First Year Ends

By the time the year was nearing its end, Damian had made the Room of Requirement his sanctuary. Every night, with Timmy's help, he would slip out of the common room and practice Occlumency. The effects were brutal. Almost every night, he went to sleep with a massive headache that felt like it was turning his brain to mush, but the progress was undeniable. It was as the old saying goes: 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' His mind, once a scattered collection of thoughts and emotions, had begun to feel organised, almost methodical. He could start compartmentalising memories, sorting them into neat categories, which in turn gave him near-perfect recall. It was like he was sharpening his mind, honing it into a weapon. He was confident that by next Halloween, he'd be ready to perform the Occlumency ritual.

Exams were approaching fast, and while everyone else seemed consumed with panic, he felt nothing of the sort. The constant stress of learning Occlumency had dulled any fear he had of the school exams. His theoretical exams were easy—he had always excelled in memorising facts and understanding the material. He could say with confidence that all the theory papers were aced. Potions, however, proved to be the trickiest practical subject. It wasn't that he lacked skill; it was simply that his focus had always been on spell-casting, not brewing. Besides, he didn't have in-depth knowledge of the subject compared to spell casting.

But when it came to Flitwick's exam, it was an entirely different matter. He was to duel the professor—nothing beyond fourth-year charm spells and second-year transfiguration spells were used. Under Flitwick's guidance, Damian had mastered those spells with precision. The professor wasn't just testing him; he was pushing Damian to his limits. Flitwick's charm spells were quick, sharp, and relentless, battering him from every direction. He held on for more than five minutes, fighting with everything he had. His defence was strong, and even though Flitwick outmatched him, he knew this was his personal best.

When the duel ended, he was bruised and sore, but he earned an "Outstanding" on the spot. It was the highest honour, and even though he'd been beaten black and blue, it felt like a victory.

History of Magic was another story. He had paid Su Li, a Ravenclaw girl, 20 Galleons earlier in the year for her notes, which was probably the smartest investment he'd made. He didn't care for the subject, but with her notes, he was sure he'd scrape by with at least an "Exceeds Expectations." As the exams wrapped up, there was a sense of relief around the castle—students were finally breathing easy.

Then came the day Harry Potter faced Voldemort for the first time. 

As the Golden Trio was caught up in the drama, Damian did nothing. There was nothing he could have done. Harry survived because of his mother's sacrificial magic—a fluke that no one, not even Voldemort, had anticipated. And as much as Damian would like to think he could have made a difference, the truth was far more sobering. Voldemort, even in his wraith-like state, was still the most dangerous dark wizard of the century. Facing him currently would have been suicide.

The next day, news spread like wildfire—Harry Potter had been hospitalised after stopping Professor Quirrell from stealing the Philosopher's Stone. Of course, only a few of them knew the whole truth. Weasley, of all people, was basking in the limelight, enjoying the attention he was getting for something he barely had a hand in. It was irritating to watch, but that was how things worked here. 

As for Damian, he stayed in the shadows for now.

Damian as usual was going to the library, he crossed routes with Hermione.

"Damian, wait." she said, calling him " You were right. Apparently it was Quirrell who had been trying to steal the stone. He was working with You-Know-Who."

"The Dark Lord. Tell me everything" he asked her curiously. He already knew the story well but wanted to know if anything in the encounter had changed due to his presence.

Hermione said the entire story. There were no changes in the traps or the story till now. Thankfully. Once he heard the entire story he left thanking her and went back to the library.

The end of the year feast arrived, and the Great Hall was filled with excitement. Slytherin was in the lead for the House Cup, with Ravenclaw trailing behind, followed by Hufflepuff and then, predictably, Gryffindor in last place. As they sat down at their table, Draco and Blaise were already grinning, clearly anticipating the win. But Damian knew this time the cup would be for Gryffindor.

Just as the House Cup was about to be awarded, Dumbledore stood up, his eyes twinkling as he announced the final points. "It appears that Gryffindor is in fourth place," he began. Damian could almost see the smug expressions forming on the faces of his friends. But Dumbledore wasn't finished. "However, recent events must be considered. For sheer intellect and witful thinking, I awarded Hermione Granger 40 points. For great talent in chess play, I award Ronald Weasley 40 points. I award Harry Potter 60 points for the courage and bravery he showed with his life on the line to do what is right… It is difficult to face an enemy, but even more difficult to face a friend. I award 10 points to Neville Longbottom for this." And just like that, Gryffindor was awarded 150 points.

They sat there, watching as Gryffindor's banner unfurled, glowing red and gold in celebration. The cheers from their table were deafening.

Draco was livid. "This is bloody ridiculous! They were last, and now suddenly, they're the winners because they 'broke some rules' and survived?"

Tracey rolled her eyes. "I should've seen this coming. Dumbledore's favouritism at its finest."

Daphne, usually calm, was irritated. "It's always Gryffindor. It's as if they can do no wrong in his eyes."

Blaise, leaning back with a smirk, said, "You'd think we'd be used to this by now, but no—every year, it's the same."

Damian didn't even flinch at the outcome. "It was expected," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "This whole situation was the perfect setup for Dumbledore to polish the 'Saviour's' image. Harry's already becoming a symbol of hope, and Dumbledore's making sure he stays in that role. We just have to deal with it."

Draco scoffed. "Well, next year Potter won't be so lucky. I'm training all summer to become Slytherin's Seeker, and I'll make sure he doesn't get another win."

Damian gave a small nod. "That's a solid plan. We need to focus on the bigger picture."

As the conversation turned toward their summer plans, Tracey leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "I'll be heading to France with Daphne and her family," she said, sounding excited. "They were kind enough to invite me along."

Blaise stretched lazily. "Italy for me. My mother has some family business to deal with, and I'll probably be dragged along."

Draco seemed pleased with his own plans. "I'll be training hard to make sure I'm in perfect form for next year's Quidditch matches. Potter won't know what hit him."

Damian listened quietly before adding, "As for me, I'll be spending most of the summer refurbishing the Black Manor. It's long overdue, and I've got a lot of work to do there." He paused, thinking aloud. "I'm pretty sure Trace's travel restrictions don't affect the Manor, so it should be relatively safe to get everything done without interruption."

"Sounds like we've all got our summers sorted," Tracey said, leaning back with a satisfied smile.