Hermione spun around, the hero-worship still glowing in her eyes—until shock and sheer disbelief slammed across her face like a Bludger.
"You… Harry… her? Ron—what the hell happened to Harry?!"
After a long, overlapping round of explanations (most of them involving Tom looking deeply guilty and Viktor sighing like a man who'd seen this movie before), Hermione finally—reluctantly—accepted the reality:
For the next month, Harry Potter was going to be one of the girls.
"Flying a illegally modified alchemical car through the sky, getting caught by a professor, then casually drinking an unknown potion whose effects you didn't even check… You're honestly lucky to be alive and standing in Hogwarts right now. Professor Snape warned us in the very first Potions class—"
Ron cut her off before she could build up a full lecture.
"Yeah, yeah, Hermione—we get it. We already know we screwed up. We've been copying out the school rules and the Statute of Secrecy in McGonagall's office for what feels like forever. Can we please just eat now?"
And so the new term's Start-of-Term Feast rolled on amid the usual chaos: chattering little witches and wizards, floating dishes, and that gloriously off-key mass rendition of the Hogwarts school song (nobody could ever agree on the right tune anyway).
...
Later that night, Viktor wandered back to his quarters humming the deliberately tuneless version of the school song, pleasantly full after a long stroll around the Black Lake to walk off dinner.
He washed his hands, dropped into the rocking chair by the window, and let it creak gently as he closed his eyes.
In his mind, he whispered one quiet word.
Draw.
A massive circular lottery wheel materialized in front of him, divided into countless tiny segments by glowing lines.
This was the "Magical Creature Master" system that had awakened on his eighteenth birthday—the same one that had given him Tom on the very first pull.
The system wasn't smart. It had no voice, no personality, no pity. It simply tallied draw tickets based on his actions and choices, then let the wheel spin.
Most rewards were everyday pet-care miracles in the Muggle world but laughably mundane in wizarding terms:
Bottomless water bowls.
Infinitely delicious cat treats.
Self-cleaning litter boxes.
Then came the mid-tier stuff—Pokémon-inspired oddities like Life Orbs, Choice Bands, Poké Balls, all themed around magical creatures.
And the rarest tier?
Actual magical beasts from other worlds.
Tom had been the jackpot on pull number one.
The description back then had read simply:
A cat thrown out by his owner. Give him a warm home, and he will choose you as his new master.
In the seven years since, Viktor had pulled plenty of tickets. Almost everything had been practical pet gear: deluxe multi-level cat trees, universal healing salves for familiars, more Poké Balls. No new creatures.
He refused to believe it was bad luck.
No. Clearly he just hadn't had enough ceremony.
So tonight—after his official first Start-of-Term Feast as a Hogwarts professor—he decided the moment had proper ritual weight.
Time for a long-overdue ten-pull.
Without hesitation, he yanked the lever beside the wheel.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times in rapid succession.
The disc spun wildly, lights flashing, accompanied by a satisfying mechanical whir only he could hear.
Ten items floated free one after another.
As expected, most were white-rarity pet consumables and gadgets:
Portable foldable cat tree.
"Crunchy Crunch" magic insect jerky.
Pet calming aromatherapy diffuser.
Mini weather simulator.
Bedtime-story-telling magical projector.
Viktor gave them a quick once-over.
The projector might actually be useful. With a few tweaks, he could probably rig movie nights in the common room.
He casually tore open a pack of the insect jerky, fished out something that looked suspiciously like a grasshopper, and popped it into his mouth.
Crunch crunch.
Not bad.
Very crisp.
Tastes like chicken.
He was just about ready to write the whole draw off as another dud when he tapped the final item.
A brilliant streak of gold flared across his vision.
"Oh—golden legend!"
Viktor shot upright so fast the rocking chair nearly tipped. The half-eaten jerky fell from his lips unnoticed.
Gold.
After eight damn years—actual gold.
Besides Tom on the first pull, the system had never once given him anything golden. No pity timer. No guarantee. Nothing.
He leaned in, heart hammering.
The light gradually coalesced into a walnut-sized acorn, its surface glowing with warm, flowing emerald radiance.
It wasn't physically present; it hovered deep in his consciousness.
Yet the aura it gave off pierced straight through the barrier of his soul, flooding him with an ancient, bone-deep peace that felt like the origin of all life.
He reached out with his mind and gently "touched" it.
Hum—
A vast, primordial surge of information poured in—whispers of ancient forests, the slow heartbeat of the earth, the laughter of streams, the harmonious chorus of countless living things.
[Heart of the Druid – Nature's Core]
Quality: Gold
Type: Legacy
The crystallized Heart of Nature left behind by an ancient treant. Upon use, it will guide the bearer onto the path of the Druid.
Viktor let out a slow, reverent breath.
Now that's more like it.
A Magical Creature Master who wasn't a Druid? That would just be embarrassing.
He could already feel the acorn responding to his call, warm and patient.
No more hesitation.
Viktor relaxed fully into the rocking chair, closed his eyes, and let his mind sink completely into the soft green glow.
The instant he surrendered, the acorn activated.
It stopped being a passive object. It became a pure spring of life-force, gently pulsing warm, clean magic that soaked into every corner of his consciousness, every thread of his power, every layer of his soul.
The infusion wasn't forceful. It was tender. Inclusive. Loving.
His perception expanded infinitely.
He heard:
Not just ordinary waves lapping the Black Lake shore—but the playful dance of water elementals and the slow, deep breathing of the lake itself.
From the Forbidden Forest came the low, thrumming pulse of countless root systems stretching through soil, drinking nourishment like blood through veins.
Night wind sang a thousand different songs as it slipped through leaves of every shape.
A vixen's wings trembled faintly in the underbrush.
An owl preened feathers high in the towers with soft rustling whispers…
A vast, intricate symphony of living sound.
He smelled:
The rich loam broken down into humus, the clean green snap of newborn fungi, the faint magical traces ordinary people could never detect wafting from certain plants.
Air drifting from the Forest carried pine-sharp cold, night-blooming flowers, damp moss—and something wilder, older, more mysterious: the lingering life-marks of countless magical creatures.
He felt:
The ancient stones of Hogwarts beneath him, warm with a thousand years of stored sunlight, cool with remembered rain.
And slowly, steadily, his own existence began resonating with the land, with the castle, with everything beyond its walls.
A deep, steady power rose from the earth itself—through the foundations—reaching out in fragile, newborn threads toward his awakening natural magic.
Nature was calling him.
From the oldest oak in the Forest's heart.
From the giant squid dreaming at the bottom of the Black Lake.
From the timid Bowtruckles at the forest's edge.
From every sharp-eyed owl in the Owlery.
From the carefully tended magical plants in the greenhouses that still yearned for real sunlight and rain…
They didn't use words.
They reached with pure life-fluctuations.
With quiet longing for balance.
With faint hope for understanding and communion.
At the same moment Viktor sank fully into the legacy—his life-breath and magical nature fundamentally shifting—every animal and magical creature in and around Hogwarts felt it.
A subtle, wordless ripple.
Viktor wasn't blind to the change.
His new awareness was already linked to the natural world.
He sensed the tiny "gazes" turning toward him—faint emotional waves like pebbles dropped into still water—caught by his awakening [Nature Sense].
Far from disturbing him, they deepened his understanding of what it truly meant to be a Druid.
This wasn't just power.
It was connection.
Responsibility.
The duty to listen—and to answer.
The fusion continued.
His soul, like a young sapling, quietly took root under the ancient nourishment and began to grow.
When he finally opened his eyes again, the night outside was still deep and dark.
But his world had changed forever.
He didn't just see moonlight anymore.
He could touch the quiet, nocturnal magic woven into its silver glow.
The Forbidden Forest breathed right beside his ear, its rhythm slowly syncing with his heartbeat.