The Pact

“Are you mental?” I ask, exasperated, before I have a chance to filter my words. “Don’t you remember what happened last time I tried those?”

“How could I forget?” my mother sneers, looking impatient. “It took two months to repair the manor after that little fiasco.”

I look at her in complete disbelief, then at my father helplessly. “Father, there’s no way you two think this is a bright idea.”

My father doesn’t meet my gaze, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His expression remains unreadable, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that tells me he doesn’t entirely agree with my mother. Still, he says nothing, his silence a damning confirmation of where his allegiance lies.

“You’re wasting time,” my mother snaps, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “You need to master these spells, and you need to do it now.”

I glance toward Lucius, who is seated elegantly in the corner, observing the exchange with a smirk playing at his lips. He doesn’t speak, but the weight of his scrutiny feels heavier than any curse. He’s enjoying this, I realize. Watching me squirm under my mother’s demands is just another form of entertainment for him.

“I could hurt someone,” I say, my voice lower now but still trembling with frustration. “Or myself. Do you really want that?”

“Control is key,” my mother replies, her eyes narrowing. “And you will not gain control if you continue to let fear dictate your actions. Now, do it.”

I shake my head, anger and fear warring in my chest. “This isn’t about control. This is about—”

“This is about loyalty,” she interrupts coldly, her gaze like ice. “Loyalty to your family. To our legacy.”

My jaw tightens as I clench my fists, trying to keep my composure. “Loyalty doesn’t mean sacrificing myself to prove a point.”

Lucius chuckles softly, the sound grating against my nerves. “Oh, come now, Miss Lavigné. Surely you’re not afraid of a little spellwork? After all, your lineage practically demands excellence.”

I glare at him, my patience wearing thin. “I’m not afraid of spellwork,” I snap. “But this isn’t just spellwork. These curses are meant to harm, to control, to destroy.”

“And you think our enemies will hesitate to use them on you?” my mother retorts, stepping closer. “If you cannot wield them, you are nothing more than a liability.”

The word stings, sharp and cutting, and I take a step back. My father shifts uncomfortably but still says nothing, and I feel my stomach churn with a mix of anger and disappointment.

“Fine,” I say finally, my voice cold and steady. “But if this backfires, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

My mother’s lips curl into a satisfied smile, and Lucius leans forward slightly, his interest clearly piqued. I take a deep breath, raising my hand and focusing on the spell she demands of me, my magic thrumming uneasily beneath my skin.

“Imperio,” I whisper, directing the curse toward the practice dummy in the center of the room.

For a moment, nothing happens, the air around me still and tense. Then, slowly, the dummy begins to move, its limbs jerking awkwardly as it bends to my will. But the strain on my magic is immediate and overwhelming, and I feel the edges of my control begin to fray.

“Focus,” my mother commands sharply, but her voice feels distant, muffled by the pounding in my ears.

The dummy collapses, lifeless once again, and I stumble back, gasping for air. My hand trembles as I lower it, the burn of the curse still lingering in my veins.

“Pathetic,” my mother mutters, shaking her head. “Again.”

I shake my hands out, trying to catch my breath. “I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

“Clearly,” Lucius drawls, raising a brow. “It’s your intent. Not your focus.”

“It’s very much her focus,” my mother argues, rolling her eyes. “It always is.”

Lucius chuckles, walking towards me. “No, it isn’t, Grace. If you read her mind you’ll know she’s focused. She just doesn’t have the right intentions to make it strong enough.”

“The wrong intentions, you mean,” I correct him, gritting my teeth. “These are unforgivable for a reason.”

Lucius stops in front of me, tilting his head as he studies me with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “And there’s your problem,” he says smoothly. “You still think of magic in terms of right and wrong. Strength and conviction aren’t born from morality. They’re born from necessity.”

“Necessity,” I mock, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Forgive me if I don’t find enslaving someone necessary.”

He smirks, unfazed by my defiance. “Then you’re fortunate that this is only a training dummy. But if you hesitate like this in the real world—if you let sentiment cloud your actions—your enemies won’t hesitate to take advantage of it.”

“Lucius is right,” my mother interjects sharply, stepping closer. “Your hesitation could mean the difference between life and death—for you and for us. You think your conscience will protect you when the time comes? It won’t. Only power will.”

Her words cut deep, and I glance at my father, silently pleading for support. But his gaze is fixed on the floor, his expression unreadable. My stomach sinks as I realize he won’t intervene this time.

“I won’t apologize for having a conscience,” I snap, my voice shaking with frustration. “Maybe if you stopped treating magic like a weapon—like something to control and destroy—you’d see that it can be more than that.”

Lucius chuckles again, the sound low and condescending. “Naïve, aren’t you? Magic is a weapon. And until you understand that, you’ll never reach your full potential.”

“I don’t want to reach my full potential if it means becoming like you,” I fire back, my anger bubbling to the surface. “Cold, calculated, and willing to hurt anyone to get what you want.”

The room falls silent, my words hanging heavily in the air. My mother’s eyes narrow dangerously, but Lucius only smiles, as though he finds my defiance amusing.

“You think you’re better than us,” he says softly, stepping even closer until his imposing figure looms over me. “But the truth is, you’ll have to make the same choices we’ve made. When the time comes, you’ll see there’s no room for morality in war.”

Before I can respond, my mother cuts in, her tone icy. “Enough talk. Try again. And this time, I expect results.”

I glance at the practice dummy, my hands trembling as I raise them once more. The room feels stifling, the weight of their expectations pressing down on me like a physical force.

“Imperio,” I whisper again, my voice unsteady.

The magic flows from me reluctantly, and the dummy twitches to life. It moves slightly smoother this time, its arms lifting and lowering in a mechanical rhythm. But the strain is still overwhelming, my magic fighting against the curse as though it knows it doesn’t belong to me.

Lucius hums thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “Better. But not good enough.”

I lower my hands, the dummy collapsing again as I stumble back, my breathing labored. My mother shakes her head, her disappointment palpable.

“This is pointless,” I say hoarsely, clutching my side. “You’re asking me to perform magic that goes against everything I am.”

“Then change who you are,” my mother snaps, her voice cold and unforgiving. “Because who you are right now is weak.”

Her words hit me like a blow, but before I can respond, my father finally speaks, his voice quiet but firm. “That’s enough, Grace.”

She turns to him, her expression icy. “She’s not finished.”

“Yes, she is,” he says, meeting her gaze with rare defiance. “Pushing her like this won’t help. Let her rest.”

“Fine, pick a different curse. We’ll come back to this one,” she tells me, her voice pointed.

My jaw drops in surprise. “I don’t think—”

“I’m not asking you again,” she cuts me off, holding her hand up. “You need to know all three anyway.”

“For what?” I question, my eyes flitting between the three adults in the room. “I don’t understand what I’m training for.”

My mother and father exchange quiet looks with Lucius, seeming to weigh how much they can tell me before my father comes towards me, grabbing my shoulders.

“We’ve been waiting to tell you this until you were old enough to understand,” he starts, his gaze steady. “Someone is after us. After you.”

Lucius narrows his eyes. “I hardly think now is the time—”

“She deserves to know what she’s up against, Lucius,” my father barks, dropping his arms. “Otherwise, how will she be able to prepare properly?”

The tension in the room feels suffocating as my father’s words hang in the air. My pulse quickens, my mind racing to make sense of his cryptic statement.

“Who’s after us?” I ask, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to stay calm. “What kind of threat are we talking about?”

My mother sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as though she’s already exhausted by the conversation. “You don’t need to concern yourself with the details,” she says sharply. “All you need to know is that you’ll need every skill at your disposal—including the Unforgivables.”

Lucius leans back against the wall, his expression unreadable but his eyes calculating. “Your mother’s right. The threat is… significant. And if you’re not prepared, the consequences will be catastrophic.”

The vagueness of their answers only fuels my frustration. “Significant? Catastrophic? That doesn’t tell me anything! How am I supposed to prepare for something if I don’t even know what it is?”

My father steps forward again, his expression softening slightly. “We’re trying to protect you,” he says quietly. “To make sure you survive—no matter what happens.”

“But survive what?” I press, my voice rising. “You’re all speaking in riddles! If this is so important, why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

Lucius scoffs, his lip curling in disdain. “The truth is dangerous, girl. Knowing too much could put you at even greater risk.”

“Or perhaps you’re afraid of what I’ll do with the truth,” I shoot back, glaring at him.

He narrows his eyes, but before he can respond, my father cuts in. “Enough, both of you.” He turns to me, his expression grave. “There’s someone… powerful. Someone who doesn’t believe in weakness—or mercy. And they see families like ours as either allies or obstacles.”

My stomach churns at the weight of his words. “You mean… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” I whisper, barely able to say the euphemism.

Neither of them confirms it outright, but the flicker of unease in my mother’s eyes and the slight stiffening of Lucius’s posture are answer enough.

“You’re not saying whether we’re supposed to stop him or…” My voice trails off, and I take a shaky step back. “Are you training me to join him?!”

There’s another exchange of glances, this one heavy with unspoken truths. My mother’s lips press into a thin line, and my father looks away, his shoulders tense.

“Your path isn’t set,” my father says at last, his tone carefully neutral. “But you need to be ready—ready for anything.”

“That’s not an answer,” I snap, my voice trembling with anger and fear. “You’re asking me to do things—horrible things—and I don’t even know why!”

My mother steps forward, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “You don’t need to know why. You need to trust that we’re doing what’s best for you—and for this family.”

“Blind trust?” I scoff, shaking my head. “Not a chance.”

Lucius steps closer, his gaze cold and assessing. “You think you have a choice in this? You’re naïve if you believe that. The world we live in doesn’t care about your moral dilemmas or your hesitation. It cares about power.”

“And if I don’t want that kind of power?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Then you’ll be consumed by someone who does,” he replies, his tone devoid of sympathy.

Silence falls over the room, the weight of their words pressing down on me like a physical force. My hands clench into fists at my sides as I meet my father’s gaze, searching for some sign of reassurance—but all I see is resignation.

“Fine,” I say at last, my voice hollow. “Show me the next curse.”

Lucius looks taken aback at my resignation, though I wonder if they realize my true intentions.

If I really am being trained to deal with Voldemort, it’ll only ever go one of two ways for me—I’ll defeat him, or he’ll have to kill me. Because I’ll be damned if I join him.

My parents nod at me, and they look at each other tentatively, as if having a conversation with their eyes. Lucius is the first to speak, stepping up to me.

“Let’s skip the easy ones. You need to learn how to destroy. If nothing else, you need to know how to kill.”

I gulp, my jaw tightening. “I’ve only tried it once… it ended with an explosion,” I say quietly, my voice wavering. “I don’t know why.”

Lucius’s eyes narrow slightly as he considers my words, but there’s a flicker of something—recognition or perhaps just calculation—in his gaze. He steps closer, his presence imposing, and his voice takes on a more measured tone.

“Failure is common when you’re first learning to wield such power,” he says, his voice cold but not unkind. “You can’t control it yet, and that’s what leads to chaos. The key is in focus. The intention behind the curse. You must want it to work—truly want it—without hesitation.”

“But what if I don’t want it to work?” I challenge, my voice sharp, though the fear in me grows with each passing second. “What if I can’t bring myself to… to kill?”

My mother’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, but my father’s face tightens in a way I’ve seen too many times before. He steps forward, his hand resting briefly on my shoulder.

“You don’t have a choice,” he says quietly, though his words cut deeper than any curse. “When you’re up against someone like him, it’s kill or be killed. We’re preparing you for the reality of the world we live in. You can’t afford weakness.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. I swallow hard, trying to push the lump in my throat away. The idea of taking a life, of crossing that line, makes my stomach churn. But I know my parents don’t see it that way. They’re doing what they think is necessary, no matter the cost.

Lucius watches me carefully, his eyes calculating. “There’s no room for hesitation in these matters. The more you resist, the more danger you put yourself in. Do you understand?”

I don’t respond immediately. I don’t even know how to respond. The weight of their expectations, their cold practicality, presses down on me like a thousand pounds. They see this as survival. I’m beginning to wonder if I even have a choice in what survival looks like anymore.

“I understand,” I say finally, my voice quiet, a bitter edge to it. But inside, I feel like I’m drowning.

“Good,” Lucius replies, giving me a tight nod. “You need to remember three key things: intent, aim, and form. Until you’re more practiced, you’ll more than likely have to put your whole body into it.”

I nod stiffly, trying to push down the rising nausea in my stomach. I know the words are meant to guide me, but they feel more like shackles, chaining me to something I don’t want to be a part of.

Lucius takes a step back, gesturing to the dummy once again. “This time, focus only on the target. The curse will follow your will. Forget about everything else.”

My mother’s voice is sharp as she adds, “If you hesitate, you’ll fail. Don’t waste our time.”

I swallow, gathering the strength I have left, and raise my hands. The air crackles around me as I focus on the dummy, my fingers straining. The words are already forming on my tongue, but I hesitate just for a moment.

“You must want it,” Lucius’s voice cuts through the silence, a reminder of the pressure mounting on me. “Kill it if you must. Do not second-guess yourself.”

The words sting, but I try to shut them out. I’m not sure if I can truly make myself do this—make myself cause this kind of pain—but the expectation is there, unspoken but undeniable.

I speak the words, my voice quieter than I intend, but it’s enough. The curse hits the dummy with a force that sends it flying back, its limbs snapping unnaturally. The power rushes through me, like something dark and deep, and I feel the burn in my chest again, a sensation that both repulses and excites me.

The dummy crumples to the floor, lifeless. My hand trembles as I lower my arm, the air still thick with the aftershocks of the spell.

“Well done,” my father says, his voice distant, as if this is simply another lesson. “But there’s no room for weakness. You’ll do it again until you can do it without thinking.”

Lucius gives a curt nod, but his eyes linger on me for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in them. “This is just the beginning,” he murmurs, though I’m not sure if the words are meant to encourage or warn me.

Tears prick my eyes as the guilt starts to consume me. My breathing quickens as I stare at the dummy on the floor—imagining a real person. Real blood. Real harm.

“I don’t want to,” I plead, my voice breaking. “I don’t like the way it feels.”

My father sighs, looking at me sympathetically for the first time since we entered the room. “I know, but you must. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

I shake my head, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a physical force. “But this… this isn’t safe,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “This is… wrong.”

My mother’s sharp gaze falls on me, her lips tight. “You’re not in a position to question what’s right or wrong,” she snaps. “You’re not a child anymore. The world doesn’t care about your feelings.”

My chest tightens at her words, the coldness of them sinking into my bones. I want to argue, to scream at her that there has to be another way. But I know, deep down, that I don’t have a choice. I don’t have the luxury of innocence. Not when the stakes are this high.

Lucius steps forward, his tone softened, almost as if he’s trying to ease the tension. “Your mother is right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. No one is saying this is easy, but it’s necessary. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

I glance at my father, my voice barely a whisper. “Is this really the only way? To destroy everything?”

He looks at me for a long moment, the lines on his face deepening with regret. “I don’t want this for you. But we don’t have time for anything else. You’re going to need this power to protect yourself—and us.”

The silence that follows feels suffocating, and I can feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on me like a vice. I want to break free, to find some way to escape this twisted reality, but I know it’s not possible. Not now.

With a shuddering breath, I raise my arms again, the familiar sense of power and dread swirling within me. “Okay,” I whisper, though the word feels foreign, hollow on my lips.

I try to push the guilt and the fear aside, focusing on the task ahead, though I know deep down that nothing will ever feel the same again.

I let the magic sizzle in my veins, nearly flinching from the pain. I focus both palms forward, twisting my wrists slightly as I whisper, “Avada kedavra.”

The green light shoots out of my palms, hitting the dummy with a blinding explosion that knocks it so hard into the wall that the whole room shakes, causing objects and debris to come flying back in my direction—and towards everyone else.

I throw my hands up instinctively, crossing my wrists over each other to create a shield that—to my own surprise—blocks my parents and Lucius as well.

The force of the explosion still rattles through my bones, but my shield holds strong. My heart pounds in my chest as I slowly lower my arms, eyes wide as I take in the aftermath. The dummy is destroyed, obliterated beyond recognition, but my parents and Lucius are unharmed, despite the debris scattered around us.

I look down at my hands, the power still thrumming within me, unsettled by how easy it was to let it slip free. My stomach twists in disgust, and I feel the weight of the curse settle around me, the realization of what I’ve just done sinking in.

Lucius is the first to speak, his voice calm but edged with something I can’t quite place. “Well. That’s one way to do it.”

My mother’s eyes narrow as she assesses the room, her expression unreadable. “That wasn’t controlled,” she says, her tone cool and calculating. “You didn’t direct the force properly.”

“I didn’t mean for it to explode like that,” I say quickly, my voice shaky. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” she interrupts, her eyes sharp. “You allowed your emotions to dictate your magic. The explosion was the result of a lack of restraint.”

I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing. The guilt from before is back, heavier this time. The dummy may have been nothing but a target, but the power I just unleashed felt far too real.

“You’ll need to do better,” Lucius adds, stepping closer, his eyes calculating. “If you can’t control the force behind the curse, it’ll turn against you when you need it most.”

I nod, but my throat tightens. I want to argue, to say that I don’t want this, but the words get stuck in my chest. I don’t want to disappoint them, but more than that, I don’t want to lose myself in this darkness.

My father steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. His touch is heavy, but his gaze is soft, almost as if he’s trying to offer comfort. “You’ll get there. It’s all about practice.”

I nod again, but my heart doesn’t feel lighter. Instead, it feels like I’m carrying a weight that’s far too heavy for me to bear.

After a moment I regain my composure, taking a breath to steady myself. I pull out my wand, pointing it at the wall and mumbling a quick, “Reparo,” fixing the mess I made as the chunks of stone fit themselves back into place.

“Why are you using your wand?” my mother asks, her voice sharp.

I clench my fist, willing my voice to stay steady. “To conserve energy. For more important matters. Unless, of course, you want me to collapse prematurely and really not be able to get anything done.”

My mother narrows her eyes at me, but I stand firm, refusing to flinch. I’ve had enough of being treated like a puppet, pushed and prodded into shapes that don’t fit me. I’m not about to crumble under their expectations—not today.

She opens her mouth, likely to reprimand me, but Lucius interrupts, his tone surprisingly neutral. “She’s right, Grace. There’s no reason to drain her when she can conserve her energy for something more crucial.”

My mother glances at him sharply, but she doesn’t argue, her lips tightening into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t get too comfortable. The training isn’t over.”

I nod, but the words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. It doesn’t matter how much energy I save or how controlled my magic is; in the end, it’s all just preparation for something I don’t want to be a part of. But I keep that thought locked away, too afraid to say it out loud.

Instead, I take a deep breath and start to walk toward the door, determined to get away from the pressure, the suffocating weight of their expectations.

“Where are you going?” my father asks, his voice firm.

“I need a break,” I reply, my tone steady. “I’ll come back when I’m ready.”

Without waiting for a response, I step out of the room, the door closing softly behind me.

I don’t walk more than a few steps down the hall before I slide down the wall, sitting on the cold tile floor. I bring my knees up to my chest, resting my forehead on them as I try to catch my breath.

I don’t cry, I don’t even think I have the energy to. I just sit there in the silence, the only sound being my ragged breathing as the tension and soreness starts to rip through my muscles.

After a few brief minutes I hear the door squeak open and I look up, expecting to get berated by my mother, but my eyes settle on Lucius with a strange look on his face.

I rest my cheek on my knees as he walks towards me, holding a small vial out in my direction. I take it from him tenderly, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s this?” I ask suspiciously.

He takes a sharp breath, seeming uncomfortable. “For the soreness.”

I hesitate for a moment, still unsure of his intentions, but the exhaustion in my body makes me relent. My muscles feel like they’re on fire, and the thought of even moving more seems unbearable.

I uncork the vial, the familiar scent of the potion filling my nose. It’s the same one Draco had given me last night—its calming properties almost immediately apparent. My eyes flick up to Lucius, surprised by his gesture.

“This is… the same potion Draco gave me,” I say slowly, still processing the unexpected kindness.

Lucius’s gaze softens just slightly. “He was the one who brewed it. I provided the ingredients.” He steps back, his expression unreadable. “Well, technically you provided them.”

I blink, caught off guard by his words. I slowly realize he’s referencing the box of rare ingredients I got him for Christmas, but he clears his throat, pulling me out of my thoughts.

There’s a shift in his demeanor, a subtle vulnerability that I don’t often see from him. It doesn’t erase the years of manipulation, but it’s a crack, and I’m not sure whether I should acknowledge it. “Not everything I do is meant to cause harm.”

“Why are you helping me?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper as I take the first sip of the potion. The warmth spreads through me, a welcome relief.

Lucius doesn’t immediately respond. He stares at me for a long moment, his gaze heavy, before he says, “Despite everything… I’m a father, and you’re still just a child.” His voice is low, almost… gentle, and it catches me off guard.

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but I find that I can’t. He’s right. I am still just a child, despite everything I’ve been forced to endure. Despite the curses and the bloodshed.

He watches me for a moment longer, and then, without another word, turns and walks away, leaving me with the quiet solace of the potion and the heavy weight of his rare kindness hanging in the air.

~

When I walk back into the room, all heads snap towards me, seeming surprised.

“You decided to come back,” my mother says, her voice icy.

I take a breath, tucking my wand up into my hair. “I said I would.”

My mother’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t press the matter any further. Instead, she gestures for me to continue, her tone sharp. “You’re ready to practice the curse again.”

I take a step forward, my mind made up. The room falls quiet, the tension thick. I can feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on me. My mother is poised and calculating, my father’s gaze unreadable, and Lucius… well, Lucius is the one I’m truly focused on.

My mother comes towards me as if to resume. I hesitate for only a moment before meeting my mother’s eyes and saying, “No. I want Lucius to teach me.”

The room freezes. The air seems to shift as everyone processes my words.

“Excuse me?” my mother snaps, incredulous.

Lucius raises an eyebrow, his own surprise evident, but there’s something in his gaze that softens just slightly. His posture shifts as he steps forward. “I assume you have your reasons.”

I nod, my voice unwavering despite the tension. “You’ve been pushing me too hard,” I tell my parents, my voice tight. “You want me to kill without question, without hesitation. But you haven’t explained how. Lucius understands the weight of the curse. He won’t just tell me to do it—he’ll teach me how.”

There’s a long silence, my parents exchanging uneasy glances, but they don’t argue. It’s clear they hadn’t anticipated me taking this stand, especially not in front of Lucius.

“I’ll teach her,” Lucius says finally, his tone almost measured, but with a subtle authority that no one dares challenge.

My mother’s lips curl in a thin line, but she nods curtly. “Fine. But you better not coddle her.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Lucius replies, his voice even. He glances at me then, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention back to my mother. “She’ll learn what she needs to, whether you like it or not.”

I feel the weight of their gazes on me as Lucius steps into the center of the room, and for the first time, I don’t feel quite so alone in my resolve.

“Alright,” Lucius says with a clap, “where did you go wrong last time?”

I pause, considering his question. “I think my form was fine. My aim… could be better, but it wasn’t that far off.”

He nods, agreeing. “That leaves intent, doesn’t it?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, reluctant to prove him right. “Yes.”

Lucius smirks faintly, his hands clasped behind his back as he begins pacing in front of me. “Intent is everything when it comes to the Unforgivables. You can have flawless form and perfect aim, but without the right intention, it will never work. Magic recognizes hesitation, doubt, and fear. If you want to wield this curse, you must believe in it completely.”

My stomach churns at his words. “But what if I don’t want to believe in it? What if it feels… wrong?”

He stops pacing, turning to face me with an uncharacteristic softness in his eyes. “That’s the burden of this kind of magic. It demands everything from you, whether you like it or not. But that doesn’t mean you must lose yourself to it.” He pauses, his tone growing sharper. “The key is finding a focus, something—or someone—that anchors your intent. A reason that justifies the spell.”

I blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his explanation. “A reason?”

Lucius nods. “You’re not casting these curses for pleasure or cruelty. You’re casting them to protect yourself, to protect those who matter to you. Let that fuel your intent. Think of the curse not as destruction, but as a shield—a preemptive strike against those who would harm you.”

My throat tightens at his words, and I nod slowly, trying to absorb the weight of his advice. “How do I expand my focus, then? To make it strong enough?”

He gestures for me to raise my hands again. “Start small. Your focus is like a flame—it can burn brighter, but only if it has fuel. Picture the dummy in front of you as a true threat. Let the thought of it hurting your family fill you, and channel that into the spell.”

I hesitate, then close my eyes, drawing a deep breath. I let the image form in my mind—the dummy advancing on someone I love, wand raised, threatening their life. Though I don’t picture my parents, I picture Draco. My true family. The thought ignites a spark in me, a fierce determination I didn’t realize I had. When I open my eyes, Lucius is watching me closely.

“Now,” he says, stepping back, “use that.”

I push my hands forward, my wrists twisting slightly as I focus on the dummy. My voice is steady as I cast the spell, “Avada kedavra.”

The green light shoots from my palms, more focused this time, striking the dummy cleanly in the chest. It collapses instantly, and while the strain still burns through my veins, it feels more controlled—less chaotic.

Lucius nods approvingly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Better. Much better.”

I release a shaky breath, lowering my hands. “It didn’t… explode this time.”

“Because you didn’t let doubt or fear poison your intent,” he explains. “And because you’re starting to understand the balance between strength and control. You’re learning.”

For the first time, his praise doesn’t feel hollow or patronizing. It feels earned. And as much as I loathe the nature of the training, I can’t help but feel a flicker of pride.

I inhale, nodding, as my mother clasps her hands behind her back from across the room.

“Again,” she says simply, her gaze steady.

I don’t argue, I just roll out my neck, refocusing. If this is how I have to protect Draco, I’m going to make sure I’m damn good at it.

Lucius steps behind me, giving me a full view of the room without him in the way. I close my eyes and feel the tug of the bond to Draco, anchoring me to myself—reminding me what’s important.

I shoot it out again, quicker this time, and it’s even more precise than the last. I strike the dummy in the head, a narrower target, and it collapses to the floor with a hard thud.

“Excellent,” Lucius says behind me, “that’s what you’ve been missing. A reason.”

I turn around to face him, reluctantly prideful at my success.

He narrows his eyes, studying me. “Tell me, who are you fighting for?”

“My parents,” I say quickly, lying through my teeth.

He seems to look straight through me, and I almost fear he’ll call me out right here—but he doesn’t.

He just inclines his head, giving me his fake approval. “Right. Now, do it again.”

I turn back to the dummy, steadying my breath as my hands tingle with residual magic. My arms feel heavier now, the strain of repeated casting pulling at me, but I refuse to let it show. If this is what it takes to be ready—to keep him safe—then I’ll push through.

I raise my hands again, my fingers trembling slightly as I focus. The bond hums faintly in the back of my mind, grounding me, even as I block out the weight of Lucius’s gaze and my mother’s cold scrutiny. This time, I aim for the center of the dummy’s chest, envisioning the strike with clarity.

“Avada kedavra,” I whisper, the green light bursting from my palms with a sharp hiss.

The dummy crumples instantly, the force sending it skidding a few feet across the room. The precision is near perfect, the intent sharper than ever before. My knees threaten to buckle under the effort, but I hold my stance, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

Lucius steps forward, his sharp boots clicking against the floor. “Impressive,” he murmurs, his tone carrying a note of genuine approval. “You’re learning to channel your magic efficiently—focused but unrelenting. That will serve you well.”

I glance at him briefly, my expression neutral, though my chest tightens with a strange mixture of pride and guilt. I nod silently, wiping my palms against my robes to mask their trembling.

“Again,” my mother orders, her voice clipped.

I meet her gaze this time, allowing just a hint of defiance to shine through. “No.” My voice is quiet but firm. “If I push any further, I’ll lose control, and that defeats the point. You’re the one who always says to know my limits.”

She frowns, her lips parting to argue, but Lucius interjects smoothly. “She’s right. Forcing it now would only risk undoing her progress. Give her time to recover, Grace. Mastery requires discipline, not recklessness.”

For a moment, my mother looks as though she might object, but she exhales sharply and turns away, signaling the end of the session with a dismissive wave.

Lucius lingers as I lower my hands, my breath unsteady but my resolve intact. “Remember this feeling,” he says quietly, his pale eyes meeting mine. “The clarity of purpose. Hold onto it when the time comes.”

I swallow hard, nodding once before he turns on his heel and strides toward the door. My mother follows without another word, leaving me alone in the echoing silence of the room.

The weight of the training settles over me like a heavy cloak, but beneath it, something steadier burns. I don’t know how this will end—whether I’ll rise victorious or fall in the attempt—but one thing is clear.

I’ll fight for him. And I’ll win. Or I’ll die trying.