Harry Potter: Bring fairytales to Hogwarts

On the eve of Halloween, Hogwarts was unusually quiet. All the students were gathered in the Great Hall enjoying their feast, leaving the hallways, classrooms, and common rooms in eerie stillness.

Except for the spiraling staircase leading to the dungeons.

Hermione had accidentally bumped into Professor Viktor's arm, and when she fell, she briefly blacked out. It took her a few seconds to regain her senses and realize who she had run into.

"Professor? W-Why are you here?"

She sniffled, trying her best to act as though nothing had happened.

"There's some strange energy stirring in the dungeons," Viktor said casually, "so I went to check it out. But Professor Quirrell assured me he's keeping an eye on things, so I came back."

"And what about you, Miss Granger? What are you doing here? All the students should be at the feast."

At the mention of this, Hermione's expression fell. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to suppress them. She wiped her face forcefully, intending to say, "It's nothing." But when the words reached her lips, they turned into:

"They... they all don't like me. I... I don't know why... I just didn't want to stay there any longer..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. The mere thought of it brought uncontrollable tears streaming down her face.

Before coming to Hogwarts, she had worried about fitting in. To prepare herself, she had bought many extra books from Diagon Alley, determined to keep up with children from wizarding families.

But her worst fears had still come true.

Hermione rubbed her eyes furiously, leaving the corners red and sore. Despite her efforts, Ron's words echoed mercilessly in her mind—No wonder everyone can't stand her.

"I was just trying to make things better for the house, to help everyone learn... Gryffindor hasn't won the House Cup in years... but no one listens to me," she said defensively, her voice trembling.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her outburst.

It was the first time anyone had approached him to say something like this. Normally, his friends and clients were careful to avoid personal topics, fearing he might learn too much about their troubles. They only revealed what was necessary for a transaction, and even then, they kept things vague.

Viktor had often suspected this was why his clients always seemed dissatisfied with their deals.

How could he meet their needs if they didn't articulate them clearly?

But Hermione was different. She was being transparent, her needs and frustrations laid bare.

"So, you want them to listen to you?" Viktor asked thoughtfully.

"That shouldn't be too hard for you, Miss Granger. I hear from Professor McGonagall that you're quite diligent and talented in magic. You'll achieve great things in the future."

"Someday, they'll heed your advice."

Hermione sniffled hard, her mind foggy from crying. Perhaps that's why Viktor's words didn't quite register with her.

Wasn't her point that she didn't want everyone to simply obey her?

But hadn't she said those very words herself?

Struggling to suppress another bout of sobbing, Hermione tried to decipher the professor's meaning. She concluded he was probably saying her peers would like her eventually.

"But they still hate me now," she said tearfully. "Ron said everyone feels the same way..."

"That's perfectly normal."

Viktor nodded, offering her some measured words of comfort. His past experiences with Baba Yaga's hut had made him adept at such situations—Baba often took in children, and without a few tricks, the house could become as chaotic as a chicken coop.

After a moment's thought, Viktor asked, "Miss Granger, do you feel you've been treated fairly?"

"N-No."

"And do you find that others often misunderstand magic in ways you find simple? That they miss the point entirely?"

"Yes, they... they do, a lot..."

"Do you prefer cats over other animals? Do you feel more comfortable around them than children your age?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted, her voice tinged with confusion. "But, Professor, what does that have to do with why people dislike me?"

"Everything, Miss Granger," Viktor said in his usual calm tone. "It proves you're a true witch."

A true witch?

But wasn't she already a witch?

Hermione looked at Viktor, puzzled, her tears momentarily forgotten as she tried to decipher his meaning.

"Many young witches and wizards can use magic," Viktor explained, "but they waste too much time seeking approval from the mediocre, losing sight of their goals. Only those who truly pursue power can rise above and grasp the true meaning of magic."

"Magic is power, Miss Granger."

"Although I disagree with the rest of that person's ideology, the principle stands. You don't need to win affection by pleasing others. Walk far enough down the path of magic, and others will respect you—and fear offending you."

Hermione listened, stunned. Something felt off—she was sure she'd heard the phrase magic is power somewhere before. But her mind was too muddled to recall exactly where.

So she blinked her red, swollen eyes and asked hesitantly, "But shouldn't I try to get along with my classmates? My mum always says..."

"That's a Muggle's rule, Miss Granger. Wizards are different. Magic creates miracles."

Hermione still didn't fully understand, but she found herself believing Viktor. After all, wasn't this how Slytherins often behaved? And weren't professors always right?

"But I'm already trying so, so hard, Professor," she said, her voice breaking. "I don't know what more I can do... Some third-year spells are already too hard for me to learn..."

"That is indeed a problem."

Viktor nodded knowingly.

It didn't take much thought to realize Hermione couldn't become a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber overnight. Even with her diligence, it would take years of effort to truly excel in magic.

After a pause, Viktor reached into his cloak and pulled out a small cloth pouch. He rummaged through it briefly before producing a golden conch shell and a peculiar fishbone.

"These are magical artifacts," Viktor said earnestly, handing them to Hermione.

She hesitated before accepting the conch, studying them closely.

The moment she held the shell, she noticed it wasn't just gold—it was semi-transparent, with golden light swirling inside, like a living star trapped within.

"This conch contains the voice of a magical creature," Viktor explained. "The creature is exceptionally skilled at perceiving others' thoughts and exerts a subtle charm, much like a Veela, though it evokes feelings of friendship rather than romantic attraction."

"If you wear this conch around your neck, it will refine your words, turning them into friendly, convincing expressions."

"It... it speaks for me?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Viktor confirmed.

"But I don't recommend wearing it for long. A day or two should suffice for you to learn from the conch's way of speaking and avoid offending others in the future."

"A true witch solves problems with magic, Miss Granger."

Using magic to solve problems...

Just to learn how to speak better...

Hermione examined the conch again. She had been hesitant, but the mention of "learning" tipped her internal scales.

It was just a tool for study, right?

She'd only use it for a day—or two. Once she understood why her classmates didn't like her, she would return it to Viktor.

But before she could decide, Viktor added, "Oh, but we must discuss the side effects."

"Side effects?"

"Every powerful magical artifact comes with a price, Miss Granger. When you study Alchemy, you'll understand. The conch will take away your voice while you use it. You'll only be able to speak through it."

"This can lead to certain complications, so I'm only lending it to you for a few days. I trust that's enough time for you to figure out your issues."

"If you choose to use it, you'll need to activate it with this fishbone by touching it to your throat."

"Only then can I give it to you."

There seemed to be layers of meaning in Viktor's words—layers Hermione wasn't skilled at deciphering.

But that reminded her of something she'd read in Defensive Guide to Dark Arts:

Beware of enchanted objects that tempt people into making mistakes. Such items often come with a special price, which is a crucial warning sign to stop using them.

...But surely this wasn't dark magic?

It couldn't be.

Hermione thought about Hogwarts: A History, which described the Ministry of Magic's rigorous screening process for professors. Surely they wouldn't hire someone with a criminal record.

The choice weighed heavily on her: to trade her voice for social skills or continue being disliked by her peers.

Hermione hesitated, looking down at the artifacts in her hands.

They were enchanting and beautiful—even the fishbone lacked any sinister aura. It was round and cartoonishly cute, like something out of a storybook.

Just for study.

After a few seconds, she raised the fishbone and brought it to her throat.

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