.
Dumbledore smirked, and for a split second, a terrifying, ancient air of authority flashed in his eyes:
— I know. And believe me, I expect nothing less from you. After all, isn't a stronger piece all the better for the match? But remember this, Victor: the moment you think you have finally turned into a player, you will instantly realize that you have merely become a pawn on a completely different board. This time, I will not allow myself to make another fatal mistake. I will keep a much closer eye on you and guide you. And I will remain the victor—even if I have to stake my own life on it. Either way, victory will be mine.
Victor blinked in shock a couple of times:
— Wow... Did I just witness the pride of one of the strongest wizards in this world manifest itself? And what do you mean by "another mistake"? Are you referring to Tom Riddle?
Dumbledore merely gave a enigmatic smirk, leaving the question unanswered.
— Well, I believe I have overstayed my welcome. Thank you for the tea, — he set his cup neatly on the table and unhurriedly rose from the sofa. — And Victor... Stop playing around. It is time for you to take action and finally show yourself to the world. Get serious.
In that very instant, bright, flaring flames engulfed Dumbledore's figure, and he vanished from the house without a trace.
— Hm, an interesting conversation... Damn it! — Victor slammed his palm onto the armrest in frustration. — He told me to take action... But I was going to do that anyway! Doesn't it look now like I'm just following his orders?! What a bastard, bloody manipulator! What am I supposed to do now, do nothing out of sheer principle?!
He sat on the sofa, plunged in deep thought, and the more thoughts raced through his head, the more irritation consumed him.
— A-a-a-a-a-ah! — Victor ran his hands through his hair in utter helplessness. — Ah, to hell with it! Fine, I lost this round... Damn, I hate how much this annoys me! But at the same time... it kind of turns me on, too. Hm-m... Weird. Did I just discover a new fetish?