Inside the Room of Requirement, a heavy oak desk sat on the right side of the room, while a row of training targets stood on the left.
Damian was carefully studying the notes he had bartered from Quirrell.
Voldemort was truly deserving of the title of Dark Lord. His understanding of the Dark Arts far exceeded that of ordinary wizards, and the insights within these pages benefited Damian immensely.
Damian had known how to cast the Fiendfyre Curse before, but only at a very superficial level. It wasn't a spell he was truly proficient in.
Fiendfyre was inherently violent and notoriously difficult to control. Until now, Damian's rune-based fire magic had only allowed him to manipulate ordinary flames.
But through Voldemort's notes, he finally grasped the underlying, dark techniques required to leash the cursed fire.
Picking up his wand from the desk, he leveled the tip at the targets. "Fiendfyre."
A surge of raging fire erupted from the ground beneath the targets. Golden flames soared into the air, instantly engulfing them.
The dummies wrapped in the cursed fire were reduced to ash in a matter of seconds.
Damian gently waved his wand to the left. The golden inferno swept outward, hungrily swallowing the remaining targets.
With a sharp pull of his magic, Damian commanded the Fiendfyre to halt and hover three meters away. He closed his eyes, feeling the blistering heat and the manic, destructive magical fluctuations rolling off the flames.
Suddenly, Damian opened his eyes and raised his wand high. The floating inferno rapidly circled him before returning to its original spot, pulsing and churning like a living beast.
The golden flames constantly shifted shape. They morphed into a giant snake, then a roaring beast, and occasionally even condensed into solid, non-living forms like hammers, greatswords, and massive shears.
Finally, the fire coalesced into a giant, hovering golden bird.
"Finite Incantatem."
With a sharp flick of his wand, the golden firebird dissipated into the air, leaving nothing but scorching heat behind.
What Damian had just done wasn't merely controlling Fiendfyre with his innate fire magic; he had seamlessly integrated Transfiguration.
The advanced Transfiguration notes Dumbledore had gifted him on Christmas Eve had proven just as invaluable. By combining Voldemort's dark control techniques, his own out-of-world fire mastery, and Dumbledore's Transfiguration theories, he had achieved absolute dominance over the cursed flames.
Damian was incredibly satisfied with the trade. If Voldemort hadn't been so desperate for the dragon egg, he never would have parted with such profound Dark Arts knowledge. This level of magical theory rarely saw the light of day. It was the kind of knowledge that couldn't be bought with Galleons—the kind that could serve as the core heritage for an entire pureblood family.
By the time he finished his practice session, it was already dinnertime.
Before leaving the Room of Requirement, Damian banished the charred remains of the targets and cast a quick Scouring Charm to sweep away the soot and ash.
On his way down to the Great Hall, he nodded to several returning students. Today was the last day of the Christmas holidays, and the castle was rapidly filling back up.
Entering the Great Hall, his eyes immediately landed on a very dejected Draco Malfoy.
The blonde boy was slumped powerlessly at the Slytherin table, looking completely deflated. Crabbe and Goyle sat nearby, exchanging hesitant glances but saying nothing.
Tuning into the surrounding whispers, Damian caught the gist of the drama. It seemed both of the large boys had lent all their savings to Draco.
Damian's previous suspicions were spot on. The "investment project" Draco had poured a fortune into had spectacularly collapsed on Christmas Eve.
Draco had even given Damian a "frog wallet" as a Christmas gift. Exactly on Christmas Eve, the enchanted wallet had stopped spitting out its promised Galleons.
Presumably, the young Malfoy had not enjoyed a very peaceful Christmas.
As Damian walked past the Slytherin table, he paused and said mildly, "Thank you for the frog toy, Draco."
Draco slowly raised his head, staring at Damian with dull, lifeless eyes, and gave a hollow nod.
Damian scratched the side of his face. Did this little scam hit the kid that hard? After all, the Weasley Twins' frog wallet scheme had been secretly bankrolled by Damian himself.
Damian patted him on the shoulder, offering a comforting smile. "Cheer up, Draco. With the Malfoy family's vast wealth, losing a few thousand Galleons is a drop in the bucket. Just consider it the price of a good business lesson."
Hearing his family name, Draco suddenly perked up, the fog clearing from his eyes.
That's right, Draco thought. He couldn't tarnish the Malfoy family's prestige. He absolutely couldn't let his peers see him crying over some lost Galleons.
Clearing his throat, Draco lifted his chin and drawled pretentiously, "That goes without saying. A few thousand Galleons is nothing to the Malfoys."
He then turned to his two hulking followers, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't worry. It won't be long before I pay you both back."
In reality, Lucius Malfoy had been absolutely furious upon discovering the loss. His father had immediately declared that his pocket money would be halved for the foreseeable future.
Draco hadn't dared confess to his father that he was also heavily in debt to his classmates; he had lied, claiming he only lost his own allowance.
As for actually repaying Crabbe and Goyle? That was going to take a long, long time. Draco could only stall for now.
Seeing that Draco's aristocratic pride was intact, Damian left him to it and walked over to sit with his roommates.
"Good evening," Damian greeted the girl sitting next to Geralt, internally wincing because he couldn't recall her name at the moment.
"Good evening, Damian," Lisa responded with a warm smile.
Although Lisa wasn't in their House, informal dinners like this one were relaxed. Students often mingled, with couples and cross-house friends sitting together as they pleased.
Jerry swallowed a bite of roasted sausage and sighed. "It's a good thing I listened to you and didn't invest much. My frog wallet completely died the day after Christmas Eve."
Damian smiled faintly, picking up a piece of mochi from his plate. "It was an obvious trap."
"There are identical money-making schemes in the Muggle world. Wealth doesn't appear out of thin air, and it doesn't just disappear—it only transfers. If someone is making a massive profit, someone else is inevitably holding the bag."
"The more people they recruit, the longer the illusion holds. But eventually, the pyramid collapses, and the majority lose everything."
Jerry nodded, spearing another sausage. "I got out early, so I actually made a few Galleons. The most miserable one has got to be Malfoy. He went all in. Earlier, he looked like a guy who just... er... had his heart completely shattered."
Geralt frantically widened his eyes, subtly kicking Jerry under the table. Jerry abruptly remembered that Geralt's new girlfriend was sitting right there, and he immediately cleared his throat, changing his tune.
Geralt had, indeed, been terribly depressed during his last breakup. Even though he changed girlfriends like he changed socks, he swore up and down that he gave his "true heart" to every single one of them.
Geralt carefully glanced at Lisa. Seeing that she hadn't noticed the slip-up, he quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
Desperate to change the subject, Geralt turned to Damian. "Hey, Damian. Over the holidays, my father dug up an old alchemy schematic at our manor. It's the blueprints for a very ancient model of a broomstick. He wanted me to ask if you'd be interested in taking a look."
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