Dorian stood alone in the cold corridors of Durmstrang, his heart still racing from the recent battle. The remnants of the magic he had unleashed hummed quietly in the air around him. The echoes of the violent duel with Yaxley still lingered in his mind, but it wasn't just the intensity of the fight that weighed on him. Ingrid's lifeless body lay at his feet, a grim reminder of what his path had cost him.
For a long moment, Dorian didn't move. He stared down at Ingrid's pale form, the rush of victory now hollow and bitter. He had won, but at what price? Her sacrifice hung heavy on his shoulders. She had been his voice of reason, the last person who had tried to pull him back from the abyss. And now she was gone, just another casualty in his relentless pursuit of power.
Dorian knelt beside her, closing his eyes for a brief moment. The dark magic that coursed through him seemed to quiet, as if even it was aware of the magnitude of what had happened. For the first time in weeks, the whispers that had been gnawing at his mind fell silent.
"I'm sorry," Dorian whispered, though the words felt empty. He wasn't sure if he was apologizing to Ingrid, to himself, or to the part of him that still held on to the belief that this path had been worth it.
But even as he knelt there, something began to shift. The silence that filled the corridor wasn't just grief—it was something else, something unfamiliar. Clarity. For the first time, Dorian felt the faint stirrings of doubt. Was all this truly necessary? The dark magic, the rituals, the sacrifices—he had justified it all as the price of power. But now, standing at the edge of his greatest triumph, he felt only loss.
He stood slowly, his hands trembling, and took a step back from Ingrid's body. He had to leave. Not just from the scene of the battle, but from the consuming darkness that had been pulling him deeper and deeper. He needed time to think, to reflect on what had brought him to this point.
As he turned to leave the corridor, a figure appeared from the shadows: Matthias Borgin. The other student was watching him, his expression one of careful observation, his dark eyes narrowed with curiosity and concern.
"Dorian," Matthias said cautiously. "What happened?"
Dorian glanced back at Ingrid's body, his voice low and detached. "She's gone. Yaxley is gone."
Matthias's gaze shifted to the motionless form of Ingrid, and a flicker of unease passed over his face. "And you? Are you… alright?"
Dorian considered the question. Was he alright? Physically, yes—though his body was drained from the intensity of the battle. But mentally, emotionally, he wasn't sure. He had spent so long chasing power that he had forgotten what it was like to question himself. But now, with Ingrid's death weighing on him, those questions were impossible to ignore.
"I don't know," Dorian admitted, his voice raw. "But things need to change."
Matthias tilted his head, clearly intrigued by this unexpected turn in Dorian's demeanor. "Change?"
Dorian turned fully to face him, his expression hardening slightly. "I've spent too long letting the magic control me. I thought I could use it to achieve my goals, but it's taken too much from me—too much from those around me. Ingrid didn't have to die. And I… I can't keep going down this path."
Matthias's eyes narrowed. "So, what are you saying? You're giving up on your plans? On your revenge?"
Dorian's jaw tightened. "No. I still want revenge. Malfoy, the Ministry—they're all still going to pay. But I need to rethink how I'm going to do this. The way I've been chasing power… it's destroying everything."
There was a brief silence as Matthias studied him. "You're not the type to just walk away from this kind of ambition, Selwyn. What's really going on?"
Dorian's gaze shifted away, looking down the darkened corridor. The whispers of the dark magic still lingered in his mind, though they were quieter now, as if waiting for his next move. "I'm not walking away," he said quietly. "But I need to be smarter about this. If I keep letting the magic take over, if I keep letting it push me into reckless decisions, there won't be anything left of me."
Matthias folded his arms, skeptical but curious. "So, what's the plan?"
Dorian exhaled, steadying himself. "For now, I'm going to lay low. I'll still gather power, but not like this. No more reckless rituals. No more needless deaths. I need control, and I'm going to find it."
Matthias nodded slowly. "Alright. I'm with you. But remember, Yaxley isn't going to disappear forever. And the Dark Lord's influence is growing. If you want to take on Voldemort and the Ministry, you can't hesitate."
"I won't," Dorian said, his voice firmer now. "But I'll be the one in control this time."
With that, Dorian turned and walked away from the scene of the battle, Matthias falling into step beside him. They moved in silence through the darkened halls of Durmstrang, the weight of what had happened pressing down on both of them. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Dorian's thoughts weren't consumed by the dark magic or his thirst for revenge.
There was something else now—something quieter, but no less powerful. A sense that maybe, just maybe, he still had the chance to change his course.
As they reached the entrance to Durmstrang's upper levels, Dorian paused. Matthias gave him a questioning look, but Dorian didn't respond immediately. He gazed out toward the horizon, the cold, distant mountains of Durmstrang framed against the night sky.
"I need to find someone," Dorian said quietly, more to himself than to Matthias. His thoughts had drifted to the rumors he had heard recently—rumors of a student at Durmstrang who had a reputation similar to his. A girl who had been marked by dark magic but had managed to stay in control.
Her name was Lyra Blackthorn, and Dorian knew she was somewhere in these halls. He wasn't sure what he expected to find when he sought her out, but for the first time, Dorian felt that forging a connection—however fragile—might be the key to regaining his control.
As he walked forward, leaving the aftermath of the battle behind, Dorian allowed himself to hope that his next steps would not be as shrouded in darkness as the ones he had taken before.