All You Need to Do Is Clench Your Fists

After term began, Gryffindor's Quidditch training grew much more demanding, leaving Harry rather exhausted.

What made him feel even worse was that Snape had volunteered to referee the Quidditch match—given his nature, he would surely favor Gryffindor's opponents during the game.

Hermione and Ron had even tried to persuade Harry to give up this Quidditch match.

Although they had learned from Damon that it had been Professor Quirrell, not Snape, who had attacked Harry last time, it was still incredibly dangerous.

Who knew why the seemingly honest Professor Quirrell had targeted Harry? And why had all the other professors remained silent?

What if Harry's Flying Broomstick was enchanted again during this match? Would they have to stop it themselves once more?

A despicable man like Snape would surely be delighted if Harry fell and injured himself during the match, leaving him unable to take part in the following Quidditch games. That way, Slytherin, the house he represented, would have one less formidable opponent.

"We have to find information on Nicolas Flamel! I have a feeling it's important!"

"Hey, why don't we go talk to Damon? Not just about Nicolas Flamel, but about the Quidditch match too. As far as I know, he doesn't seem to be planning to watch this Quidditch match.

"If he doesn't go, what will we do if something happens again?"

Hermione shot Ron a glance. She had wanted to say, "We can solve it ourselves," but in the end, she said nothing—after so long at school, she and Damon had only run into each other a few times, much less had a proper conversation.

Damon was always in a hurry. Ever since he had started eating some kind of beef noodles, this had become even more apparent—he never spent more than ten minutes eating, and during that time, he also read Transfiguration Today. He looked so focused that Hermione felt too embarrassed to disturb him.

She could feel her relationship with Damon becoming increasingly unfamiliar, as though the two of them had already set off down different paths.

Although Damon had given her a signed collector's edition set of Lockhart's books at Christmas—a gift she had been very pleased with—Hermione still felt as though something was missing.

"You think—" Harry pursed his lips. "Where exactly does Damon practice Charms?"

"Oh—you finally said it. I thought I was the only one who was curious."

"Do we have to discuss this now? Nicolas Flamel is what matters—once we find information about him, it won't be too late to put finding Damon on the next agenda."

"Do you know where Damon is?"

The three of them whirled around and saw Neville approaching with a miserable expression.

"Wh-what's wrong?"

"Neville, you don't look well."

"Malfoy—he's been wandering outside the library, saying that the next time he sees me, he'll use me to practice the Leg-Locker Curse."

"So you want Damon to stand up for you?"

"Neville, you have to fight back. He's always been overbearing. There's no reason for us to submit to him and let him have his way so easily."

"You don't need to tell me I'm too cowardly and don't belong in Gryffindor. Malfoy has already said that to me."

Neville left with a miserable face.

"This is an opportunity! We can ask Damon for help over Neville's matter—and mention our own needs while we're at it, can't we?"

At Harry's suggestion, Hermione and Ron said nothing.

The trio had always felt that Damon was somewhat like a snow eagle on an icy cliff: proud, aloof, and elegant. It was difficult to describe that feeling—Damon was their friend, and he said so himself, yet they always felt as though there was a layer of film between them, an indescribable sense of distance.

Even Hermione did not really dare to strike up a conversation with Damon casually—in fact, she had already rehearsed every sentence she spoke to him in her mind before saying it.

It was precisely because of this that, although the Duelling Prince's reputation had grown ever more intense among the first-years, not a single fool had dared to approach him without permission.

Rumor had it that the young witches had even formed something called the "Duelling Prince Protection Fan Club," dedicated to driving away anyone who rashly approached Damon White.

Apparently, they had already begun treating Damon as some sort of sacred relic that could not be approached or profaned.

"Don't worry, I know Damon. I have a feeling he'll give us the answer this time."

After the Mirror of Erised incident, Harry's fondness for Damon had soared, and he also felt that he understood Damon better and had grown closer to him.

He was confident that Damon would not refuse him.

The next day, the trio, together with Neville, went to find Damon while he was eating breakfast.

"Oh, all four of you came together? What's got things so lively?"

Damon was reading an emerging paper in Transfiguration Today about Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration with great interest. The paper discussed the connection between magic and matter, speculating that sufficiently powerful magic might be able to alter the very nature of a transfigured object.

If successful, it would undoubtedly overturn Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.

However, the person who had written the paper had not managed to do it, merely putting forward several theories and conjectures—clearly, his magic was not enough to support his argument.

But Damon could do it—he would try it tonight while practicing Transfiguration.

"Damon."

Neville stepped forward pitifully and explained that Malfoy intended to bully him.

The three youngsters watched helplessly from the side, thinking that Damon would surely urge Neville to resist bravely as well.

Unexpectedly, Damon's reaction was far more intense than theirs.

"Oh—I warned him seriously before, and he still dared to threaten you?"

Damon shot to his feet, startling all four of them. Quite a few wizards around them who had been secretly watching Damon immediately turned their gazes over, making Neville's heart race slightly—he was not used to being watched by so many people.

After confirming that Malfoy was in the Great Hall, Damon asked:

"Neville, what do you want me to do?"

"Me? I want you to tell him not to think about using me to practice Charms again."

"Oh, that's easy. But Neville, do you mind taking it a little too far?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Settle it in one go. Make sure he learns his lesson."

Damon pulled Neville to his feet and whispered in his ear:

"I'll take you over there and we'll beat him up good. You don't need to think about anything. All you need to do is throw punches. I'll handle everything that comes after. Understand?"

"Da-Damon?"

Neville did not quite understand.

But after meeting Damon's gaze, he suddenly accepted it.

Under the gaze of those eyes, which seemed to hold swords and fire within them, Neville felt that he could do anything.

It was not understanding, nor was it a resolution. He simply accepted it.

"All right, I will—Damon, I'll do it."

"Good, Neville. Stay close to me. Don't think about anything. Clench your fists!"

And so Neville clenched his fists tightly, glaring at Malfoy as though he were the man who had murdered his father, and followed Damon toward the Slytherin table.

"Wait—what are you doing!"

Hermione's face turned deathly pale at once, as though she had foreseen something about to happen.

The trio's hearts hammered wildly, as though they were about to leap out of their chests!

With three different feelings in their hearts, they watched the tall, handsome boy lead the red-faced boy behind him onward.

"Hey! Malfoy! What did I tell you before!"

The young man's furious roar rang out through the Great Hall.