The next morning, the entire school was buzzing with whispers. Dorian could feel the weight of their stares, hear the murmurs that followed him wherever he went. They no longer saw him as a quiet newcomer from a fallen family. They saw him as something far more dangerous—someone to fear, someone to respect. The confrontation with Lukas Grimmel had changed everything. Dorian had broken the unspoken rule of the school's power structure by doing what no one else dared: openly asserting his dominance with raw, unstoppable magic.
In many ways, it was exactly what Dorian wanted. Durmstrang was a place where strength was the ultimate currency, and now, his strength was undeniable. But something about the events of the previous night still weighed on him.
The power had felt wild, uncontrollable. For a brief moment, it had almost consumed him, leaving him on the edge of something far darker than he had anticipated. Ingrid's warning echoed in his mind like a whispering ghost: "Power is a tool, but if you let it consume you, it becomes a weapon."
Dorian clenched his jaw, pushing the thought aside as he entered the library. He couldn't afford to dwell on doubts—not now. Not when he had only just begun to assert his place in this world. He had control over the magic. He would always have control.
As he moved through the aisles of ancient books, his mind kept returning to the ritual in Salazar Slytherin's journal. The power he had unlocked was immense, but it still felt incomplete. There was more to the ancient magic, more pieces to the puzzle that he needed to find if he wanted to fully master it. He had tasted the edge of it, but the deeper secrets remained hidden.
Dorian's thoughts were interrupted as he spotted a familiar figure seated at one of the long wooden tables. Matthias Borgin was hunched over an old book, his usual smug grin replaced with a rare look of concentration. When he noticed Dorian's approach, Matthias quickly straightened, slipping back into his familiar, casual posture.
"Selwyn," Matthias greeted, his voice light but curious. "Heard you had quite the evening."
Dorian raised an eyebrow, lowering himself into the seat across from Matthias. "Word travels fast."
"Word?" Matthias chuckled. "More like a storm. What you did to Grimmel… well, let's just say it's the talk of the school."
Dorian's face remained neutral. "It was necessary."
Matthias tilted his head, his gaze sharp as he studied Dorian. "Necessary? Maybe. Impressive? Definitely. But let me give you some advice, friend—you've got everyone's attention now. That's both a blessing and a curse."
Dorian met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "I'm aware."
"Good," Matthias said, leaning forward slightly. "Because people like Grimmel? They don't take kindly to being humiliated. And there are others here—students, even some professors—who might not like the fact that a newcomer is rising through the ranks so quickly. Especially one with… certain kinds of power."
Dorian's eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond immediately. He knew that Durmstrang had its share of jealous and power-hungry individuals, but none of them posed a real threat to him. Not anymore.
"What are you getting at, Matthias?" Dorian asked coolly.
Matthias gave a small shrug. "Just looking out for you. You've made a name for yourself, but don't think for a second that people won't try to knock you down if they see the chance."
Dorian leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm more than capable of handling whatever comes my way."
Matthias studied him for a moment longer, then grinned. "I don't doubt it. But if you ever need… assistance, well, you know where to find me."
Dorian gave him a curt nod, though inwardly he remained cautious. Matthias was useful, but he was also self-serving. His offer of assistance wasn't out of loyalty; it was because he saw an opportunity to align himself with power. Dorian would keep him close, but he wouldn't forget that Matthias, like everyone else, had his own agenda.
After a few more minutes of conversation, Dorian excused himself and continued his search through the library's vast collection of books. He was looking for something specific—anything that could help him understand the deeper layers of the magic he had unlocked. There had to be more to it than what the journal revealed.
Hours passed as he combed through various texts, his mind absorbing the ancient symbols and incantations described in each. The more he read, the more he began to understand the complexity of the magic that had been bound to him. It wasn't just raw power—it was an ancient force, tied to the very essence of the wizarding world itself. The magic was old, predating even Hogwarts, rooted in the dark traditions of the pure-blood families that had once ruled the magical world with an iron fist.
But there was something else. Something deeper. Every text hinted at it—a lingering shadow, a hidden cost to the power he now wielded. The ritual he had performed had only unlocked the surface of the magic, but to truly master it, to bend it fully to his will, Dorian would need to go further. The warnings were clear: this magic could destroy the unworthy. It required not only strength but an unwavering will to command it. And the price for failure was madness.
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Am I strong enough?
The question crept into his mind, unbidden. Dorian pushed it away, but the doubt lingered at the edges of his consciousness, like a shadow he couldn't quite escape.
Just as he was about to close the book in frustration, a sudden movement caught his eye. Ingrid Ravnsborg had entered the library, her presence as commanding as ever. She moved with purpose, her sharp blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on Dorian. Without a word, she crossed the distance between them and sat down across from him, her expression serious.
"We need to talk," Ingrid said, her voice low but firm.
Dorian leaned back in his chair, studying her for a moment. "About?"
Ingrid's gaze was piercing. "The magic you've unlocked. It's unstable."
Dorian's jaw tightened, though he kept his voice calm. "I'm aware."
"Are you?" Ingrid asked, her tone challenging. "Because what you did to Grimmel last night—it wasn't just about control. That magic—" she paused, choosing her words carefully, "—it's affecting you. You think you're in control, but I've seen this kind of power before. It changes people."
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "I'm not like the others."
Ingrid leaned forward slightly, her gaze never leaving his. "I didn't say you were. But this power—it has a will of its own. It's ancient, older than even you realize. You've only unlocked a part of it, but if you're not careful, it will consume you."
For a moment, Dorian said nothing. Ingrid's words echoed the warnings from the texts he had been reading, but he refused to believe he was vulnerable to the same fate. He had trained for this. He had prepared for it.
"I'm stronger than you think, Ingrid," Dorian said quietly. "I've mastered it so far, and I'll continue to master it."
Ingrid's expression softened, but only slightly. "That's what they all say."
Dorian's hands clenched into fists under the table, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Why are you telling me this?"
Ingrid leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because I don't want to see you fall. You have potential, Dorian—more than most. But this power you're chasing? It's dangerous. You need to be smart about how you use it."
Dorian's eyes flickered with irritation. "And what makes you the expert?"
"I've seen it before," Ingrid said quietly. "Not here. Not at Durmstrang. But in my family. My ancestors chased after the same kind of power. It destroyed them."
The admission caught Dorian off guard. Ingrid rarely spoke about her family, and when she did, it was always in vague terms. But now, there was a rawness in her voice that suggested she had seen something firsthand—something that had left a lasting impression on her.
"I appreciate the concern," Dorian said, though his voice was tight. "But I won't fail."
Ingrid held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Just… be careful, Dorian. Don't let the magic control you."
With that, she stood and left the library, leaving Dorian alone with his thoughts.
For a long time, he sat there, staring at the pages of the book in front of him, but not really seeing them. Ingrid's words echoed in his mind, stirring something that he had been trying to suppress for days now: doubt.
Don't let the magic control you.
He had felt it—when he unleashed that spell against Grimmel, the magic had surged through him like a living thing, wild and hungry. It had wanted more, and for a brief moment, Dorian had wanted to give in to it. The rush of power had been intoxicating, but it had also been dangerous. He had controlled it—barely—but the experience had shaken him more than he cared to admit.
The texts he had been reading had warned him of this very thing. The magic wasn't just a tool—it had its own will, its own desires. And the more he used it, the more it would try to bend him to its purpose.
Dorian closed the book, standing abruptly. He needed air. He needed to clear his mind.
As he left the library and stepped into the cold, stone corridors of Durmstrang, the weight of his ambitions pressed down on him. He had come here to rise above everyone else—to claim the power that was rightfully his. But now, standing on the edge of something far darker than he had anticipated, Dorian couldn't help but wonder if he had underestimated the magic he had unleashed.
He had already made enemies at Durmstrang. Grimmel's humiliation wouldn't be forgotten, and there would be others—students, professors, maybe even those outside the school—who would see him as a threat. They would come for him, and he would have to be ready.
But more than that, Dorian had to be ready for what the magic demanded of him.
Because power, he was beginning to realize, wasn't just about strength or control.
It was about survival.