HP: DnD Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Running to Trials

[Early Morning, 1st November — Hogwarts Student Quarters]

The morning after Halloween had always been rough for Damien. Not because of any emotional reason, but purely due to the exhaustion and the lingering chill in the air.

The windows in his room were foggy, with dew gathered on the glass, blocking his view of the outside.

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t just woken up; he’d been awake for over an hour now—having slept only three hours the entire night. Tired, yet far from sleepy.

Countless thoughts plagued his mind, and amid the confusion and frustration of not finding any answers, sleep had long since abandoned him.

‘When you step into a royal court, you’re bound to become part of its chaos.’

The line from an old play echoed in Damien’s mind, uncannily mirroring his current situation.

He wasn’t naïve; he had long understood that if he wanted to fulfill his dreams, he would have to become stronger and step into the spotlight. But taking the stage also meant drawing the eyes and scrutiny of others.

When you step onto the stage, you become part of the play. However small your role may be, you still have a part to play.

Sometimes, that part is to stay on the sidelines and watch events unfold. But not everyone is that lucky, and no one can ever predict when they’ll be thrust into a role they don’t want.

When the spotlight falls on you, you have to perform.

That was the rule.

‘So, what am I?’ Damien mused. ‘A puppet?’

There were too many things happening all at once, too many events that seemed to drag him into their orbit.

He had learned one way to keep his resolve and survive this play: he had to grow far stronger. He had to become a character unaffected by the minor chaos around him.

To reach his destination, he would have to walk through rocky paths—he would have to forge his way forward.

‘Strength,’ he thought, glancing at his frost-covered window. ‘I need it.’

He wasn’t going to remain a mere background figure; he was determined to become a central player.

Strong and significant enough not to be a victim.

From the moment he took that first step toward becoming stronger, his circumstances had improved.

His body, mind, wealth, and social life had progressed further than he had given himself credit for. He believed that if he continued on this path, he would eventually reach a level of power and respect equal to that of the purebloods.

Then, he wouldn’t have to concern himself with minor incidents—whether it was something requiring brute strength, like the troll breakout a year ago, or something as ominous as the rumors of a Chamber of Secrets.

He glanced at his drawer, the one that held the book. Inside, he kept a certain gift—a precious item still safe within the pages.

‘The monocle.’

He could use it to uncover the truth about the Chamber of Secrets. The matter was serious enough; not every random incident ended with someone turned into a statue.

But he worried about the monocle’s limitations. It required a full month to recharge before he could use it on the same person again.

“A month,” he muttered, biting his lower lip. “That’s a long time.”

He didn’t want to waste such a precious ability on a mystery that didn’t directly affect him yet.

As concerning as it was, he wasn’t personally involved, nor was anyone he cared about. So, he kept the monocle stowed away, intending not to use it—at least until someone he cared for was at risk.

That list also included his owl, Zillion, who had finally received permission to stay in the owlery after weeks of letter exchanges.

‘But I can’t rely too heavily on items,’ he reminded himself. ‘True strength lies in my own power. Stats remain with me no matter the circumstances, unlike items or abilities.’

The raw stats he had worked to build were more valuable than any special ability, regardless of how powerful it seemed. Abilities could go on cooldown, they could miss, they could be rendered useless in certain situations. But his stats would always be with him.

And he knew only one way to raise them.

He would begin in just another minute—when the clock struck six.

With a deep exhale, Damien took the book from the drawer and prepared to head out.

To face his next trial.

But for the next trial, he had to prepare some sacrifices. 

Not every demon demanded a sacrifice, but everyone required one. 

Either as a true sacrifice or as an offering.

Seere, the 70th Demon that he was supposed to face, was considered benevolent, as said by Dantalion. And benevolent demons required offerings instead of sacrifices.

‘No blood sacrifice,’ Damien muttered, recalling that Dantalion had strictly asked him not to make any blood sacrifice.

Seere was benevolent and adored life and nature, but if said nature and life was harmed —it didn't take long for the benevolence to turn to malevolence.

‘Colored and scented candles, floral garlands, fruits and juices among others.’

He appeared satisfied with the items he had collected, and he hoped that the demon would feel the same.

He didn't think of it as if possible as there was no scenario where failure was permitted barring ones like Dantalion.

Finally counting the items and finding it adequate enough, Damien chanted the words that he was taught in the dungeon.

“Hoc est oblatio Seere.”

A chant that marked something as an offering, and for the book to allow it to traverse to the dungeon alongside him.

This was a chant he had learnt from Dantalion, which was specifically meant for offerings.

Whereas he had learned the chant ‘Hoc est sacrificium—’ from Andromalius, which was meant for sacrifices.

“Alright,” muttering at the success of the marking and having the offerings being absorbed into the book, he knew it was time to finally enter the dungeon.

And for it, his book was open and his fingers lingered around the pages —waiting for the words permitting his entry to the dungeon to appear.

As time moved and the seconds passed, finally causing the hour to hit six in the morning, Damien felt the page turning warmer and the words finally appearing on the page.

Like always, it asked if he wished to travel into the other realm, and to the dungeon.

The option that allowed him to answer in yes or no, instead of having to chant the Translocantis spell.

Thus, with a deep breath, Damien finally muttered, “I do.”

In an instant—before the minute hand could complete its sweep to the one-minute mark—a pale flame engulfed Damien. It flickered, shifting colors as it surrounded him, radiating warmth and coolness simultaneously, though neither burned nor chilled him.

And just like that, within seconds, his body vanished from the room, translocating him to another place, another world, another realm.

A realm vastly different. A realm infinitely more magical. A realm profoundly enigmatic.

Having undergone the process of realm-shifting three times before, Damien had grown accustomed to the sensation. Yet, the pain lingered—each instance worse than the last. Still, he had learned to endure the accompanying dread that gripped him during every teleportation.

This time, despite the skull-splitting pain, he managed to open his eyes much quicker, adapting to his surroundings with impressive speed. However, while he had acclimated to the physical act of translocation, he had yet to adjust to the alien environments he found himself thrust into.

Now, as he frowned at the vast, fog-shrouded forest stretching before him, unease crept into his chest. This place was unlike the forest on the island of Andromalius. If anything, it reminded him of the Forbidden Forest outside Hogwarts, but darker, more ominous, as though teeming with strange creatures and hidden monsters.

"Not what I imagined a benevolent demon's trial to look like," Damien mused, though he knew better. A demon, no matter how benevolent, was still a demon.

His gaze scanned his surroundings. The forest felt wet—either from recent rain or the dew and fog hanging thick in the air. It was not an evergreen forest, with trees both leafy and bare creating an odd, fragmented canopy. The dampness clung to everything, making the ground soft and treacherous.

Gripping the book in his left hand and his wand in his right, Damien began marching forward. He had no clear direction—there were no signs, no trails—but the path ahead seemed less cluttered with shrubs, so he followed it. In the distance, a ruined, pillar-like structure loomed, its silhouette barely visible through the fog.

With a few quick spells, Damien cleared the way ahead. Sectumsempra carved through vines and shrubs, leaving a manageable path in his wake. As he walked, his gaze flickered to the book in his hand. He knew from experience that the book offered no clear instructions once inside a dungeon.

True to form, the current page bore only a cryptic message:

[Make the choice. Find the prince, not the horse.]

The words were more vague than ever. "Prince... choices like Andromalius's test," Damien thought. "So, I'm to choose the prince, like the demon Prince Seere? But what horse?"

His frown deepened. As far as his eyes could see, there wasn’t a single creature in sight—let alone a horse. His pace quickened, and time slipped by. By the time he had walked over two miles through the unsteady, damp terrain, at least an hour had passed.

"How deep is this place?" he muttered as the silhouette of the ruined structure came into sharper focus. Beyond the pillars, he could make out the rough outlines of what appeared to be an ancient altar—a relic of a bygone era.

As he approached, the altar became clearer. It was built of black and white marble, weathered yet still standing amidst the crumbling pillars surrounding it. The air around it felt empty—devoid of the telltale hum of magic.

"No magic," Damien noted. "Then how was this place constructed?"

His mind wandered to Professor Flitwick’s lectures on magical architecture. Structures built with magic always retained traces of their creators' power, no matter how old. Yet, this place felt entirely mundane—a strange anomaly in a demon’s dungeon.

Damien examined the site thoroughly, taking note of the Romanesque design of the pillars and altar. The craftsmanship puzzled him. "Why would a Roman structure be in the middle of a demon’s trial?"

As he circled the altar, pondering its origins, a faint sound broke through the eerie silence.

"H-Help..."

It was a voice—fragile, trembling.

"P-Please help m-me."

The voice belonged to a young girl, younger than Damien. He hesitated, torn between caution and curiosity. Moving towards an unknown voice in a place like this might be reckless. But he had no other leads, and the voice might guide him closer to the trial’s objective.

“Who’s there?” Damien called out, his wand raised, ready to cast at a moment's notice.

The voice grew clearer as he advanced through the fog. Soon, a figure emerged—a girl with brown hair, tattered clothes, and an air of desperation. She looked lost and scared, her face streaked with mud and blood from countless falls.

Before approaching her, Damien wrapped himself in the robe he had brought along. It was meant for presenting offerings to the demon, but appearing naked before a little girl felt far more inappropriate.

“Are you okay?” Damien asked cautiously, keeping his wand trained on her. He was ready to unleash Bombarda Maxima if necessary.

The girl flinched but did not attack. Instead, her voice trembled as she responded, “W-Who are you?”

“My name is Damien,” he said softly, giving her a reassuring smile. “Are you lost, little one?”

The girl, whose face bore signs of exhaustion and fear, nodded. “I-I’m Jewel,” she stammered. Tears welled in her eyes, carving new trails through the mud on her cheeks. “I’m lost.”

Damien’s heart sank. Real or not, the girl needed help. He couldn’t abandon her, not when she was so clearly in distress.

“I’m lost too, Jewel,” he admitted. “But I’m looking for a way out. Maybe we can help each other.”

“H-How?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“I came from that way,” Damien said, pointing behind him. “If you tell me where you’ve been, we can figure out where not to go.”

Jewel hesitated before pointing to the right. “I lost my horse. Only it knows the direction back home.” she then pointed to her side, “And I-I didn’t find anything there.”

Damien smiled. “Good. That narrows it down. We’ll check the other directions.”

But as he gently patted Jewel’s head to comfort her, a sinking feeling settled in his chest.

‘I’ve messed up, haven’t I?’ he thought bitterly. ‘I found the one thing I wasn’t supposed to.’

The horse, not the prince.