"You brought in another one?" Viktor turned to look at her. "Boy or girl? How did they get here?"
Granny Yaga, curled up on the tattered old sofa, looked unusually gentle for once as she slowly replied:
"A boy. Just a regular-looking boy, messy black hair. But I heard he's adopted. His aunt and uncle don't treat him well. He was bullied… beaten, even. That's why he ran away."
"He happened to wander right underneath the house—almost got stomped when the legs moved. I heard him scream, that's how I noticed him. Poor thing had already spent a whole night lost in the forest."
"He's probably still asleep upstairs right now."
The house of Baba Yaga was a towering wooden hut standing on gigantic chicken legs. A small platform above the legs served as a garden where Viktor grew odd, exotic flowers.
Because Granny Yaga had a habit of adopting children, she always kept two spare rooms on the second floor.
Viktor glanced toward the dark staircase that led upward.
Unlike the muddy, soil-caked chicken legs outside, the interior of the hut was tidy and well-kept. A few pots of Blue Nightshade, one of Viktor's favorites, decorated the corners.
Still, the ever-present mist outside meant the rooms inside were always a bit dim.
"Well then," Viktor said, "I'll ask him some questions when he wakes up in the morning."
"But the British Ministry of Magic is quite strict," he added. "Only magical children can even find this place, so odds are someone's already searching for him. We should return him as soon as possible."
Granny Yaga looked genuinely pained. "Do we really have to send him back? Can't we do like we did with Vasilisa—punish the guardians and let him stay?"
"No," Viktor replied firmly. "The Ministry has proper adoption procedures here in Britain. We need to figure out his situation first, then go through the right channels."
"Alright," she said, visibly disappointed.
To Harry Potter, today felt like something out of a dream—one too strange to believe.
Yesterday morning, Uncle Vernon had shouted at him again. Then Dudley and his gang chased him down the street. Forced to flee from Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry ran off into the rain.
But somewhere along the way, the world blurred.
The streets vanished into a silvery fog… and then, somehow, he'd ended up in a mist-covered forest.
It made no sense. He had lived on Privet Drive for nearly ten years. There weren't any forests nearby—he was sure of it.
No matter which way he turned, Harry couldn't find his way out.
And then, to top it all off, he saw a house walking through the trees… on giant chicken legs.
"…This has to be a dream."
That was his first thought as he slowly woke up.
Yet the rhythmic thudding sound continued around him:
Thump… thump.Thump… thump.Creak…
Footsteps. Swaying. Muffled voices drifting in from somewhere nearby.
Harry opened his eyes.
Above him was a clean, wooden ceiling—not the moldy underside of the cupboard under the stairs. This definitely wasn't the Dursleys' house. That place was too old and dusty to ever be this tidy.
He sat up.
The bed beneath him was soft and warm, the thick quilt cozy beyond anything he'd ever known.
The room was small but charming. A thick, hand-woven rug covered the floor. Though it was summer, the room was pleasantly cool.
There was only a bed beside a window, a small side table, and a wooden chair with a bottle of white flowers and an old-fashioned oil lamp. It was too dim to light the lamp, and Harry couldn't find any matches.
The window showed only a thick fog, same as last night.
Then the memories returned.
He'd been picked up by a strange old woman with a terrifying face… and a house that walked on bird legs. She'd given him some bread and milk, then led him to this room to sleep.
Who was that old woman?Why did her house have legs?
He didn't know. But the only way to find out was to go look.
Still, a quiet instinct told him something else—something deeper.
Was he now like the kids in those fantasy stories? The ones who fall down rabbit holes into magical worlds?
Harry looked around in a daze, then finally pushed himself up. He walked cautiously to the single door, cracked it open, and peeked outside.
The hallway was dim and narrow but tidy. At the far end, a warm yellow glow spilled in from another room.
The voices were clearer now.
"…The headmaster's name is Dumbledore. He's supposed to be the most powerful wizard in Britain. I met him—seemed to live up to the reputation…"
A deep, distant male voice—calm, careful.
"…Then he should believe you," came a raspier voice—Granny Yaga's. "After all, that wish came from the witch herself. You're only claiming what's rightfully yours…"
Harry recognized her voice. Raspy but kind. She reminded him of Mrs. Figg from next door—strange and rambling, but somehow warm.
Except this place didn't smell of boiled cabbage, and it was much cleaner.
Harry tiptoed toward the voices.
When he reached the staircase, he spotted the speaker—a man he hadn't seen before.
He was tall, with shadowy eyes that shifted to meet Harry's the moment he appeared.
Harry shivered. Something instinctive told him to be careful.
"…You're awake," the man said calmly.
"I'm Viktor Vanderboom. I live here. Come on, kid—eat some breakfast, then I'll take you home."
His voice was steady, unreadable.
"Come, dear child! Come sit down!"
Granny Yaga beamed at him, waving eagerly. "I made fresh cookies with nightshade flour—you'll love them. There's also pumpkin fritters and oatmeal."
Harry approached the little dining table beside the fireplace.
Plates of steaming food were arranged neatly. His stomach growled just looking at them.
"Thanks," he muttered, sliding into the seat closest to the fire—just as the old woman instructed.
He had to climb a bit to get onto the solid, high-backed wooden chair. It was carved with old-fashioned patterns—looked expensive. Uncle Vernon would've said only rich people owned furniture like that.
This place… felt refined. Fancy, even.
If not for the walking chicken legs, that is.
…They're going to send me back?
So this wasn't a magical world after all? He was still in England?
"Mr. Van… Vander… Vanderboom?" Harry fumbled the name.
"You said you'd take me home?"
"What is this place exactly? I live on Privet Drive—I don't know how I got here. I just remember ending up in some forest… then seeing a house with chicken legs?"
He trailed off, feeling silly. The whole story sounded too ridiculous to say out loud.
But to his surprise, neither adult looked confused or shocked.
"You're not mistaken," Viktor replied, slicing a piece of garlic bread. "The house really does have chicken legs. That's Granny Yaga's magic."
"Once you've eaten, I'll take you back. It might take a bit—still working on linking our fireplace to the Floo Network. Might take a few tries."
"Oh—where exactly is this 'Privet Drive'? Which wizarding settlement is that again?"
Wizarding settlement? Magic? Floo Network?
Harry's mind was spinning. He didn't understand a word Viktor was saying.
But one thing was now crystal clear:
He was in a magical house.