When Damian was in the Forbidden Forest, he had successfully blocked the hooded figure. Regardless of whether that figure was Quirrell or Lord Voldemort himself, the brief clash had proven Damian's immense strength.
Knowing this, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville immediately sprinted toward the Slytherin common room, which was located on the same dungeon level as Snape's office.
They hadn't gone far before they ran into Geralt walking out of the common room entrance. The sun was shining brightly today, and he was clearly dressed for a date, preparing for a romantic stroll by the Black Lake.
Surprisingly, Geralt's current girlfriend was still Lisa, a Ravenclaw senior; it was a personal record for him to stay with the same girl for this long.
"Are you lot here looking for Damian?" Geralt asked, remembering that the Gryffindors knew his dormmate.
"Yes, is he in the common room?" Harry asked, nodding urgently.
"He just got back not long ago. Wait here, I'll go grab him for you."
After Harry and the others hastily thanked him, Geralt scratched his head and turned back toward the hidden stone wall of the common room.
Not long after, Damian emerged into the corridor. Geralt didn't stick around, hurrying off to meet his girlfriend so as not to be late.
Looking at the deeply anxious expressions on the Gryffindors' faces, Damian asked mildly, "Is something the matter?"
Hermione quickly recounted the entire story.
Harry looked up at him pleadingly. "We can't find Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall, so we have no choice but to ask for your help. Please."
Damian rubbed his chin. He had long had a premonition that the theft of the Philosopher's Stone would happen within these few days. He had been turning over ideas in his mind on how to intervene without drawing too much suspicion. This was the perfect opportunity to get involved logically and cleanly.
He had been preparing for the Stone's theft for quite some time, so naturally, he wasn't going to refuse Harry's request.
"No problem," Damian said gently. "But if what you say is true, we need to hurry."
Harry and the others immediately sagged with relief. With Damian's help, they finally had a real chance of stopping Quirrell.
The group ran as fast as they could up to the third-floor corridor. When they arrived, their worst fears were confirmed: the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, which was always locked, stood slightly ajar.
"He really went in," Ron breathed, horrified. "It really is him!"
"Keep it down," Hermione whispered fiercely, smacking his arm. "He might still be right inside."
Ron immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, not daring to even breathe too loudly.
Drawing his wand, Damian pushed the door open and stepped inside. He could sense immediately that there were no humans in the room—only the massive, three-headed Cerberus.
Sure enough, as the others filed in behind him, the monstrous dog dominated the room. Because Harry and his friends had wasted time running around the castle looking for help, the enchanted harp Quirrell had left behind had long since stopped playing.
The Cerberus was wide awake. The moment it saw the intruders, all three heads bared their razor-sharp fangs and lunged furiously at Damian.
Damian didn't even blink. He quickly pointed his wand at the heavy collar around the beast's necks. Instantly, the collar multiplied into dozens of thick iron chains, shooting outward and wrapping tightly around the Cerberus's massive body, pinning its legs and muzzles together.
Bound tightly by the heavy chains, the Cerberus struggled fiercely but was completely unable to break free.
"Oh... I knew how to deal with it... but that works too..." Harry muttered, silently slipping the wooden flute Hagrid had given him back into his pocket.
"Hurry up," Damian instructed. He pulled open the heavy trapdoor on the floor and dropped down without hesitation.
The drop beneath the trapdoor was pitch-black and incredibly deep. It took a few terrifying seconds before Damian landed with a soft, yielding thump on a massive patch of creeping vines.
After the Gryffindors tumbled down behind him, they immediately realized the vines beneath their feet were snaking upward, wrapping tightly around their ankles and waists.
"Devil's Snare!" Hermione gasped, trying hard to recall Professor Sprout's Herbology lectures as the vines tightened. "It likes the dark and damp... it hates fire! Incendio!"
She slashed her wand through the air. A jet of bright blue flames shot outward, quickly driving the shrinking plants away and revealing a stone passageway below.
As they progressed, Damian purposely held back. He was only here to deal with Quirrell, so he allowed Harry and his friends to handle the obstacle course themselves.
Using his excellent Seeker reflexes, Harry managed to catch the correct silver-winged key from a violent swarm, unlocking the heavy wooden door to the next chamber. Next, Ron used his brilliant chess skills to navigate a brutal game of giant wizard chess. However, Ron sustained a nasty blow from a stone queen during the match and had to be left behind, unconscious but breathing.
Just when Damian thought the rest of the trials would proceed as expected, a strange variable appeared.
They arrived in a chamber lined with shelves of potions. In the center of the room sat a stone pedestal. The doorway leading to the next area glowed with a soul-stirring, eerie black light. Carved above the stone archway were five chilling words: "The Living Shall Not Enter."
Hermione snatched a roll of parchment resting on the pedestal. As she read it, her face drained of color.
"It's a riddle," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Only those who are 'dead' can pass through that fire. Most of the potions on these shelves are Draughts of the Living Death, meant to put you into an unbreakable slumber. Only one bottle is the exception. If you pour the correct potion into the central pedestal, you get the key to walk through the flames."
"Only those who are dead can pass?" Damian frowned, stepping forward. He took the parchment from Hermione's shaking hands and read it. It was exactly as she said.
Damian picked up a random bottle, removed the stopper, and gently wafted the scent toward his nose. It smelled strongly of valerian root and sopophorous bean; it was indeed a sleeping draught.
There were over a dozen bottles laid out. Damian quickly moved down the line, sniffing and examining each one, filtering out the obvious sleeping potions. Finally, only two identical vials remained.
"These two are completely identical, and I cannot verify their contents through scent alone," Damian told Harry, Hermione, and Neville. "The sleeping potions here are strong, but not permanently dangerous."
"If they just put you to sleep, then we can test them by taking a tiny sip," Hermione suggested nervously. "If we don't fall asleep, then that's the correct one to pour into the pedestal."
Neville, trying to be brave, immediately snatched up one of the vials and took a small sip before anyone could stop him.
He smacked his lips. "Tastes a bit sweet..."
Then, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed.
Harry lunged forward, just barely catching Neville's dead-weight body before his head hit the stone floor.
"Well, it seems it's this one," Damian said dryly. He picked up the final, untested vial and poured its contents directly into the center of the stone pedestal.
There was a small drain hole carved into the stone, and the potion quickly vanished down it. A loud clicking sound echoed through the chamber, and a moment later, the top of the pedestal split open down the middle.
Inside rested a small wooden cabinet. Damian opened it, only to find another piece of parchment waiting inside.
It wasn't a key. It was a potion recipe.
Scanning the parchment, Damian realized it was instructions to brew a highly complex, temporary Draught of Living Death—the exact potion needed to safely pass through the black fire.
Damian narrowed his eyes, lost in thought. Quirrell, with Voldemort's soul leeching off him, existed in a special "half-life" state. He wouldn't have needed a potion; he could have walked right through the "Living Shall Not Enter" door without burning.
But for anyone else following him, they would have to brew the potion from scratch.
Damian's frown deepened. This was a test—and it was aimed directly at him.
Harry, Hermione, and Neville were only first-years. It was absolutely impossible for them to brew a potion of this caliber under pressure.
But was Dumbledore really so sure that Damian would accompany Harry down the trapdoor?
Perhaps... Dumbledore had been watching Harry and his friends this entire time. Perhaps this specific chamber had been temporarily modified just for him.
It had taken the Gryffindors a considerable amount of time to get past the Devil's Snare, the flying keys, and the chess set. There had been more than enough time for someone to slip in and alter the final trial.
Damian stared coldly at the recipe in his hand. This test wasn't just about technical brewing skills; the final step required someone to actually drink the potion and walk through the fire.
The brewing process wouldn't take too long, but it required incredibly precise magical control. If there was the slightest error, the concoction would become a lethal poison. Whoever drank it wouldn't enter a temporary state of living death—they would just be dead.
Damian glanced casually at Hermione, who was anxiously hovering over the snoring Neville.
If I use Hermione to test the potion, Damian thought coolly, Dumbledore will undoubtedly keep me under a microscope for the rest of my time at Hogwarts.
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