The Ivanov Manor buzzed with an unfamiliar, almost overwhelming energy. The air, usually thick with the comforting scent of old parchment and the faint tang of Viktor's parents' peculiar magical experiments, now hummed with the sweet, cloying aroma of enchanted pastries, the sharp tang of potent elf-made wine, and the incessant, high-pitched clinking of crystal glasses. This was the annual Ivanov Gala, a notoriously lavish affair that served as a semi-official gathering for Britain's most influential pure-blood families. Viktor, observing from a discreet alcove near a towering, enchanted grandfather clock, felt a familiar tremor of unease. This was his first time attending such a grand event, and the sheer scale of it was daunting.
His parents, Alexei and Natasha, moved through the grand hall like twin forces of nature, radiating power and effortless charm. Alexei, resplendent in emerald green robes that shimmered with subtle protective enchantments, greeted Ministry officials with booming laughter and firm handshakes that seemed to absorb any lingering doubts. Natasha, a vision in deep sapphire, her lightning bolt earrings glinting under the enchanted chandeliers, held court with various matriarchs, her smile as charming as it was subtly intimidating, a silent promise of both grace and ruthless efficiency.
The guest list was a veritable Who's Who of the wizarding elite: the austere Malfoy patriarch, Lucius, accompanied by a stiff-backed young Cassian; the dignified Greengrass family, renowned for their ancient lineage and considerable influence, parents and children alike moving with an air of quiet sophistication; the burly, boisterous Flints, their laughter echoing a little too loudly; and even the incumbent Minister for Magic, a surprisingly jovial man named Cornelius Fudge, who seemed delighted by the free-flowing champagne and endless platters of delicacies.
Viktor, scrubbed, polished, and squeezed into miniature, impeccably tailored robes of deep forest green that felt suspiciously like a straightjacket, braced himself. His mother had been relentlessly drilling him on proper greetings, formal bows, and the precise angles at which to hold a teacup without looking like a muggle imbecile. He'd even had a specialized Occlumency session focused solely on maintaining a polite, blank expression regardless of the absurdity around him. He felt like a miniature diplomat, preparing for a performance.
"Viktor, my little Czar," Natasha purred, appearing suddenly beside him, her smile wide and encouraging. "Time to make our rounds. Remember your lessons." She steered him gently through the throng, her hand a firm, guiding presence on his back.
Their first stop was the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy, a man whose silver-blonde hair seemed to gleam with its own haughty light, offered a cool, assessing gaze. "Alexei, Natasha. A pleasure, as always. And this must be young Viktor. He grows handsomely, a true Ivanov." His voice was smooth, like polished stone, a compliment that felt more like a calculated appraisal.
"Lucius, Narcissa," Alexei boomed, clapping Lucius on the shoulder with a force that made the older wizard briefly stiffen. "Indeed. Our Viktor. And young Cassian," he added, turning to the boy. "Already showing such… presence."
Narcissa Malfoy, her expression serene, offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "A fine boy, indeed. Such a strong magical aura for one so young, Viktor. You'll do the Ivanov name proud at Hogwarts. Perhaps in Slytherin?" Her compliment was simple and polite, a standard social grace.
Viktor, recalling Radimer's sternest lectures, offered a stiff, practiced bow. "Thank you, Madam Malfoy. The honor is mine." It came out sounding far more formal than a six-year-old's voice should, a carefully constructed façade. Cassian, standing beside his parents, eyed Viktor with a mixture of curiosity and vague disdain. He didn't make a show of superiority; everyone here was powerful, and open arrogance would be foolish. But he clearly wasn't impressed by another boy being trotted out like a prize pony.
Next were the Greengrasses. Lord and Lady Greengrass, dignified and poised, offered genuine, if reserved, smiles. "Young Viktor," Lord Greengrass said, his voice quiet but firm. "We hear of your awakening. A powerful gift."
"And your daughter, Daphne," Natasha responded, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the thin, solemn girl clutching a remarkably thick book. "Already so studious! A credit to the family, I'm sure she'll be a splendid Slytherin." Daphne, a quiet girl with sharp, intelligent eyes, offered a small, shy nod, her gaze briefly meeting Viktor's before darting away.
The Flints were a different matter. Lord Flint, a burly man with a booming laugh, clapped Alexei on the back. "Ivanov! Good to see you! And this is the boy, eh? Heard he's got a temper! Good! Needs it in this world!" He winked at Viktor, who managed a strained smile.
After what felt like an eternity of polite, often insincere, exchanges, a house-elf, dressed in a pristine white uniform, materialized beside Natasha. "Madam, the children's play area is ready."
"Excellent," Natasha said, her smile widening. "Viktor, darling, why don't you join the other children? Radimer will be overseeing them."
Viktor suppressed a sigh of relief. He was led, along with Cassian, Daphne, and a few other pure-blood children whose names blurred into a polite hum, towards a massive, ornate archway at the far end of the hall. It was a huge entrance, grand and inviting, but notably, it had no door. This, Viktor realized, was so the parents could easily check on the kids, ensuring their little pure-blood darlings weren't getting into too much trouble.
The room beyond the archway was vast, carpeted in plush velvet, and filled with enchanted toys that whirred and floated. Miniature broomsticks zipped through the air, enchanted chess sets played themselves, and a small, self-stirring cauldron bubbled with what smelled suspiciously like fizzy lemonade. A few house-elves, including Radimer, circulated discreetly, offering refreshments and keeping a watchful eye.
The children, once released from the confines of adult conversation, immediately scattered. Cassian Malfoy, ever the leader, gathered a small clique of boys around him, whispering conspiratorially. Daphne Greengrass retreated to a quiet corner with her book, already engrossed. Viktor, feeling the awkwardness of being a six-year-old with the mind of an adult, gravitated towards a table laden with miniature enchanted quidditch hoops, trying to appear nonchalant.
Suddenly, the grand archway shimmered, and Minister Fudge reappeared, his face flushed with wine and good cheer. This time, he was accompanied by a man with kind, tired eyes and a shock of bright red hair – Arthur Weasley. Trailing behind Arthur, looking utterly bewildered and slightly rumpled, was a boy with equally bright red hair, a scattering of freckles, and clothes that, while clean, were noticeably plainer than any other child in the room. This was Bill Weasley, Viktor realized, the eldest of Arthur's children. The Weasleys were not typically invited to such exclusive pure-blood galas; they lacked the immense wealth and ingrained influence. Their presence was a clear sign of the Minister's personal favor.
"Alexei! Natasha!" Fudge boomed, his voice echoing. "I took the liberty of bringing some guests of my own. I hope you don't mind! This is Arthur Weasley, a fine fellow from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and his son, young Bill here!"
Arthur Weasley looked deeply uncomfortable, his gaze sweeping over the opulent room. "Minister, you are too kind. Bill was merely accompanying me to the Ministry, and I didn't wish to leave him unattended."
Bill, meanwhile, stared wide-eyed at the floating pastries, completely oblivious to the social nuances, his attention fixated on the treacle tarts. His plain, slightly worn robes contrasted sharply with the silks and velvets of the other children.
Cassian Malfoy, ever attuned to social hierarchies and slighting those he perceived as beneath him, immediately noticed the disparity. His lips curled into a sneer. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. A Weasley. Did you get lost on the way to the charity shop, Mister?" His voice dripped with condescension, loud enough for several other children to turn and stare.
Bill, who had just reached for a particularly tempting treacle tart, froze. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, narrowed into angry slits. He dropped the tart, his small hands clenched into fists. "What did you say, Malfoy?"
Cassian took a step closer, enjoying the attention. "Oh, did I hurt your delicate feelings, Weasley? Perhaps you should stick to your hovels and leave the galas to those who can afford proper attire and proper manners."
Bill's face flushed a furious crimson. He was hot-blooded, quick to anger, and completely unaccustomed to such open disdain. Without a word, without a moment of hesitation, he swung. It was a wild, uncoordinated punch, a muggle-style brawl instinct, aimed squarely at Cassian's face.
Cassian, caught off guard, stumbled back with a surprised yelp, raising his hands in defense. He retaliated with a furious shove, and suddenly, the two boys were locked in a clumsy, bare-handed brawl. They tumbled to the plush carpet, rolling and grappling, fists flailing, their small bodies grunting with effort.
The other children, who had been watching in stunned silence, suddenly erupted. "Fight! Fight! Get him, Malfoy!" "Punch him, Weasley!" they chanted, their voices high-pitched and excited, forming a chaotic circle around the brawling pair.
Suddenly, a strange, uncontrolled burst of magic erupted. As Bill landed a particularly solid, if clumsy, punch on Cassian's arm, a nearby enchanted chess knight inexplicably exploded into a shower of wooden splinters. Moments later, as Cassian tried to knee Bill, a small, decorative fountain in the corner spurted water directly into Bill's face, making him gasp and momentarily release his grip. Their magic, untamed and instinctive, reacted to their raw emotions, manifesting in sudden, unpredictable ways.
Before the chaos could escalate further, two house-elves, moving with blinding speed, darted into the fray. With synchronized pops, they each grabbed a boy, pulling them apart with surprising strength. Bill, still red-faced and panting, was held firmly by one elf, while Cassian, disheveled and furious, was restrained by the other.
"Young Masters! Such unseemly behavior!" one elf squeaked, aghast, his large eyes wide with disapproval.
Just then, Minister Fudge and Arthur Weasley, alerted by the sudden commotion, rushed through the archway, followed closely by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.
"Cassian!" Lucius bellowed, his face a mask of outrage. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"Bill!" Arthur exclaimed, his kind eyes wide with dismay. "What have you done?!"
The two boys, still seething, were quickly dragged away by their respective parents. Bill, looking utterly mortified under Arthur's stern gaze, was practically hauled out of the room. Cassian, sputtering indignantly, was subjected to a furious, whispered lecture from Lucius as he was led away. The party atmosphere in the children's room, once lively, now felt tense and subdued.
Viktor, who had watched the entire spectacle with a detached, almost analytical eye, now found himself surrounded by a few other boys who were still buzzing with excitement.
"Did you see that?" one boy, a slightly older, lanky child named Marcus, exclaimed. "Weasley actually hit Malfoy!"
"Yeah, but Malfoy totally got him with the water!" another boy chimed in.
"Yeah!" another boy argued, replaying the brawl with dramatic gestures. "Weasley was getting him good! Malfoy just got lucky with that fountain!"
Viktor scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Luck? Please. Malfoy was sloppy. Weasley's swing was wild, but he had the aggression. Malfoy was too focused on looking important." He spoke with the casual confidence of someone who had seen one or two muggle boxing or MMA fights on a screen in a past life, enough to pick up on obvious tactics, but not enough to be a true expert. "Honestly, if either of them knew how to actually fight, it would've been over much faster. They just kept flailing."
"What do you know?" Marcus challenged, puffing out his chest, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Malfoy's got proper pure-blood magic. He didn't need to know muggle brawling!"
"Yeah!" another boy agreed, clearly thinking his grasp of the situation was superior. "And Weasley's just a lout. You can't compare their fighting styles! It was a proper wizard's quarrel, not some… common street brawl!"
Viktor rolled his eyes. "Pure-blood magic doesn't give you better footwork, does it? They were both a mess. Honestly, they both just lost their heads." He was trying to sound objective, superior even, but part of him was just enjoying the debate.
Suddenly, a clear, exasperated voice cut through the boys' bickering. "Oh, honestly! Boys! Why are you always so… uncultured?"
Viktor turned to see two girls approaching. One had bright, curious blue eyes and a cascade of fiery red hair, almost as vibrant as Bill's, but impeccably styled. This was Hailey Beaumont, from a quiet but respected pure-blood family known for their mastery of illusion spells. The other was quieter, with thoughtful brown eyes and neat, dark braids, carrying a small, beautifully bound journal. This was Claire Vance, whose family had a long lineage of Arithmancers and ward-makers.
Hailey put her hands on her hips, looking disdainfully at the boys. "You're all just standing around, arguing about which of those two barbarians was more 'effective.' As if there's anything effective about flailing around like that!"
"Barbarians?" Marcus scoffed. "They were defending their honor! That's what wizards do!"
"No, that's what boys do," Claire interjected softly, her voice calm but firm. "They resort to brute force. Girls would have handled the situation with more grace, more subtlety."
Viktor found himself drawn into the argument instantly. He was a reincarnated adult, a man who had spent most of his previous life as a nerd with minimal interaction with girls, especially not in social settings. His social skills, even as an adult, were underdeveloped. Now, as a six-year-old, he was utterly unprepared for this. But his male pride, mingled with genuine amusement, immediately kicked in.
"Oh, really?" Viktor challenged, a smirk touching his lips. "And what would girls have done, pray tell? Conjured a tea party to discuss their differences?"
Hailey laughed, a clear, ringing sound. "Perhaps! Or simply used their brains to avoid such a crude display altogether. Diplomacy, sharp wit, calculated social maneuver, rather than just… punching."
"Exactly," Claire agreed, her quiet voice surprisingly firm. "Why resort to physical violence when there are so many more elegant ways to assert dominance?"
The argument devolved into a lively, heated debate about which gender was more sophisticated, more logical, and more capable of handling conflict "properly." Viktor, Marcus, and the other boys argued for strength, directness, and the "natural order" of physical confrontation. Hailey and Claire championed wit, cunning, and the superior use of social strategy. It was silly, childish, and utterly absorbing.
As the argument wound down, with no clear winner. The tension from the fight had completely evaporated.
"Alright, alright," Viktor said, a triumphant grin on his face. "You two think you're so smart? I'll show you something truly sophisticated. Something even you haven't seen. The Ivanov Manor is famous for its secrets, but not everyone knows the true, dark ones." He puffed out his chest slightly. He lowered his voice, his eyes gleaming with mischievous intent, borrowing every scary movie trope he could recall from his past life. "Legends say if you go deep enough, you can hear the whispers of the lost souls. They try to pull you into the walls... make you one of them." He looked at Hailey and Claire, trying to gauge their reactions.
Hailey's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine apprehension mixed with excitement. Claire, though, looked skeptical, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure, Viktor? My father says most of those stories are just exaggerations."
"Exaggerations?" Viktor scoffed dramatically. "Only because they don't want you to know the truth! Come on, I'll show you." He led them to a section of the wall behind an ancient tapestry, tapping it twice with a precise, almost practiced rhythm. A faint click echoed, and a narrow, dark opening slid into view. He tried to look as serious and ominous as possible.
They crept through a labyrinth of twisting passages, past forgotten nooks. Viktor, in the lead, would occasionally stop suddenly, making the others bump into him, then whisper, "Did you hear that? It's the rustling of old bones," or "What was that scratching sound? They're trying to get out!" trying to make them jump. He'd even let out a low, drawn-out moan, making Hailey squeal and Claire gasp, despite her attempts to be brave.
They turned a tight corner, the darkness ahead seeming to deepen. Viktor opened his mouth to deliver his most chilling tale yet, about eyes in the shadows and phantom cold spots. But before he could, a sudden, sharp pop echoed in the confined space, far too loud, too close. The air directly in front of them started to warble, shimmering and twisting as if reality itself was being wrung out.
Hailey and Claire let out piercing shrieks, scrambling backward, their faces stark white with genuine terror. Even Viktor, despite his adult mind and all his carefully constructed bravado, felt a surge of pure, primal fear. Unbeknownst to him, all the horror stories and movies he'd conjured to scare the girls had worked against him; his own mind was now primed for something truly terrifying. He jumped back, a yelp escaping him, his heart hammering against his ribs. Claire squealed, pressing herself against the damp wall, her small body trembling.
As the warbling air coalesced, it solidified into the all-too-familiar form of Radimer, his large eyes narrowed, his usually pristine uniform slightly askew from his rapid materialization. He looked genuinely distressed, almost as startled by their screams as they were by his sudden appearance. "Young Masters and Young Mistresses! What are you doing in the forbidden passages? This is not for guests!"
Radimer began to scold them, his voice rising in a squeak of indignation. "These tunnels are not safe! Young Master Viktor, you know better! You could have gotten lost! Or worse!" He wrung his tiny hands. They stood there, heads bowed, trying to look contrite, though their eyes kept darting nervously at each other.
Radimer escorted them firmly, not back to the main party, but to a quiet, secluded side entrance that led directly into one of the manor's numerous gardens. This was not the vast, dangerous Forbidden Garden, but a beautiful, manicured space filled with fragrant, glowing flowers of every imaginable color. The air was soft and sweet, bathed in the gentle glow of the moon and the distant, twinkling stars.
"You will remain here," Radimer announced sternly, pointing a tiny, trembling finger towards a stone bench nestled among a cluster of luminous moon-petals. "Until you learn some decorum!" With a final disapproving sniff, he popped away.
The three children looked at each other, then at the empty spot where Radimer had been. For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, a stifled giggle escaped Hailey, quickly followed by Claire's quiet snort. And then, Viktor, who had been trying to maintain his sophisticated facade, burst out laughing, a genuine, unburdened sound. They collapsed onto the stone bench, their shoulders shaking with silent laughter, tears of relief and amusement pricking at their eyes.
"Oh, Merlins beard," Hailey gasped, wiping a tear from her eye, "Radimer appearing like that... I almost screamed!"
"I did scream!" Claire admitted, her face red with laughter. "He looked so furious!"
Viktor, still chuckling, leaned back, looking up at the vast, star-dusted sky. The laughter felt good, a light, joyful feeling he hadn't realized he missed.
As parents began calling for their children, their voices carrying faintly across the expansive gardens, Viktor, acting on a sudden, uncharacteristic impulse, turned to Hailey and Claire. "Hey," he said, the word feeling a little clumsy but sincere. "Could we… Could we meet up again soon? Maybe, um, explore some other hidden places? Radimer clearly doesn't know all of them."
Hailey's face lit up. "Definitely! We're usually at the Blackwood estate in Surrey, but we can send an owl with the details!"
Claire nodded, a rare, shy smile gracing her lips. "Yes. I'd like that very much."