Chapter 28: Shadows of Fire and Serpent

Note : This chapter will be 'a shade' darker than the last one which I used as a way to make Alaric a 'normal' if we can talk about him like that given the fact that he's ready to kill for a job but meh, everyone's a little strange given the fact that there's no true defined norm and that everyone's different, someone exactly normal would thus be normal only for a time until the perception shifts and even though it depends on a point of view. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter and continue reading me !

POV: Damian Fawley

The first rays of winter sunlight streamed into the Ravenclaw dormitory, casting long shadows across the stone walls.

Damian Fawley sat on the windowsill, a heavy woolen blanket draped over his shoulders.

Outside, the grounds of Hogwarts stretched endlessly, blanketed in pristine snow. The lake was frozen solid, reflecting the pale gray sky.

A thin veil of tranquility lay over the castle, but Damian's mind was anything but calm.

He stared down at the diary open on his lap, the pages blank except for his scattered notes. Damian's elegant script looped across the parchment, recounting fragments of his previous visions.

Despite his practiced demeanor, his hands trembled. Each vision was more vivid than the last, each filled with imagery he struggled to interpret.

His engagement to Aurora Malfoy had complicated his already tumultuous life. What had started as an arrangement of convenience now felt like something more substantial.

Aurora's unwavering presence had surprised him, her sharp pragmatism offering stability where he lacked it. He found himself thinking about her far more than he expected.

Would she understand the chaos inside his mind? Could she help him bear the weight of his abilities?

A knock at the door startled Damian out of his thoughts. His dormmate, an inquisitive third-year, peered in curiously.

"Fawley, breakfast?"

"I'll join you later," Damian muttered, his voice distant.

The door clicked shut, and silence enveloped him once more.

The vision of the Death Eater's mark escaping the serpent had haunted Damian for days. He had scoured books in the Ravenclaw library for answers, searching through tomes on Divination and magical symbolism, but none provided the clarity he sought. The realization dawned on him like a slap—if he couldn't find answers in books, he had to find them within himself.

Seers throughout history had used rituals to access deeper visions, a method described as perilous but enlightening.

Damian wasn't sure he had the skill—or the courage—but desperation overrode his doubts. He would perform a ritual, one that might offer insight into the serpentine vision.

Damian slipped through the quiet corridors of the castle, avoiding the bustling Great Hall where students gathered for breakfast. The Astronomy Tower, often deserted during the day, was his destination. The air grew colder as he ascended, the narrow staircase spiraling upward.

At the top, Damian set down his makeshift tools. A shallow bowl of water, borrowed candles from the common room, and his wand were all he had. He added a personal touch—a bracelet Aurora had once forgotten in the library. It wasn't much, but it was enough to anchor him.

He arranged the candles in a circle, their flickering light casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. The bowl sat in the center, the water still and reflective. Damian's heartbeat quickened as he knelt before it, his wand held firmly in his hand.

He whispered the incantation, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his resolve. The flames of the candles flared brightly before dimming, their light barely illuminating the chamber. The air grew thick, and Damian felt the pull of magic envelop him, drawing him into a trance-like state.

The room vanished, replaced by a swirling vortex of shadow and light. Damian floated, weightless, as the vision unfolded before him.

He stood in a graveyard under a sky choked with dark clouds. A hooded figure loomed before a stone altar, chanting in a guttural language.

In their hand was a vial of blood, shimmering unnaturally. The figure poured the blood onto the altar, and the earth trembled beneath Damian's feet.

From the shadows emerged a colossal serpent, its scales glistening like black diamonds. Its eyes burned with a sickly green light as it coiled around the altar.

The hooded figure raised their arms, and the serpent's mouth opened, releasing a deafening roar.

Suddenly, a phoenix burst into existence, its fiery wings illuminating the graveyard. The phoenix clashed with the serpent, their battle shaking the ground. Flames and venom filled the air, the two creatures locked in a deadly dance.

At the center of it all stood a child, their form obscured by a blinding glow. Energy swirled around them, crackling with raw power. Damian couldn't see their face, but the child radiated a presence that made his knees buckle.

Whispers echoed in Damian's mind: "Destiny… betrayal… balance…" The words repeated, growing louder until they drowned out all other sound.

The vision shattered like glass, and Damian was thrust back into reality.

Gasping for air, Damian clutched the edge of the bowl to steady himself. His body trembled, sweat dripping down his brow despite the chill of the tower. The candles had burned down to stubs, their wax pooling on the stone floor.

He grabbed his journal, scribbling furiously to capture every detail of the vision before it faded from his memory. The graveyard, the serpent, the phoenix, the glowing child—each image etched itself into his mind like a brand.

Damian sat back, his chest heaving. The vision's intensity had drained him, but its meaning eluded him. The child at the center… Who were they? And what role did Damian play in this unfolding prophecy?

Damian avoided the Great Hall, slipping instead into an abandoned classroom. Aurora found him there hours later, her sharp eyes immediately noting his pale complexion.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, closing the door behind her.

"I might have," Damian replied weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Aurora crossed the room, her presence grounding him. "Tell me what happened."

Haltingly, Damian recounted the vision. Aurora listened intently, her expression unreadable. When he finished, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll figure this out," she said firmly. "You're not alone in this."

Her words, simple but sincere, brought Damian a measure of comfort. He leaned into her touch, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability.

The following days were a blur of research and quiet moments shared with Aurora. Together, they pored over texts in the library, searching for clues about the vision. Aurora's presence became a constant, her sharp mind and unyielding determination bolstering Damian's resolve.

Late one evening, as they sat surrounded by stacks of books, Damian glanced at Aurora. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, a strand of hair falling into her eyes.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Aurora looked up, her lips curving into a small smile. "For what?"

"For being here," Damian replied.

Aurora reached across the table, taking his hand in hers. "Always."

As February gave way to March, Damian found himself stronger, more determined. The vision still haunted him, but he no longer faced it alone. Aurora's support and their shared efforts gave him hope.

Standing by the window of the Ravenclaw common room once more, Damian gazed out at the snow melting on the grounds. The world outside seemed brighter, and for the first time in weeks, so did his outlook.