Bringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!

Bringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!

Viktor tested the wand. It felt... acceptable. He didn't bother asking for another.

After all, his spellcasting didn't follow the conventions of most wizards in this world. Wand or no wand—it hardly made a difference.

Hermione, however, was positively buzzing with excitement.

She ended up with a vine wood wand, ten and three-quarter inches long, springy, with a dragon heartstring core. Ollivander commented that it likely reflected her intelligence and diligence. The flexible wand would also adapt well to a wide range of casting styles.

The Grangers happily paid several Galleons for it.

By the time the sky had turned dusky gray, their shopping for the day was finally over. Laden with bulging bags, Hermione and her parents returned to the Leaky Cauldron, still giddy with the magic of it all.

The pub was lively in the evening, filled with wizards and witches winding down after a day of back-to-school shopping. Some children had already returned home via Floo Powder, while their parents stayed behind for a drink before heading back.

As the Grangers passed through, a few exhausted fathers slammed back their mugs with theatrical groans:

"Thank Merlin that's over—I thought I was going to drop dead. The little rascal even begged me for a Nimbus Two Thousand!"

"Mine too! Can't wait for the professors to take over. I swear if I had to hear one more question about broomsticks, I was going to hex myself."

Standing nearby on the stairs, Professor Viktor "Accidental Babysitter" Vandenboom paused in silence.

...Thank heavens he was teaching third-years.

Their complaints stirred a memory—of an old witch friend he'd once known in the fairytale world. She'd grown exceptionally good lettuce. So good, in fact, that neighbors kept sneaking into her garden to steal it.

Eventually, things escalated to the point where she made a rather dramatic deal—a child in exchange for a head of lettuce.

She raised that child herself. All the way to adulthood.

That... took dedication.

Viktor had always admired her.

The only problem was that, years later, she went on to blind the child's lover with a thorn bush.

Ahem.

Viktor shook off the thought.

The Grangers were now at the door, ready to say goodbye. He pulled himself back to the present.

"Thank you so much for guiding us today, Professor Vandenboom," Mr. Granger said earnestly. "Hermione's brand-new to the wizarding world. We really appreciate everything you've done. I hope you'll keep an eye on her in the future."

"You're welcome," Viktor replied with a polite nod. Then added, "But I only teach third-years and up. I doubt we'll interact much in the next few years… and frankly, I don't think she'll end up taking my class."

"Oh?" Mr. Granger looked surprised. "But Hermione is very interested in Divination."

Viktor shook his head.

"It's not about interest."

"Her magical aura is… faint when it comes to Divination. I doubt she'll go far in that field. If she truly wants to pursue it, I'd suggest Arithmancy instead."

There was a beat of silence.

Mr. Granger's face froze in polite discomfort. Hermione stared in disbelief. Her eyes began to shimmer with the first traces of tears.

What could be more devastating than being told you had no talent—before you even stepped into school?

Hermione had always been the top of her class. No one had ever told her she couldn't do something.

Being told she was bad at something hit harder than any insult. It was worse than being told she wasn't working hard enough—it meant her best might not be enough.

But Viktor had meant exactly what he said.

And he also saw her reaction.

"No need to be upset, Miss Granger," Viktor added gently. "I have plenty of witch and wizard friends who couldn't divine a thing to save their lives. But they still became great wizards—the kind others fear."

"Some are masters of curses. Others command devastating magical attacks. Divination was never necessary for their success. It's just one possible path—not the path."

"With your work ethic, I believe you'll find your strength elsewhere—and do brilliantly."

Hermione visibly perked up.

"Oh… oh! Thank you, Professor."

Her spirits lifted, if only slightly. But as Viktor waved them off and turned away, Hermione found herself struck by a strange thought.

Wait a second…

Did he just say she could become a dreaded great wizard?

Dreaded?

Was that… a goal?

Should wizards aspire to be feared??

After all that, Viktor finally returned home from Diagon Alley.

He tossed the flapping owl cage and a few books onto the table, and set the self-stirring cauldron he'd impulsively bought onto the fireplace mantle.

Yes. He was exactly the kind of wizard who bought self-stirring cauldrons.

Hermione had looked at him like he'd joined a dark cult when he bought the thing. But Viktor had no regrets. Honestly, he was quite pleased with it.

A cauldron that stirred itself? That was luxury. The witches he'd known in the fairytale realm would've sold their brooms for one.

Most of them had multiple jobs and brewed potions only when they had to. So why not let the pot do the stirring?

Even Baba Yaga approved. She said it meant she'd never have to hover near the pot again while brewing. Even the kettle on the sink looked like it breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to avoid another round of boiling duty.

The next month passed quickly.

With no real obligations, Viktor spent his days writing lesson plans and replying to the occasional letter. The rest of the time, he tended his plants or experimented with his wand.

He even made a little charm-chain for his owl—so it could fly freely through the surrounding fog.

On the morning of September 1st, Viktor tied his lesson plan to the owl's leg and brought it out to the balcony.

"It's all on you now," he said gravely.

"Hoot?" The owl blinked, upside down in his hand, utterly bewildered.

"…You need to fly fast—reach Hogwarts by noon. Then deliver the lesson plan to Professor McGonagall while looking completely exhausted. That way, I can say I sent it yesterday and blame the delay on you."

"Hoo??"

Please don't blame the owl!

It stared up at him with the most confused look imaginable, unsure what this human was muttering about.

Viktor tossed it into the sky anyway, watching as the barn owl vanished slowly into the fog.

From the living room, Baba Yaga called out lazily:

"The mist's drifted south across England again. If your calculations were right, Hogwarts should be about one morning's flight away."

"Excellent. Thank you, Baba." Viktor exhaled in relief.

Yes—he had procrastinated. Hard.

Despite having thirty whole days to finish the syllabus, he'd written three sentences total—until last night's last-minute sprint.

"So how are you planning to get to Hogwarts?" Baba Yaga asked with a knowing tone. "Using the mirror again?"

"No, no," Viktor replied, "Dumbledore knows our place can't use Floo Powder. He arranged something better."

"Which is?"

"Severus Snape. Potions professor. Lives right nearby in Spinner's End." Viktor stretched. "Dumbledore gave me his address."