The darkness was alive. It pulsed around Dorian, coiling like a serpent, tightening its grip on him with every passing second. The corridor felt narrower, the shadows deeper, as though the very walls of Durmstrang were closing in on him. Dorian could feel the magic, a hungry, restless force that gnawed at his mind, demanding more. It whispered promises of power, of domination—of everything he had ever wanted. But there was something else beneath the promises, something colder, darker. A warning that he couldn't quite hear, but it was there, lurking at the edge of his consciousness.
Thorne Yaxley watched him with the same unreadable smile, his pale face half-hidden in the dim light of the dungeon's corridor. His eyes gleamed with interest, and something in them unnerved Dorian, as if Yaxley already knew something Dorian hadn't yet realized about himself.
"I've seen many try, you know," Yaxley said, his voice soft but cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Ambition like yours—it's not rare at Durmstrang. Everyone here wants power. They all think they're destined for greatness. But there's a difference between wanting power and being willing to do what it takes to truly claim it."
Dorian's jaw clenched. He could feel the magic stirring inside him, a relentless, insistent force that urged him to act, to strike, to assert himself as the predator in this exchange. But Yaxley's words cut deeper than he expected. There was an unspoken challenge hanging between them—one that Dorian couldn't ignore.
"What do you want, Yaxley?" Dorian's voice was steady, though the tension beneath it was unmistakable. His wand remained in his hand, his grip tight as the magic thrummed through him, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice.
Yaxley took a slow step forward, his smile growing colder. "I want to see what you'll become, Selwyn. I want to see if you're as strong as you think you are. Because the magic you're playing with—it doesn't just give you power. It takes something from you."
Dorian's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't let it show. He'd heard that warning before, in Ingrid's cautious words, in Matthias's pale-faced concerns. But they didn't understand. They were afraid, too weak to touch the kind of power that Dorian had already embraced.
"It doesn't matter what it takes," Dorian said, his voice low, laced with quiet menace. "I'm not like the others."
Yaxley's eyes narrowed, as if considering him carefully. "Maybe not. But I've seen others who thought they could control it. And I've seen what happens when they fail."
The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on Dorian like a leaden hand. He could feel the magic stirring again, pushing at the edges of his control, urging him to silence Yaxley once and for all. The urge to strike was almost overwhelming—he could imagine it now, the way the magic would surge through him, overwhelming Yaxley in an instant. He could take him down, prove his dominance, show everyone at Durmstrang what real power looked like.
But Dorian hesitated.
Because deep down, beneath the hunger for power and the need to prove himself, there was a flicker of doubt. Yaxley had a point. The magic was changing him, slowly, imperceptibly. It was like a tide, rising steadily around him, pulling him deeper into its currents. And with each ritual, with each spell, it became harder to tell whether he was in control of the magic or if it was controlling him.
Yaxley tilted his head, his cold smile returning. "You feel it, don't you? That pull. That itch beneath your skin. The more you use the magic, the more it wants from you. And it'll keep wanting, until there's nothing left of you but the power."
"I control it," Dorian snapped, the words coming out sharper than he intended. He stepped forward, the magic flaring briefly around him, filling the air with a palpable sense of menace. "I'm the one in control. Not the magic."
Yaxley's smile didn't falter. "That's what they all say."
Dorian's eyes blazed with fury, but he forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't afford to lose control now, not in front of Yaxley. He couldn't show weakness.
"I don't have time for your games, Yaxley," Dorian said, his voice low and dangerous. "If you think you can challenge me, go ahead. But I won't warn you twice."
For a moment, Yaxley said nothing. Then he chuckled, a soft, almost mocking sound that made Dorian's blood boil. But there was something else in Yaxley's gaze now—something darker, more calculating.
"I'm not here to challenge you, Selwyn," Yaxley said quietly. "I'm here to offer you something."
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "Offer me what?"
"A partnership," Yaxley said simply, stepping closer. "You and I—we're not like the others at Durmstrang. We're not content with scraps of power, with meaningless accolades. We're both after something bigger, something real. You have the strength, the ambition. But you don't have all the knowledge yet. I can give you that."
Dorian's mind raced. Yaxley was right—he didn't have all the pieces yet. The magic he had unlocked was immense, but it was still raw, untamed. There were secrets buried in the shadows of Durmstrang, secrets that Yaxley clearly knew more about than he let on.
But Dorian wasn't a fool. He knew better than to trust someone like Yaxley.
"And what do you get out of this partnership?" Dorian asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Yaxley's smile grew darker. "I get to see how far you'll go. I've studied the old ways, the dark rituals. But I've never had the nerve to go as far as you have. You're a risk-taker, Selwyn. And I want to see how far you'll push the boundaries of what's possible."
Dorian stared at him, his mind calculating. He didn't trust Yaxley—not for a second—but the offer was tempting. There were still pieces of the puzzle missing, pieces that Yaxley might have access to. And if Yaxley was willing to help him, even for his own twisted curiosity, Dorian could use that to his advantage.
"Fine," Dorian said finally, his voice cold. "But understand this: I'm the one in control. If you cross me, Yaxley, you won't live to regret it."
Yaxley's eyes gleamed with something like amusement. "Understood."
With that, Yaxley turned and disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Dorian alone in the darkened corridor. The moment he was gone, Dorian exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest loosening. But the whispers of the magic remained, a constant hum in the back of his mind, urging him to go further, to take more.
The days that followed were a blur of dark rituals and whispered secrets. Yaxley's knowledge of forbidden magic was deeper than Dorian had expected, and with each passing day, he found himself drawn further into the shadows of Durmstrang's hidden corridors. They worked in secret, away from the prying eyes of students and professors, delving into tomes that had been locked away for centuries. Yaxley taught him spells that twisted the fabric of reality, magic that required blood, sacrifice, and willpower far beyond anything Durmstrang's professors dared to teach.
But with each spell, with each step further into the abyss, Dorian felt the magic tighten its grip on him. It was no longer just a tool—it was becoming something more. It was becoming a part of him, a constant presence in his thoughts, in his dreams.
The price of power was becoming clearer, but Dorian refused to stop. He couldn't stop. He had come too far to turn back now.
One night, deep within the heart of Durmstrang's forbidden library, Dorian and Yaxley performed a ritual that stretched the boundaries of magic beyond anything Dorian had ever imagined. The magic surged through him like a tidal wave, overwhelming, intoxicating. But as the power flooded his body, he felt something else—a cold, creeping sensation that wormed its way into his soul.
He gasped, dropping to his knees as the magic consumed him, his vision blurring as darkness closed in around him. Yaxley stood over him, watching with a strange, detached curiosity.
"You're almost there, Selwyn," Yaxley murmured, his voice a distant echo. "You've unlocked something incredible. But the question is—are you strong enough to survive it?"
Dorian's body trembled as the magic surged through him, the whispers in his mind now a cacophony of voices, each one urging him to take more, to push further. But there was something else beneath the surface—a cold, suffocating weight that pressed down on him, threatening to drown him in its depths.
For a moment, Dorian felt a flicker of fear—real fear, not the fleeting uncertainty he had felt before. This was something deeper, something darker. The magic was no longer just demanding—it was devouring.
But Dorian gritted his teeth, refusing to give in. He had come too far to be consumed now. He would control this. He would master it.
With a surge of willpower, Dorian forced the magic back, pulling himself from the brink of the abyss. The dark energy receded, though the whispers remained, quieter now but still present, always lurking at the edge of his thoughts.
Yaxley watched him closely, his expression unreadable. "Interesting," he said softly. "You might just survive this after all."
Dorian stood slowly, his body still trembling from the ritual's intensity. His heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't let Yaxley see how close he had come to losing control.
"I'm not done yet," Dorian said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "There's more to unlock. More to take."
Yaxley smiled darkly. "Good. Because the magic isn't done with you either."
And in that moment, Dorian knew Yaxley was right. The magic wasn't done with him. It was only just beginning.