Plans

Being seven wasn't so bad. At least, not when you had the mind of an adult crammed into the body of a child.

It had been almost seven years since Damian had woken up in this world—the world of 'Harry Potter'—and honestly, he was still wrapping his head around it. Born on February 15, 1980, he was placed in the same year as the story's hero, Harry Potter. It was strange knowing that somewhere out there, the Boy Who Lived was growing up under the same sky. Meanwhile, he was here, in an orphanage, planning for a future where the dangers of Voldemort and Death Eaters were very, very real.

Damian had an aristocratic look with a pale complexion, sharp features similar to that of his father. His hair, dark and sleek, fell neatly into place, framing his face. But the one thing that tended to draw attention were his eyes—amber-orange, a rare hue he inherited from his mother. They stood out, almost glowing against his otherwise cool demeanour, giving him a piercing gaze that often captured more than what was on the surface.

But things weren't as simple as they seemed in the books. That was the frustrating part. He couldn't just assume everything was exactly the same. 'This' could be the classic universe, or it could be some alternate version where characters, events, or even magic itself were different. He couldn't risk making a wrong move based on half-baked assumptions.

Take Kreacher, for example. His connection to the Black family through Sirius meant he had the right to summon the house-elf, especially after the death of Walburga Black. By now, Kreacher was likely alone in Grimmauld Place, muttering to himself and clinging to his twisted loyalties. He could call him, command him to serve him, and gain access to all the resources the House of Black had. But that was a gamble he wasn't ready to take.

'What if Kreacher wasn't the same elf from the books? What if he didn't respond the way I expected, or worse, revealed me to the wrong people?' No. Until he knew more, he was better off staying low-key. Besides, there was work to be done before he stepped into the big leagues.

Instead, he focused on what he could control. He had two main goals: magic and physical prowess. The latter came first, mainly because he couldn't sense or even use magic at first. He was essentially a Squib for his first few years, which—let me tell you—was not reassuring.

So, he turned to what he could do. Physical exercise.

At age five, he started following the only routine he could think of that seemed absurd enough to push his limits: the Saitama workout. You know, the one from One Punch Man: 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10-kilometre run every single day.

'Simple, right? Yeah, right.'

The first week was hell. He couldn't even finish a fraction of the exercises without collapsing like a wet noodle. His arms burned, his legs felt like jelly, and running even a kilometre felt like he was dragging a truck behind him. But day by day, he pushed himself harder, adding a little more, taking fewer breaks. By the time he turned six, he was finally able to complete the full routine. And let me tell you, it paid off. His body, despite still being that of a child, was stronger, more agile, and far more resilient than it should've been for his age.

But the real challenge wasn't physical. It was magical.

Wandless magic was another beast entirely. It was supposed to be something only powerful wizards could master after years of practice. But he didn't have a wand, and he sure as hell wasn't waiting around for eleven years to get one. So, at five, after his daily workout, he dedicated every spare moment he had to learning wandless magic. Or, at least, he tried to.

For the longest time, he couldn't even sense magic, let alone use it. He would sit in his small, cramped room in the orphanage, concentrating with all his might, trying to feel something. It was frustrating beyond belief, like trying to grab air with your bare hands.

Then one day, after weeks of getting nowhere, he just snapped. He was so frustrated that he flung his hand toward a sheet of paper on his desk—and to his absolute shock, it lifted. Just for a second, just a tiny flutter, but it moved.

That was the breakthrough.

From there, he practiced daily. At first, he could only lift the paper, just like before. It was pitiful, but at least it was something. Slowly, over the course of a year, he increased his control. He could move a single small pebble by the time he was six. Now, at seven, he could manipulate up to five small rocks simultaneously. It wasn't much, but it was progress, and in magic, control was everything.

Some wizards relied on raw power, blasting their way through problems. Not him. He believed in control. Precision. If he could master the smallest, most delicate applications of magic now, he could scale that control to more complex spells in the future. Potency came later; mastery came first.

But that wasn't the only thing brewing inside him. There was another feeling bubbling up, something a bit darker, a bit mischievous. He was getting the urge to play pranks on everyone.

'Was this the Sirius Black bloodline acting up, or was it the hunting nature of the Abyssoraptor awakening?' He had no idea. But every time he saw a chance to mess with the other orphans or Mrs. Jenson, a little part of him lit up with glee at the thought of causing a little chaos.

'I mean, come on! What was childhood for if not for a little fun?' The other kids were so serious all the time. Sure, they were living in an orphanage, and things weren't easy, but that didn't mean they couldn't lighten the mood a little.

He could already picture the possibilities: vanishing their favourite toys, turning their socks inside out while they weren't looking, maybe even charming the older boys' food to jump off their plates. The thought made him chuckle to himself. Mischief could be his ally, after all.

But for now, he would stay in the shadows, train in secret, and make sure that when the time came to enter the wizarding world officially, he wouldn't just be another student at Hogwarts.

He would be a force to be reckoned with.

But for now... he had rocks to levitate, push-ups to do, and pranks to plan.

The future could wait.