The wind outside Selwyn Manor howled like a distant banshee as Dorian stood at the edge of the estate's boundaries, gazing into the sprawling darkness that stretched beyond the manor's overgrown grounds. The trees, their skeletal branches twisting against the stormy sky, seemed to claw at the heavens. The landscape, much like the manor itself, had once been grand—an estate envied by even the wealthiest pure-blood families. Now, it was a graveyard of memories, a forgotten relic of power long diminished.
Dorian's fingers tightened around the wand at his side, his mind focused on the journey that lay ahead. Durmstrang Institute, known for its focus on the dark arts, would be the perfect stage for him to make his first move. He had no intention of being just another student. No, he was going to dominate, manipulate, and bend the place to his will.
But before that, there was one final matter to attend to—a matter that had haunted him for years. His mother's death.
Dorian had always known that his family's downfall had been orchestrated. The Selwyns had once been one of the most feared and respected pure-blood families in the wizarding world. They had held immense influence over both the Ministry and the darker circles of magical society. But it had all come crashing down in a single night—the night his mother had been killed, and his father had disappeared without a trace.
For years, the story had been told in whispers. Amara Selwyn, a proud and powerful witch, had been ambushed by a group of Aurors during the final days of the First Wizarding War. It was said that she had been protecting Dorian, hiding him from the Ministry's grasp. But Dorian had always sensed there was more to the tale. Something darker. Something deeper.
And tonight, Estera had promised him the truth.
The hooded figure of Estera appeared at the edge of the garden, gliding toward him like a shadow made flesh. She moved with a silence that unnerved most, but Dorian had grown used to it. Estera had been his caretaker since he was a child, a constant presence in the manor's decaying halls. She was more than just a guardian—she was a protector, a guide, and a keeper of the Selwyn family's most dangerous secrets.
As she approached, her voice hissed through the night air, barely audible over the wind. "You are leaving tomorrow. But before you go, there is one last thing you must know about your mother's death."
Dorian's eyes flicked to her, his expression unreadable. "You told me it was the Ministry," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You told me she was killed by Aurors. Is that not the truth?"
Estera's head tilted slightly, her hood casting her face in shadow. "It is a partial truth, but not the whole of it. Your mother's death was orchestrated—yes, by the Ministry, but they were not acting alone."
Dorian's brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his gaze sharp. "Who else was involved?"
Estera's cold, pale lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile. "The Dark Lord's followers."
For a moment, the words hung in the air, thick and heavy. Dorian's breath caught in his throat as the implications of her statement sank in. The Death Eaters—those who had sworn loyalty to Voldemort—had betrayed his family.
"The Dark Lord ordered it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was a dangerous edge to his tone.
Estera shook her head slowly. "No. Voldemort did not directly order her death. But there were those within his ranks who feared the Selwyn family's power, who believed that your mother's refusal to bend the knee would put them at risk. So they conspired with the Ministry, using the chaos of the war as their cover."
The rage that simmered beneath Dorian's calm exterior began to boil, his grip tightening around his wand. The betrayal cut deep. He had been raised to believe that his family's downfall was the work of the Ministry alone, but to hear that the Death Eaters—those who claimed to champion pure-blood supremacy—had played a part in his mother's death? It was an insult he could not forgive.
"Who?" he demanded, his voice hard as steel. "Who was responsible?"
Estera's eyes gleamed beneath the shadow of her hood. "A small faction within Voldemort's inner circle—wizards who saw your mother as a threat. One of them is still alive, though hidden from the public eye."
"Give me a name."
For a moment, Estera hesitated. Then, in a voice as cold as winter's breath, she whispered, "Lucius Malfoy."
The name sent a shockwave through Dorian. Malfoy. The pristine, polished face of the Malfoy family had long been a symbol of wealth and power in the wizarding world. Lucius Malfoy had been one of Voldemort's most trusted followers, but he was also a coward—a man who had slithered his way out of Azkaban after the First Wizarding War by claiming to be under the Imperius Curse.
Dorian's jaw tightened. He had never met Lucius Malfoy, but he had heard the stories—stories of the man's influence, his manipulation of both the Ministry and Voldemort's ranks. And now, he knew that Malfoy had played a role in his mother's death.
"Malfoy will pay for this," Dorian vowed, his voice like ice.
Estera watched him closely, her expression unreadable beneath her hood. "Patience, Dorian. You are powerful, but you must not act out of anger. Not yet. Malfoy has many allies, and you are not yet strong enough to face him."
"I am stronger than you think," Dorian replied, his tone laced with venom. "I've learned more in these halls than Malfoy could ever dream. But you're right—I won't face him until I've gathered enough power to crush him."
"Good," Estera murmured. "You will need allies. And that is why Durmstrang is the first step. There are those at Durmstrang who have no love for Voldemort's Death Eaters, who are eager for a new leader to rise. They will follow you if you prove yourself worthy."
Dorian nodded, his mind already racing with plans. Durmstrang would be the perfect place to build his influence. He would gather followers—wizards and witches who would swear loyalty to him, not because of fear, but because they believed in his vision. His mother had refused to bow to the Death Eaters, and he would continue that legacy by taking them down from within.
As the wind picked up, Dorian turned toward the manor, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow in the night. He had always known that his path would be a dark one, but now, with the truth of his mother's death revealed, his resolve had hardened.
Lucius Malfoy would die. But not yet.
First, he needed to make his mark at Durmstrang.
The following morning, the air was thick with anticipation as Dorian stood at the edge of the Selwyn estate, his trunk packed and his wand tucked securely in his sleeve. A sleek, black carriage, enchanted to move without horses, waited for him on the cobblestone path. The sun barely broke through the overcast sky, casting an eerie gray light over the landscape.
Estera stood beside him, her hands clasped in front of her as she watched him with those cold, calculating eyes. "You know what must be done," she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the wind.
Dorian glanced at her, nodding. "I will return when I am ready."
With a final glance at the decaying manor that had been his home for so many years, Dorian climbed into the carriage. The door closed with a soft click, and the carriage began to move, gliding silently down the path and away from the ruins of his past.
The journey to Durmstrang was long and uneventful, the landscape shifting from the wild, overgrown forests of Scotland to the snow-capped mountains of Eastern Europe. Durmstrang's reputation had always intrigued Dorian. It was a school that embraced the darker aspects of magic—its students trained in combat, manipulation, and the dark arts. But even within the walls of Durmstrang, there were secrets to be uncovered. There were those who still believed in the old ways, who remembered the power of the ancient bloodlines.
And it was those wizards and witches that Dorian sought to ally with.
As the carriage neared the towering gates of Durmstrang, Dorian's mind was already working through his plans. He would find the strongest, the most ambitious students, and make them his allies. He would exploit the divisions within the school—those loyal to Voldemort, those who were not—and he would rise through the ranks.
The carriage came to a halt at the entrance to the school. Massive iron gates loomed before him, flanked by stone gargoyles that seemed to watch his every move. Beyond the gates, the towering spires of Durmstrang Castle rose into the sky, their dark silhouettes framed by the stormy clouds above.
A figure stood at the gates, waiting for him. A tall man with sharp features and cold, calculating eyes. Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang, and a former Death Eater. His presence was both intimidating and welcoming—Dorian knew that Karkaroff would be watching him closely, assessing his potential.
As the carriage door swung open, Dorian stepped out, his boots crunching against the snow-covered ground. He met Karkaroff's gaze with calm, unflinching confidence.
"Dorian Selwyn," Karkaroff greeted, his voice smooth as silk. "We have been expecting you."
"I hope Durmstrang lives up to its reputation," Dorian replied coolly.
Karkaroff's thin lips curved into a smile. "I have no doubt that it will. Follow me. There is much to discuss."
As Dorian followed Karkaroff through the gates and into the heart of Durmstrang Castle, he felt the familiar stirrings of anticipation deep in his chest. This was the beginning of something new—something powerful. And as he stepped into the dark, imposing halls of the school, he knew that his journey had truly begun.
In time, he would rise. In time, the wizarding world would tremble beneath the weight of his power.
But for now, he would play the part of the student, biding his time until the moment was right.
The forgotten heir had arrived.
And soon, they would all know his name.