HP: DnD Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Curse Devouring 

Hours after the incident with Lockhart, murmurs about the man and his lackluster teaching began to spread like wildfire among the students. Damien’s defense against the mental charm had not only broken the spell on the students but had also cast doubt on the professor's competence. As the whispers grew, so did the realization that for all the days Lockhart had spent teaching them, not one of those lessons had introduced a single practical Defense Against the Dark Arts concept.

Lockhart’s credibility was rapidly deteriorating, and he was becoming the subject of ridicule for many. Even Harry and his group couldn’t contain their satisfaction.

“He brought this on himself,” he recalled Harry muttering, his face bright with a mix of amusement and anticipation, clearly pleased that the professor would finally be forced to teach them something of value.

Damien, however, was less inclined to celebrate. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the edges of an open book on the library table in front of him. The title caught his eye. ‘The Art of Cursing,’ he chuckled softly. “How ridiculous.” 

Curses were often deemed dangerous, sometimes even outright forbidden, but not all curses fell under the same scrutiny. Some were taught at the school, though they were generally considered too advanced or too risky for students to learn without careful guidance. 

This book was filled with curses that were deemed safe enough to be studied, though a few of them were marked as restricted. There were no outright forbidden spells within its pages. Still, Damien had only obtained the book after much persuasion and a fair amount of effort. He had begged Professor Flitwick, demonstrating his magical prowess —while carefully hiding his more advanced abilities gained in the dungeon— and only then had Flitwick reluctantly agreed to let him study a subject that wasn’t suitable for second-year students.

Damien knew that if he were to survive the dungeon and its increasing challenges, he couldn’t rely on the magic he had acquired there. He needed to expand his knowledge, and curses—especially offensive ones—seemed like a good place to start.

‘I won’t survive the dungeon with just what I gained there. I need to learn more,’ he thought, flipping through the pages. The previous two dungeons had taught him how limited his current skills were. He had felt the bite of frustration, especially when he found himself lacking in offensive spells. ‘An extra spell or two would have made all the difference.’

And there was another issue—his newfound intelligence and wisdom were practically begging to be put to use. The abilities he had gained made spellcasting far easier. ‘Most of the magic I acquired in the dungeon isn’t tied to specific spells. It’s only making me more efficient at learning new ones that align with those types of magic,’ he reasoned. Hence, he’d turned to curses. Though not beginner magic, curses were undeniably one of the most potent forms of offensive magic. ‘They’re practically dark charms,’ he mused, flipping through the pages of the book, ‘so they shouldn’t be too difficult to learn.’

Some of the curses he read about made him laugh. The Babbling Curse, for instance, was a ridiculous spell that made the victim babble uncontrollably for an extended period. ‘How petty,’ Damien thought. ‘What’s the point in that?’

However, there were other curses that caught his attention—curses that could be genuinely useful. The Confringo curse, for example, was one that allowed the caster to make anything it touched explode, including living beings. Damien knew of the spell, though he hadn’t mastered it yet. He had struggled with it in the past, but now, with his enhanced wisdom and intelligence, he felt that he could grasp the intricacies of the spell in no time.

‘With my new abilities, I feel like I could devour any spell,’ he thought, his fingers skimming through the text. The words seemed to pour into his mind with little effort, and after analyzing them, he understood the mechanics of the curses as though he had known them for years.

But as he continued reading, Damien made an observation. ‘Other than the petty, annoying curses, most of the damage-dealing ones are either explosions or fire-based.’ Take, for example, the Expulso curse, which caused an explosive shockwave, often throwing people off balance, and in some cases, even killing them. While it was weaker than Confringo, it could still prove deadly. However, given its explosive nature, it was more of a duel-ender than a controlled weapon. 

There were also references to more powerful curses—like the Fiendfyre curse—but these were only briefly mentioned, with no incantations provided, as they were far too advanced for him to learn at his current level. ‘I wonder why Confringo isn’t considered an advanced curse,’ he thought. The damage it caused seemed severe enough to classify it as an advanced-level spell, but considering it was easier to cast than many other curses, Damien could understand why it wasn’t.

Next, he came across other curses: the Gemini Curse, which created a perfect replica of any object; the Jelly-Legs Curse, which caused the victim’s legs to become unstable and wobbly; and the Leg-Locker Curse, which bound the opponent’s legs together, rendering them immobile. There was also the Reductor Curse, which exploded objects into mist or dust rather than leaving a pile of debris.

‘That’s it?’ Damien thought, feeling a little disappointed. These curses weren’t bad, but they were hardly game-changing. Unfortunately, the more dangerous and destructive curses were reserved for higher-level students, and only a few of the more advanced texts were accessible to him.

‘I should probably shift my focus to jinxes and ethical spells,’ he mused. ‘After all, practical application matters far more than theoretical knowledge.’ He had decided that once Halloween passed in a few days, he would return to the dungeon and face another challenge, but for now, his focus was on mastering a few key spells and curses. There was also a certain Gryffindor boy he needed to help with a problem of his own.

As he closed the book with a sigh, Damien glanced toward one of the library’s higher floors. He had plans to eventually get his hands on restricted and banned books, but doing so would require the perfect timing. He needed a moment when everyone else was preoccupied, allowing him the opportunity to slip unnoticed into the restricted section.

‘Feline’s Escape will work, but there are too many ghosts and people watching,’ he thought. He needed to be patient and wait for the right moment. Fortunately, his instincts told him that moment would come sooner rather than later.

…

…

[Late Evening — Hogwarts’ Nursery]

As a certain cheery boy wandered through the lush greenery of the Hogwarts nursery, he reveled in the calming scent of blooming flowers, the cheerful chirps of birds, and the mesmerizing sight of magical botany. With his camera in hand, he captured the beauty around him, eager to preserve every moment through his lens.

As a Muggle-born, he was still adjusting to the wonders of magic, but one thing remained constant in his life: his love for photography. As a recent addition to the school, his life had been entirely transformed, and he didn’t want to forget any of it—not the small, seemingly insignificant moments nor the more remarkable ones.

He wandered deeper into the nursery, his camera clicking away. He had already captured images of every permissible spot within the school. He’d even managed to convince several students to pose for him, including the legendary Harry Potter. The boy, who had heard so much about Harry before even stepping foot in Hogwarts, was thrilled to meet him in person. Seeing the name ‘Harry’ tossed around so often made it clear that the famous Gryffindor was revered by all the students.

Now, with a picture of him and Harry together, the boy was certain that in the future, others would be envious of him. After all, how many students could say they had a photo with the ‘Boy Who Lived’?

As time passed, however, the atmosphere around him grew darker. Despite the flash on his camera, he could sense the failing light. His camera wasn’t high-end enough to handle such dim conditions. 

"What's that?" he murmured, his curiosity piqued by a strange sound in the air. It wasn’t loud—more like the soft rustling of leaves, almost like a breeze. But there was no wind, and the trees around him stood still, their branches unmoving, as if frozen in time.

"Hello?" he called out, unsure if someone was nearby.

"Don’t mind me," he added quickly. "I’m just taking pictures of the flowers." He wanted to be courteous, not to make anyone uncomfortable with his camera. 

But there was no response. He waited for a moment, listening for any hint of a reply, but heard nothing except for the quiet sound of leaves rustling. 

"Hello?" he asked again, the uncertainty creeping into his voice. "Are you close?" 

Still, there was no answer, though the strange sound continued, growing more persistent. 

"It’s okay if you don’t want to talk," he said, his voice softening. "I understand. I’m just here to take some photos."

When silence followed, he resumed clicking pictures of the plants, flowers, and trees, trying to push aside the unease that was slowly creeping in. As the evening shadows lengthened, he wandered towards a patch of fallen leaves, wanting to capture the fading beauty of autumn.

That’s when he saw it.

“U-Uh?” he stammered, startled. His camera had caught something odd—something that didn’t belong. A tail. A long, serpentine tail that flickered past the frame of the lens.

His heart skipped a beat. He took another shot, wanting to get a better view of the creature, to understand what it was. 

That was the worst mistake he could have made.

"Ahhh!" he screamed in terror as the creature’s face appeared in the shot—a horrifying, venomous gaze locking with his own through the lens. 

It wasn’t a snake. It was far worse. It was a creature of legends, something far more sinister and magical than anything he had imagined.

The camera’s flash was a blur of light, but before the boy could even react, the creature cursed him, its gaze freezing him in place. In an instant, he was unable to move, unable to speak, and unable to feel anything at all. The magic had left him petrified

His petrified form stood in the middle of the nursery, lost among the trees, hidden in plain sight. He would remain there for days, a forgotten statue, until someone stumbled upon him. 

All of this, all of his misfortune, was because of a single, terrible mistake. The boy had captured an image of a Basilisk—a creature whose gaze had the power to petrify anyone foolish enough to meet it.

In the end, his love for photography had sealed his fate, and he paid the price for one ill-fated shot.