And he wasn't exaggerating.
His grandfather, Newt Scamander, had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Nicolas Flamel during the Grindelwald crisis in Paris. Together, they had thwarted the dark wizard, forging a profound camaraderie in the fires of battle.
That was the power of connections—a living part of his family's legacy.
Thanks to his grandfather's introduction, Viktor had indeed spent a few months studying at Master Flamel's home in Devon.
Although the master had been quite old by then with limited energy, mostly teaching foundational theories and methodologies, those "unique little tricks" and personal insights were the real deal. They were absolutely priceless.
"A wise choice, Misters Weasley," Viktor said, nodding in satisfaction.
"Then we start today. Be at my office tonight at eight o'clock sharp. Bring your wands, and be prepared to use both your heads and your hands. Do not be late."
"Yes, Professor!"
"We'll be right on time!"
The twins snapped to attention, practically vibrating with excitement. They looked like they were half a second away from offering a military salute.
Watching them float down the corridor on a cloud of pure joy, Viktor waved them off. He then turned and made his way toward Professor McGonagall's office.
He needed to officially claim the detention rights for his two new assistants.
After knocking and being called in, Viktor found Professor McGonagall sitting behind her desk, grading a towering stack of essays. Her brow was slightly furrowed; clearly, some of the academic material was leaving her less than impressed.
"Good afternoon, Minerva. Apologies for the intrusion," Viktor said politely.
"Good afternoon, Viktor." Professor McGonagall looked up, adjusting her square spectacles. Her expression softened marginally. "What can I do for you?"
Viktor got straight to the point. "It's about Fred and George Weasley's detentions. I'd like to have their upcoming detention schedule transferred to me."
McGonagall raised a skeptical eyebrow, her gaze turning inquisitive.
"Transferred to you? Viktor, if I recall correctly, you aren't responsible for standard detention supervision. Furthermore, those twins..." A hint of a headache and sheer exasperation crept into her voice.
"...what they need is strict disciplinary structure and manual labor to burn off their excess energy, not—"
"I understand, Minerva," Viktor smiled gently.
"But I believe there might be an alternative way to restrain and burn off that energy. Besides, they were the ones who promptly notified me during yesterday's incident. So, I plan to have them assist me with some alchemical experiments and research."
"It requires rigor and intense focus, and they'll learn concrete, constructive skills in the process. I think this will utilize their specific talents far better than simply making them polish trophies or scrub corridors. It might also, perhaps, keep them a bit quieter."
He paused, then added, "Of course, I will supervise them strictly to ensure they don't cause any chaos in my lab—or at least, no chaos that spills over into the rest of the castle."
Professor McGonagall scrutinized him carefully, seemingly weighing the seriousness and viability of his proposal.
She was intimately aware of the twins' destructive power and boundless creativity. She also knew standard punishments were largely ineffective against them.
Perhaps Viktor's method—channeling their interests into research and using academic rigor to curb their nonsense—might actually yield unexpected results?
Plus, Viktor clearly had a knack for handling both magical creatures and practical magic. Maybe he really could keep those two terrors in line.
After a moment of deliberation, Professor McGonagall gave a slow nod. Her tone, however, remained stern.
"Very well, Viktor. I agree to transfer their detention schedule to you. However," she stressed heavily.
"You must ensure their safety. And you must guarantee they will not use what they learn from you to engineer even more uniquely Weasley-brand problems."
"If I find that their pranks have escalated due to your instruction, or if they cause any serious disruptions, I will terminate this arrangement immediately. And their punishments will be doubled."
"Of course, you have my word," Viktor promised earnestly. "I'll keep a close eye on them and guide their talents toward more appropriate avenues."
"I certainly hope so." McGonagall sighed, making a note on a ledger on her desk. "I will inform Mr. Filch and the other staff. They are in your hands now, Viktor."
"Thank you for your trust, Minerva." Giving a polite farewell, Viktor left the Deputy Headmistress's office.
Only when he was out in the corridor did he let out a soft sigh of relief.
He had officially secured the permits for his new labor force.
Next up: prepping the lab and getting ready for tonight's first lesson.
Arriving back at his own office, Viktor noticed Tom still hadn't returned.
Who knew which kitchen he'd sneaked into, which gullible student he was hustling for treats, or which sun-drenched corner he'd claimed for an afternoon nap.
He raised an eyebrow, then spoke in a clear, carrying voice: "Jamie."
A soft crack echoed through the air.
A house-elf wearing a spotlessly clean tea towel instantly materialized on the floor in front of him. He had bat-like ears and large, tennis-ball-sized eyes.
Bowing deeply, the elf spoke in a high, squeaky voice filled with absolute reverence. "Mr. Scamander, sir! Jamie is at your service!"
"Good afternoon, Jamie," Viktor said warmly. "I need a small favor. If you happen to see Tom around the castle, please pass along a message. Tell him he absolutely must be back in my office by eight o'clock tonight. We are starting our experimental research."
Jamie blinked his massive eyes and bowed again. "Yes, Mr. Scamander, sir! Jamie will remember! If Jamie sees Mr. Tom, Jamie will tell him! Jamie promises to deliver the message!"
"Thank you, Jamie." Viktor nodded.
"It is Jamie's highest honor to serve you, sir!" The elf offered one final bow before vanishing with another sharp crack.
A house-elf's communication network was undeniably efficient.
Viktor was no longer worried about Tom pulling a no-show.
Stepping into the center of the office, he first gave his wand a wave, layering several Muffliato and proximity warning wards over the doors and windows.
Next, he gently set the battered, unassuming suitcase he always carried right onto the floor.
Using the tip of his wand, he tapped the brass clasps in a highly specific rhythm—tap, tap—while muttering a brief, low activation incantation.
Click. A soft mechanical sound echoed.
The suitcase seemed to suddenly draw a breath of life. It began to autonomously unfold and reconfigure itself.
The worn, brown leather surface rippled with a liquid, metallic sheen. The wooden corners were rapidly encased and extended by a much denser, heavy-duty alloy framework.
The body of the case rapidly expanded, grew taller, and shifted its entire silhouette.
Within mere seconds, that completely ordinary suitcase had transformed into a heavy, reinforced metal door—a perfect, aesthetic blend of industrial machinery and high magic.