Bringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!

Bringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!

Harry had no idea what Viktor meant—he simply took the pocket watch in a daze before being led away by Hagrid. Naturally, before Harry left, Dumbledore and Scrimgeour carefully examined the watch to confirm it didn't contain any dark curses.

And just like that, Harry disappeared down the street outside the Leaky Cauldron.

It was said that it wasn't until Aunt Petunia was screaming in his face that he finally felt—Ah, so magic wasn't just a dream after all.

But those inside the pub had little to do with that.

While Harry was on the subway, the others had stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron, responding to Viktor's invitation to visit his home—or at least the area near it.

What they hadn't expected was the way they'd get there.

It wasn't by Floo Powder.

Nor was it Apparition.

In London, the sky was gray as always—today was no exception. When the three stepped outside, a fine misty rain had already woven itself into a dense web, clinging to their pointed hats and cloaks. Their wizarding garb stood out on the streets, but the locals barely glanced. Londoners were used to eccentric folks—what were three more?

Following Viktor's instructions, they strolled down the street, walking through the drizzle.

But it didn't take long for Scrimgeour to lose patience.

Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic, resembled an aging lion—with tawny hair, thick brows, and gold-rimmed glasses. His features exuded strength and charisma, but today his dark under-eye circles told a different story.

Last night, after Dumbledore had delivered the news of Harry Potter's disappearance to the Ministry, every Auror had been mobilized to search for the Boy Who Lived—frantic to avoid a tragedy under their watch.

But no matter how hard they searched or what spells they used—they found nothing.

It was uncanny.

Scrimgeour had pulled an all-nighter. Naturally, he wasn't in the best of moods.

After walking through the rain for a while, he barked, "Exactly how are we getting there? Taking the Muggle subway?"

"Walking," Viktor replied flatly.

"You live nearby?"

"No. My house is several hundred miles away by now, near Scotland. But I haven't figured out how to connect the fireplace to the Floo Network yet, so we'll have to use a more ancient method."

"Such as… this."

Before Scrimgeour could react—before he could gape and shout, "We're walking to Scotland?!"—the world around them began to change.

Mist began curling around them, layer by layer, growing thicker with each cobblestone they stepped on. Within moments, passersby became fuzzy silhouettes.

Scrimgeour noticed it too—the pedestrians no longer seemed to see them.

Shadowy figures with blurred faces drifted past, like beings from a different dimension. They weaved through the fog, minding their own business. No matter what Scrimgeour did, they never acknowledged his presence.

The figures grew fainter… then began brushing closer and closer.

He found himself walking through a tightening passage, twisting his body to squeeze past the crowd. But no matter what he did, no one seemed to notice him.

And then—

A woman appeared directly in front of him.

Unlike the other figures, she was vivid and clear. She moved through the rain—not gliding, not ghostly—but with unmistakable physical presence.

She wore a plain black trench coat and a round black hat—nothing unusual for London. Yet, in the gray mist, her features blurred into the surrounding colors, making her feel… off. Uncanny.

She was walking straight toward him.

She was going to collide with him.

In that instant, a strange pressure and dread surged in Scrimgeour's chest.

He wanted to close his eyes, to avoid looking at her.

But years of Auror experience sparked an instinctive anger.

He yanked out his wand and shouted:

"Petrificus Totalus!"

A bright red beam shot through the gloom, illuminating the fog for a split second—and blinding him to everything else.

He panted, trying to make sense of what just happened.

And when the flash faded—

He was standing in a dark, mist-covered forest.

The woman was gone.

The shadowy crowds had vanished.

It was as if everything just now had been an illusion.

"What…?" Scrimgeour lowered his wand.

Turning his head, he saw that Viktor and Dumbledore were still beside him—watching him silently. One with a neutral expression, the other looking slightly concerned.

Their presence grounded him. His panic faded. His mind cleared.

"That was your magic?" Scrimgeour frowned at Viktor, gripping his wand tightly.

"We're not in London anymore, are we?"

Viktor nodded calmly, unfazed.

"Correct."

"How? That's impossible!" Scrimgeour turned in disbelief, scanning the twisted trees and the pale gray sky above. His understanding of magic was unraveling.

A few steps—and they were hundreds of miles away?

But Dumbledore looked more intrigued than alarmed. His expression turned thoughtful.

"A different application of spatial magic… Yes. The essence of magic hasn't changed—only the casting method. Brilliant. Inspired. I haven't seen this in any of my research."

"An ancient Slavic spell, perhaps? A wonderful mystery to explore for years…"

"Ah—pardon me."

Dumbledore blinked, realizing he had spoken aloud. He smiled and turned to Viktor.

"Mr. Vanderboom, I hope you don't mind me asking—how exactly did we get here?"

"As long as you have the key—and a clear enough will—you can walk straight through," Viktor replied calmly.

He pulled a simple brass key from his pocket and held it up for Dumbledore to see.

"Because everyone's inner mind is different, some may see strange illusions in the mist."

"Sounds similar to a spell we use at school," Dumbledore chuckled.

"Once, I really had to use the loo, and a door randomly appeared at the end of a corridor. I stepped through and found a room full of toilets."

"Magic driven by intent… fascinating."

Scrimgeour, still unsettled, pressed, "So that woman I saw—dressed in dark clothes—was that an illusion too?"

A woman in dark clothes?

Viktor raised an eyebrow, studying him for a moment.

Then, slowly, he said:

"No."

"That was probably just a shadow left behind by a friend of mine. She really likes walking in the rain."