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Chapter 2: Baba Yaga
🕑 Added 2024-12-01 06:37:11 +0000 UTCWhen Victor left the interview hall, he didn’t receive a particularly warm farewell—just a curt “We’ll consider it” from Professor McGonagall.
Still, that was better than the alternative. Others in his place might have been sent straight to the Ministry of Magic for what he’d just done.
The wizarding world has no shortage of bizarre curses, making most witches and wizards overly cautious. Even if they didn’t recognize a particular curse, they’d rather err on the side of reporting it to the "Department of Curses and Counter-Curses" than risk letting it slide.
Only because Dumbledore himself was the foremost authority on curses did Hogwarts let Victor off the hook.
But Victor wasn’t afraid of anyone, to begin with—because what he had done wasn’t a curse at all.
As Victor stepped out of Hogwarts, the first cool breeze of the evening brushing past him, he reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a peculiar little mirror.
The mirror had an antiquated design on its back, engraved in a dull silver metal, while its surface was cloudy and indistinct. Strangely, no reflection of Victor’s face appeared in it, even as he held it up.
“Mirror, mirror, tell me...” he murmured in a low, distant voice, as if it came from far away.
“Where can I find Baba Yaga’s house?”
Victor often referred to Baba Yaga affectionately as "Granny Yaga," finding it more convenient.
After a brief pause, a faint, distorted voice spoke from within the mirror.
“...Beyond the lightless city, past the ever-present fog, a wooden hut wanders eternally. Swans bow their long necks, and even elk dare not call out in its presence.”
“It hasn’t changed,” Victor muttered.
He left the Hogwarts castle, stepping into a light drizzle as he walked farther and farther away. His figure grew fainter, more indistinct, as if slowly being erased—until, at last, he disappeared entirely from the sight of all witches and wizards.
“Thump, thump.”
When Victor’s figure reappeared, he was already in another place.
A dense forest stretched endlessly around him. Towering trees reached skyward, their black, leafless branches twisting like claws. Thick fog blanketed the area, tinting everything in shades of gray. The path a dozen feet ahead was entirely obscured.
A heavy, muffled sound echoed intermittently from deep within the fog.
“Thump, thump…”
The sound was both ominous and solemn, as if something massive were stomping on the ground—a noise sure to send chills down the spine of any lost traveler.
But Victor was long accustomed to it.
He tucked the mirror back into his cloak pocket and began making his way deeper into the forest, moving deliberately, always veering slightly to the right, as if tracing a spiraling path.
Eventually, he came upon a massive, dirt-encrusted chicken leg.
Each toe of the chicken leg was as thick as a grown man’s waist, and the entire limb, including its thigh, was a vibrant orange-yellow, caked with mud. The skin twitched faintly as Victor approached, tightening and relaxing with the movement of unseen muscles.
Looking up, Victor could make out the vague silhouette of the structure above, hidden in the swirling fog. The heavy thumping noise came from the chicken leg as it walked.
But as Victor drew closer, the giant leg came to a stop.
Soon after, a faint rustling sounded from above. Moments later, a narrow rope ladder uncoiled, dropping down to land right in front of Victor.
Without a word, Victor grabbed the ladder and began to climb.
He climbed higher and higher until he reached the height of the treetops. There, a small, warm, yellow-lit door finally came into view.
The door faced the ground, and the ladder had been thrown out from within.
At the top of the ladder, Victor flipped through the door, entering a cozy wooden hut. One side of the hut had a built-in fireplace, while an old, patched-up sofa sat on the other side.
A hunched figure was curled up on the sofa.
“...You’re back?” the figure rasped in a hoarse, elderly voice.
“I am,” Victor replied, standing to his full height and flicking his fingers. The rope ladder automatically retracted back into the hut.
“I stopped by that magic academy nearby. They’re hiring. Just so happened a witch was praying by the window, wishing for true prophetic powers, so I granted her wish.”
“In a few days, I should be able to take her place and teach at that academy.”
“Whatever works,” the old woman said slowly. “As long as you can get close to children. That way, you’ll have plenty of wishes to trade for, and you can even buy some human trinkets with their money.”
“Exactly. Perhaps one or two might even be willing to learn a thing or two from you.”
“Me? I don’t need it anymore,” the old woman replied.
As they conversed, Victor approached the fireplace, shutting the narrow door behind him. Only then did he get a clear look at the old woman’s face.
It was a twisted, aged face.
Baba Yaga was hideously ugly. Her face was riddled with massive lumps that squeezed one of her eyes almost shut and distorted her wrinkled nose. When she spoke, the few teeth she still had wobbled precariously.
She wore a shabby gray-pink robe, patched in several places.
She let out a hoarse laugh. “Look, I only have a few lumps left on my face. Just two or three more children, and they’ll disappear completely. I’ll be normal again.”
“I’m in no rush. What’s meant to happen will happen. But you should work a little harder.”
“I suppose so,” Victor said nonchalantly, warming himself by the fire.
The flames in the fireplace were an unusual blue, radiating a coolness that dispelled the summer heat.
Victor and Baba Yaga were not ordinary witches or wizards—barely even human.
According to Victor, they had fled from another fairy-tale world to this one, gaining unique powers by adhering to certain "rules of logic." Only by fulfilling these rules could they become more “normal.”
For Baba Yaga, this meant fulfilling her desire for children, which gradually diminished the lumps on her face. For Victor, it required receiving high-quality “requests for deals.”
These deals resembled the type of bargains found in fairy tales—like the one where the Little Mermaid traded her voice for human legs, only to risk turning into sea foam if she couldn’t win the prince’s love.
Victor’s deals operated similarly. The more trades he made, the more normal his appearance became—and the more powerful he grew.
Hogwarts was his latest venture in search of such trades. He believed it held immense potential.
Of course, not every wizard could afford the price. Those with low magical ability were less useful, while stronger wizards offered far more power.
This had made Victor a constant headache for the Church’s magical incident control division, which had worked tirelessly to get rid of him. At one point, he had caused 70% of all magical disruptions in an entire region.
Fortunately, Victor had eventually decided to do some good for the fairy-tale world’s peace and order.
And so, he’d relocated.
As Victor warmed himself by the fire, Baba Yaga suddenly said, “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve already taken in a child.”
