Harry Potter: Bring fairytales to Hogwarts

When Victor arrived at the Great Hall, lunchtime had already passed.

The hall had changed quite a bit since his last visit. The four long tables that had been moved aside for interviews were now back in place, each adorned at the corners with crests representing a badger, eagle, snake, and lion.

Professor McGonagall stood in the center of the hall, busy decorating with Hagrid's help.

"I believe it's not Christmas today," she said, gesturing at a tree, "so perhaps we could move that over there a bit. Thank you, Hagrid."

As she spoke, she waved her wand, conjuring four colorful ribbons behind the professors' table.

"Leave the rest to you," she added.

"No problem, Professor," Hagrid responded cheerfully.

After finishing her spell, Professor McGonagall put away her wand and turned toward Victor with a kindly gaze.

"Professor Vanderboom, good afternoon."

"Your office is ready, and you can put your belongings there. By the way, where is your syllabus?"

"...Huh? It hasn't arrived yet?" Victor feigned surprise. "Must be a delay with the owl. I sent it ages ago."

McGonagall's sharp eyes narrowed slightly.

Her years of teaching experience immediately brought to mind countless familiar excuses: "Professor, you didn't receive it? I swear I turned it in!" or "I'm so sorry, Professor! I left it at home!"

It was the classic student ploy—feign innocence unless questioned.

Still, considering Victor was a professor, she didn't press further. However, she hadn't expected someone who outwardly resembled Snape to harbor this kind of personality.

Her gaze softened.

Well, at least his temperament isn't like Severus's.

Victor pretended not to notice the subtle shifts in her expression. "Professor McGonagall, is there anything else I should know?"

McGonagall snapped back to attention. "Ah, yes."

Efficiently, she pulled a parchment from her robe and handed it to Victor. "Here's the elective course schedule for this year. Your class typically has about a dozen students, though there will be more in third year."

"For the first week, I'd suggest teaching something engaging to encourage them to continue with Divination, as they have the option to drop electives after the first week."

"Understood," Victor replied.

In truth, he planned to make the third-year lessons as uninteresting as possible—he had no desire to teach too many chattering kids.

Victor glanced at the schedule.

Divination classes averaged two periods a day, occasionally three, which included the single weekly session for seventh years due to their internships.

His first classes were with the seventh and third years on Monday.

Folding the schedule, he slipped it into his pocket.

"Got it. Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

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

The past month had been unusually pleasant. After Hagrid escorted him back to the Dursleys, he had given them a firm warning. As a result, Harry hadn't been forced to sleep in the cupboard or run errands like before.

Harry and Ron Weasley shared a compartment on the train.

The small compartment had two rows of facing seats with red cushions, giving Harry the faint feeling of stepping back into the Victorian era.

"My mum has a distant cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him. What about you? Is this your first time learning about magic? I heard you grew up with Muggles," Ron said.

"Yes. But receiving the acceptance letter wasn't my first encounter with magic. I accidentally wandered into… Professor Victor's house," Harry explained.

"Victor? Do we have a professor by that name?" Ron frowned, trying to recall. None of his brothers had mentioned such a name. "What does he teach?"

"Divination," Harry replied.

At the mention of this, he couldn't help but remember the day he spent at Baba Yaga's peculiar cottage—it was an experience he knew he'd never forget.

He added, "His house had lots of magical things, like a mirror you could travel through and a teacup that moved on its own."

"Do you have things like that at home?"

"A traveling mirror? Never heard of that," Ron said, astonished. "But we've got a teapot that moves."

"That mirror was special—it let me—"

Before Harry could finish, the compartment door slid open. A blonde boy stood in the doorway, flanked by two large, slow-witted cronies.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

The boy's eyes locked on Harry. They had met briefly in Diagon Alley under less-than-pleasant circumstances.

"Yes," Harry answered.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. These are Crabbe and Goyle. We're pure-bloods," Malfoy said, his nose tilted upward.

Draco. The Latin word for dragon. Combined with his surname, it sounded laughably pompous in English.

Ron struggled to suppress his laughter, his face turning red.

Malfoy scowled.

"What's so funny? I know who you are—you're a Weasley. Everyone knows your family can barely afford to eat, let alone buy proper wands. Careful yours doesn't spit out slugs when you cast a spell."

"Looking for a fight, are you?" Ron retorted.

Ignoring him, Malfoy extended a hand toward Harry. "You know where you belong, don't you?"

"Of course." Harry's voice turned icy. "With Ron."

Malfoy's smug expression faltered, then twisted in anger.

"Hmph. If your parents had chosen their friends wisely, they might still be alive…"

Harry and Ron shot to their feet.

A fiery rage surged through Harry, sharpening his thoughts.

"Malfoy," Harry said with a cold smile. "You think your family's so noble, don't you?"

"But I heard from Borgin that your father's been scrambling to buy alchemical items to hide things. Afraid of a Ministry raid, are you? If they find anything, you'll be visiting your family in Azkaban. Then you'll be just like me—an orphan."

Malfoy's face drained of color, then flushed red, then purple.

Even Ron was stunned.

Wasn't Harry raised by Muggles? How does he know all this?!

Harry, regaining his composure, realized his words had been harsh. But remembering Malfoy's sneering remark about his parents, he felt no regret. He only wished he'd overheard more at Borgin and Burkes to humiliate Malfoy further.

Malfoy stood speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Finally, he snarled, "Get them!"

Crabbe lunged forward, followed by Goyle. Malfoy rolled up his sleeves, ready to join the fray.

Ron leapt in to shield Harry, taking a punch so Harry could draw his wand.

In that moment, Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy and shouted:

"Waddiwasi!"

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