The next day, in the afternoon,
Victor sat upright on the infirmary bed. With his eyesight still gone, Madam Pomfrey had ruled that he was not to eat unassisted, a decision Victor found deeply insulting to his dignity.
She had, of course, offered another option: drinking potions instead.
They tasted as awful as most potions did.
Victor had chosen the eating option without a second thought. Hermione sat beside him, holding a spoon.
"This is unnecessary," Victor said flatly. He could eat perfectly well on his own—he was a grown adult, not a baby—and the whole thing was nothing more than an irritation.
"You missed your mouth twice," Hermione replied, unimpressed. "Open."
He did.
She fed him carefully.
Madam Pomfrey paused nearby, took in the sight—the spoon, the patience, Victor's resigned expression—and smiled.
"Aww," she said fondly, "it's nice to see you two taking such good care of each other. Like a young couple."
Hermione froze.
"We're not—" Hermione started.
"We are, can't you see her nagging?" Victor said with a faint smile.
That earned him an immediate glare from Hermione.
Madam Pomfrey chuckled softly. "Of course, dear."
Still smiling to herself, Madam Pomfrey moved on down the infirmary.
"Hey—did you lie just now?" Hermione asked.
She was clearly embarrassed by Victor agreeing to the couple thing so easily. They were best friends at best—not a couple… at least not yet.
Victor shifted slightly on the bed, utterly unapologetic. "I've been slumped on this bed for two days without doing anything," he said casually. "I got bored. So I had a little fun."
Hermione crossed her arms. "That's not an excuse."
Victor smiled, clearly enjoying her reaction. "And," he added lightly, "it's not like it was entirely a lie."
Hermione glared at him, cheeks faintly warm, while Victor lay back against the pillows. Outwardly relaxed, his attention drifted inward instead.
A familiar panel hovered in his thoughts.
[Eyes of the Dead — Progress: 10%]
The progress had increased by ten percent in a single day. By his estimate, nine more days would be enough—if nothing went wrong—for his sight to return.
He hoped nothing would happen during those nine days.
"Victor."
His body went still.
That voice—
The teasing expression vanished from his face at once.
'Mother?'
His system was definitely a pirated version. For someone labelled the most fortunate person alive, his luck had terrible timing—this was the last moment he wanted to meet his mother.
Hermione heard it too. She turned just in time to see a tall woman striding down the infirmary aisle.
"Is that… your mother?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Yes," Victor replied at once, his voice low and firm. "You should leave."
If his mother was here, then his father would not be far behind. That much was certain.
And Hermione being present when that happened was definitely not a good idea.
"Okay," Hermione said, assuming Victor wanted to speak to his mother alone.
She rose from her chair, cast him one last uncertain glance, and quietly left the infirmary.
Moments later, his mother reached his bedside and drew him into a careful hug, one hand cradling the back of his head as though he were suddenly much younger again.
"Victor," she said, her voice tight with worry. "What happened? The letter we received—was it really as bad as it sounded?"
"I'm fine," Victor said automatically, even as she fussed over him. "Mostly."
"Mostly?" Narcissa Malfoy repeated, disbelief slipping through her usual composure as her gaze fixed on the white bandage covering his eyes.
"Victor, you're lying in the infirmary—and you can't see. How can that possibly be fine? Do you have any idea what it means to lose one's sight?"
The thought alone was unbearable. He was only eleven—too young, with far too much life still ahead of him, too many things yet to see.
Victor gave a small, helpless shrug. "I don't feel any pain, Mother. And… I can tell it's getting better. Really."
Her mouth tightened as she reached out, her fingers lingering on his face, anxious.
"That doesn't explain how this happened," she said quietly. "Did someone do this to you?"
And if they had—
Whoever was responsible would regret it.
"No," Victor answered at once. "There was no attack. Madam Pomfrey checked—no curse, no poison."
Narcissa studied him for a long moment, searching his face for any crack in the story.
"So," she said at last, her voice calm, "nothing strange happened. You didn't wander into any… unusual places."
"No," Victor replied smoothly.
Inside, he was cursing the system with impressive creativity. If it was going to give him something, it could at least have chosen a less noticeable way—preferably one that didn't leave him blind in the infirmary under his mother's scrutiny.
"Did Father come as well?" Victor asked after a pause.
"Yes," Narcissa said. "He is speaking with the Headmaster and Professor Snape as we speak. He is… displeased."
That was putting it mildly. Victor was sure his father was shouting at them.
"He does not like that this happened in your own dormitory," she continued, smoothing an invisible crease in her sleeve. "Especially when no one can give him a proper explanation. No curse, no attacker, no warning signs." Her lips thinned. "Malfoys do not accept mysteries when it comes to our children."
Victor exhaled slowly. "I figured."
Narcissa reached out then, resting her hand briefly over his. The touch was light, but firm—grounding.
"You will not be remaining here. Your father and I have already decided to take you home for treatment," Narcissa said instead, her decision clearly already made.
Victor's head tilted slightly. "Home?"
"Yes," she replied coolly. "I will not rely on a single castle infirmary when my son loses his sight without explanation. Other healers will examine you—healers who answer to us."
Her hand tightened briefly around his fingers. "Hogwarts may be very proud of itself, but I will not gamble with your well-being."
She straightened, eyes hardening. "Until we understand exactly what happened, you will be staying at home"
Victor sighed to himself.
It seemed like the decision had already been made; in that case, there was nothing he could say. With Christmas nearing anyway, he might as well consider it an early holiday.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, displeased voice.
"Useless. All of you."
Lucius Malfoy's words cut through the infirmary, calm but edged with unmistakable anger. He stood facing the staff, cane resting against the floor, his expression rigid.
"No one can explain what happened," Lucius continued. "That is your answer? My son loses his sight within this castle, and the only thing you can offer is uncertainty?"
It was clear he was not at all satisfied with Dumbledore's explanation—and even clearer that Hogwarts had just earned Lucius Malfoy's full attention.
"As expected of a school that accepts Muggle-born wizards," Lucius said coolly. "I find it difficult to rely on it to properly safeguard my son."
He turned slightly, directing his words toward the bed.
"I have already made arrangements," Lucius continued. "Victor, you are coming home."
There was no anger in his tone now—only certainty.
"Yes, Father," Victor said calmly.
It wouldn't make much difference either way. Whether he stayed at Hogwarts or returned home, the result would be the same—his sight would return in nine days. After that, he could simply come back.
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 41 🔥
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