Breakthrough in Mental Arts

After taking care of the investments Damian had quickly established a routine. Each week, he sent Kreacher to various prisons, seeking out the most wretched muggle criminals he could find. It was no longer about the thrill of the kill; it was about honing his skills. Each encounter was a lesson, a step toward mastery.

As the weeks passed, he became more adept at Legilimency, learning to weave through minds without causing alarm. It was a delicate art, requiring finesse and subtlety. He relished the challenge of entering a mind unnoticed, of peering into the thoughts and memories that lay hidden beneath the surface. 

One evening, he prepared for another session with a tied-up criminal. The man had been brought from a high-security prison—convicted of heinous crimes, including assault and robbery. Damian had positioned him in the dimly lit dungeon basement of the Black Manor, the stone walls closing in around them. 

The criminal, dishevelled and bound tightly to a sturdy chair, glared defiantly at Damian, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He had tried to maintain an air of bravado, but the ropes binding him only served to accentuate his vulnerability. 

With a casual wave of his wand, Damian cast the 'Obliviate' charm, allowing the magic to wash over the man. He watched with rapt attention as the criminal's expression shifted from defiance to confusion, and then finally settled into a blankness that chilled the air.

"Wha—what happened?" the man stammered, blinking rapidly, his voice trembling. "I was just... sleeping in my prison cell."

Damian leaned in closer, a predatory grin creeping across his face. "What else do you remember?" he prompted, the thrill of control coursing through him.

The man's brows furrowed deeply as he struggled against the fog that had enveloped his mind. "I... I don't know. There was... noise? Then darkness. I was... tied up?" His eyes darted around the room, frantic and desperate, searching for answers that weren't there. "What's going on? Why can't I remember?" 

"Good," Damian replied, satisfaction bubbling inside him, his voice smooth and mocking. "Just relax. Let the memories come back. Let it all unfold."

"Please," the man begged, his voice cracking. "I don't want to forget. I need to know what happened! Where am I?" Panic crept into his tone, and he tugged futilely at the ropes, the fear in his eyes morphing into something more primal.

"Fear not," Damian said, feigning concern while his heart raced with excitement. "You're simply having a bit of trouble with the details. It's not unusual for someone in your... predicament." He took a step back, relishing the moment. "In fact, you should consider yourself fortunate. I could make this much worse for you."

"Worse?" The man's eyes widened, dread overtaking him. "What do you mean? Are you going to kill me? Just let me go! I'll do anything! I swear, I won't tell anyone!" 

Damian's grin widened, his joy at the situation spilling over. "Oh, I don't want to kill you," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "You see, I'm much more interested in what makes you tick. You've hurt others, haven't you? You've made them suffer, and now it's your turn to face the consequences."

The man's breath quickened, and his voice trembled as he muttered, "No, please… Don't do this. I— I'm just a nobody. You don't have to do this to me!"

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Damian said, feeling the thrill of power rush through him. "You're not a nobody to me. You're a treasure trove of memories and experiences that I intend to unearth. So let's begin, shall we?"

As he prepared to dive deeper into the man's psyche, Damian felt a wave of exhilaration wash over him. He had taken control, and now he had now used obligation without the subject losing all his memory. He had skillfully cut out and deleted the memories, like a surgeon using his scalpel, with Precision and control. He leaned back slightly, savouring the anticipation, watching as the man's expression transformed from defiance to raw fear, delighting in the success of his plan unfolding before him.

This was part of the game—the manipulation, the subtle guidance. He found it exhilarating. With each session, Damian practiced more complex spells, weaving between Obliviate and Legilimency like a dancer gliding across a stage.

After each session, he retreated to his private study, where he devoted time to the ancient art of Occlumency. Occlumency helped him clear of his dark tendencies. He had finally constructed his mind palace, a complex network of rooms and corridors representing his memories, thoughts, and emotions. He meticulously organised his memories, placing them behind walls and barriers that only he could access. 

Damian had even taken the time to craft a locker as such, a place in his mindscape that would lock away his important memories from prying minds. It was an effective deterrent against small-scale Legilimency, but he knew it wouldn't hold against powerful wizards like the Dark Lord or Dumbledore. Those masters of magic could easily breach his defenses if they pressed their wands to his forehead.

Still, the mind palace served its purpose. It allowed him near-perfect recall of important events, and he could navigate through his thoughts with surprising ease. He practiced placing false memories within the palace, creating illusions to confuse any Legilimens who dared enter. The satisfaction of knowing he had some defence against the probing minds of others was intoxicating.