Victor sat at the table, intently writing something down; his appearance was quite disheveled after a sleepless night. Not far from him, on a wide bed, Adele was sleeping peacefully. Having spent all this time within the walls of the Room of Requirement, he had finally found a way to take the Basilisk with him, but he had run into a serious problem: he was catastrophically short on rare materials that were not available in the Room of Requirement.
That was exactly why he was currently drafting a detailed letter to Nicolas Flamel, asking him to send everything necessary. At the same time, Victor didn't forget to add a few lines for Perenelle, sharing the joyful news that his sight had returned so she would no longer worry about him.
Sealing the envelope, he made it vanish from his hands, deciding to send it later. Victor rose from his chair and stretched with pleasure, feeling his stiff vertebrae pop. Looking at his sleeping sister, he couldn't help but smile. Since the incident with the Chamber of Secrets was resolved, regular classes at the school had resumed, but today he decided not to wake Adele. She had selflessly stayed up by his side until almost dawn, and Victor figured a couple of skipped lessons was a fair reward for such loyalty.
Quietly approaching the bed, he took off his robe and shoes, carefully climbed under the blanket, and lay down beside his sister. Sensing the movement, Adele opened her eyes for a fraction of a second; seeing him, she smiled sleepily, hugged her brother tighter, and immediately drifted back into a deep sleep.
Victor gently stroked her back and, staring up at the ceiling, closed his eyes.
— Good night, — he said softly, addressing the room itself.
In response to his words, the light in the Room of Requirement obediently dimmed, turning soft and gently amber.
Somewhere in the deep shadows of a damp room, right by a cradle in which something monstrously twitched beneath a filthy sheet, two silhouettes stood still. Clad in heavy black robes, they hid their faces beneath deep hoods, and an almost palpable sense of threat emanated from them. However, the man standing before them was completely unafraid. He was examining the cradle with predatory curiosity and a crooked smirk. He was a tall, wiry man with coarse gray hair and thick sideburns.
— You do realize you are asking for the impossible? — the man's voice was hoarse, akin to a growl. — Of course, I can do it. But my losses will be great, and in these peaceful times, it is very difficult to replenish my army with new soldiers.
Eerie, rattling wheezes came from the cradle, causing an icy chill to crawl down the walls. The man frowned.
— There is no need to threaten me. You know I have always been on your side. The times when you ruled were the best for those like me... But what you are planning now...
He didn't get to finish. The creature beneath the sheet wheezed again, and one of the wizards standing guard, with a swift motion, tossed a heavy pouch to the man.
Catching it on the fly, the man peered inside. A predatory grin immediately spread across his face, baring sharp, yellowed fangs.
— I'll do it, — he gripped the pouch tighter, a mad glint flaring up in his eyes. — I think it's high time I reminded England of my existence. Ha-ha-ha! It's been far too long since the name of Fenrir Greyback graced the front pages of the newspapers!
In the evening, Victor and Adele walked out of McGonagall's office with their heads bowed. As soon as the heavy door slammed shut behind them, both let out a synchronized and very tired sigh.
Victor rubbed his eyes nervously beneath his blindfold.
— There is one thing I can't understand: why was I scolded too? I have an official exemption approved by the Headmaster. How did it happen that you skipped classes, but I was made out to be the guilty one?
Adele glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and shrugged carelessly:
— Well, I just told her that you were the one who allowed me to stay in bed today.
— Oh-h-h, well, it's all clear now, — Victor nodded understandingly and laughed softly. — Alright, let's go to dinner. I'm starving.
— Yeah, let's go, — Adele smiled back, habitually taking his hand.
As they neared the Great Hall, Luna was already waiting for them.
— Luna! Were you waiting for us? Thank you, that's so sw... eet...
The word caught in Victor's throat. While he was showering her with pleasantries, Luna silently and resolutely grabbed Adele's free hand and dragged her toward the Ravenclaw table. She didn't even glance in Victor's direction once, as if there was nothing but empty space where he stood.
Victor was left standing in the doorway with his mouth half-open. A good half-minute passed before he finally, slowly and on autopilot, headed toward his seat at the Slytherin table.
Daphne, who had been watching this scene unfold, followed him with a gaze full of genuine bewilderment.
— Victor... I didn't just imagine that, did I? Did Lovegood just... ignore you?
Victor, still in a state of mild shock, nodded detachedly:
— Yes.
— The very same Lovegood who constantly hangs around you at the Fight Club? — Daphne pressed on.
— Yes.
— The Lovegood who usually bounds up to you like a happy puppy whenever she sees you?
Victor frowned and finally turned to his assistant:
— Yes, Daphne, you saw perfectly correctly! My sweet Luna just pretended that I don't exist.
Daphne nodded thoughtfully and shifted her gaze to the Ravenclaw table, where Adele and Luna were already talking animatedly about something.
— Wow... — was all Daphne could manage to squeeze out, after which she returned to her plate.
Victor shook his head, banishing the thoughts of Luna ignoring him, and was just about to finally start his meal. Suddenly, a murmur rippled through the hall: hundreds of heads turned toward the open window, into which two owls flew, one after the other.
— Isn't it a bit late for mail? — Victor asked calmly, continuing to butter his bread. One of the envelopes, describing an arc, landed right on the bread he was so meticulously buttering.
Victor frowned and began to watch the second bird. That one, flapping its wings heavily, dropped a letter straight into Dumbledore's hands.
— You've got mail, — Daphne carefully took the oil-stained envelope. — Want me to help you read it?
Victor nodded silently, setting aside the piece of bread the message had landed on, and began to butter a new one.
— Hm, strange... No return address, no name, — Daphne opened the envelope. The handwriting inside was hurried and barely legible. — "Boy, do not leave the school. They want to... kill you."
Although Daphne uttered the last word in almost a whisper, the students sitting nearby froze. In the ensuing silence, dozens of shocked eyes locked onto Victor.
— Curious, — he murmured thoughtfully, taking a nonchalant bite of his bread.
— Curious?! Victor, do you even realize who this could be from?
— Mmm, I think it's from an old acquaintance of mine. But that doesn't matter right now.
— It doesn't matter? — Daphne leaned in closer, lowering her voice. — It says here that they want to kill you!
Victor merely chuckled:
— Oh, come on. This happened last year too. It's almost getting boring... Better tell me this.
Victor turned toward the staff table. Dumbledore, clutching his letter in his hands, was looking at him.
— What are the odds, Daphne, that two owls carrying what seems to be the exact same news would arrive almost simultaneously?
Daphne followed his gaze and saw the Headmaster hastily leaving the hall.
— The odds are slim, — she frowned. — Maybe your friend sent two letters?
Victor shook his head:
— I doubt it.
He continued to eat calmly. The letter was definitely from old man Ben. It meant that at the moment Ben received the information and started writing, someone else was nearby. Someone who immediately decided to notify Dumbledore.
This meant one of two things: either there were Headmaster's people among the regular patrons of Ben's shop, or... it was a mere coincidence, which Victor highly doubted. "Are there rats nesting in the old man's shop?" — the thought flashed through his mind as he continued to eat with appetite.
Somewhere deep in Knockturn Alley, behind a sagging door hidden from the eyes of casual passersby, a boy with prominent ears was finishing mopping the floor. Suddenly, he sneezed loudly, sending an echo through the entire shop.
— Damn, did I catch a cold? — he grumbled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. — Boss, I'm done!
Old man Ben, who was intently sorting through fishing tackle, merely gave a short nod without raising his head.
— Good. Don't forget: tomorrow you're in charge of the shop. Damned Muggle regulations... Had to spend a pretty penny to buy that "permit" of theirs. And why on earth is there a stupid ban on fishing anyway?
Mickey thought for a moment, leaning on his mop.
— I think it's done so that the fish can breed in peace and their population can grow. But why do you want to fish in Muggle rivers anyway? Aren't there enough places in our world?
Ben scoffed and carefully set aside a brand-new fishing rod.
— I just want to sit peacefully with a float, not fight for my life every time some magical beast leaps out of the water.
Mickey nodded understandingly, but curiosity flared in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice:
— Mr. Ben... you heard what those werewolves were whispering about, right? They clearly meant that kid from last year. What do you think is so special about him that everyone wants him so badly?
Ben frowned sharply and shot his assistant a heavy, warning look.
— Why they want him is none of our business. We don't meddle in our clients' affairs. Now get home. Tomorrow I'm leaving at five in the morning, and you'd better be here by then.
Mickey gave a conciliatory smile and backed toward the exit.
— Got it, boss. Good night! See you tomorrow.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind the boy, Ben collapsed wearily onto a bench, rubbing his temples.
— Damn... just how did you cross that psycho, kid? — he whispered into the empty shop. — Heavy sigh, if you weren't Madam Flamel's grandson, I would have cut all ties with you long ago. Things are getting far too turbulent around you.
Then his gaze fell upon the laid-out tackle. The old man smiled and began to double-check every hook and line, making absolutely sure that everything was ready for tomorrow.