Chapter 15: Shadows of Truth

POV: Damian Fawley

Damian Fawley woke with a jolt, the lingering remnants of his dream clawing at his consciousness. His heart hammered in his chest as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the dormitory. He wasn't sure what time it was, but the faint glow of the enchanted clock on the wall indicated it was still hours before sunrise.

The dream had been vivid—far too vivid to dismiss as mere imagination.

He had stood in a desolate landscape, its skies an angry shade of crimson.

A towering black lake stretched before him, its surface boiling as if heated from below.

A phoenix circled above, its cries piercing and mournful, raining embers with every beat of its fiery wings. And then, from the depths of the lake, a shrouded figure had emerged, its presence oppressive and consuming. The figure had raised a hand as if beckoning him forward, and in that moment, Damian had felt an indescribable pull, as though an invisible thread tied his very soul to the apparition.

Even now, awake and clutching his wand tightly under the covers, Damian could feel the weight of that presence. It wasn't the first nightmare he'd had since arriving at Hogwarts, but this one felt different. It felt like more than a nightmare—like a memory, or a warning.

"Just a dream," he muttered to himself, though the words lacked conviction. He wiped the sweat from his brow, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat there for a moment, staring at the darkened floor. "Just a stupid dream."

The Great Hall was already bustling by the time Damian made his way to breakfast the next morning. His parents, as usual, sat among the visiting parents and siblings at the far end of the hall.

It happened once or twice a year, a reunion for parents to discuss with the teachers, he hadn't read about it in Harry Potter but it was normal : Harry Potter didn't have parents so there never had been a highlight on this fact.

If there were no such reunion, how could parents be at ease leaving their children a whole year and not even knowing if they were doing well.

Being close to them—even from a distance—always brought him comfort, though it also reminded him of the weight of their expectations.

They were beaming when he approached. His mother's honey-colored hair shimmered in the morning light, and his father's ever-present grin made Damian's heart ache.

How could he ever tell them the truth? That he wasn't the Seer they believed him to be? That the "visions" he had been sharing since childhood were nothing more than carefully crafted performances?

"Damian, darling," his mother said, pulling him into a hug. "You look pale. Are you sleeping well?"

"Fine," he lied. "Just a late night studying."

His father clapped him on the back. "That's my boy. Always working hard. You're going to do great things, Damian. I can feel it."

Damian forced a smile, the guilt gnawing at him like a persistent insect. "Thanks, Dad."

The day passed in a blur of classes, but Damian couldn't shake the uneasy feeling the dream had left him with. It wasn't until his free period that he found himself cornered—quite literally—by Aurora Malfoy.

She appeared out of nowhere as he turned a corner near the library, her silver-blonde hair catching the light in a way that made her seem almost ethereal.

Her sharp, intelligent eyes locked onto his, and Damian froze. Aurora had a presence that was hard to ignore, and though she was always polite to him, there was something about her that set him on edge.

"Damian," she said, her voice smooth and measured. "A word?"

"Uh, sure," he stammered, stepping aside to let a group of Ravenclaws pass. "What's up?"

She regarded him for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. "You've been… quiet lately. Is everything all right?"

Damian blinked. Of all the things he'd expected her to say, that hadn't been one of them. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "Just… tired."

"Tired?" she repeated, one eyebrow arching elegantly. "You mean from all the 'seer' business, or is it something else?"

His stomach dropped. Did she know? No, that was impossible. He'd been careful—meticulous, even. "No, it's nothing," he said, trying to sound casual. "Just schoolwork."

Aurora's lips twitched into a faint smile, but her eyes remained unreadable. "Well, if you ever need… perspective, let me know. Sometimes it helps to talk to someone outside your immediate circle."

"Thanks, I guess," Damian said, feeling thoroughly unsettled.

She inclined her head and stepped aside, leaving him to continue on his way. As he entered the library, he couldn't help but replay the conversation in his mind. Was she trying to figure him out? Or was she genuinely concerned?

He shook his head. It didn't matter. Whatever Aurora Malfoy's intentions were, they had nothing to do with him. At least, that's what he told himself.

The library was Damian's refuge, and it was here that he felt most at ease. He wandered among the towering shelves until he found a secluded corner, then pulled out a book on the history of prophecy.

The dream from the previous night still lingered in his thoughts, and though he tried to convince himself it was meaningless, he couldn't resist the urge to look for answers.

As he skimmed through the pages, a phrase caught his eye: "The veil between vision and reality is often thinnest in moments of great upheaval."

He frowned, rereading the sentence. Could his dream have been more than just a dream? The idea was absurd, and yet…

He slammed the book shut and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. He couldn't afford to go down this rabbit hole. His "visions" were supposed to be fake. They were a performance, nothing more. If he started believing in them himself, he'd lose what little grip he had on reality.

That night, Damian lay awake in bed, staring at the canopy above him. The dream had seemed so real, so visceral. He couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to it—if perhaps he wasn't as ordinary as he'd always believed.

But then he thought of his parents, their proud smiles and unwavering faith in him. He couldn't let them down. Whether he was a true Seer or not, he had a role to play, and he would play it to the best of his ability.

As he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, the image of the black lake and the phoenix lingered in his mind, a shadow he couldn't quite shake.

Damian Fawley always felt like he was on the edge of exhaustion.

The weight of his facade, his relentless quest to meet the expectations of others, and his inability to sleep without being haunted by his vivid, prophetic dreams all bore down on him.

And so, it was no surprise that he found himself back in the library late one evening, surrounded by stacks of books and the faint scratching of quills as other students worked in hushed tones.

He sat at a table near the Restricted Section, his head bent low over an ancient tome titled Arcanum Interpretis: Understanding the Deep Magic.

He was searching for something—anything—that might help him refine his skills. Not as a Seer, of course, but as a wizard.

The spells within were advanced, intricate, and far beyond what a fifth-year should be attempting.

Yet Damian poured over the dense text with a singular focus, jotting down notes and occasionally muttering incantations under his breath to test their cadence.

"You're always in here, aren't you?" a light voice broke through his concentration. He looked up to see Cho Chang, a third-year Ravenclaw, standing with two of her friends. Her tone was teasing, but her smile was genuine.

"I suppose I am," Damian replied, his voice tinged with weariness. He tried to muster a polite smile. "There's always more to learn, isn't there?"

Cho tilted her head, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What are you working on this time? It looks... complicated."

Damian hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his parchment. "Just some advanced charms," he said finally, keeping his tone vague. "Trying to challenge myself."

One of Cho's friends, a boy named Michael Corner, leaned over to glance at the book Damian had been studying. "Advanced charms?" he echoed. "That's more like Ancient Magic."

Damian chuckled softly, closing the book slightly to obscure its contents. "Maybe I'm just ambitious."

"Or a glutton for punishment," Cho quipped, earning a laugh from her friends. "Still, it's impressive. Most of us would've given up halfway through just reading that."

Damian shrugged, unsure how to respond. Compliments always felt foreign to him, like they belonged to someone else. He glanced down at his notes, feigning absorption in his work to avoid further attention.

The group lingered a little longer, chatting lightly among themselves. Cho's cheerful demeanor and the casual banter of her friends created a warmth that momentarily eased Damian's perpetual tension.

Yet even as he listened, he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling of inadequacy. He wasn't like them—effortlessly sociable, at ease in their own skin. He was just pretending, always pretending.

Several meters away, Aurora Malfoy stood partially hidden behind a row of bookshelves. Her sharp gray eyes were fixed on the scene before her, her expression unreadable.

She had come to the library intending to check on Damian—or at least, that was the excuse she gave herself.

The sight of him surrounded by Cho Chang and her friends stirred an unfamiliar pang in her chest. Jealousy, she realized with a start, though she would never admit it aloud.

Aurora's fingers brushed the spine of a book absently as she observed them.

She noted the way Damian's tired eyes flicked between the students and his notes, his polite but distant demeanor.

She knew him well enough to recognize that he wasn't truly engaged in the conversation, even if the others didn't.

Still, seeing him interact so naturally with someone like Cho—bright, cheerful, and undeniably pretty—sent an unwelcome wave of irritation through her.

Damian's voice broke through her thoughts. "Well, I should get back to this," he was saying, gesturing to his books. "Thanks for stopping by."

Cho smiled warmly. "Anytime. Don't work too hard, Damian."

As the group moved away, Aurora stepped out from her hiding spot, schooling her expression into one of practiced indifference.

She approached Damian's table with measured steps, her presence commanding as always.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Fawley?" she asked, her tone light but laced with curiosity.

Damian looked up, startled. "Aurora. I didn't see you there."

"Clearly not," she said with a faint smirk, her gaze drifting to the scattered books and notes on the table. "Working on something interesting?"

He hesitated before replying. "Just some advanced material. Nothing special."

Aurora arched a brow, unimpressed by his deflection. "You've always been too modest. Most students your age wouldn't even attempt half the spells in that book."

Damian flushed slightly, unsure how to respond. Aurora's compliments always felt more calculated than sincere, though he couldn't deny the weight her words carried.

'And it's her telling me that when she's widely known as a monstrous genius…'

"Well, don't let me distract you," she said after a moment, her tone softening. "But if you ever need help—with spells, theory, or anything else—you know where to find me."

"Thank you," he said quietly, surprised by the genuine kindness in her offer.

Aurora lingered for a moment longer before turning away, leaving Damian to his thoughts.

As she walked back toward the shelves, her expression shifted into one of quiet determination.

Whatever this strange, unwelcome feeling was, she wouldn't let it distract her from her goals.

But deep down, she couldn't deny that Damian Fawley—oblivious, unassuming, and far more complicated than he appeared—had somehow managed to capture her attention in a way she hadn't anticipated.