After lunch, Viktor was just about to head down to the Black Lake to walk off his meal, take a nice nap, and then make a quick round through the Forbidden Forest.
He hadn't even made it out of the Great Hall when Professor McGonagall intercepted him in a hurry.
"How was your first lesson, Viktor? Settling in alright?"
As she spoke, she somehow produced a small packet of dried fish from nowhere and slipped it into the paws of Tom, who was standing beside Viktor looking perfectly behaved and expectant.
"Went really well, Professor McGonagall. The students were attentive and engaged."
"Good. You'll get the hang of the rhythm soon enough. I came to find you for two things. First—Dumbledore asked me to remind you about the early history of the Magical Creature Protection course. He'd prefer you not go into too much detail with the students."
Viktor's expression immediately turned serious. He gave a small nod.
"I understand, Professor. I won't mention those parts in front of the young witches and wizards."
He knew exactly what she was referring to.
Bloodline research on magical creatures.
Of all the studies ever conducted, this one had caused the most devastating harm to magical species.
Compared to alchemy experiments or potion ingredient harvesting, bloodline research required staggering numbers of creatures—often rare and irreplaceable ones.
It was the single biggest driver behind most magical extinctions.
Worse, the entire process was grotesque and corrupting. It frequently produced extremely dangerous, malformed hybrid creatures.
And it often twisted the researchers themselves—physically, mentally, sometimes both.
The most infamous examples?
Salazar Slytherin, one of Hogwarts' four founders.
And Lord Voldemort.
Legend said Slytherin's experiments left him hideously deformed; by the time the other three founders still looked middle-aged, he already appeared ancient and barely human.
Voldemort was even more extreme. According to stories from both Grandpa Newt and Dumbledore, the young Tom Riddle had once been strikingly handsome—a real heartbreaker.
But his obsessive pursuit of power led him to mutilate his own body… and goodbye, nose.
(Of course, if the price of ultimate power had been baldness instead, Viktor might actually have considered it for a second.)
Without ironclad conviction and the right safeguards, bloodline research could warp a wizard's mind as surely as the darkest curses.
Thanks to Voldemort's cautionary tale, Grandpa Newt's repeated warnings, and his genuine love for the little creatures, Viktor had zero interest in ever touching that field.
Seeing the solemn look on his face, McGonagall gave a satisfied nod.
Viktor might act a bit unserious at times, but compared to the absolute train-wreck that was Lockhart's teaching, he was reliable—both in the classroom and when it mattered.
"Very good. As long as you're aware. Second matter: I've drawn up the night patrol rota based on everyone's current schedules. Take a look."
She handed him a sheet of parchment.
Viktor's eyes lit up the moment he heard "night patrol."
Honestly? He'd been dying to try this.
Back when he was a student, Slytherin house kept him too busy dodging hexes to ever properly enjoy Hogwarts' legendary nighttime adventures.
Now he was a professor. He could finally roam the corridors after dark completely legitimately.
And maybe catch a few mischievous creatures having fun along the way.
The only downside? He'd never again get to experience that delicious thrill of almost being caught by a patrolling professor.
McGonagall watched the irrepressible grin spreading across his face and silently retracted her earlier "reliable" assessment.
Right now he looked exactly like a full-grown Weasley twin.
She could practically smell the mischief rolling off him from a mile away.
Feeling quite pleased with life, Viktor headed toward the Black Lake with Tom waddling beside him—belly already round from crunching through McGonagall's dried fish.
The two of them strolled along the shore, basking in the warm afternoon sunlight.
Viktor was idly wondering what new surprise he should spring on the seventh-years tomorrow when—
SPLASH!
A massive sound erupted from the lake.
Both man and cat whipped their heads around.
A gigantic tentacle rose straight out of the water and waved at them cheerfully, like an old friend saying hello.
Viktor blinked once, then broke into a warm smile and waved back.
Tom's reaction was… less restrained.
His eyes bulged right out of their sockets—literally became cartoon versions of the tentacle itself.
Drool poured from his gaping mouth in a steady waterfall.
Above his head, fluffy thought-clouds instantly formed.
Inside them: 108 different cooking methods for giant squid tentacle.
Charcoal-grilled. Braised in soy. Deep-fried. Steamed. Spicy mala. Smoked. Blanched. Marinated. Pickled…
Viktor slapped a palm straight onto Tom's forehead with zero mercy.
"Snap out of it, Tom. That's the Giant Squid. He's been here over a thousand years. If you so much as nibble him, Dumbledore will happily eat you for breakfast."
Once upon a time Viktor had entertained exactly the same thought.
Completely shameless, he lectured the cat anyway.
At the mention of Dumbledore, a vivid mental image appeared in Tom's head: the white-bearded Headmaster cheerfully munching on cockroaches.
Tom shivered violently from ears to tail.
That old man eats bugs with a smile.
In Tom's personal ranking of terrifying entities, that put Dumbledore right up there with Jerry's extended family of unkillable lunatics.
If the old wizard can happily eat cockroaches… then he can definitely eat one poor, weak, helpless, adorable little cat.
All 108 recipes vanished from the thought-clouds in an instant.
Tom immediately copied Viktor's friendly wave toward the lake—big smile, completely innocent, not at all drooling anymore.
The Giant Squid gave another cheerful wave of its tentacle before sinking peacefully back beneath the dark water.
Viktor shook his head with a fond sigh and kept walking.
Behind him, Tom patted his own belly, still looking faintly regretful.
But only faintly.
After all… there were still plenty of other things in the Forbidden Forest that might taste good and not come with a side order of getting eaten by the Headmaster.