Harry Potter: Bring fairytales to Hogwarts

Although the students had many more questions to ask, Viktor brusquely ushered them all out as soon as his working hours ended.

The students lingered outside the door, chattering excitedly, their eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. After all, they were seventh years and had a decent understanding of the magical world. They knew that mastering divination was nothing short of a miracle.

Everyone was eager to try it out.

Tonks, in particular, raised her arm and shouted on the spot, "I'm skipping my next class! I'm trying it now!"

By lunchtime, the news had spread throughout the school.

Even Harry had heard about it.

At the time, he was carrying two books and walking out of Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom.

During that day's lesson, Professor McGonagall had turned the lectern into a pig! It had captivated all of Harry's attention and piqued his curiosity. However, he was a bit frustrated because, despite his efforts throughout the class, he couldn't even make a single matchstick transform—without incantations, Transfiguration felt like pure sensory perception.

It was then he overheard some students in the corridor discussing divination.

"Have you heard? That new professor can really do divination!"

"I've heard a lot of people say so, but I can't believe it. Prophecies aren't something just anyone can do, right?"

"Wrong, it's not prophecy—it's divination. They say it's similar to tea-leaf reading or fire divination, but he has a technique that ensures accurate readings…"

"Really? Then I want to sign up too!"

Two senior Gryffindor students passed by Harry, whispering excitedly.

Harry listened with a twinge of envy.

Professor Viktor's class sounded incredibly popular and useful!

In fact, Harry would rather attend Viktor's class than those of other unfamiliar professors. Viktor was the only one who didn't harbor the expectation of teaching the "Chosen One" when speaking with him.

But a sudden noise interrupted his thoughts:

"CAW—!"

An owl suddenly flew in through an open window, letting out a piercing screech. Its hoarse cry sounded like ten crows cawing together, carrying an eerie and chilling aura.

The shrill sound made the nearby students cover their ears and quickly step aside to make way.

The owl flapped its wings, circled in the air, and landed squarely on Harry's shoulder under everyone's gaze.

"For me?" Harry asked, slightly surprised.

The owl nodded, almost human-like.

The next moment, it extended a yellow claw, revealing a small note tied to it. Harry untied the note and read it.

The note said:

Harry, I need your help preparing some teaching materials for the afternoon. If you're free, please come to my office at noon. My office is behind the fireplace at the top of the North Tower; knock three times on the fireplace.

Signed, Viktor.

This was the first time Harry had seen Viktor's handwriting. It was evident the note had been written with a quill, with long, slender flourishes at the edges. Yet the handwriting itself was elegant, akin to the script used in formal contracts in London.

Harry immediately felt elated.

Ron, who had been walking beside him the entire time, glanced curiously at the note when the owl landed.

"Viktor? Is that the professor who gave you From Bloodlines to Curses?" he asked.

"It wasn't him; Borgin gave it to me."

"Maybe," Ron said nonchalantly, "but I know Borgin. Borgin has always been a Slytherin ally, like Professor Snape. Most Slytherins are dodgy—nine out of ten dark wizards come from there."

"Professor Viktor isn't like that," Harry retorted.

Ron cast him a surprised look, as if Harry had lost his mind—Viktor certainly looked the part of a dark wizard!

But before Ron could argue, Harry had already darted off down the corridor.

He waved from a distance.

"I'm skipping the Great Hall. See you this afternoon!"

By 12:30, Harry found Viktor's office. He knocked lightly on the fireplace three times. To his astonishment, the wall behind the fireplace slowly rotated, revealing a small room.

The room was utterly different from the bright divination classroom.

If necromancers in stories had laboratories, Harry imagined they'd look much like this.

In front of him was a small, windowless room illuminated only by a single hanging lantern burning with pale flames, casting a grayish hue over everything.

Viktor sat directly beneath the lantern.

But what caught Harry's eye was the massive oil painting that covered half the wall where a window might have been.

The painting was predominantly dark in tone. The centerpiece was a mist-covered lake, rendered with a peculiar faded quality that evoked a sense of melancholy.

In the center of the lake stood a tall, ancient black stone tower with no doors, only a single window at the top. From the window dangled long, dull golden threads that fell straight to the ground.

It took Harry a moment to realize that the golden threads were a person's hair.

He felt a chill run down his spine.

Viktor's pale face was hidden beneath the brim of his hat. He lifted his head slightly as Harry walked in.

"You've come, Harry."

Harry tore his gaze away and nodded. "Congratulations, Professor! I heard your first class was a huge success. I overheard students talking about it just now in the corridor."

"That's nothing," Viktor said dismissively. "Just setting the record straight about divination in the magical world. It turns out they've been teaching nothing but charlatanism."

"Charlatanism?"

"Yes. If divination can't foresee the future, how is it any different from Muggle psychology? Oh, wait, I misspoke—Muggle counseling at least helps relieve emotions…"

They chatted casually for a while.

Harry was initially interested, but his attention kept drifting to the room's peculiar furnishings.

While they talked, Harry noticed a teapot he had seen in the castle before creeping out of a cabinet near Viktor's hand. Its spout bent into two short legs as it tiptoed across papers on the desk, pouring tea into a cup.

Viktor didn't even glance at the teapot, clearly accustomed to it.

But after pouring the tea, the teapot seemed to fear the painting on the wall. It scurried back under the table with a swift "whoosh."

Unable to resist, Harry looked at the painting again.

The long, dull golden hair remained the only vibrant color in the gloomy image.

Noticing Harry's gaze, Viktor followed his line of sight and shifted the topic.

"…Oh, that's Rapunzel. Are you interested in her?"

"Rapunzel?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Yes, Rapunzel—the daughter of a friend of mine. She had extraordinarily long hair and later married a prince, earning the title of Princess Rapunzel," Viktor said. "That's her in the painting."

Harry's face reflected his growing confusion.

Rapunzel? What kind of name was that?

Who would name someone after a vegetable?

After a brief silence, Viktor asked, "Would you like to hear Rapunzel's story? It's actually related to what you'll be helping with."

"Of course, Professor," Harry said eagerly.

And so Viktor began.

The story unfolded about a village woman who, while pregnant, craved her neighbor's rapunzel and stole it nightly with her husband. The neighbor, a witch, caught them and demanded their unborn child in exchange for forgiveness.

The witch named the child Rapunzel, whose hair grew unnaturally long due to the magical rapunzel her mother had eaten. She locked Rapunzel in a tower, climbing up whenever she needed by calling, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"

A prince, smitten by Rapunzel's beauty, copied the witch's call and became her lover. But the witch discovered them, blinded the prince with thorns, and cast Rapunzel into the wilderness. Eventually, the two reunited, and Rapunzel's tears healed his blindness.

"They lived happily ever after," Viktor concluded, his hollow eyes revealing no emotion.

"What do you think?"

"Happily ever after?" Harry shivered. "That doesn't sound happy at all… Did your friend ever mention what happened to the witch?"

"My friend was the witch," Viktor said quietly.

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