After he returned to Hogwarts, a few Slytherin seniors sought him out almost immediately.
They didn't come all at once—one here, another there—but the pattern was obvious.
"Good to see you back, Malfoy," said a fifth-year, offering a polite nod that carried more calculation than warmth. "We heard about what happened. Glad you're well."
"Hope your recovery went smoothly," added another, voice carefully respectful. "The common room's been quieter without you."
Victor responded with calm courtesy, nothing more. A nod. A brief reply. Enough to be polite, not enough to invite familiarity.
He didn't miss what this really was.
They were showing concern now—but only now. When he'd been fine, most of them hadn't bothered to speak to him at all. A few polite words, a nod, a carefully chosen "glad you're well," as if that alone earned them goodwill.
It was obvious what they wanted: to be seen worrying. To be remembered as someone who'd checked in.
Victor sighed inwardly.
If anything, this sort of thing suited Draco far better. His brother would have basked in it—soaked up the attention, stored the names away for future use, enjoyed every second of it.
Victor, on the other hand, just found it tiring.
Different brothers. Same house. Very different tolerances for Slytherin theatrics.
***
It was late at night when Victor entered the Room of Requirement.
He paused, letting his vision adjust.
With the Eyes of the Dead active, the room no longer looked like a random pile of junk.
Most objects gave off faint, harmless traces of old magic—leftovers from broken charms, forgotten enchantments, nothing worth a second glance. To him, they were just background noise.
Then he felt it.
One presence didn't blend in.
It wasn't loud or dramatic—just wrong. A dull, heavy darkness sitting quietly among the calmer magic, like a stain that refused to fade.
Victor followed it, stepping around stacks of chairs and half-collapsed cupboards. The closer he got, the clearer it became. He pushed aside a few objects that had clearly been dumped there without thought.
And there it was.
A small box, plain and unremarkable, tucked away like it didn't matter at all.
Victor stared at it for a moment, lips twitching.
"So this is where you've been hiding," he muttered.
Victor opened the box.
Nestled inside was one of the most famous lost artefacts of Rowena Ravenclaw—the diadem said to sharpen the mind and heighten wisdom. Or at least, that was the original version. What lay before him now was… noticeably less inspiring.
The magic around it was warped, twisted in on itself.
"Honestly," Victor muttered, lifting it carefully, "what a pity. A priceless artefact of knowledge, reduced to a cursed fashion accessory by a bald lunatic."
The gem at its centre shimmered—and then a faint, distorted human face appeared within it, mouth stretched in a silent scream. A whisper crawled into his mind, oily and persuasive.
Wear it… power… wisdom beyond all others…
Victor stared at it flatly.
"So," he said, unimpressed, "you really think I'm that stupid?"
The whisper faltered.
"Let me guess," he went on, turning the diadem over. "Immortality, ultimate power, everyone loves me, and I get a dramatic cape at the end?"
The face twisted again, clearly offended.
"Yeah. Hard pass."
He tucked the diadem away in his inner pocket. Until it was destroyed, it needed to stay hidden—and preferably far away from anyone gullible enough to listen to jewellery.
"Don't worry," Victor added dryly. "I'll deal with you properly soon."
Victor was on his way back, slipping through the corridor with practiced ease, when he walked straight into something solid.
—or rather, someone.
"Oof—"
A startled voice hissed right in front of him, and then a head appeared out of nowhere, floating in midair at about chest height.
Victor froze.
He stared.
"…Harry?"
The head yelped. "Victor?!"
They both blinked at each other.
Victor tilted his head slightly. "Why is it," he asked calmly, "that only your head exists right now?"
Before Harry could even attempt an explanation, a sharp meow echoed down the corridor.
Mrs. Norris.
Victor didn't wait. He reached forward, grabbed what he guessed was Harry's arm—his hand briefly passed through empty space before catching fabric—and pulled.
The corridor shimmered, and suddenly Victor was standing inside the invisibility cloak with Harry, the world muffled and close, stone wall pressing against their backs.
Mrs. Norris padded past moments later, eyes narrowed suspiciously at absolutely nothing.
They waited.
Silence.
Harry finally whispered, "That was close."
Victor exhaled slowly, glanced down at the silvery fabric draped over both of them.
"…Nice cloak you've got there, Harry."
"This was my Christmas present," Harry whispered. Then, after a beat, "But—Victor, what are you doing out here at night?"
Harry was clearly still processing the fact that Victor was standing, walking, and—most shocking of all—not blind.
"Well," Victor replied quietly, "a lot happened. Long story. I can see again. Now let me ask you the same thing—what are you doing wandering the corridors after curfew?"
Harry opened his mouth… then closed it.
He couldn't exactly say testing my shiny new invisibility cloak, could he?
"…Just exploring," Harry said weakly.
Victor hummed. "Of course you were."
They moved together under the cloak, footsteps careful, when voices echoed from ahead—low, sharp, unmistakably adult.
Victor stiffened. Harry froze.
They pressed closer to the wall just as two figures rounded the corner below the torchlight.
"I would be careful, Quirrell," Snape's voice said softly—too softly. "You wouldn't want me as your enemy."
"I—I don't understand what you mean, Severus," Quirrell replied, his voice thin, trembling.
The next moment, Snape moved.
He slammed Quirrell back against the stone wall with enough force to rattle the torch brackets, one hand gripping the front of Quirrell's robes, lifting him slightly off the floor.
"You know perfectly well what I mean," Snape hissed, face inches from Quirrell's. "Whatever game you think you're playing… end it. Or I will."
Harry's breath caught. Victor remained very, very still.
Quirrell stammered, hands fluttering uselessly. "I—I would never—"
Snape silenced Quirrell with a sharp motion, his gaze flicking briefly toward the direction where Harry and Victor stood hidden
Then he released Quirrell.
Straightening his robes, Snape leaned in just enough for the threat to land.
"Very well," he said softly. "We will discuss this again."
His dark eyes bored into Quirrell's.
"But be warned—my eyes will always be watching you."
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 48 🔥
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