Bring a fairy tale to Hogwarts!

When Victor arrived at the auditorium, lunchtime had already passed.

The auditorium had changed a lot since his last visit. The space that had been used for interviews had been moved back to four long tables, each with a badger, eagle, snake, and lion design on its corner.

Professor McGonagall was standing in the middle of the auditorium, busy decorating it with Hagrid.

"I don't think it's Christmas today, so let's move that tree a little over. Thank you, Hagrid."

As she spoke, she waved her hand, conjuring up four colorful ribbons behind the professor's desk.

"I'll leave the rest to you."

"No problem, Professor," Hagrid replied happily.

After speaking, Professor McGonagall put away her wand and looked at Victor with a kind expression.

"Professor Vanderbohm, good afternoon."

"Your office is ready; you can go put your things down. By the way, where's your teaching syllabus?"

"...Hmm? It hasn't arrived yet? The owl might be delayed on the way," Victor said, feigning surprise. "It should arrive soon; I sent it out a while ago."

Professor McGonagall's eyes sharpened for a moment.

Her years of experience as a professor immediately brought to mind countless voices such as, "Professor, didn't you receive it? I handed in my assignment!" and "Sorry, Professor! I left my assignment at home!"

It's the same old trick of students. They won't tell you unless you ask, but you're surprised when you do.

Of course, considering that Victor was a professor, she wouldn't pry too deeply.

She just didn't expect that Victor, who looked similar to Snape, would have such a personality hidden beneath his appearance!

But her eyes softened with kindness.

...It's good that her personality isn't like Severus'.

Victor pretended not to notice Professor McGonagall's constantly shifting micro-expressions: "Professor McGonagall, is there anything else I need to know?"

Professor McGonagall finally came to her senses: "Yes."

She deftly took a piece of parchment from her robe pocket and handed it to Victor: "This is this year's elective course schedule. Your classes usually have around a dozen students, but there are a few more in the third year."

"During the first week of school, you can talk to the third-year students about something interesting so that they will consider continuing with divination, since students are free to choose whether to continue taking this elective until the end of the first week."

"Okay," Victor said.

In fact, he was prepared to teach some boring lessons to the third-grade students—because he didn't want to take in too many chattering kids.

Victor glanced at the timetable.

There are about two divination classes a day, sometimes one more—that's for seventh graders, because they only have one class a week for their internships.

Monday is for seventh grade and third grade.

He folded the timetable and put it away.

"I understand, thank you, Professor McGonagall."

……

Meanwhile, Harry Potter, with a mix of trepidation and excitement, boarded the train to Hogwarts.

He had a fairly pleasant month or so, because after Hagrid sent him back, he also helped him deal with the Dursleys, so he neither slept in the cupboard nor was he ordered around to do anything during that month.

He sat in a carriage with Ron Weasley, who had red hair.

The carriage wasn't large, with two rows of face-to-face seats with red cushions. Sitting on this train, Harry had a fleeting feeling of being transported back to the Victorian era.

"My mother has a distant cousin who's an accountant, but I've never met him, and my family doesn't talk about him much... What about you? Is this your first time learning about magic? I heard you live with Muggles."

"Yes. But the day I received my acceptance letter wasn't the first time I encountered magic. I accidentally got lost and ended up at... Professor Victor's house," Harry said.

"Victor? Does our school have a professor like that?" Ron thought for a moment, seemingly having never heard the name from his brothers. "What subject does he teach?"

"Fortune telling," Harry said.

At this point, he couldn't help but recall that day in Grandma Baba Yaga's hut—a day he felt he would remember until the day he died.

So he added, "But he also has many magical things in his house, like mirrors that can move through things and teacups that can move."

Do you have one at home too?

"A mirror that can travel through time? I've never heard of that," Ron said, somewhat surprised. "But we have a teapot at home too."

"That mirror is special; it allows me to—"

Before Harry could finish speaking, the carriage door was suddenly pulled open, revealing a blond little boy followed by two tall, muscular, and goofy-looking henchmen.

"You're Harry Potter?"

As soon as he came in, he looked at Harry. Harry had bumped into him when he went to Diagon Alley before, and the encounter hadn't been pleasant.

"Yes," Harry said anyway.

"I am Draco Malfoy, this is Crabbe, this is Goyle, we are all pure-bloods," Malfoy introduced himself, his nostrils pointing slightly towards the people.

However, Draco, which means "dragon" in Latin, sounds rather rustic in English when combined with his surname.

Ron, standing to the side, was trying so hard not to laugh that his face turned red.

This immediately enraged Malfoy.

"What are you laughing at? I know who you are. You're a Weasley, and everyone in the wizarding world knows you have so many kids you can't afford to raise them all. I think your old family wand is even funnier. Watch out, maybe you'll spit out some slugs when you cast a spell."

"You want a beating, don't you!" Ron said.

Malfoy ignored him and reached out to Harry: "You should know which side to be on, right?"

“Of course,” Harry said curtly. “I’m standing with Ron.”

Malfoy's expression froze, then changed: "Hmph, if I were you, I wouldn't be so sure. If your parents had been smarter back then and hadn't hung out with shady characters, they might not have died..."

Harry and Ron immediately stood up.

Harry felt a strange anger rush to his head, which actually calmed him down.

"Malfoy, do you think your house is glamorous?" A few seconds later, Harry suddenly laughed, but his voice was unusually cold.

"But if you ask me, your family is more pitiful than anyone else's. I heard from Borgin that you've been rushing to buy alchemical items that can hide things, probably to deal with a raid by the Ministry of Magic, right? If they find something, you'll only be able to see your family in jail from now on—then you'll be no different from an orphan like me."

As soon as he finished speaking, Malfoy's expression turned pale, then red, then purple.

The train corridor fell completely silent; even Ron across from him was stunned.

Wasn't it supposed to be that Harry was raised by Muggles? How do you know so much about this?!

In fact, after taking a few deep breaths and calming down a bit, Harry realized that his words had been a bit harsh, but the way Malfoy mentioned his parents made him not regret it at all. He only regretted not having eavesdropped a little longer at Borgin Burke's shop so he could have used that information to satirize Malfoy.

Because what Harry said was indeed the truth, Malfoy opened and closed his mouth, but couldn't even utter a rebuttal.

He finally managed to choke back a sentence, his face turning completely red, his eyes practically spitting fire.

"Beat him up!"

Goyle lunged forward instantly, and Malfoy rolled up his sleeves, looking ready to fight. But Ron, true to his loyalty, jumped in front of Harry, taking a punch for him and giving Ron the chance to reach for his wand.

In that instant, Harry looked at Malfoy and his mind suddenly became exceptionally clear.

He pointed at Malfoy and shouted:

"A dragon has emerged from its cave!"