The Warrior's Remembrance

The process went on for what felt like hours, Damian relentless in his pursuit of knowledge. The man's mind slowly unravelled under the strain. Eventually, he slumped in his bonds, his eyes dull and vacant, unable to comprehend anything anymore. His will had been shattered.

Damian felt a sense of grim satisfaction as he stepped back, surveying his work. "I could make you suffer," he said, his voice low and venomous, "but I think you've already lost everything that matters."

The man offered no response, only a vacant stare.

"Let's finish this," Damian said coolly, raising his wand. With a flick, he whispered, "Sectumsempra."

The spell sliced through the air, and in an instant, the man's head separated from his body, rolling lifelessly to the ground. Blood pooled around the corpse, but Damian barely spared it a glance.

He turned his attention to the remaining two prisoners. One had urinated in fear, his body trembling violently, while the other stared at Damian with wide, pleading eyes.

"Don't worry," Damian said, his voice dripping with cold amusement. "Your crimes won't go unpunished either."

He lifted his wand again, ready to repeat the process. His face showed no remorse, no hesitation—just the cold, methodical resolve of a man who had found his power and was not afraid to use it.

After hours of practicing Legilimency on the criminals, Damian stood over their lifeless bodies, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. The intensity of the session, the brutal memories he had witnessed, and the weight of his actions pressed heavily on him. 

—----

"Kreacher," Damian called, his voice steady but hollow. The house-elf appeared beside him instantly, awaiting his next order. "Burn them. Scatter the ashes in the river. Make sure there's nothing left."

Kreacher nodded without hesitation. "Yes, Master Damian. Kreacher will take care of everything." The house-elf snapped his fingers, and the bodies began to disappear, vanishing one by one as Kreacher prepared to deal with them.

As soon as the last trace of the criminals was gone, Damian turned on his heel and left the dungeon. His steps felt heavy, his chest tight. He made his way to the nearest bathroom, hands trembling slightly as he shut the door behind him. The enormity of what he had done hit him like a crashing wave, and he felt his stomach churn violently.

He barely made it to the sink before he vomited, the bitter taste of bile burning in his throat. Leaning over the basin, he clutched the edges tightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. It wasn't the killing that unsettled him—it was how easily it had happened. The coldness with which he'd done it, the way he'd justified it in his mind.

After a few moments, he straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror, pale and strained, but his expression was unreadable. He knew he had to keep it together, but for the first time in a long while, Damian felt shaken to his core.

Leaving the bathroom, he walked through the dark corridors of Black Manor, his footsteps echoing eerily in the silence. He needed something to calm himself, something to pull him out of the storm raging in his mind. Without thinking, he made his way to the library, the familiar scent of old parchment and leather-bound books offering a small sense of comfort.

As Damian sat in the library, trying to calm his nerves, the familiar voice of Arcturus Black broke through the silence.

"How do you feel, boy?" The portrait's voice was deep and filled with a mix of curiosity and something else—understanding, perhaps.

Damian looked up at the ancient portrait of Arcturus Black. The stern, sharp-featured wizard gazed down at him with piercing eyes, a war hero from a time long past. Arcturus had lived through some of the darkest times in wizarding history, and though Damian didn't always appreciate his cold demeanour, he knew Arcturus had wisdom born from experience.

"I don't know," Damian muttered, placing the book aside. "It was my first time...killing. I expected to feel worse."

Arcturus nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as though weighing Damian's words. "First kill is always the hardest. Most wizards crumble under the weight of it. Some never recover, never find their footing again. But you, Damian..." The portrait paused, as if observing Damian's reaction. "Do you regret it?"

Damian's answer came without hesitation. "Not a bit."

A dark smile spread across Arcturus's painted face. "Good. That's how it should be. What you did tonight was necessary. Those men were scum, not worth the air they breathed. You rid the world of filth. You did nothing wrong, boy. Get your grip together. Don't let their deaths haunt you, or they'll weaken your resolve. This...is the path you've chosen."

Damian leaned back in the chair, listening intently. He knew Arcturus had seen his share of darkness, but the way he spoke now made it clear—he understood this more intimately than Damian had imagined.

"I killed my first man during the height of Grindelwald's war," Arcturus began, his voice taking on a faraway tone as he remembered. "I was part of the first wave of wizards sent to defend Europe. Grindelwald's forces were unlike anything we'd ever seen. His followers were fanatics, hell-bent on reshaping the world, and they didn't care how many lives they destroyed along the way."

Arcturus's expression darkened as he continued. "I was stationed in France, near Paris. We'd been tasked with protecting a small wizarding village. Grindelwald's forces attacked in the dead of night, overwhelming us with dark magic and sheer numbers. It was chaos—spells flying everywhere, screams echoing in the air. We were outnumbered, and wizards were falling left and right."

Damian could almost see the battle unfolding in his mind, the way Arcturus described it with such clarity. It was as if the old war hero was reliving every moment.

"There was a boy with me, Charles Potter, a brave lad," Arcturus continued. "We had fought together before, and he trusted me to have his back. But that night, during the heat of battle, one of Grindelwald's lieutenants came at us. A vicious duelist, more skilled than most of us there. He cast a Killing Curse right at Charles. I only had a split second to react."

Arcturus's face hardened. "I cast my own spell before the curse hit Charles—an Entrail-Expelling Curse. It was brutal, quick, and far deadlier than anything I had ever used before. The lieutenant collapsed, his insides torn apart. He was dead before he hit the ground."

Damian stayed silent, letting the story sink in. He could see the intensity in Arcturus's eyes, the way the memory still affected him.

"For a moment, I felt sick. I hadn't expected it to be that easy to kill another wizard. But then I looked at Charles. He was alive because of what I did. That's when I realised—it wasn't about me. It was about protecting the people who mattered."

Arcturus leaned forward slightly in the portrait, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "That's the thing about war, Damian. You don't kill because you want to. You kill because you have to. It's about survival. And sometimes, you're the only thing standing between your friends and death. Grindelwald considered me a threat after that. I became one of the few who dared face him directly."

Damian absorbed the words, his mind racing. He had always known Arcturus was a warrior, but hearing this firsthand made it more real, more personal.

"It doesn't matter if it was your first time or your hundredth," Arcturus continued. "The guilt, the disgust—it fades. What matters is that you're prepared to do what's necessary. And tonight, you did exactly that. You're stronger for it."

Damian nodded slowly, his earlier nausea beginning to ebb away. Arcturus was right. The criminals he had killed were vile. He had seen their memories, their despicable actions. They had deserved far worse than what he had done to them.

"You'll find that the dark path isn't as treacherous as some make it out to be," Arcturus added. "You've got the potential, Damian. And if you ever doubt yourself, just remember—sometimes it takes a bit of darkness to keep the light from being snuffed out."

Damian remained silent, but something inside him had shifted. He didn't feel as unsettled anymore. He knew he wasn't like those criminals. He wasn't a monster—he was simply doing what was necessary to survive in a world that didn't care about weakness.

Arcturus's words echoed in his mind as he closed the book in his lap, standing up with newfound resolve.

"I understand now," Damian said softly, more to himself than to the portrait.

"Good," Arcturus replied, his voice filled with approval. "Now go on, boy. There's much more to learn, and you've only just begun."