The celebratory chaos of the previous night had finally died down, leaving Viktor with a lingering hum of raw, nascent magic and a determined glint in his eyes. He'd barely slept, his mind buzzing with the System's notifications and the dizzying possibilities ahead. His magic was awake, finally, but it felt formless, a vast, untamed ocean within him. The Occlumency he'd chosen was his only point of focus, the only tether to practical application. It felt like learning to breathe underwater – vital, but requiring immense concentration. His parents, meanwhile, reveled in his magical awakening as if it were entirely their doing.
Viktor knew true power wasn't just about explosions and grand gestures, or even inherent magical strength. It was about knowledge. He decided to increase his theoretical understanding of all the spells in his repertoire, the lists he'd seen in the System. Severus Snape, after all, was famously said to have possessed knowledge of Dark Arts magic typically reserved for seventh-years the moment he joined Hogwarts. Since Viktor was a man with a System, he should aim to do better. He needed to be prepared for the magical world far beyond what a normal six-year-old could comprehend.
The next day, his parents left after breakfast for some mysterious "business meeting." They looked remarkably refreshed and cheerful for having consumed half a vineyard's worth of wine. Viktor was still not entirely sure what exactly his parents' jobs implied. From his perspective, it seemed all they did was drink and talk in various opulent locations. They were undeniably powerful, wealthy, and eccentric; that was all Viktor really understood about the nebulous "Ivanov Family Business."
The moment the last echo of their Apparition faded from the grand hall, Radimer materialized with a soft pop, his ears twitching almost imperceptibly. "Good morning, Young Master. I trust you had a pleasant evening?" he chirped, a wide, unsettlingly cheerful smile plastered across his wrinkled face.
Viktor's six-year-old sense of impending doom immediately tingled. This can't be good, he panicked, a cold dread washing over him. When was the last time I saw the elf smile? It usually means extra drills, or worse, a surprise "educational" excursion. He had learned early on that Radimer's smiles were directly proportional to the amount of discomfort Viktor was about to experience.
"It's time for your lessons, Young Master," Radimer went on, his voice sugary sweet, completely oblivious to Viktor's inner turmoil.
"What lessons?" Viktor asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Since last year, his days had consisted almost entirely of gruelling workouts, basic education, interspersed with his parents' chaotic magical "tests." It had been two years since he'd begun his physical regimen, and his physique was a work of art for someone his age—lean, corded with dense muscle, resembling a young swimmer's body. He could out-sprint, out-climb, and even out-wrestle many adults, much to Alexi's satisfaction. But academic lessons? That was new.
Radimer beamed, his eyes practically sparkling. "Today's lessons include: etiquette, English, Russian, mathematics, and history! All the necessary subjects for a great wizard, Young Master. Madam Natasha specifically requested it this morning. She said your magical awakening means you must now be a cultivated wizard, not just a powerful one."
Viktor sighed in grim acceptance of his fate. This was his mother's doing. She loved contrasting their wild, chaotic magic with an almost impossibly refined exterior. "Cultivated," he thought with a grimace. That sounded suspiciously like "boring" and "torturous."
Before the academic grind could begin, however, Radimer snapped his fingers. "But first, Young Master, your morning drills!"
Viktor groaned inwardly but immediately dropped to the polished marble floor. He launched into one-handed push-ups, alternating hands, his muscles screaming in protest. The demands of his System's Daily Quest were relentless, and he knew he couldn't skip them. Radimer watched with an unwavering, approving gaze, occasionally muttering corrections. "Higher, Young Master! Engage the core! Feel the burn!"
After the push-ups came the sit-ups, then a 10-kilometer run around the manor grounds (which Radimer easily kept pace with, floating slightly above the ground), followed by 100 dig-ups. Each repetition was agony, but with each completed set, Viktor felt the familiar thrum of his System, confirming his efforts.
Only after the last bead of sweat was wiped from his brow and his muscles thrummed with exhaustion did Radimer deem him ready for the academic portion of his day.
The etiquette lesson was, as expected, gruelling and backbreaking. Radimer was an absolute tyrant when it came to posture, dining manners, and the proper way to address a dignitary (real or imagined). Viktor spent an hour balancing a stack of increasingly precarious books on his head while attempting to walk, bow, and sit with unyielding grace. His attempts at politeness sounded forced and clunky in his own ears, far too refined for a six-year-old who preferred to explore dank tunnels and scale trees.
English and Russian followed, a whirlwind of verb conjugations and vocabulary drills. Radimer had a way of making even mundane words feel like a test of character. Mathematics involved mental calculations so rapid they made Viktor's head spin, while history was a dizzying journey through centuries of wizarding wars and political intrigue, far removed from the tales of noble deeds he'd imagined. Radimer's methods, though strict, were undeniably effective. He possessed an uncanny ability to distill complex subjects into digestible chunks, repeating key concepts with an almost inhuman patience, albeit with a terrifyingly stern expression. He managed to keep Viktor engaged—or at least, compliant—until lunch.
A small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief escaped Viktor's lips as the lunch bell rang. After seeing that the boy wasn't interested in any more lessons for the day, Radimer, with a final, pointed reminder about his "English essay on the socio-economic impact of the 14th-century Goblin Rebellions," and finally, mercifully, left.
Viktor, on the other hand, decided to liberate himself. He wanted to go to the library. He wanted to see if reading about spells helped gaining knowledge about them through his System. He wasn't looking to cast them yet, merely to absorb the information.
The Ivanov family library wasn't just a room; it was a sprawling, multi-tiered labyrinth of towering shelves that touched the vaulted, star-painted ceiling. It was a silent, clean, gleaming testament to centuries of accumulated magical wisdom. Rows upon rows of leather-bound tomes, ancient scrolls, and peculiar magical artifacts gleamed faintly in the dim light filtering through the high, arched windows. The air itself was thick with the rich, comforting scent of old parchment, forgotten spells, and a subtle, metallic tang of concentrated magic. It was a scent Viktor was quickly learning to associate with immense power.
Viktor, a small figure swallowed by the immense space, felt a thrill of anticipation. With a quick glance to ensure Radimer wasn't lurking—the house-elf had an almost uncanny sixth sense for unauthorized library access, particularly when it involved "unsupervised learning"—he slipped inside. The heavy oak door creaked shut behind him with a resonant thud that echoed in the cavernous space.
As he walked in, the lights in the room magically flared to life, with a soft, gradual illumination that flowed from the high-arched windows to the deepest recesses of the shelves. The impressive library, with its floor-to-ceiling shelves, was bathed in a warm, inviting glow.
Gleaming, shiny ladders, seemingly enchanted, were attached to the shelves, slowly circling the library on invisible tracks, ready to whisk a reader to even the highest, most obscure texts. There wasn't a speck of dust or a spot of dirt in sight; the books seemed to be shielded with some kind of shimmering, protective spell from the ravages of time and the elements.
With great anticipation, he reached for the nearest shelf, his fingers trembling slightly. He pulled out a thick, weighty volume titled Ancient Runes: A Comprehensive Guide. The leather cover was surprisingly supple, despite its age. As his fingers brushed the worn cover, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer pulsed from the book, a faint echo of forgotten magic. Immediately a system notification appeared.
[Scanning…]
[Book: Ancient Runes: A Comprehensive Guide. Basic understanding of Runes unlocked.]
[Knowledge Gained: Runes (Level 1)]
[Ancient Runes +0.1]
Viktor blinked, he didn't know his system had this effect. He focused on the System's message floating in his mind's eye. +0.1 for Ancient Runes? That was… minuscule. And "Basic understanding"? He frowned, flipping through the tome. He could see the intricate symbols, the foreign scripts, and rudimentary explanations, but it wasn't like downloading an entire encyclopedia directly into his brain. He still saw the complex diagrams, the nuanced definitions, and the historical context of each rune, but the deeper meaning, the intuitive grasp of their magical application, remained elusive. He had the framework, the blueprint, not the mastery or the ability to cast runic magic.
"Huh," he muttered aloud, a wry smile touching his lips. "So, it's not a cheat code after all. Just a very, very good study guide for my System." He tried another book, a smaller, more practical-looking one titled Potions for the Practical Pure-Blood.
[Scanning…]
[Book: Potions for the Practical Pure-Blood. Basic understanding of Potion Theory unlocked.]
[Knowledge Gained: Potion Theory (Level 1)]
[Potion Theory +0.1]
It became crystal clear. The System was a tool, a powerful accelerator, but it still required his effort. He still had to read, to analyze, to conceptualize, to practice, to truly understand the theories before the System would provide him with the actual spells. This wasn't a passive download; it was an active engagement. This was a welcome realization; it meant the challenge remained. It meant his own hard work, his own ingenuity, his own sheer stubbornness still mattered. It gave his efforts weight.
Hours passed in a blissful haze of learning. The quiet of the library, usually so oppressive, now felt like a comforting embrace. With each book he scanned, his understanding deepened incrementally. He gained rudimentary knowledge in Arithmancy, the magical properties of numbers; Charms Theory, the fundamental principles behind defensive and offensive enchantments; and even a touch of Transfiguration Fundamentals, the incredibly complex art of changing one thing into another. The System chimed periodically, a soft, pleasant hum in his mind, rewarding his theoretical accumulation:
[Knowledge Gained: Charms Theory (Level 2)]
[Charms Theory +0.2]
[Occlumency +0.1 (through consistent mental exercises)]
His exploration led him to a more secluded, slightly dustier section of the library, where the shelves groaned under the weight of more obscure and unsettling texts. These weren't pristine and clean like the main collection; some were bound in peculiar skins, others pulsed with a faint, malevolent aura. He reached for a particularly dusty, mottled green book, its title unreadable under layers of grime.
The moment his fingers touched it, the book snapped. A row of surprisingly sharp, yellowish teeth, hidden within the spine, clamped down inches from his hand, emitting a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the silent library.
Viktor nearly jumped out of his skin, yanking his hand back with a choked cry. "Bloody hell!"
The book writhed on the shelf, its leathery cover rippling like muscle, its teeth gnashing furiously, eager for a taste of his fingers. It looked less like a book and more like a trapped, angry badger trying to escape its bindings.
Viktor quickly regained his composure. He remembered this from the books. "Alright, alright! No need to get bitey!" he calmed himself, taking a step back.
The book seemed to eye him suspiciously, its yellow teeth still bared, before slowly settling down. Its teeth slowly retracted, though a low grumble still emanated from its depths, like a sleeping beast. Viktor cautiously eyed it with newfound respect, then, with the tip of his shoe, nudged it just enough to read the spine. The Monster Book of Monsters, the famous, troublesome textbook. He smiled at the familiar title. He wanted to read it, to scan it, but decided to leave it on the table for now; he wasn't quite ready for interactive reading where the book fought back. He had enough battles with Radimer.
Later, curled up in a plush armchair near a roaring fireplace, the comforting silence of his room, a warm blanket around him, Viktor pulled out a plain, leather-bound journal he'd been given by his mother last year. It looked unassuming, but as he ran his fingers over the cover, a faint warmth emanated from it, and he knew it was subtly enchanted by his mom to always appear in his backpack and to only open with a password. Perfect for secrets, he thought.
He uncapped a quill he'd found on a dusty desk, dipping it into a small pot of self-inking ink. This wasn't just a diary; it was his strategic blueprint, a long-term plan for navigating the upcoming wizarding world. He began to write, his thoughts flowing easily onto the enchanted parchment:
Hogwarts To-Do List:
Discover the Room of Requirement:
Explore the Mysteries of the Forbidden Forest:
Figure out What's in the Lake:
Master Advanced Charms:
Deepen Occlumency:
Investigate Hogwarts' Ancient Magic:
Find and Secure Powerful Artifacts:
He paused, rereading the list, a smirk playing on his lips. It was ambitious, perhaps ridiculously so for a six-year-old, even one who'd been through what he had. But with the System, with the constant, grinding physical and mental training it demanded, anything felt possible.
He closed the journal, the parchment subtly glowing for a moment before the cover sealed itself with a soft click, protecting his secrets from prying eyes. He leaned back into the plush armchair, the warmth of the roaring fire seeping into him, a sense of quiet contentment settling over his shoulders.
Just as he organized the plans in his mind, a soft, familiar chime echoed, a private melody only for him:
[System Notification]
Hogwarts letter countdown: 5 years