Soon, the ward began to come alive: one by one, the other victims woke up, including Mrs. Norris, who immediately set about licking her mangy fur with a disgruntled air. When Madam Pomfrey appeared in the doorway, her eyes immediately fell upon Victor, who was sitting unacceptably close to Hermione's bed.
She frowned at once, and Victor, possessing highly acute hearing, distinctly heard her grumble under her breath:
— What a hound... tricked one, and now he's moved on to the next.
Wasting no time on pleasantries, Madam Pomfrey resolutely ushered him out of the ward, declaring that the patients needed absolute peace and quiet.
Finding himself in the empty corridor, Victor couldn't help but smirk. First Daphne, now Hermione... He didn't fully understand what he was doing either. In moments like these, it was as if he switched off his single shred of logic and moved entirely by intuition, giving in to a split-second urge.
He wandered aimlessly through the castle corridors, wondering what to do with himself until evening, when a stern, very familiar voice suddenly called out to him:
— Mr. Moss! Hold on a moment.
Victor stopped and turned around.
— Professor McGonagall? How can I be of service?
Stepping closer, she swept a strict gaze over him and frowned:
— What are you wearing, young man? Did you just come from a Muggle Studies class?
Only now did Victor realize that he was still walking around in his morning sportswear. He gave a short snap of his fingers: a thick red smoke enveloped him for a fraction of a second, and a moment later, he stood before the Professor in his school robes.
— Forgive me, — he chuckled. — Forgot to change after my workout.
McGonagall gave a curt nod, accepting the apology.
— Where are you heading?
— Nowhere in particular, really. Just taking a walk.
— Splendid. Come with me, I wanted to have a word with you anyway.
Victor followed her silently into the office of the Gryffindor Head of House.
— Tea? — she offered, gesturing toward the chair opposite her desk.
— I'd appreciate that, — Victor agreed, taking a seat.
Two steaming cups materialized before them instantly.
— How did you manage to teach Mr. Westwood the proper application of *Hystrifors* so quickly? — she went straight to business, sitting down across from him.
— Oh, it's nothing special, — Victor sipped his tea. — A little intimidation here, a little praise there... The support of his peers, and voila, it's done. To be honest, Henry is quite a capable wizard himself; sometimes he just needs a gentle nudge in the right direction.
McGonagall nodded thoughtfully.
— Victor, I want you to run an extracurricular elective for Gryffindor.
Victor shook his head in disappointment:
— I believe I've already mentioned that I can't. I physically don't have that much free time; I'm already stretching myself thin with my little demons.
McGonagall calmly sipped her tea, her eyes locked on him.
— Very well, I hear you. Then my next question is: why have you stopped attending my Transfiguration classes?
— Well, I have an official exemption, don't I? — Victor gestured with his hands. — Because of my blindness, I can't even see where my wand is lying. How do you expect me to cast spells?
McGonagall merely raised an eyebrow, maintaining her silence.
— Professor? Are you still there? — Victor began to comically fumble around the desk with his hands, nearly knocking over his cup. — Don't go silent on me, I can't see a thing!
— Quit acting, Victor. Everyone in this school already knows you navigate your surroundings perfectly well even without sight, — McGonagall rolled her eyes. — Now, you haven't been to my lessons since about February, if I'm not mistaken. If I deduct five points for every class you've skipped, it will add up to a rather substantial sum. I'm afraid Slytherin won't be seeing the House Cup this year.
Victor froze, unable to believe his ears. McGonagall... had just resorted to blatant blackmail?
— Now, let's calculate exactly how many points I should deduct...
— You know, I just had a thought! — Victor interrupted her with a strained smile. — It seems I can carve out some time for the Gryffindors after all. This year has been far too hectic, but next year I will definitely find one day a month for your House.
— Two days a month.
Victor's smile twitched, turning even more unnatural.
— Yes... I suppose two days won't be an issue.
— Marvelous, — McGonagall nodded, a glint in her eyes. — Oh, that's right, it completely slipped my mind. The Headmaster did mention that you are indeed temporarily excused from general classes. I must have mixed something up.
During lunch, Victor barely touched his food. He sat motionless, staring blankly at a single spot as if he had turned into a stone statue.
— Victor, did something happen? Is it something to do with Hermione? — Daphne asked, concerned by his state.
— M-mh? — Victor slowly turned his head toward her. — Oh no, Hermionie-pooh is perfectly fine. By the way, note this down: next year, I'll be running two electives a month for Gryffindor.
— What? For Gryffindor? But why on earth would you do that? — Daphne raised an eyebrow in astonishment.
Victor only shook his head mournfully.
— Let's not talk about it. Just know this: today I was deceived and... thoroughly screwed over. It's a terribly rotten feeling. Especially when it's done by someone you'd least expect a trick from. Lord, what a cruel world we live in!
Daphne didn't press for answers and obediently made a note in her journal.
— By the way, Malfoy wanted to speak with you.
— What for now? — Victor grimaced.
— Several key players of the Quidditch team are graduating this year. We need to decide who will take their places.
— Can't we discuss this next year?
— You appointed Draco as captain yourself, and he's taken the role far too seriously, — she reminded him.
Victor sighed heavily.
— Did we even win anything at all this season?
— Of course. While you were slacking off from your direct duties, I kept an eye on everything. We lost to Gryffindor, but we confidently snatched victory from the rest.
— Alright, that's reassuring. Tell him to select suitable candidates and drop by my room this evening.
Victor made a move to reach for his plate, but his appetite never returned. He abruptly stood up from his seat.
— Where are you going? — Daphne asked in surprise.
— I'm going to take a bath.
— Now? In broad daylight?
Victor, who had already managed to take a few steps away, turned around and proclaimed loudly across the entire hall:
— Daphne, I was recently screwed over! I need a hot bath and a good cry!
A dead silence instantly fell over the Great Hall. Hundreds of eyes escorted him all the way to the doors. Once Victor stepped out, the students exchanged glances and went right back to their lunch as if nothing had happened — by now, everyone had grown accustomed to his bizarre antics.
With the arrival of the weekend, the Club's schedule grew even tighter: Saturday was fully dedicated to Victor's elective, and Sunday marked the opening of the Fight Club.
While Victor supervised the first-years, Daphne and Hermione stepped aside to catch their breath for a moment.
— Are you sure it's alright for you to overexert yourself like this so soon? — Daphne asked with concern, studying her friend intently. — You were under that curse for a very long time.
— I'm perfectly fine, — Hermione dismissed it. — If anything, I'd say I've spent too much time lying around. Now I don't feel like sleeping at all; on the contrary, I feel an urge to actually do something.
Daphne nodded understandingly. Hermione hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then, staring fixedly at her friend, asked:
— Daphne... did you and Victor kiss?
Daphne froze and let out a heavy sigh.
— So you're already in the loop... Why did that idiot have to go blabbing about it in front of everyone?
— Was it... well, a romantic kiss? Or just because? — Hermione inquired in a subtle tone.
Daphne was taken aback:
— What do you mean "just because"?
— Well, I mean... was it just a brush of the lips? — Hermione leaned slightly forward.
Daphne didn't understand where this sudden curiosity had come from, but, blushing slightly, she nodded:
— Well, yes.
Hermione broke into a satisfied smile and nodded back contentedly:
— Ha! Well alright, good.
Daphne didn't like that reaction one bit. Glancing at her beaming friend, she felt a creeping suspicion bubble up inside her.
— Hermione, you don't mean to say that you two... — Daphne frowned.
Hermione's smile widened even further.
— What? No, what are you talking about! I just asked out of pure curiosity.
Daphne didn't believe her for a single second. A slight tremor ran through her.
— Draw your wand, Granger!
Hermione seemed to radiate even brighter from her anger.
— Oh no, you're right — it seems I haven't quite recovered enough for a duel yet, — and, keeping that cryptic smile on her face, she spun around and walked off to continue practicing her spells.
Daphne gripped her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She cast a furious glare at Victor, who at that very moment was busy shouting at one of the boys.
In the evening, Victor took off his heavy winter robes with relief and gave a sweet stretch. The silence of the room was suddenly shattered by a sharp knock — the door burst open, and Daphne appeared on the threshold. She looked darker than a storm cloud. Victor had noticed her mood earlier in the day, but figured that if he ignored the problem, it would sort itself out. As it turned out, he was gravely mistaken.
— My dear, tell me, who dared to upset my indispensable assistant? — Victor frowned with over-the-top emotion. — Give me a name, and I will personally bury the little rascal at the bottom of the Black Lake.
Daphne remained silent, staring at him without blinking.
— You kissed Hermione.
Victor slowly lifted his blindfold, staring at her in surprise, and froze. He hoped that if he didn't move, she would stop noticing him. Receiving no reply, Daphne stepped up close, looking him dead in the eye.
— Well? Who did you like kissing more?
Victor continued to maintain his silence, even holding his breath. He knew these feminine traps all too well and had no intention of falling into them so easily. At his sheer unresponsiveness, Daphne's eye began to twitch slightly.
— Did you... did you two kiss for real? With... with... — she stumbled over her words, flushing heavily.
Finally, Victor grew tired of playing a statue and exhaled deeply. A soft, barely perceptible smile played on his lips. With a light flick of his hand, he caused the door to the room to slam shut.
A while later, Daphne stepped out into the corridor. She was completely flushed, her hair slightly disheveled, and her collar undone, but a triumphant smile shone upon her face. Adjusting her hair, she — entirely happy and at peace — made her way toward her dormitory.