The next morning, ten o'clock.
Viktor stood in front of the mirror, already dressed in a crisply ironed hunting jacket. He reached for the black wizarding robe draped over the chair and slipped it on.
He picked up the waist pouch that had transformed into an exact replica of Newt's old-fashioned suitcase.
At the same moment, Tom—who was now wearing an identical black robe—came barreling in like a gust of wind and skidded to a perfect stop beside him.
Viktor grabbed the case and headed straight for the fireplace.
He eyed the flames crackling merrily in the middle of July.
Pinching a handful of Floo powder, he tossed it in and clearly announced,
"Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress's office."
Emerald flames roared up. Viktor stepped forward and vanished.
…
In the Deputy Headmistress's office, Professor McGonagall—looking every inch the stern cat—sat at her desk, methodically sorting through stacks of school paperwork.
Her mood, however, was distinctly sour.
She had just finished her meeting with Hogwarts' new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—the famous adventurer Gilderoy Lockhart.
And the man had left her with anything but a favourable impression.
Whoosh!
Emerald flames erupted in the fireplace.
Carrying the suitcase, with Tom trotting right behind, Viktor stepped out of the hearth.
As soon as his feet hit the floor, he gave a casual snap of his fingers.
The soot on both him and Tom vanished instantly.
Now spotless, Viktor looked up and flashed Professor McGonagall a wide, genuine grin.
"Professor McGonagall! Long time no see!"
McGonagall's eye twitched slightly at the sight of him—smiling broadly, suitcase in hand—then twitched again when she registered the very familiar-looking case… and the cat beside him who was now bowing to her with exaggerated politeness.
She drew in a slow, steadying breath, then forced a very tight smile.
"Long time indeed, Viktor. And impressive wandless cleaning. It seems you haven't let your studies lapse since leaving school."
"Of course not, Professor! I studied seriously under Grandpa Newt. And after that I went on a full world tour—you wouldn't believe the things I—"
Seeing the unmistakable signs of an impending long story, McGonagall cut in briskly.
"Yes, Viktor, we're all quite familiar with your adventures among the creatures. But right now you need to head to the Headmaster's office first. Albus is waiting to give you your official letter of appointment."
With that she rose, straightened her robes, and led him out.
"The password today is 'Butterbeer ice cream,'" she said as they reached the gargoyle. She spoke the words clearly, then gestured him inside.
Just before he stepped onto the moving staircase she added quietly,
"I read your book, Magical Creatures Here. It's really very good."
Viktor paused, genuinely surprised, then broke into a heartfelt smile.
"Thank you, Professor."
For a dropout, praise from McGonagall was about the highest validation he could hope for.
…
Inside the Headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his claw-footed desk, staring intently at the student ledger in front of him.
His deep blue eyes were fixed, unblinking. He might as well have been carved from stone.
Neither the rhythmic snoring of the former headmasters in their portraits, nor the occasional soft coo from Fawkes the phoenix (head tucked under his wing), could pull him from that deep, meditative stillness. He seemed to have become part of the quiet itself.
The peace held until the stone gargoyle outside boomed:
"Headmaster, Viktor Scamander is here."
Dumbledore stirred, as though the voice had gently woken him.
"Ah, yes. Please, send him in."
The eagle-knocker handles lifted. The heavy wooden doors swung slowly open.
Viktor rode the enchanted spiral staircase up and stepped into the doorway.
The moment the doors creaked wide, he shot a quick warning glance at Tom—who was already poking and prodding everything in sight—then strode inside.
Books everywhere. Alchemical instruments. Portraits of past headmasters lining the walls.
Fawkes dozing peacefully to one side.
And behind the desk, Dumbledore smiling warmly at him.
"Good morning, Headmaster Dumbledore." Viktor greeted him naturally, suitcase in hand, Tom at his heels, and crossed straight to the desk.
"Good morning, Viktor."
The instant they spoke, the room seemed to come alive.
The portraits snapped awake, eyes opening in unison, all turning toward Viktor with murmurs and pointing fingers.
One portrait reacted most dramatically.
"Ha! Look who it is—the Hufflepuff Hogwarts expelled!"
The old man in the frame had a thin moustache, long narrow eyebrows, and the unmistakable air of a prefect who loved nothing more than catching students out of bounds.
The nameplate beneath read: Phineas Nigellus Black.
The single most unpopular headmaster in Hogwarts history—and the only Slytherin ever to hold the post.
Hearing Phineas jab straight at his old wound, Viktor didn't hesitate.
"Oh! Look who this is—the Slytherin ex-headmaster who got his entire house flattened by me and the Hufflepuffs three times!"
"You expelled Hufflepuff brat!"
"Flattened three times."
"You never even got your N.E.W.T.s!"
"Flattened three times."
"You—!"
"Enough, Viktor. Phineas. That will do."
Dumbledore rubbed his brow wearily as the living boy and the dead portrait bickered across his desk.
"Fine. For the Headmaster's sake, I'll let it go this time."
"Hmph. Little Hufflepuff punk."
With one last mutual snort, the pointless argument ended.
Viktor sat back down, yanking Tom—who had been pulling faces and blowing raspberries at the still-fuming Phineas—back into the chair beside him.
He straightened his robes and faced Dumbledore properly.
He'd let his temper flare for a second there. Now, looking across at the Headmaster, he felt exactly like a student who'd been caught daydreaming in class.
Through the half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore regarded both Viktor and Tom with gentle amusement. He gave his wand a small flick.
"Something to drink? I have fresh butterbeer."
"Um… Headmaster, do you happen to have iced cola?"
"Oh, cola we do have."
Another light wave of the wand, and two tall glasses appeared before them—bubbling dark liquid, each with two perfect ice cubes floating inside.
Viktor took a long pull, letting the cold sweetness wash away the lingering awkwardness.
Yeah… nothing beats an ice-cold cola after a good scrap.
Though the Headmaster's version was definitely on the sweeter side.