Durmstrang loomed above Dorian, an imposing fortress of stone and ice, its spires stabbing into the storm-ridden sky like the fangs of some great beast. The cold mountain air bit into his skin as he followed Igor Karkaroff through the iron gates and into the heart of the school. Inside, the walls were lined with dark wood and dimly lit torches, casting long shadows across the stone floors. Everything about Durmstrang spoke of power—old, hidden, and dangerous.
Karkaroff walked with a deliberate pace, his cloak trailing behind him, a figure of intimidation and authority. Though Karkaroff had once been a loyal Death Eater, he had fled Voldemort's service long ago, betraying his former comrades to save his own skin. To many, he was a coward. But Dorian saw something different—a man who understood the importance of survival. And while Karkaroff lacked the true ambition Dorian admired, he could still prove useful.
As they made their way through the corridors, Dorian took in his surroundings. Students in dark robes moved quickly past them, their gazes wary as they cast glances at the new arrival. Some whispered among themselves, while others averted their eyes, as if sensing something in Dorian that unsettled them. He had that effect on people.
"Durmstrang is unlike any other magical institution," Karkaroff said, his voice breaking the silence. "Here, we do not coddle our students with foolish notions of morality or restraint. We embrace magic in all its forms, particularly the darker arts that your kind has been drawn to for generations."
Dorian smirked. His kind. He was well aware of what Karkaroff meant—pure-blood families steeped in ancient traditions, with a penchant for the darker side of magic. Durmstrang had long been a haven for such families, a place where they could hone their craft without the interference of the Ministry.
"Durmstrang's reputation is well known," Dorian replied smoothly. "That's why I'm here."
Karkaroff glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. "I have heard much about you, young Selwyn. Your family's name still carries weight, despite… recent events."
Dorian said nothing, but his gaze darkened at the mention of his family. Karkaroff didn't need to elaborate. Everyone knew of the Selwyns' fall from grace, though few knew the full truth. Fewer still knew the fire that burned within Dorian—the fire that would restore his family's name, and more.
Karkaroff seemed to sense the shift in Dorian's demeanor and changed the subject. "You will find that the students here are… competitive. Ambition runs deep in these halls. Durmstrang has long been a breeding ground for those who seek power, whether in the form of magical strength or political influence. I expect you to thrive in such an environment."
"Expect?" Dorian raised an eyebrow. "I don't need expectations. I will succeed."
A small, thin smile played on Karkaroff's lips, but he said nothing. They continued through the winding halls, and soon they arrived at a massive set of wooden doors adorned with intricate carvings of magical creatures—dragons, serpents, and other dark, mythical beasts. Karkaroff pushed open the doors, revealing a grand hall where students were gathered, their low voices filling the space.
The hall was vast, its ceiling towering high above, supported by stone pillars etched with ancient runes. At the far end of the hall was a raised platform where the professors sat, their eyes scanning the students with cold indifference. There was a sense of order here, but it was an order built on fear and dominance, not respect.
Dorian took it all in with a quiet confidence. This was where his new life would begin.
Karkaroff led him to the front of the hall, where the students' conversations faltered, their attention turning toward him. He could feel their eyes on him—measuring, evaluating. Some looked intrigued, others wary, and a few even envious. It didn't matter. By the time he was done, they would all know their place beneath him.
Karkaroff raised a hand, and the hall fell silent. "Students," he began, his voice carrying with authority, "we have a new arrival among us. Dorian Selwyn, the last heir of the Selwyn line. His family's contributions to the wizarding world are known to many of you, and I expect him to uphold that legacy during his time here at Durmstrang."
There was a murmur of recognition at the mention of the Selwyn name, but it was quickly silenced as Karkaroff continued. "Dorian will be joining the upper-year students. I expect you all to make him feel… welcome."
The way Karkaroff said the word 'welcome' suggested that any student foolish enough to challenge Dorian would regret it. Dorian suppressed a smile. He didn't need Karkaroff's protection, but it was clear that the headmaster had plans for him—plans that aligned with his own ambitions, at least for now.
With that, Karkaroff gestured for Dorian to take a seat. He chose a spot near the end of one of the long tables, where a few students eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. As he sat down, he could feel the weight of their stares, but he paid them no mind. Let them watch. Let them wonder.
Beside him, a tall boy with sharp features and a cocky grin leaned over. "So, you're the famous Selwyn, huh?"
Dorian glanced at him, unimpressed. "I suppose that depends on your definition of famous."
The boy chuckled. "I'm Matthias Borgin. My family runs Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. You might have heard of us."
Dorian had, though he didn't care. Borgin and Burkes dealt in dark artifacts, and while they had their uses, they were little more than opportunists—traders in other people's power, rather than wielders of it.
"Charmed, I'm sure," Dorian replied, his tone flat.
Matthias smirked. "You'll fit in just fine here. A word of advice, though—watch out for the other houses. They're always looking for fresh blood to toy with."
"Is that a warning?" Dorian asked, his voice edged with mockery.
"Just friendly advice," Matthias said, leaning back in his chair. "But you strike me as someone who doesn't need it."
Dorian didn't respond. He didn't need friends, and he certainly didn't need advice from someone like Matthias. What he needed were allies—those who would serve his purposes, willingly or otherwise.
As the meal continued, Dorian's gaze drifted across the hall, assessing the students around him. There were three houses at Durmstrang, each representing different aspects of ambition and power. Våld, the house of strength and raw magical prowess, where the most aggressive and combat-oriented students thrived. List, the house of cunning and strategy, home to the school's most manipulative and calculating minds. And finally, Vara, the house of knowledge and ancient magical tradition, where those who sought mastery over the deepest, most forbidden magics resided.
Dorian had been placed in List—a fitting choice, though he would have made his mark in any house. His talent for manipulation and long-term strategy was what would set him apart from the blunt force of Våld and the scholarly arrogance of Vara. He would find his place, and soon enough, Durmstrang would be his to command.
As the evening wore on, Dorian's attention was drawn to a group of students sitting at the far end of the hall, separated from the others. They were older, their faces hard and their eyes sharp. There was an air of authority around them—upper-year students who clearly held sway over the rest of the school. They watched everything with a cold detachment, speaking in low voices, their expressions unreadable.
One of them, a tall girl with raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes, met Dorian's gaze across the hall. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, and Dorian sensed something in her—a power, a sharpness that matched his own. She held his gaze for a second longer before turning back to her companions, but the connection had been made.
"**That's Ingrid Ravnsborg," Matthias whispered, noticing Dorian's interest. "Head of the Våld house. She's… intense."
Dorian didn't reply. He didn't need Matthias's opinion. Ingrid was more than just intense. She was powerful, and power was something Dorian recognized immediately. He made a mental note to learn more about her—and to determine whether she would be an ally or an obstacle.
As the meal came to an end, Karkaroff dismissed the students, and they began to file out of the hall. Dorian lingered for a moment, his mind already working through his next steps. Durmstrang was a school of predators, and he would have to navigate its halls carefully. But he had no doubt that he would rise to the top.
As he made his way out of the hall, a figure stepped into his path. It was Lukas Grimmel, a broad-shouldered boy with a scowl etched onto his face. He was flanked by two others—clearly his lackeys—and they blocked Dorian's way with the air of students who believed themselves untouchable.
"Selwyn, is it?" Lukas sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. "You think you can just walk in here and take over, don't you?"
Dorian met Lukas's gaze with calm indifference. "I'm not here to take over. Not yet."
Lukas's sneer faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "You'd do well to remember your place."
Dorian's lips twitched into a cold smile. "And where would that be?"
Lukas stepped closer, clearly trying to intimidate him. "Beneath me."
The two boys behind Lukas chuckled, but Dorian's expression remained unchanged. "Interesting," he said quietly. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."
Without another word, Dorian stepped past Lukas, his cloak brushing against the boy's arm as he walked away. Lukas's eyes followed him, his expression one of growing uncertainty. He had expected Dorian to rise to the bait, to challenge him, but Dorian had no interest in petty displays of dominance. There would be a time for that, but not yet.
As Dorian made his way toward the dormitories, his mind was already racing with plans. Durmstrang would be his proving ground, a place where he would gather allies, eliminate threats, and hone his power. Ingrid Ravnsborg, Lukas Grimmel, and even Karkaroff—they would all serve a purpose in his rise.
For now, he would watch, he would learn, and he would wait.
The shadows whispered his name.
And soon, they would speak it with fear.