Chapter 21: Intellectual drowning and salvation

POV: Damian Fawley

Damian Fawley woke up in a cold sweat, his hands gripping the edges of his blanket like a lifeline. His dreams had been tumultuous—vivid flashes of moments that didn't seem to connect, an incomprehensible sequence of faces, places, and events. A shadow had loomed in his mind, indistinct but undeniably menacing, and then the world around him had dissolved into fragments.

He sat up, pressing his palms against his temples. The room was quiet; his dormmates were still fast asleep. Yet he felt the weight of the world pressing against him, heavier than usual. It wasn't just his so-called Seer act; it was something deeper, something he couldn't quite articulate.

The plot was changing. That much he knew. The events unfolding at Hogwarts and beyond were veering far from the script he had once believed to be true. The diary had vanished, Alya Black was free, and the trial of Petra Pettigrew had altered everything. This was no longer the story he had read; it was something else entirely. Something unpredictable.

Breakfast in the Great Hall did little to calm Damian's nerves. The clinking of cutlery and the hum of student chatter formed a backdrop to his growing unease. He had barely touched his toast when a group of younger Ravenclaws approached him, their faces lit with eager curiosity.

"Damian," one of them began, "can you tell us what's going to happen next? Everyone's talking about Alya Black's trial and how strange things are lately. Do you think it's connected ?"

Damian forced a smile, leaning back with an air of practiced nonchalance. "The future is a tapestry, constantly shifting," he said, his voice calm despite the turmoil inside him. "But I will say this: vigilance will be key in the coming weeks. Danger often lurks where least expected."

The students exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly impressed by his cryptic response. Damian's stomach churned. It was exhausting to maintain this charade, but he couldn't let them see his uncertainty.

From across the hall, Aurora Malfoy's gaze landed on him. Her expression was inscrutable, as always, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or skepticism. Damian quickly looked away, focusing instead on the golden Trio—Holly, Hermione, and Ronda—who were huddled at the Gryffindor table. They seemed preoccupied, their conversation animated but hushed. He wondered, not for the first time, what role they were playing in this altered narrative.

By mid-morning, Damian found himself in the library, seeking solace among the towering shelves. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for—answers, perhaps, or at least a way to make sense of the chaos. He pulled down book after book, scanning their pages for anything that might provide clarity. Spells, historical accounts, obscure prophecies—nothing seemed to fit.

His frustration grew with each passing minute. The world had shifted, and he was floundering in its wake. He slammed a particularly unhelpful tome shut, earning a sharp glare from Madam Pince.

"Rough day?"

Damian turned to see Ophelia Ollivander standing nearby, her arms crossed and a wry smile on her face. She was older than him, but her sharp wit and piercing intelligence had always set her apart.

"You could say that," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Just trying to make sense of… things."

Ophelia's eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued. "Things? Care to elaborate?"

"Not really," Damian replied quickly, grabbing another book to avoid her gaze. He could feel her scrutiny, as though she could see straight through his act.

"Suit yourself," she said lightly, though her expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "But you might want to try this one." She slid a slim, leather-bound volume toward him before walking away.

Damian stared after her, unsure whether to feel grateful or wary. He opened the book and began to read, the weight of her unspoken questions lingering in his mind.

Nearby, a small group of third-year Ravenclaws, including Cho Chang, whispered among themselves. Damian caught snippets of their conversation, their hushed voices tinged with excitement. He managed a polite nod when Cho glanced his way, but his heart wasn't in it. A few meters away, Aurora Malfoy lingered by the shelves, her attention seemingly focused on a book in her hands. Yet every so often, her gaze flicked toward Damian, her expression unreadable.

Later that day, Divination class offered little reprieve. Professor Trelawney's incense-filled room felt suffocating, and Damian struggled to focus as she droned on about crystal balls and prophetic dreams. When she called on him to interpret a vision, he reluctantly stepped forward, his hands clammy with nerves.

He peered into the crystal ball, expecting the usual swirl of misty nothingness. Instead, a vivid image formed before his eyes: Arcturus and Holly Potter standing beside an elderly woman's bed, their faces etched with grief and determination. The woman's frail hand reached out, her voice faint but filled with warmth as she spoke her final words.

The vision was so clear, so startlingly real, that Damian stumbled back, nearly dropping the ball.

"Well?" Trelawney prompted, her eyes wide with anticipation.

Damian hesitated, his mind racing. "It's… unclear," he said finally, his voice shaky. "A moment of great change, perhaps. But the details are hazy."

Trelawney nodded sagely, seemingly satisfied with his response. Damian returned to his seat, his heart pounding. What had he just seen? And why did it feel so different from his usual fabrications?

That night, Damian sat alone in the Ravenclaw common room, the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls. His mind was a whirlwind of questions and doubts. The vision had shaken him to his core, not just because of its clarity but because it had felt undeniably real.

The world was changing, slipping further from the narrative he thought he knew. And for the first time, Damian wasn't sure if he could keep up. His act as a Seer had always been just that—an act. But now, with the future unraveling in unexpected ways, he wondered if there was more to his supposed gift than he had ever realized. No ! He couldn't let himself be played at his own game, that was a lie and that was all it was !

He buried his face in his hands, exhaustion and fear weighing heavily on him. Theatrics could only carry him so far. Sooner or later, the truth would catch up to him. And when it did, he wasn't sure he'd be ready.

POV: Aurora Malfoy

The library's dim light glinted off Damian's quill as he scratched half-hearted notes onto a parchment. His face, usually carefully composed, betrayed an unusual weariness. Aurora Malfoy observed him from a distance, her book propped open but unread. Her sharp eyes caught every slump of his shoulders, every frustrated exhale as he combed through texts with a distracted air. He had been like this for weeks—no, months—and Aurora had grown tired of merely watching.

Damian Fawley was an enigma. For all his reputation as a so-called Seer, there was a vulnerability to him that contradicted the image he projected.

She'd seen it in the slight tremble of his hands when he thought no one was looking, the way his gaze lingered on nothing, as though caught between worlds.

Aurora wasn't sure what it was about him that drew her attention, but there was something… something she couldn't ignore.

Tonight, as Damian bent over his books, Aurora decided she'd had enough of simply observing. She closed her own volume with a soft thud and approached his table. He didn't notice her at first, too consumed by whatever inner turmoil plagued him.

"You're going to wear a hole in that parchment if you keep that up," she said lightly, breaking the silence.

Damian startled, his quill halting mid-sentence. He looked up, eyes wide with surprise. "Aurora? What are you doing here?"

"It's a library, Fawley," she replied with a smirk, slipping into the chair across from him. "People come here to read, though I'm not sure that's what you've been doing."

He flushed, glancing down at the scattered notes on the table. "I'm… researching."

"Researching what? How to look more exhausted than you already do?" Aurora's tone was teasing, but her eyes were serious. "You're running yourself ragged. What's going on?"

Damian hesitated, his fingers tightening around his quill. "Nothing. Just… keeping up with everything."

"You're a terrible liar," Aurora said, leaning forward. "Come on, Fawley. I'm not here to interrogate you. I just… thought you might need someone to talk to."

Damian blinked at her, clearly taken aback. For a moment, Aurora thought he might shut her out entirely, but then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

"It's nothing specific," he said eventually. "Just… things aren't going the way they're supposed to. The world feels… off, like someone's rewritten the rules and forgot to tell me."

Aurora frowned. "That sounds… frustrating. But maybe it's not about the rules changing. Maybe it's about adapting to them."

Damian's lips twitched in a faint, humorless smile. "Easy for you to say. You're a Malfoy. You're always five steps ahead."

"That's the family motto," Aurora quipped, but her expression softened. "Seriously, though. You don't have to do everything on your own, you know."

Damian looked at her for a long moment, his guarded expression wavering. Aurora felt a pang of something she couldn't quite name—sympathy, perhaps, or the beginnings of genuine care.

She didn't know what Damian's secrets were, but she could see the weight of them pressing down on him. Maybe it was his certainty about the future that was lost if he truly was like her.

"Thanks," he said finally, his voice quiet. "I mean it."

Aurora nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Anytime, Fawley."

Over the next few weeks, Aurora made a point of interacting with Damian more often. It started with simple things—sitting next to him in the library, sharing a table in the Great Hall, partnering with him in Potions. At first, he seemed wary of her attention, but gradually, he began to relax in her presence.

Aurora's efforts didn't go unnoticed. Their classmates whispered about the unlikely friendship forming between the enigmatic Malfoy and the reluctant Seer.

Aurora ignored the rumors, and to her surprise, so did Damian. He seemed more focused on keeping his head above water than worrying about what others thought.

One afternoon, they found themselves alone in the library again. Damian was poring over a book on advanced charms, his brow furrowed in concentration. Aurora watched him for a moment before speaking.

"You know, you're allowed to take a break once in a while," she said, leaning back in her chair.

Damian didn't look up. "Can't afford to. There's too much to do."

"And if you burn out completely? What then?"

He sighed, closing the book with a soft thud. "I… don't know. I'm just trying to stay ahead of everything."

"You don't have to do it alone," Aurora said firmly. "Whatever it is you're dealing with, I'm here. You can trust me, Damian."

He met her gaze, and for the first time, Aurora thought she saw a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. It was fleeting, but it was enough.

As Christmas approached, their interactions grew more frequent, and their conversations delved deeper. Aurora learned that Damian had a dry sense of humor and a surprising knack for sarcasm. He, in turn, discovered that Aurora was more than just a Malfoy—she was sharp, determined, and unexpectedly kind.

One evening, as they walked back to their common room together, Damian spoke up.

"You've been… really supportive lately," he said, his tone awkward but sincere. "I don't think I've said thank you yet."

Aurora glanced at him, her lips curving into a smile. "You just did. And for the record, you're welcome."

Damian nodded, his expression thoughtful. For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel quite so alone.

Aurora, watching him out of the corner of her eye, felt a similar warmth. Whatever Damian's struggles were, she was determined to help him face them—not as a Malfoy, but as a friend.