Like that, the class came to an end—with Gryffindor down thirty points.
Snape swept toward the door, robes billowing, and paused just long enough to deliver a final blow.
"Homework," he said coldly. "Due next lesson. Fail to complete it—and you will regret it."
He didn't elaborate.
Judging by the looks on the Gryffindors' faces, no one wanted him to.
The dungeon slowly filled with noise as students packed away their things, but the mood on the Gryffindor side was unmistakably sour.
"I can't believe he's a professor," Hermione said angrily as she gathered her books, falling into step beside Victor. "How can he show such blatant favouritism toward Slytherin while treating Gryffindor like that?"
She gestured sharply behind her. "He didn't deduct anything from Slytherin. Malfoy sliced his ingredients instead of crushing them, and Nott nearly melted his cauldron—but did Professor Snape say a word? Of course not."
Ron nodded vigorously. "Yeah. He definitely hates Gryffindor. And especially Harry."
Harry, still looking unsettled, didn't argue. It had been obvious from the moment Snape's eyes landed on him.
Hermione, Ron, and Harry all turned to Victor.
"Well?" Hermione demanded. "Don't tell me you didn't notice."
Victor shouldered his bag and stood. "I noticed."
"So?" Ron pressed. "Any idea why he hates Gryffindor so much?"
Victor paused, expression neutral. "I don't know."
It was a lie.
He knew exactly why.
Snape's hatred for Gryffindor wasn't born overnight, nor was it rooted in house rivalry alone. It went back years—decades—to when Severus Snape himself had been a student at Hogwarts.
Back when James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin had ruled Gryffindor with confidence, popularity, and a cruelty they never quite acknowledged.
They had made Snape's school life miserable.
Public humiliation. Mockery. Bullying disguised as jokes.
Snape had never forgotten.
And Harry Potter—with James Potter's face and Gryffindor colours—was a living reminder of everything Snape despised about that time in his life.
Victor was fairly certain of one thing: if Harry had been born a girl, Snape wouldn't even raise his voice at her. He might still be cold, still sharp, but that particular edge—the personal bitterness—wouldn't be there.
Too much of it came from resemblance. From memories Snape had never truly buried.
Even now, despite the way he acted in class, Victor could see the contradiction plainly.
Snape behaved as though he hated Harry.
Yet when it truly mattered, he was always there—watching, intervening, protecting.
"Ron," Harry said after a moment, "don't you have something to say to Victor?"
Ron shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing the stone floor would open up and swallow him. He glanced at Victor, then away again, making a face that looked suspiciously like he'd eaten something that disagreed with him.
Victor raised an eyebrow, confused. Why does he look like he's suffering from diarrhea?
"I'm… sorry," Ron said at last, words tumbling out awkwardly. "For talking to you like that yesterday."
Victor blinked once, then smiled. "It's okay. I didn't take it to heart."
Which was technically true.
Mostly.
The apology would, however, spare Ron from a series of unpleasant experiences Victor had already begun planning. Consider it mercy.
Harry visibly relaxed.
Victor tilted his head slightly, looking between them. "Then," he said lightly, "can I consider that we're friends now?"
Harry smiled at once. "Yeah. I think so."
Ron hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "Yeah… friends."
[ You have interacted with a Fortune-Chosen Person ]
[ Fortune Increased ]
[ Reward Acquired: Astral projection ]
'As expected', Victor thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 'I really did get a reward.'
Astral projection.
[ Astral Projection ]
Allows the user's soul to leave their body and roam independently.
Time limit: 2 hours per day.
'Hmm. This will be good for sneaking around,' Victor thought.
The next day, around midday, the Great Hall was unusually busy—not with meals, but with homework.
Students were scattered along the house tables, parchments spread out, books open, quills scratching. The low hum of conversation filled the air, occasionally broken by laughter or the clatter of dropped ink bottles.
At the Gryffindor table, Seamus Finnigan stood over a cup of water, wand poised.
"Eye of rabbit, harp string hum," he recited confidently. "Turn this water into rum."
He peered into the cup, frowned, and tried again. "Eye of rabbit, harp string hum—"
Nearby, Harry Potter leaned toward Ron Weasley. "What's Seamus trying to do to that glass of water?"
"Turn it into rum," Ron replied. "Actually, he managed a weak tea yesterday, before—"
He cut off abruptly.
There was a loud bang.
A flash of light burst from the cup, and when the smoke cleared, Seamus was left standing there with singed eyebrows and blackened robes. Laughter rippled across the hall. Hermione Granger waved her hand briskly, fanning the smoke away with an exasperated look.
Before anyone could comment further, a sudden rush of wings filled the air.
Owls poured into the Great Hall from the rafters, swooping low over the tables and dropping letters, parcels, and newspapers onto waiting hands.
Ron grinned. "Mail's here!"
Harry watched as Ron unfolded a copy of the Daily Prophet. No owl stopped for him.
"Can I borrow that?" Harry asked.
Ron nodded, sliding it over. "Sure."
At the same time, Neville Longbottom carefully unwrapped a small parcel. Inside was a clear glass ball with a gold band around it.
"Hey, look!" Dean Thomas said. "Neville's got a Remembrall!"
Hermione leaned closer. "I've read about those. When the smoke turns red—"
The smoke inside the ball immediately turned crimson.
"—it means you've forgotten something," she finished.
Neville stared at it helplessly. "The only problem is, I can't remember what I've forgotten."
Harry, meanwhile, was scanning the newspaper. His expression slowly changed.
"Ron," he said quietly. "Someone broke into Gringotts. Listen to this."
He read aloud. " 'Believed to be the work of dark witches or wizards unknown, Gringotts goblins, while acknowledging the breach, insist that nothing was taken. The vault in question—number seven hundred and thirteen—had, in fact, been emptied earlier that same day.' "
Harry looked up, uneasy. "That's odd. That's the vault Hagrid and I went to."
Not far away, at the Slytherin table, Victor had been watching the exchange in silence.
'So it's started,' he thought calmly.
*****
A/N: If you'd like to read ahead of the public release, you can join my Patreon. Members get access to roughly three weeks' worth of chapters in advance.
Currently updated up to Chapter 23.
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