Bringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!

Bringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!

Since there would be a formal welcoming feast tonight, Professor McGonagall had written ahead to remind Viktor to report in formal attire.

The robes Viktor had purchased from Madam Malkin's weren't much different from his usual outfits—black cloak, black shirt, black trousers. The only distinguishing feature was the intricate antique embroidery around the collar, added for formality's sake.

There was quite a bit to carry on the first day, but Viktor packed light thanks to a handy Undetectable Extension Charm. All his belongings fit snugly inside one small black briefcase.

Naturally, he also brought along his most essential tool: a small antique mirror.

Before stepping out, he gave himself one last once-over.

"Hmm… I feel like I need a brooch."

His look was a bit too plain. So, without hesitation, he plucked a soft, glowing indigo nightshade bloom from the windowsill and pinned it to his collar.

Perfect.

With that, he stepped directly into his mirror.

Spinner's End was wedged into the corner of a decaying industrial district—one of England's more forgotten neighborhoods. Had Viktor not scouted the location in advance, he would've never believed a Hogwarts Potions Master lived in such a place.

His old acquaintances, after all, lived in places like… gold-lined caves.

Emerging from a cracked mirror wedged behind a wall, Viktor's black boots crunched across shattered bits of discarded cabinetry. He brushed the dust from his cloak and stepped out of the alley's gloomy corner.

A filthy canal ran alongside the street, choked with weeds. Far in the distance, a rusted smokestack towered over the district—the skeleton of an abandoned mill. The oppressive atmosphere was nearly tangible.

Viktor strode toward the last house on the street, a crumbling brick building.

As he passed, an elderly Muggle man came out, caught a glimpse of him… and immediately staggered back in terror, collapsing in a pile of trash.

As Viktor calmly walked by, the old man whispered hoarsely behind him, "Dear God… this alley was cursed enough without that!"

Viktor didn't bat an eye.

He knocked on the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

A few moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a sallow face framed by greasy black hair hanging in curtains.

"Good afternoon," the man said dryly. "Come in. You're a little late. Minerva's already preparing the Great Hall."

"Apologies," Viktor replied smoothly. "Packing took longer than expected."

Ten minutes ago, he'd been tying a lesson plan to an owl. Not that anyone needed to know that.

Snape didn't press. He simply stepped aside to let Viktor in. His eyes lingered, just for a moment, on the bright blue flower pinned at Viktor's collar.

The inside of the house was sparsely furnished—clearly not a lived-in home. One battered sofa sat near the fireplace; the rest of the walls were lined with bookshelves.

"Albus mentioned your office fireplace might connect to the Floo Network," Snape said flatly. "You should check in with him first. Then speak with Minerva—she's handling elective schedules."

His tone remained even—no sarcasm, no cold remarks. Perhaps because Viktor was a colleague… or perhaps because he looked like someone who'd fit right into Slytherin House.

Viktor nodded in understanding.

But Snape's eyes drifted back again to the flower.

"What kind of flower is that?" he asked. "I've never seen one like it."

Viktor followed his gaze.

"It's called nightshade—specifically, a variant from my homeland. I doubt you'll find it anywhere in England."

"Does it have magical properties?"

"Yes. Some say the blue nightshade lets you hear the voices of the dead. Sadly, that's false. Its petals and pollen are toxic, mildly hallucinogenic. Inhaled in large quantities, they can lull a person into beautiful illusions… and death."

Snape's expression shifted ever so slightly.

Viktor added, "A single flower only lifts one's mood slightly. You'd need an entire field to reach lethal levels."

"Fascinating. The effect is noticeable. I feel it already…"

Snape's gaze brightened with sudden interest. His mind was already turning.

"…A potent hallucinogen… mild toxicity… Could be a viable substitute for albizia blossoms or crushed peppermint… Might improve Euphoriant Elixirs, maybe even love potions… possibly useful in toxins…"

He began pacing, muttering alchemical terms that Viktor half-recognized. But Viktor didn't react. He was used to this sort of behavior.

Some people were obsessed with potions. He'd once met a woman obsessed with a pair of red shoes—to the point where she had to cut off her own feet to escape them.

Snape finally stopped pacing, eyes gleaming with calculation.

"I assume you wouldn't mind parting with it?" he asked smoothly. "Of course, I'll compensate—"

"It's not about the price," Viktor interrupted. "You can have this one after the feast. I only wore it because I forgot to buy a brooch. It makes an impression on students."

"After the feast…" Snape repeated slowly, the term tasting sour in his mouth.

He didn't own a brooch. Or a formal robe. For years, he'd simply attended the opening ceremony dressed like a giant bat.

"…Fine. Thank you," he drawled reluctantly.

Viktor nodded.

"But if you plan to experiment with it," he added, "you'll need to work quickly. The bloom's magical potency fades twelve hours after being picked. Not even Preservation Charms work. Once it wilts, the magic dies with it."

"Not even if it's preserved in moisture and heat?"

"No." Viktor shook his head.

"What about magical replication?" Snape pressed.

"Won't work. The blue glow itself is part of the magic."

Snape now looked even more intrigued. His eyes didn't leave the flower, but after a moment of tight-lipped restraint, he turned away.

He walked to a small wooden box, retrieved a handful of glittering green Floo Powder, and tossed it into the fireplace.

The flames turned emerald green.

"Let's go," he said, tilting his head toward the flames. "Your destination is 'Hogwarts, Potions Office.'"

With that, he stepped into the fireplace and vanished.

Viktor followed, stepping into the blaze. The flames licked his face without heat as he murmured:

"Hogwarts, Potions Office."

The world spun violently.

When the dizziness faded, Viktor found himself in a shadowy underground office. Shelves on both sides were lined with jars—herbs in some, preserved animal parts in others. The air smelled damp, old, and earthy.

It was clearly below ground. There were no windows. The only source of light came from the overburdened desk, where candles flickered beside a mountain of books.

In the corner, a cauldron simmered with something thick and golden, bubbling softly.

"What's that?" Viktor asked curiously.

"Felix Felicis."

Liquid Luck. An exceptionally difficult potion. Most wizards never managed to brew it properly. But for Snape, it seemed effortless.

Too bad Viktor didn't seem impressed.

He barely glanced at it before turning his attention elsewhere.

Snape's jaw clenched.

He had hoped Viktor might show interest in the Felix Felicis—perhaps enough to justify an exchange. Maybe even a friendly trade for that nightshade bloom.

But… no reaction.

Do Seers not use luck potions? Snape thought bitterly.

Well… probably not. When you can see disaster coming, you don't need luck to dodge it.

"Exit's that way," Snape finally said, his expression flat. "The Great Hall is upstairs. You'll find Professor McGonagall there. I have other matters to attend to."