The next morning, all of Hogwarts was talking about him. At breakfast, students whispered and exchanged glances, constantly throwing looks toward the Slytherin table. To everyone, he was simultaneously a hero and a monster, and this duality was intriguing, frightening, and fascinating. But Viktor didn't care at all. He calmly ate, read, and conversed with Daphne, showing by his whole demeanor that all the noise around him was just an insignificant trifle, unworthy of attention.
After breakfast, humming a tune to himself, Viktor got dressed in front of the mirror. He approached today with a special seriousness. He wore a strict, perfectly tailored green suit, and his patent leather shoes gleamed. His raven-black hair was dyed green and neatly slicked back. A bright green Slytherin crest was painted on his cheeks, and next to it, he drew a final touch.
— Wanna know how I got these scars? — he said softly, looking at his reflection, and drew two lines resembling deep cuts running from the corners of his mouth to his ears. — No, not like that... — He repeated the phrase in a more hoarse, cracked voice. — Wanna know how I got these scars?... Yeah, that's it.
He picked up a green scarf with the Slytherin crest to tie it around his neck, but at that moment, the door to his room opened. Daphne appeared at the threshold, and upon seeing his face, she froze.
— Everyone's gathered, — she said. — What's with your face? Why do you have that smile?
Viktor smiled, but there was no amusement in his eyes.
— Wanna kno—... stop, stop, stop. What's with your look?
Daphne looked at herself. She was wearing a standard robe with a green scarf tied over it, and nothing else.
— It's fine, — she replied.
Viktor crossed his arms over his chest.
— "Fine"? Where's your fan spirit?
Viktor took the first Quidditch match incredibly seriously. A month earlier, he had acquired all possible fan paraphernalia: huge green gloves, funny hats, robes. The day before the game, he held a strict briefing for all his followers, making each one learn the anthem he had composed himself and even held a test on knowing every line.
— I'm wearing a scarf, — Daphne repeated, trying to defend herself.
Viktor looked at her sternly, his eyes narrowing.
— It's not enough. What did I say? We have to be the loudest, the greenest of all. Every part of us must scream that we are Slytherins, and you're just wearing a scarf?
Daphne shivered, feeling his pressure.
— I can take a glove with me...
Viktor smiled, and Daphne had a very bad feeling about that smile. She turned around and tried to run away, but the door slammed shut in front of her face.
A few minutes later, Viktor, completely satisfied, came out into the Slytherin common room. More than forty students were already standing there. Each of them was brightly dressed, every detail screaming their house affiliation. Many had ridiculous hats on their heads, and green stripes and patterns on their faces. Viktor nodded approvingly.
— Well done! — he said. — Now this is what I call spirit! Now let's go over the basics. Noisemakers?
Someone shouted "Present!" and held up a box with various loud-sounding items.
— Banners and flags?
Everyone shouted "Present!" in unison and began waving flags, while large banners with the snake crest were raised in the back. In the front, posters were unrolled with funny caricatures of Gryffindor players.
— Good. Now listen to me, — Viktor surveyed the crowd. — You might think we're doing something silly, but we're not. We stand for our house. Those who play today must feel our support, and our enemies should tremble at our fan aura!
Everyone started shouting "Yeeeees!". Someone yelled, "Let's tear them apart!". Viktor smiled and wiped away an imaginary tear.
— Guys, I'm so proud of you, — he said. Then he shouted: — Daphne, what are you stuck there for? Let's go!
From the stairs, with slumped shoulders, Daphne descended. Her face was not just displeased—it expressed complete and profound disgust. Her skin, including her forehead and chin, was thickly covered in a toxic-green face paint. Her usually neat hair was braided into two sloppy, green pigtails that stuck out like horns. Her robe, specially made for the day, was adorned with huge images of snakes, and on her feet were ridiculous shoes that resembled snake heads. She looked both pathetic and grotesque.
The Slytherins in the hall, seeing her, tried to turn away so as not to laugh out loud. But Viktor didn't take his eyes off her. His smile grew wider, and his eyes shone with smug satisfaction. He looked at her the way an artist looks at his masterpiece. Daphne felt his intense gaze, and her cheeks, despite the makeup, flushed with shame. She wanted to sink into the ground.
— Now, — Viktor proclaimed, raising his hands, — now we are ready for victory!
Walking onto the stadium, the group of Slytherins looked like an army. An organized, bright, and loud crowd. Viktor led the way, proudly carrying a huge banner. He reached the stands, looking for the best seats for his group. He decided to take the front row, but someone was already sitting there. For Viktor, this was not a problem. He turned to his followers.
— You guys go and set up the banners, and I'll deal with the seats. Daphne is in charge.
While everyone actively started working, Viktor went to clear his seats. Standing in front of the students who had occupied the stands, he shouted:
— Comrades! Allow me to steal a moment of your precious time. It is with regret that I inform you that the front seats are already registered and you will have to vacate them, — he paused and added with a smile: — Or would you prefer to listen to the match from a hospital bed.
Most of the students, not wanting to deal with him, immediately got up and moved back. Viktor looked at those who remained and immediately saw familiar faces—they were the pure-bloods he constantly conflicted with. Approaching them closely, he lowered his voice to a sinister whisper:
— I think you didn't understand me. But it's okay, I know a little of the sheep language. Listen: get out of here, or I'll break all your bones.
They smirked. One of them, mustering up his courage, said:
— Get out of here, Mudblood. These seats are for real Slytherins.
Viktor looked at him and sharply stepped on his groin, causing him to gasp for air. The others flinched and stepped back. Not giving them time to react, Viktor made a serious face and began to speak.
— Wanna know how I got these scars? — Viktor's voice took on a crazy, broken tone. — My dad was a drunk and a fiend. And one day, he went crazier than usual. Mommy grabbed a kitchen knife to defend herself, but Daddy didn't like that. And so, in front of my eyes, he cut her up. He laughed like a lunatic... and then he turned to me and said: "Why so serious, son?" — Viktor, not taking his foot off, looked at the guy who was gasping in pain. — And I drew the scars this morning, — he added in a completely calm voice, and the madness in his eyes disappeared.
Everyone was looking at him strangely until someone couldn't take it anymore:
— Enough, Viktor! Let him go!
But he pressed down harder, and the guy started making wheezing sounds. He looked at them and asked quietly:
— Or what?
They already started reaching for their wands, but one of them stopped them all.
— Not here, — he whispered, looking at Viktor. — Fine, we're leaving. Let him go.
Viktor removed his foot, snorted, and said:
— Cowards.
The student whose groin had been freed slid to his knees, holding his crotch, then suddenly stood up and, screaming with anger, yelled at Viktor:
— You're finished, Mudblood! You're dead!
Viktor just disdainfully cleaned his ear with his pinky finger as they left.
— I'm close by, why are you yelling so loudly?
Then he saw that the others had already hung all the banners, and he shouted, spreading his arms wide:
— Slytherin fans, take your seats! Let the game begin!