Snow began to fall over Hogwarts—soft and silent—coating the towers and courtyards in white and marking the quiet arrival of the Christmas season.
Far below, beneath the dark waters of the Black Lake, the Slytherin dormitories lay undisturbed.
In one of the rooms—
[You have received the Mental Strength of a Dementor]
[Eyes of the Dead are fully awakening]
"…What?" Victor murmured, the words barely registering.
The world lurched.
His vision twisted violently, as though the room had been torn sideways. He staggered, clutching the edge of his bed—
and something splattered against the stone floor.
Red.
Blood streamed freely from his eyes, warm and unmistakable.
For half a heartbeat, he simply stared, frozen in disbelief.
Then, pain hit.
It wasn't sharp—it was invasive. A deep, grinding pressure burrowed behind his eyes, tearing inward, as though something unseen were being forced open from within his skull. His vision fractured, light splintering into cruel streaks as the shadows at the edges of the room twisted and warped.
"Ah—!"
Victor hit the floor hard.
Agony surged through him as he clawed at his face, overwhelming and merciless. It felt as though molten iron had been poured straight into his eye sockets, the heat seeping deeper, burning its way into his mind.
His thoughts scattered.
His fingers scraped uselessly against the cold floor as he tried to move, panic cutting through the haze. Every instinct screamed the same thing.
'Medical attention. Now.'
"Draco!" Victor shouted hoarsely. "Draco!"
His voice broke as he dragged himself forward, inch by inch. The edges of the world collapsed inward, vision dimming until there was nothing left but pain and shadow.
'If this continues… I might go blind.'
The dormitory door opened.
Draco stepped inside, breath already drawn to complain about the cold—then stopped short.
Victor was on the floor.
For a moment, Draco couldn't understand what he was seeing. His brother was crawling across the stone, one arm useless, the other clamped over his face. Dark drops trailed behind him, uneven and wet.
Blood.
Not from a cut.
Not from his nose.
From his eyes.
"B-Brother…?" Draco whispered.
Victor stirred at the sound, turning his head just enough to show a face drained of colour, blood slipping through his fingers.
"Draco…" Victor rasped. His voice cracked badly. "Take me… to the infirmary."
Panic hit all at once.
Draco was moving before he realised it, dropping to his knees beside him. Up close, it was worse—Victor's eyes were unfocused, glassy, blood still seeping through his lashes.
"What happened?" Draco demanded, hands shaking as he gripped his shoulders. "Why are you bleeding—look at me—"
Victor sagged.
The sudden weight knocked the breath from Draco's lungs as his brother went limp in his arms.
"Merlin—" Draco swore, fear clawing up his throat. He didn't stop to think. He hooked an arm under Victor's shoulders and hauled him up, half lifting, half dragging.
"Infirmary," he muttered, voice breaking. "Just—don't you dare—"
For once, Draco Malfoy wasn't sharp-tongued or cruel.
He was just a terrified younger brother, struggling across cold stone, dragging blood and fear behind him as fast as he could.
In Potions class, the seats were filling—but two were noticeably empty.
Hermione glanced toward the Slytherin side for the third time. "Where is Victor?" she whispered, unease creeping into her voice. "He's never this late. And this is Potions—if he misses it, Snape will absolutely notice."
Ron shrugged, though he sounded less confident than usual. "Maybe he overslept. You know how he's been lately—half-dead on his feet, up at all hours. Could've slept through it."
Hermione frowned. "Then why isn't Draco here either?" She looked around again. "Don't you think that's strange?"
Harry leaned back slightly. "And… Snape isn't here yet."
"Now that you mention it, it's past the class time by five minutes—but Snape didn't come?" asked Ron, frowning at the dungeon door.
Snape was never late. Not to Potions. Not ever. He was always there before the bell, black robes billowing, ready to sneer, deduct points, and make their lives miserable. Five minutes late might not mean much for any other professor—but for Snape, it was unheard of.
Ron shifted uneasily on his stool. "He wouldn't miss a single minute of torturing us," he added. "So… why hasn't he shown up?"
That was when Seamus leaned over from the next table, lowering his voice. "Didn't you hear?"
All three of them turned to him at once.
"There was a commotion in the Slytherin dorms this morning," Seamus continued. "Something happened to Draco's older brother—Victor. They took him to the infirmary. Professor Snape and the Headmaster were there."
"What?" Hermione exclaimed, half-rising from her seat.
"What do you mean something happened?" she pressed, her voice tight.
Seamus shook his head. "I don't know the details. I just saw him being carried down the corridor. There was blood—looked like it was coming from his eyes. Draco looked… terrified. I've never seen him like that."
The words landed heavily.
Harry and Ron exchanged a confused, unsettled glance. Whatever it was, it didn't sound minor.
Hermione didn't hesitate.
She stood abruptly, gathered her books, and walked straight for the door.
"Hermione—!" Ron hissed, scrambling to his feet.
Harry and Ron followed immediately.
In the infirmary, Victor lay motionless on one of the narrow white beds, a clean white cloth wrapped carefully around his eyes. Any trace of blood had already been vanished, leaving the fabric stark against his pale face.
Madam Pomfrey stood at his bedside, wand in hand, frowning deeply.
This wasn't like a broken bone. Or any curse she recognised.
She had already checked for dark hexes, poison, and lingering jinxes—nothing responded. His pulse was steady, his breathing normal, yet whatever had happened had clearly come from within, not from any outside attack.
Professor Dumbledore stood at the foot of the bed, hands folded calmly behind his back, blue eyes thoughtful. Beside him, Professor Snape remained rigid, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but sharp.
"What happened?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "That's the troubling part. There is no sign of spell damage. No curse residue. No external injury at all." She adjusted the cloth gently. "And yet he was bleeding from the eyes when he was brought in."
Snape's gaze darkened. "Bleeding of that nature does not occur without cause," he said coldly. "Something triggered it."
"I agree," Pomfrey replied. "But whatever it was, it didn't behave like dark magic—or any magic I'm familiar with."
Victor stirred faintly, brow tightening for a brief moment, but he did not wake.
"For now," Pomfrey continued, "all I can do is keep him here and let him rest. Whatever this is, forcing healing spells on it could do more harm than good."
Dumbledore's gaze remained on Victor's still form. "And his eyesight?" he asked quietly. "What has happened to it?"
Madam Pomfrey hesitated, which in itself was alarming.
"At the moment," she said carefully, "I can't be certain. But I'm sure he isn't capable of seeing right now. I don't know whether it's permanent or temporary."
Snape's expression changed instantly.
"Lost his sight?" he asked sharply. Blindness was no small matter—especially not when it involved one of their students. "And you still can't determine the cause?"
"No," Madam Pomfrey admitted. "That's what troubles me most."
An injury with no clear source was bad enough. An injury like this, affecting a Malfoy, was worse.
"Lucius Malfoy will not take this lightly," Snape said quietly. "If word reaches him that his son may have lost his sight—and that we cannot explain why—there will be consequences."
Dumbledore's gaze remained on Victor."Then it is all the more important that we understand what happened," he said softly. "And that we do so before his father arrives with questions."
He turned slightly. "Severus—search the dormitory. See if there is anything unusual. Anything at all."
*****
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