Only minutes after he left Defense Against the Dark Arts, having completed his class on casting the Patronus Charm, where he did his best to block out all of the negative feelings surrounding the tragedy in London that had happened a week prior, he was pulled aside by a member of Hogwarts staff to inform him that his father had died. It seemed that his body had been charred so badly by the dragon that killed him that it took a long time for him to be identified; it was only after they were able to pry an heirloom pocket watch from his person and have it identified by his mother were they able to confirm it. At first, Dorian’s only response was, ‘Okay’ and he managed the rest of his classes just fine. It didn’t really hit him as real until a few days later when his cousin’s frantic letter arrived, dated shortly after the attack, where she told him that his father hadn’t come home and his poor mother was beside herself with grief.

Now, it was a few days later and Dorian had added a black armband around his upper arm on his uniform, and it seemed he hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone since. He would just silently stare forward, as if he was looking into a void, and go through his classes and usual day to day activities as if he was on some sort of autopilot. He didn’t cry once, however, he was more stone faced than anything; many of his classmates were sobbing into their lunches, huddling together in fear, and showing how human tragedy makes them feel, but not Dorian - he was entirely numb.

He didn’t even look up that afternoon when a parliament of owls swooped into the Great Hall to deliver their mail; some even almost crashing into each other because since the tragedy, more letters had been coming and going than usual. It wasn’t until a rather violently red looking envelope was dropped onto the table in front of him did he have any sort of reaction that wasn’t just staring forward, in fact he went a bright shade of white. And just like that, the entirety of the Great Hall got to hear his father yell at him for Quidditch, just as he expected he would; reminding him he had to focus on his academics, studying for his N.E.W.T.s, he would not be a lay about gentleman of leisure if he expected to inherit anything, and that Quidditch would distract him from all of that, so he’d be expected to quit.

The letter had been delayed, dated the day of the dragon attack; his father must have sent it before heading to work that morning and it got lost among the sea of incoming letters and only just found its way out. And now, Dorian was aware the last words he’ll ever hear his father say were how angry and disappointed in him he was and know that in his final moments he was threatening to disown him. The Great Hall was dead silent in probably a mix of horror and shock at what happened as Dorian pushed himself up from the Slytherin table, the envelope tearing itself to shreds in his picked apart lunch, and he walked calmly right out of the Great Hall, his face still quite pale but unchanging.

He didn’t know where he was going, other than he was going somewhere because his legs were still walking forward, down the corridor, where it was empty and alone and then into the men’s restroom. And like all at once he finally broke, sinking against the wall, sobbing like he’d never done before; the kind of sobs that made one's stomach hurt because the muscles were working so hard to breath in-between it all. Dorian would eventually need to rush to the toilet because he would get violently sick from all the grief he finally was letting himself feel. His father was actually dead. That was no longer a question. And now he was no longer the possible heir, but the one to inherit it all for sure, once he came of age, and had all the pressure of leading his family that came with it. He was only sixteen; he wasn’t ready for any of that. But it seemed like he was not going to have any choice as the universe said it was time to be.