The final day at Hogwarts is always filled with a peculiar blend of genuine joy and gentle melancholy: students eagerly anticipate the holidays, yet feel saddened by the long separation from their friends. At the farewell breakfast, Dumbledore delivered his traditional speech and announced the year-end results. Naturally, the House Cup went to Slytherin once again—for the ninth consecutive year. Ravenclaw claimed second place, Gryffindor pulled in third, and Hufflepuff brought up the rear.
Victor waited for his sister near the exit of the Great Hall. Standing beside him were Daphne and Astoria, the latter looking darker than a thundercloud since early morning.
— Little one, why the pout? Who dared ruin your mood on such a sunny day?
Astoria shot him a heavy glare, then snapped an offended look at her sister and pointedly huffed.
— She's throwing a fit because I dragged her away from the party way too early last night, — Daphne explained.
Victor nodded understandingly.
— And how early exactly? Before I started shedding clothes and put on a striptease, or after?
Daphne rolled her eyes:
— Long before that.
— Well, that's a shame, I don't get blackout drunk all that often, — he replied with an disarming smile. — Actually, after that point, I don't remember a single thing. Total memory wipeout.
— After you were pawed by practically every single girl present, you took Luna by the hand and started teaching her how to slow-dance, — Hermione interjected, joining them. — And then Luna whispered something to you, and you, along with your sister—I have no idea how you managed it—sneaked into the Gryffindor tower. You dragged Harry right out of his bed and forced him to reopen the Chamber of Secrets, where the four of you spent ages gathering basilisk scales.
— And when you returned to the party without them, you danced until almost the dead of night, — Daphne picked up the thread. — Toward the end, when everyone was already beginning to scatter, you were belt-singing some foreign songs at the top of your lungs... Japanese, it seemed.
— Yeah, that last glass was definitely uncalled for. — Victor pulled a vial of Pepperup Potion from his inner pocket and downed it in a single gulp. — It's always like that with me: the moment I overindulge, I start singing anime openings. Usually, it's Tokyo Ghoul.
— And later, while I was checking if everyone had managed to crawl to their beds, you vanished without a trace, — Daphne added. — You never actually showed up in your own dormitory.
Victor nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his temples.
— I woke up in an armchair in the Headmaster's office. I have absolutely no clue what I was doing there or what we discussed, but Dumbledore isn't on speaking terms with me now. It looks like I deeply offended the Headmaster last night.
— VICTOR! — Luna called out shrilly and, running up, threw her arms around him in a tight hug, smiling radiantly. — We are ready!
Adele, following closely behind, literally pried her friend off her brother by sheer force without a word.
— Alright then, let's hurry up. I really need to sit down; my legs are still buckling.
On the trek down to Hogsmeade, they ran into Aurors at every turn. Hermione and Daphne, despite hearing Victor's assurances yesterday that he required no protection, still kept casting anxious glances at him every now and then.
When they boarded the train, their path was blocked by two Aurors. The older one offered a patronizing smile:
— So, you're that famous Victor, are you? — He patted the youth encouragingly on the shoulder. — Main thing is, don't worry, kid. As long as we're around, absolutely nothing can threaten you.
Victor went still for a second, feeling the heavy palm on his shoulder. And then, a wide, almost childlike smile lit up his face. Under the flabbergasted stares of his friends, he suddenly lunged forward and locked the Auror in a tight embrace.
— Thank you so much! — Victor quickly stepped back and began meticulously straightening the collar on the flustered wizard's uniform. — Forgive me, I just... got a bit overwhelmed with nerves.
The Auror, clearly not expecting such raw sincerity, nodded understandingly:
— It's alright, I understand. You have nothing to fear. I assure you: anyone who tries to get near you will end up in Azkaban before they can blink.
Victor gave a polite nod and moved further down the carriage corridor.
— And what exactly was that just now? — Daphne voiced the question that hung suspended in everyone's eyes.
Victor merely offered a careless shrug:
— What? He's a good man. I just wanted to show how grateful I am.
The girls exchanged looks, clearly not believing him for a single fraction of a second.
Finding an empty compartment, they stepped inside, and Victor immediately collapsed onto the seat.
— Well, finally... I was seriously worried I'd drop dead somewhere along the way, — he exhaled.
— You should have drunk less! You were clinking glasses with every student you met; I don't even understand how you fit that much liquid inside you, — Hermione rolled her eyes, settling down beside him and adjusting her robes.
Victor sighed heavily, resting his forehead against the cold table, but suddenly his head snapped up toward the door.
— It seems we won't be traveling together today. Girls, you'll have to move to another compartment.
— What? Why's that? — Adele asked in surprise, sitting to his left right by the window.
Victor didn't answer, merely smiling. Daphne, frowning, looked toward the door, past which heavy, measured footsteps could be heard approaching. A moment later, a daunting silhouette with a massive staff loomed in the doorway. Alastor Moody's mechanical eye whirled madly, scanning every corner until it locked onto Victor.
Daphne instantly assessed the situation and took Astoria by the hand.
— Come on, let's find ourselves another spot.
Hermione, recognizing the legendary Auror, stood up as well. Offering a brief nod to Moody, she pulled Luna along. The latter clearly didn't want to leave: pouting her lips, she kept shifting an offended gaze from Victor to Adele, who, conversely, gripped her brother's arm even tighter with a triumphant smile.
— Adele, come along, don't get in their way, — Hermione called out.
But Victor's sister didn't even budge.
— I'm staying with my brother. I don't care who came.
Hermione cast a questioning look at Victor, and he, letting out a chuckle, patted his sister on the back and gave a brief nod. Luna reluctantly followed the others out, continuing to shoot glances full of jealousy and resentment at the closing compartment door.
— Mr. Moody, don't be shy, take a seat, — Victor invited, his smile still as wide as ever, the moment the compartment doors closed behind the rest.
Alastor approached with heavy, uneven thuds and sat across from him, never taking his magical eye off the blindfold on the boy's face. The train slowly chugged into motion, gathering speed. A thick, palpable silence settled over the compartment. Victor carelessly hummed some melody under his breath, while Adele kept a cold, prickly gaze fixed on Moody, tightly squeezing her brother's hand.
— Are you curious about what's under my blindfold? — Victor broke the silence, turning his head toward the Auror, who continued to literally drill him with his stare.
Moody, saying nothing, leaned his staff against the seat.
— I don't know how you managed to pull the wool over Albus's eyes, — he rasped. — Maybe it's his advanced age, or maybe it's something else. But I want you to understand one thing: I am watching every breath you take. Step out of line even once, and you'll find yourself in Azkaban faster than you can cast a spell.
Victor froze for a moment, and then burst into a ringing laugh. His hand slid over Adele's palm, which had already crept toward her wand—a movement that, naturally, did not escape Moody's whirring eye. Calming down, Victor began to gently stroke his sister's hand, placating her wrath.
— We haven't met before, Mr. Moody. Where does such bias against me stem from?
Moody snorted, looking at a face that was far too cheerful for the situation at hand.
— I may not be able to prove it right now, but I feel it in my gut: that incident with the Death Eaters last summer... You are mixed up in it right to your ears.
Victor merely gave a careless shrug:
— Those are merely your assumptions. Dumbledore mentioned that you believe I am acquainted with or even working alongside that arsonist maniac. But I assure you: I have never seen that man in my life and have never contacted him. I can even confirm this under Veritaserum.
Victor wasn't lying. He truly had never "contacted" the arsonist, for the simple reason that he *was* the arsonist himself. Moody scowled; his instinct remained silent. The boy wasn't lying, but Moody didn't relax. Slytherins were notorious for their ability to speak the truth in a way that made it more terrifying than any lie.
— Let's say, — he spat. — Let's assume for a moment that I believe you. Then how do you explain your cult, which you dub a "faction"?
Victor tilted his head to the side in mock surprise:
— A cult? Wherever did you get that idea? Yes, perhaps my friends treat me with a certain degree of... excessive admiration. But it's not a cult. We are just a group of like-minded individuals having a good time together.
Moody gave a crooked smile:
— You know, Tom Riddle also started out by "having a good time" while subjugating Slytherin.
Victor's face twisted with revulsion for a fleeting second:
— Of course I know that story. But I assure you: if I were to plot something grandiose, I wouldn't stoop to plagiarizing some second-rate dark wizard. Believe me, Mr. Moody, I am capable of playing such a masterful gambit that you won't even realize the moment of your defeat.
— Is that a threat?
— Pff... Ha-ha-ha! — Victor laughed again, leaning back against the seat. — No, it's just an example.
— So, you want to convince me that you harbor no "dark" thoughts regarding the future of this world?
Victor fell into serious thought for a moment, turning toward the window.
— Right now—no. At this current stage, I simply want to grow stronger. And when I reach the absolute peak of my might... — he sighed wearily. — Even I don't know what I'll do then. Perhaps I'll become a new Dumbledore, a bastion of wisdom. Or perhaps—a new Grindelwald. Time will tell.
Moody watched him in silence, struck by the youth's raw candor. Just as Alastor opened his mouth to press the conversation further, Victor raised a warning hand, cutting him off. In one fluid motion, he shifted Adele away from the window and pressed his palm against the carriage paneling. Beneath his fingers, faint, pulsing threads of light crept along the wall, weaving into an invisible protective array. Victor turned back to Moody and gave a complex smile.
Alastor lunged to his feet instantly. His magical eye spun at a frantic velocity, locking onto the forest edge hurtling past the windows. The old Auror's face contorted.
— AMBUSH!!! — he roared so loudly it made their ears ring.
In that very second, several immensely powerful curses slammed into the wall of their carriage. An explosion rocked the entire train, but thanks to Victor's charms, the paneling didn't even crack—it merely flashed with a crimson flare, absorbing the impact. Under the colossal inertia, the train listed heavily; the carriages were tossed upward, balancing precariously on a single rail for a split second, on the verge of plunging down the embankment. Moody struck his staff hard against the floor; a fan of sparks erupted across the compartment, and a magical weight literally pinned the train back onto the tracks, leveling its run.
The connecting doors slammed open. Aurors, mounting their brooms mid-motion, flew right out of the moving train. A fierce battle unfolded in the sky above the forest. Dozens of figures draped in black robes dove from the clouds, raining a hail of curses onto the train. In response, the Aurors formed a combat wedge, slicing through the air with flashes of crimson and gold spells.
The air filled with the din of magical detonations. Curses missing their marks plowed into the earth along the tracks, throwing up columns of dirt and wood splinters. Flares deflected by shields turned the world outside into a chaotic kaleidoscope.
— Mr. Moody! We are under attack! Do we proceed with the backup plan? — Two Aurors burst into the compartment. One of them was the very man Victor had embraced so emotionally in the corridor.
Alastor, his gaze still glued to the window, gave a curt nod:
— Get the boy out. Move!
— Victor, come with us, — the Auror extended a hand. — We are Apparating directly to the Ministry. You'll be safe there.
— Yes, of course, — Victor answered.
He pulled Adele along, still maintaining that same strange, fixed smile. The moment they touched their escorts, the four figures—Victor, Adele, and the two Aurors—vanished from the train with a sharp crack.
Moody remained in the compartment to secure the safety of the remaining children. He pressed his face back to the window, his eyebrows knitting tightly together. Something about this attack was off.
— Sir! The attackers are retreating! They are flying back toward the woods! — an Auror yelled, hovering on a broom outside the carriage window.
Alastor caught a bad feeling in his gut.
— What the hell?.. — he rasped. — Listen to my command! Take half the men and stay to guard the train. The rest—on me! We are heading to the Ministry immediately. Right now!