Once the Hospital Wing had fully cleared of students, the heavy oak doors opened again. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape walked in together.
"Damian, are you feeling any better?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes studying the boy with gentle concern.
"I am fine, Professor Dumbledore," Damian replied respectfully.
He shifted his gaze to the Potions Master standing silently in the black robes. "And thank you for the potion, Professor Snape."
Snape merely gave a stiff, expressionless nod, looking as though saving a student's life was nothing more than a trivial inconvenience.
But Damian knew the truth. The restorative draught Snape had provided was incredibly rare and potent. After drinking it, his severe internal injuries had knit back together in minutes. He wasn't joking earlier with his friends—he genuinely felt fully ready to be discharged.
Dumbledore smiled softly. "I went down to the pitch and witnessed an absolutely incredible feat of Transfiguration. Even I could not have executed something so flawless at your age, especially under such dire circumstances."
"When I was falling, I felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of clarity," Damian explained modestly. "I instinctively cast the Transfiguration. Before today, I couldn't alter a landscape on such a massive scale."
"Crisis often brings profound opportunities for growth," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.
"It seems you have successfully broken through a significant magical hurdle," the Headmaster continued. "A hurdle, I might add, that many adult wizards fail to overcome in their entire lifetimes. You are even more outstanding than I initially thought, Damian."
"I still have much to learn," Damian replied smoothly. "I owe my rapid growth entirely to the dedicated teaching of Hogwarts' professors."
Dumbledore nodded kindly, but his expression soon grew serious as he shifted to the true purpose of his visit.
"Damian, have you deeply offended anyone recently?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "I am aware you have had... disagreements with certain students in the past. However, to my knowledge, those conflicts have been dormant for quite some time."
Damian immediately caught Dumbledore's implication. "Are you saying the broom explosion was man-made?"
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. He clearly despised seeing such dark acts occur within the walls of his school.
"We examined the charred splinters of the broomstick," Dumbledore explained slowly. "Professor Snape discovered traces of a highly volatile, Magic Resistance Liquid seared into the wood. That is certainly not a substance used in standard broom maintenance."
"Afterward, we questioned all the players who were on the pitch. The reserve Beater, Perkin McNeill, possessed the strongest motive."
"Under the professors' interrogation, Mr. McNeill cracked. He confessed to his actions."
Damian raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. The results came out that quickly?
"However," Dumbledore continued, his gaze sharpening, "I believe he is hiding crucial information about where he obtained the substance. Therefore, I wanted to ask for your perspective."
Dumbledore rarely used Legilimency on his students unless absolutely necessary. He preferred to rely on his decades of experience to read when someone was lying by omission.
Damian immediately thought of Griffin Everett's whispered tip.
"If I had to guess who harbors the most hostility toward me, it would be Wil Crabbe," Damian offered tentatively. "I've heard rumors that he frequently incites the older Slytherins to target me."
Dumbledore pondered this for a moment, his expression unreadable. "We will handle this matter properly, Damian. For now, simply rest and recover."
Dumbledore and Snape turned and left the ward. Snape hadn't uttered a single word the entire time.
Damian stared at the empty stone doorway, a faint, cold smile touching his lips. He had a strong premonition that the school's "proper handling" of the situation wouldn't satisfy him.
If this explosion had happened to an ordinary third-year student, they would have been instantly vaporized in mid-air.
If the true mastermind was expelled and sent to Azkaban, Damian would let it go. But if the school's punishment was merely a slap on the wrist? Damian didn't mind putting in a little extra work.
If the Ministry won't send them to Azkaban, Damian thought darkly, then I'll just have to send them to the afterlife.
An hour earlier, during the tactical time-out, the Slytherin locker room had been suffocatingly quiet.
The players sat in grim silence. They couldn't help but reminisce about the previous matches when Damian was on the pitch. The sheer thrill of utterly crushing their opponents had been intoxicating.
Perkin McNeill slumped on the wooden bench, looking incredibly gloomy. He hadn't expected his form to degrade so severely after spending a month in the Hospital Wing. Every Bludger he hit had wildly missed its mark.
Captain Marcus Flint marched into the room, his face like thunder. "I've requested an official substitution. Perkin, you're benched. Damian is taking the field."
Perkin's head snapped up, his expression twisting in shock. He had assumed Flint called the time-out just to give him a moment to readjust his aim.
"Captain, please, give me one more chance!" Perkin pleaded desperately. "I swear I'll play better in the second half!"
Marcus shook his head coldly. He glanced around at the exhausted team. "Perkin, you need to understand my position. I'm the Captain, and I have to be responsible for the rest of the squad. I can't let their hard work go to waste because you're out of practice."
Perkin's face flushed an ugly, mottled red. Other people's efforts can't go to waste, but mine can?
He had trained himself to the point of hospitalization for this team. He felt he had bled more for Slytherin than anyone else in the room. Worse yet, if Damian flew out there and effortlessly turned the game around, Perkin would look like a complete joke to the entire school.
"Don't be so discouraged. There will be plenty of other matches in the future," Marcus grunted, giving Perkin a dismissive pat on the shoulder.
Perkin looked around at his teammates. Not a single player met his eye or spoke up to defend him. Humiliated and boiling with rage, Perkin violently shoved Marcus's hand away and stormed out of the locker room.
The moment he pushed through the heavy wooden doors, he nearly collided with Wil Crabbe.
Fuming, Perkin merely glared at the younger boy, fully intending to push past him without a word.
But Wil reached out and firmly grabbed Perkin's arm. "McNeill, wait. I have something here that you'll definitely find interesting."
Perkin ripped his arm away, his eyes flashing. "Back off. I don't need whatever garbage you're peddling."
Wil simply smiled, completely unfazed by the Beater's hostility. He leaned in close and whispered a few words directly into Perkin's ear.
Instantly, Perkin's anger faltered, replaced by shock. "Are you serious?"
Wil quickly pulled the older boy into a shadowed alcove beneath the stadium stairs.
"Look at it this way, McNeill," Wil sneered softly. "You really don't want Damian to fly out there and effortlessly win this match, do you? If he does, you'll be permanently overshadowed by a half-blood wizard for the rest of your Hogwarts career."
Like many in Slytherin, Perkin was a staunch pure-blood supremacist. A massive part of his seething resentment toward Damian stemmed from his belief that Damian was merely a half-blood.
Perkin was clearly moved by the venomous words, but a flicker of fear remained. "If I get caught doing this, I'll be severely punished."
"Don't worry," Wil coaxed smoothly. "This Magic Resistance Liquid will only make his broomstick wildly unresponsive and difficult to control. It won't cause any major, life-threatening issues. Even if it's discovered later, the worst you'll get is a month of detention."
Perkin's expression twisted in extreme hesitation, warring between his pride and his fear of expulsion.
"You need to decide right now," Wil urged, his tone hardening. "Damian is going to leave the locker room any second."
Right on cue, Lee Jordan's magically magnified voice echoed from the stadium above, announcing Damian's substitution. The crowds instantly erupted into deafening, adoring cheers.
Hearing the crowd chant his rival's name caused Perkin's face to darken with pure malice. He gritted his teeth. "Give it to me."
Wil's eyes lit up with malicious joy. He quickly pulled a small, wrapped package from his robes and shoved it into Perkin's hands.
"Just inject this Magic Resistance Liquid directly into the broom's enchanted core," Wil instructed rapidly. "Hurry, you barely have a minute."
Perkin gave a grim nod, pocketed the package, and sprinted toward the stadium's broom storage room.
The brooms kept in the team storage room were of a much higher caliber than the ancient Shooting Stars used in first-year flying classes. Players who couldn't afford a personal racing broom, like Damian, relied on these high-end school models.
Because each player was assigned a specific broom to personally maintain for the season, they never swapped mounts. Perkin knew exactly which broom Damian flew.
Locating Damian's polished broomstick, Perkin quickly tore open Wil's package. Inside was a thick glass syringe filled with a heavy, mercury-like silver fluid.
With trembling hands, Perkin jammed the sharp needle directly into the broom's handle, right where the primary levitation enchantments were carved into the wood. He pressed the plunger, forcing the heavy, silver liquid deep into the broom's grain.
Once the syringe was empty, he quickly withdrew the needle and rubbed a dab of polishing wax over the tiny puncture hole. The entry point instantly vanished.
His heart pounding, Perkin placed the sabotaged broom exactly where he had found it and slipped out of the storage room unnoticed.
He hurried back to the shadowed alcove where Wil was still waiting.
"Did you do it?" Wil asked eagerly.
Perkin gave a cold, stiff nod. "I injected the entire vial into the handle's core. I hope it works exactly like you said it would."
Wil smirked, completely ignoring the older boy's foul attitude. "Perfect. Now, let's head out to the stands and enjoy the spectacular show."
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