The morning was clear and sunny, as if nature rejoiced in the new day after the night's disturbances in the Slytherin dungeons. Viktor, in excellent spirits, headed to the Great Hall. The sound of his steps on the stone floor of the corridor was light and springy. Entering the spacious hall, filled with morning light, his gaze immediately found a familiar head of chestnut hair at the Gryffindor table. Seeing Hermione, he unhesitatingly changed direction and walked straight to the Gryffindor table, where plates of porridge, toast, and bacon were already steaming.
Approaching the table, Viktor stopped next to a boy sitting near Hermione and unceremoniously clapped him on the shoulder. "Brother, can you move?" he said calmly; his voice was friendly but left no room for argument. The boy, a third-year Gryffindor, looked up, about to object. "There are still plenty of free..." he began, but his words died when he fully turned and saw who was standing before him. The Gryffindor's face instantly paled. He nervously swallowed, recognizing Viktor as the first-year about whom the most terrifying rumors circulated. "Y-yes, of course, s-sit down," he stammered, hastily scrambling up and vacating the seat for Viktor.
Viktor, beaming, calmly settled next to Hermione. "Hi, darling. Ready for flying lessons?" he asked, reaching for a plate of fried bacon.
Hermione, who had been observing the scene with an unreadable expression the entire time, merely grunted. A hint of slight annoyance, mixed with something resembling resentment, colored her voice. "Why did you come? Go to your new assistant. She's probably waiting."
Before Viktor could answer, a tall, sturdy third-year boy approached the Gryffindor table, his eyes burning with righteous anger. He sharply, with a thump, placed his large palm on the table right in front of Viktor. "What's a snake doing at the Gryffindor table?" he asked with undisguised anger in his voice, which sounded challenging.
Viktor slowly raised his head. The same cheerful smile played on his face. He looked at the boy's hand, then at his face. Without changing his expression, he sharply but precisely took a nearby fork and, with a whizz, plunged it into the table. The sharp prongs of the fork scraped through the boy's robe fabric, pinning it to the table just a few millimeters from his skin. The boy yelped in fright. He sharply pulled his hand back, trying to distance himself from Viktor, and his robe tore away from the table with a ripping sound, leaving a small hole. From surprise and fear, the boy stumbled backward and fell to the ground, his eyes wide with terror.
Viktor slowly pulled the fork out of the table. His smile vanished instantly, replaced by an expression of cold, terrifying fury. Viktor's eyes dulled, becoming almost black, and a sinister glint flickered within them. His gaze was so penetrating and predatory that the boy lying on the floor trembled. "Disappear," Viktor said softly but firmly, his voice sounding like a death sentence. The boy, seeing his gaze, hastily scrambled up without a word and, without looking back, quickly retreated from the Great Hall.
A smile instantly returned to Viktor's face. He turned to Hermione, as if nothing unusual had happened, and asked, raising an eyebrow, "Are you still jealous?"
Hermione simply grunted in response, turning away. She said nothing, but her cheeks slightly flushed, and her lips were tightly pressed together. Viktor shrugged, not paying it any mind. He looked at his plate, about to serve himself food, and noticed it was dirty. He looked around for someone who could help him and saw a second-year Slytherin enter the hall.
Viktor, without much thought, called out to him: "Hey, you, come here!"
The second-year initially tried to ignore him, pretending not to hear. He tried to quicken his pace to walk past but remembered Viktor's cruelty, what had happened last night. An involuntary tremor seized him, and he obediently approached the Gryffindor table. "Y-yes?" he stammered, his eyes darting around.
"Bring me a clean plate," Viktor said calmly, without raising his head, continuing to examine his dirty plate.
The second-year froze, his face paling. He was a Slytherin! How could he serve some upstart first-year, and at the Gryffindor table no less?! Viktor slowly raised his head. His gaze became stern, and a slight expression of disapproval appeared on his face. He took out his wand and unhurriedly, almost lazily, placed it on the table next to the plate. The wooden tip of the wand gleamed in the morning light. "Am I speaking quietly?" he asked, his voice low and even, but with a hint of steel.
The second-year trembled, seeing the wand. "Y-yes, of course! R-right away!" he stammered, then turned and rushed to the Slytherin table, grabbed a clean plate, and returned, handing it to Viktor with trembling hands.
Viktor nodded. "Thank you. You can go." The second-year darted off to the Slytherin table. Viktor watched him with a smirk, then served himself food onto the fresh plate and began to eat with unconcealed appetite.
While eating breakfast, Viktor noticed Neville Longbottom across the table, sitting with his head down and appearing unusually dejected. "Oh, Neville, hi!" Viktor greeted him loudly, causing Neville to flinch. "How's school, old chap?"
Neville trembled even more and quietly mumbled, "Good..."
Viktor nodded, continuing to chew. "Well, good that it's good."
Hermione, who had been silently observing Viktor's behavior until this moment, finally couldn't take it anymore. "Viktor, what do you want?" she asked sharply, her voice full of irritation.
Viktor raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Oh, look who decided to speak to me, oh, thank the gods!"
Hermione snorted. "Are you tired of talking to your new girlfriend?"
"Not a girlfriend, an assistant," Viktor corrected, then smiled. "So, ready for flying lessons?"
Hermione nodded, her tone softening. "Yes, I've read some literature and prepared myself."
Suddenly, Harry Potter burst into the hall with Ron Weasley. They approached the Gryffindor table and sat next to Neville.
"Good morning, Harry, Ron," Viktor greeted them.
Ron, noticing Viktor at the Gryffindor table, asked in surprise, "Hey, Viktor, why are you having breakfast at the Gryffindor table?"
Viktor shrugged. "Why not? It's not forbidden."
Harry, with some concern in his voice, asked, "How are you, Viktor? Are you alright in Slytherin? We heard something happened last night..."
Viktor waved it off. "What could happen to me? Though it doesn't seem like it, there are quite nice people studying there." At the end, he smiled dazzlingly, and this smile looked especially ominous after his morning "feats." "And how are you, settled in at Hogwarts?"
Harry replied cheerfully, "Yes! I really like it here!"
At that moment, a commotion rose in the hall. Dozens of owls began to descend from the ceiling like snowflakes. They circled above the tables, delivering the morning mail. Students happily opened letters and packages. Among them was Neville. One of the owls swooped down directly to him, carrying a glass sphere the size of a large marble in its beak. White mist swirled inside the sphere.
"A letter from my gran," Neville mumbled quietly, his face lengthening as he unrolled the parchment. He read it, and his face became even paler. He looked at the glass sphere, and suddenly it glowed bright red.
"A Remembrall!" Hermione exclaimed, recognizing the item. "I've read about them: if it glows red, it means you've forgotten something!"
"Yes, but I don't know what I've forgotten!" Neville whimpered pathetically, his cheeks red with embarrassment. His voice trailed off as he clutched the Remembrall in his hand.
Viktor, sitting next to Hermione, watched the scene with genuine interest. He smirked, looking at the unfortunate Neville.
After breakfast, all the first-years gathered on the vast, well-manicured lawns behind the castle. The sky was bright blue, and a gentle breeze barely stirred the grass. Brooms were lined up on a flat patch of field. Each had a new, shiny broom lying next to it.
"Good morning, class!" Madam Hooch, a stocky woman with short gray hair and sharp yellow eyes like a hawk's, said loudly. Her voice was crisp and commanding. "Good morning, Madam Hooch!" the students responded unevenly.
"Well, welcome to your first flying lesson!" she continued, walking along the row of brooms. "Don't waste time. Everyone stand opposite your broom."
The students hastily spread out and stood opposite their brooms. Viktor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood next to each other. Neville, as always, looked the most frightened.
"Stick your right hand over your broom and say: 'UP!'" Madam Hooch commanded.
"UP!" voices rang out, and various reactions swept through the row. Harry's broom instantly leaped into his hand, as if tethered. The same happened with Viktor. Several other students also succeeded. Ron's broom, however, merely rolled across the ground. "Ow!" he muttered when his broom hit him on the head. Hermione's broom didn't move at all.
"Excellent!" Madam Hooch exclaimed, satisfied. "Now that your brooms are in hand, mount them. Hold the handle firmly. And remember: don't take off until I give the command!"
The students obediently sat on their brooms. Neville, trembling and pale, tried to sit down, but his broom suddenly leaped up with wild speed, hitting him in the face, and then, as if possessed, began to rise higher and higher.
"Oh no!" Madam Hooch gasped.
Neville, white as a sheet, clung to the broomstick that carried him upward. He was clearly in a panic. "Please, come back!" he cried, trying to hold onto the broom, but it continued to rise, as if wishing to throw him off.
"Neville, stop!" Madam Hooch yelled, but it was too late. The broom shot skyward.
The students below looked up, holding their breath. Neville, trembling and clinging to the broom, was already very high. Suddenly, the broom jerked violently, and he lost his balance. A scream of terror erupted as Neville fell from the broom. He plummeted downwards, his arms flailing helplessly.
"NEVILLE!" Harry screamed.
But before he could hit the ground, Viktor reacted instantly. Without a second's thought, he darted from his spot, his eyes flashing with magical light. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the falling Neville and quickly shouted, "Arresto Momentum!" The powerful time-slowing charm, which he had learned from old books, enveloped Neville's body. His fall slowed to a snail's pace, as if he was suspended in mid-air, slowly, slowly descending.
Madam Hooch rushed over to them, her face initially frightened but then quickly changed to astonishment. "Mr. Moss! That was... that was incredible! You just saved Mr. Longbottom!" She shook her head, clearly impressed. "Such a level of spell mastery for a first-year... that's simply outstanding! For your quick thinking and saving a life - twenty points to Slytherin!"
The Gryffindors standing nearby grumbled in dissatisfaction. Draco Malfoy snorted, his face contorted in a sneer of contempt.
Madam Hooch helped Neville up. "Quickly, boy, to the Hospital Wing!" she said, examining him, but fortunately, he was unharmed, just very badly frightened. "Perhaps a broken arm." She turned to the others. "I will not tolerate any broom riding until I return. You'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'! Clear?" She gave everyone a stern look and hurried to lead a trembling Neville into the castle.
Hardly had Madam Hooch disappeared from view when Draco Malfoy stepped forward, holding Neville's Remembrall, which had fallen out during his tumble. He held it in his hand, his eyes gleaming with malicious glee.
"Seen his face?" Malfoy mocked, addressing Crabbe and Goyle, but loud enough for everyone to hear. He began to laugh, and his cronies joined in. Malfoy leaped onto his broom. "Look," he said, "I'll hide this somewhere for Longbottom so he can't find it." He sharply pushed off the ground and flew upward.
"Hey, Malfoy! No!" Harry shouted.
"You wouldn't dare!" Ron roared.
"Is he seriously going to do that?" Hermione asked, her face showing complete bewilderment.
Harry, exasperated and angry, unhesitatingly mounted his broom, pushed off the ground, and soared into the air after Malfoy.
Viktor watched the entire scene with genuine interest. He saw Harry, despite the prohibition, rush off in pursuit of Malfoy. A cunning smile appeared on his face. "Excellent," he thought. "Breaking rules, heroism... Everything is going according to plan." He watched as Harry skillfully maneuvered on his broom, chasing Malfoy, who held Neville's Remembrall. Harry performed incredible turns, demonstrating astonishing talent for flying. Malfoy threw the Remembrall, and Harry, performing a stunning dive, caught it just a couple of feet from the ground.
At this time, Viktor thought about the ending of the movie. He pondered the Philosopher's Stone, a miracle of alchemy that no one had yet been able to replicate. He wanted to study it, but first, he needed a way to get to it. And to understand what the Philosopher's Stone was, he needed to know everything about alchemy. And where better to find such information than the Hogwarts library?
He looked around, and his gaze fell on a group of first-year Slytherins, among whom was Daphne Greengrass, standing slightly apart, reserved and elegant as always. Viktor, without thinking twice, called her over.
"Daphne!" he called. The girl, habitually sullen but always ready to obey his command, approached. "I want you to do something for me." His voice was quiet but full of meaning. "I want all of you..." he gestured to the other first-years, "to get books. From the library. All the books you can find on alchemy. And bring them to me."
Daphne nodded, her eyes slightly widened in surprise, but she asked no questions. She simply accepted his words as an order. "Alright, Viktor. We'll do it."
"Excellent," Viktor nodded, and his gaze returned to Harry, who was returning with the Remembrall. He anticipated what he could do if the recipe for the Philosopher's Stone ended up in his hands.