The morningof the Quidditch match was filled with a sense of electricity. A cold autumn wind whipped through the house scarves, but the Slytherin fans didn't seem to feel the piercing air. Even before the start, the entire perimeter of the stadium was draped in enormous green banners with silver serpents that fluttered in the wind, creating the illusion of living motion. The stands reserved for Slytherin shone with an abundance of magical posters featuring the house players.
When the teams stepped onto the pitch, a thunderous roar of greeting shook the air. At a signal from Victor, who stood at the highest point of the stands, everyone raised their wands, and dazzling green fireworks erupted over the Slytherin section. Hundreds of enchanted spheres soared into the sky, imitating flying snakes, and simultaneously unleashed a deafening cacophony of sound upon the field.
Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor captain, nearly dropped his broom upon seeing the rival team's greeting. The "lions'" stands were overwhelmed by such aggressive and powerful support for the opposition. Draco Malfoy, on the contrary, blossomed. He tossed his chin up proudly and measured Potter with a haughty gaze.
Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the air, marking the start of the match.
— Alright, well done everyone! — Victor praised them all and lowered himself into his seat. Daphne sat down beside him, smoothing her wind-tousled hair.
— Who conjured that crooked snake in the sky? — Victor nodded toward the fading figure in the air that was gradually disappearing.
— Ha-a-ah... — Daphne sighed. — That was George. He probably got nervous. It turned out well during practice.
— U-R-R-A-A-H!
— SNAKES, GO!
The Slytherin stand shuddered from a fierce roar: the chasers had just pulled off a beautiful combination and brought the team its first points.
— On the other hand, did you see Brown's snake? And that's considering he hasn't practiced with us even once.
Victor nodded, looking at William Brown.
— Yes, I noticed. After the match, let everyone know: we are resuming the Fight Club sessions.
— You want to test him? — Daphne asked understandingly.
— Yes. And at the same time, see how the others are doing. It seems to me some of us have relaxed too much over the summer holidays.
A commotion began in the stands. One of the Gryffindor players plummeted down after a Bludgeon, at insane speed, literally smashed his broom to splinters.
— Is it just me, or has that ball gone mad? — Daphne watched the black iron sphere closely as it ignored everyone else and spun around in the air with a shriek. — It's like it's targeting Potter.
— Yes, it is, — Victor leaned forward, peering at Malfoy's maneuvers. — By the way, look at Draco. He's doing well. If he keeps this up, we'll have a...
Before Victor could finish his sentence, Malfoy caught on the handle of his own broom and clumsily flew out onto the field, plowing his nose into the stadium sand.
Victor shook his head in disappointment.
— How could he mess up so badly with so many advantages?
— HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS! — Lee Jordan's booming voice rang out over the stadium, causing the scarlet stands to explode in ecstasy.
The Bludger, still aimed at Harry, began slamming into the ground with force, trying to hit him. Hermione was already on the pitch and blew it into tiny pieces with a spell.
Victor smiled at the scene, then slowly looked at the scoreboard.
— Daphne, how long did that match last?
— I don't know, fifteen minutes at most, — Daphne replied, rising in disappointment. — Are you coming? There's nothing else to see here.
Victor shifted his gaze back to the field. There, in the center of the fuss, Gilderoy Lockhart was already "healing" Harry's broken arm.
— Yes, let's go.
Descending the steep steps of the stands to the gloomy grumbling of the Slytherins, Victor said thoughtfully:
— Don't you think the rules of this game need to be changed? We spent a week preparing, all for fifteen minutes of play?
— Well, it's not always like that, — Daphne replied, skipping over a step. — Potter just got lucky to catch the Snitch quickly today.
— I hope so, — Victor answered, casting a final glance at the stadium. — Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll lose all interest in Quidditch.
After lunch, Victor called Adele to follow him.
— Where are we going? — Adele asked, walking behind him.
— I want to show you something special.
They went up to the eighth floor. Victor stopped in front of a blank, unremarkable wall. Adele looked confusedly from the stones to her brother, but he only closed his eyes. He walked past the wall three times, concentrating and whispering to himself: "I need a place for Potions..."
Adele saw the outlines of a carved oak door begin to emerge in the wall. Victor pulled the brass handle and nodded invitingly:
— Let's go.
Inside the room, shelves stretched everywhere, filled with rare books and jars of ingredients that glowed softly in the dim light. In the center stood a massive table with a set of copper cauldrons.
— Where are we? — Adele asked.
— This is the Room of Requirement. I spent most of my first year here. It opens to those in need and takes any form.
Victor walked to the table and ran his hand over the smooth surface.
— Since Snape saw potential in you, you need a place where you can practice in silence. If you hit a dead end—just close your eyes and ask the room for help. It will give you the right book or a hint. As for materials... I used up quite a lot of the stock here last year, so if you're missing anything—tell me. I took a lot of useful things from Nicolas, and one can always borrow something from Snape.
Adele looked around the room:
— Can I show this place to Luna?
Victor smiled warmly and patted her head.
— Of course. I don't mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have something to attend to.
Instead of dinner, Victor headed to the hospital wing. Entering the ward, he saw Harry lying in bed. Victor scanned the familiar surroundings.
— Nothing has changed here at all, — he chuckled, sitting on the edge of the next bed. — How are you, Harry?
Harry sat up, holding his left arm.
— Better. It hurt at first, but now it just burns strangely.
— No wonder, regrowing bones from scratch isn't easy, — Victor smiled. — Next time, don't let idiots like Lockhart experiment on you.
— I don't think one should talk about professors like that, — Harry smiled weakly.
— He's as much a teacher as Dumbledore is a ballerina in a tutu, — Victor laughed.
— But in his books, he described...
— His books are nonsense, — Victor interrupted him. — Don't take it as the truth.
— You think he made it all up? — Harry looked at Victor with doubt.
— Let's just say he doesn't look like a man capable of fighting a dragon. Most likely, he's just a good storyteller.
They chatted a bit longer until the shadows in the ward grew long and ominous. Victor looked at his watch.
— Oh, I think I've overstayed. Time to go, it's almost curfew. Get well, Harry.
— Thanks for stopping by, Victor, — Harry replied sincerely.
Victor nodded and went out into the corridor. Hiding behind a corner, he took out his wand and smoothly touched his shoulder. His figure began to ripple like a reflection in water, and a second later, he vanished completely into the air, becoming invisible. But instead of leaving, he slipped silently back into the ward and froze in the shadows by the window.
In the silence of the hospital wing, Victor watched the moon in the window when suddenly Harry began breathing heavily. Waking up, he began to frantically scan the walls. Suddenly, a creature appeared from the air on the edge of his bed. It sat with its back to Harry, its head with huge ears hanging low.
— Harry Potter should have listened to Dobby, — the elf squeaked. — Harry Potter should have gone home when he missed the train.
Harry sat up abruptly in bed.
— Dobby?
The elf turned around. His huge saucer-like eyes shone in the dark.
— So it was you?! You wouldn't let us through to the platform! — Harry was furious. — Ron and I almost got expelled!
— Dobby only wanted to save Harry Potter! — the elf sobbed and began to pull hard on his own ears. — Dobby had to iron his own hands for that... — he showed his bandaged fingers. — But Harry Potter stayed! And then Dobby enchanted the Bludger...
— You?! — Harry hissed. — You almost killed me!
— Dobby only wanted to injure! So that Harry Potter would be sent home! — the elf hopped onto the floor and began beating his head against the iron rail of the bed: Bam! Bam! Bam! — Bad Dobby! Very bad Dobby!
— Stop it! Quiet! — Harry tried to grab him. — Don't make noise!
The elf froze, panting. His voice became low and full of terror:
— Terrible things are being plotted at Hogwarts. The Chamber of Secrets is open again. Dobby knows... Dobby feels... History is repeating itself! My master must not know Dobby is here, but Harry Potter is in danger! You must leave!
— Repeating? You mean the Chamber has been opened before?
Suddenly, footsteps were heard in the corridor. Dobby froze in terror, pressed his ears to his head, and vanished with a snap of his fingers.
The doors to the ward burst open with a crash. Dumbledore and McGonagall entered, carrying a stretcher between them. Madam Pomfrey followed. They lowered the burden onto a vacant bed. Dumbledore froze for a moment, his gaze darting toward the window—where the invisible Victor stood in the shadow. The Headmaster frowned almost imperceptibly, but a second later shook his head and carefully lifted the camera that hung around the neck of the petrified boy. It was Colin Creevey. Albus opened the back cover of the device, from which acrid smoke of melted film billowed.
— What does this mean, Albus? — McGonagall asked in a shaky whisper, pressing her hand to her chest.
— It means that our students are in mortal danger, — Dumbledore replied seriously. His voice in the silence of the ward rang out like a bell.
— What... what am I to tell the teachers? — Professor McGonagall's voice faltered.
— The truth. Tell them that Hogwarts is threatened by calamity. Tell them that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again.
Dumbledore glanced once more at the empty corner, but this time, he felt nothing.