Her lessons with Draco were set to begin that morning. A crisp note, penned in his familiar sharp handwriting, had been left on her bedside table:
Be dressed and ready by ten. Meet me on the veranda.
Beside it, breakfast awaited her—a simple but thoughtful tray placed neatly atop her desk. Amoria didn't touch it. Her appetite was nonexistent, her stomach already knotted with the lingering tension of the previous night.
Her restless night was haunted by the Dark Lord's words, a heavy storm of anxiety swirling in her mind. She had barely managed to close her eyes, the gravity of his demand replaying endlessly. He wanted more from her than she had ever dared to explore—magic that went beyond the confines of the Killing Curse.
How could she possibly harness it to kill? She hadn't even known of its existence, and now she was expected to wield it on demand, to subject whatever the Dark Lord pleased to ruins. The thought was unbearable.
Her mind rebelled at the idea of using her power to destroy, to harm. It felt wrong, unnatural—this power had always been a part of her, but never feeling its brutality in such a way, made her sick. How could she be expected to wield such violence when her very soul recoiled at it?
Amoria's gaze wandered to the note again, her thoughts shifting reluctantly to Draco. Her mind played a war of its own. Draco might be an insufferable, arrogant bastard most of the time, but she couldn't imagine harming him. Even if the Dark Lord commanded it, she knew she'd hesitate. No matter how venomous his words or cold his demeanor, some small, unshakable fragment of love for the boy she knew still remained.
But Draco had made it clear—there was no love left on his end. No fondness, no shared memories worth holding onto. He had burned those bridges the night before, his anger and insecurities spilling out like poison. His drunken tirade had stung deeply, but the events that followed… those were far worse.
A shiver ran through her as the memory surfaced. What had come over her?
He hadn't deserved what happened, no matter how harsh his words had been. The look of pain and betrayal on his face was etched into her mind, as vivid now as it had been last night. She'd lost control. The power the Dark Lord wanted her to wield had risen unbidden, slipping through her grasp and lashing out. It wasn't intentional, but it didn't matter.
The guilt settled heavily in her chest, a weight she feared she'd never shake.
This morning would be the first time they saw each other since it happened. Amoria wasn't sure she could face him. Not without an apology at least, though she doubted he'd accept it. Whatever hope she'd held for their partnership—and any lingering bond between them—seemed more unlikely than ever.
Yet, avoiding him wasn't an option. She had to endure this training, master her power, and, most importantly, stay alive.
Her hand brushed against the note one last time before she stood, the tray of untouched breakfast still waiting in the dim light of her room. With a deep breath, Amoria steeled herself.
She couldn't afford to crumble, not now.
Her magic had always felt muted, her abilities barely extending beyond the basics. Even simple healing charms were a struggle, and she often felt like an imposter among witches and wizards whose power seemed to come so naturally. But last night had changed everything. In her desperation to silence Draco, she had unlocked something—something dark, raw, and uncontrollable. Even all the texts she had poured over during her studies never described such magic. She feared what it could do, what it couldmakeher do.
Amidst the swirling feelings of impending doom and anxiety, a fleeting thought crossed her mind:Could there be some advantage to it?If she could master this power, if she could fulfill the Dark Lord's demands, then perhaps they could survive this war. His threats had been explicit: failure wasn't an option. He would make good on his promises of pain and ruin if she didn't succeed.
The thought sent a chill through her, but it also hardened her resolve. Whatever it took, she would find a way.
Amoria rose from the bed and walked to the desk. Her breakfast, though unappetizing in her current state, couldn't be ignored entirely. She forced herself to eat hastily, pushing past the knot of nausea in her stomach. She would need her strength.
Afterward, she showered and dressed with precision, slipping her wand into the holster at her side. The familiar weight offered a small measure of comfort, even as anxiety twisted in her chest.
The silence of the manor was suffocating as she made her way to the veranda. The vast halls echoed faintly with the sound of her footsteps, but no other noise greeted her.
When she stepped outside, the sunlight was pale and weak, filtered through a haze of gray clouds. The air was cool, the kind of sharp chill that hinted at approaching rain. And there he was.
Draco sat nonchalantly in one of the wrought-iron chairs, a book in his hands. His posture was casual, almost bored, but his sharp eyes darted over the pages with precision. His hair, platinum as ever, gleamed in the overcast light He didn't look up when she arrived, but she knew he was aware of her presence.
Uncertain of what to say, Amoria stood silently, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He didn't. His eyes stayed fixed on the book, flipping through the pages with deliberate disinterest. Irritation bubbled in her chest. He was ignoring her on purpose.
At last, Draco looked up, his gaze lazily traveling over her before snapping the book shut with an audibleclap. He set it down on the table and stood, his movements fluid and unhurried. His eyes swept over her with a cold, calculated indifference that made her want to hex him on the spot.
"You look like shit," he said flatly, his lip curling in disgust.
Amoria blinked, taken aback for half a second before a bitter chuckle escaped her lips. She raised an eyebrow, refusing to let him see how deeply his words stung. "I could say the same about you."
Draco's face remained expressionless, but his eyes flickered for a brief moment, betraying a flicker of something—hurt? Anger? She wasn't sure. The faint bruises and scratches she'd left on him were nearly gone, but the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. Neither of them had slept, and the exhaustion was etched into both of their faces.
The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy. It was clear he didn't want to be there, that this "assignment" was as much a punishment for him as it was a necessity for her. Whatever he normally occupied his time with, training her was clearly not high on his list of priorities.
Finally, without a word, Draco raised from the table, turned on his heel and descended the stairs into the garden. The sharp sound of his boots against the stone was the only noise in the stillness of the manor grounds.
Amoria hesitated, her fingers curling instinctively around her wand. She could leave. Turn back now and avoid whatever fresh hell this lesson would bring. But then the memory of The Dark Lord's demands surged back to the forefront of her mind. Failure wasn't an option.
Clenching her jaw, she stepped forward and followed him down the stairs.
Draco led her to an old greenhouse on the left side of the property. Inside, the space was mostly empty, except for a few dead plants shoved carelessly against the walls. Amoria's gaze drifted along the glass wall, up to the ceiling where vines covered most of it, leaving the room dimly lit. Draco walked to the center of the room, turning to face her.
"This will be our practice room," he said, his tone indifferent. "I've added charms to it, so no spell can break the glass—wouldn't want you accidentally killing anyone with your...talents." he said sarcastically.
"I've been told you're already familiar with the theory of curses and dueling," he continued, his voice sharp and businesslike. "But theory won't save you when the enemy castsAvadaat you. You've yet to actually test any of it on a living being. If I were to send you out onto a battlefield right now, you'd be dead before you even thought to cast a spell."
His words cut deep, but Amoria kept her face impassive. He walked to the far end of the room, drawing his wand from his robes.
"So," Draco said, his tone growing even colder, "it's best we start with the basics—actual practice. Dueling, and more importantly, learning how to protect yourself."
When he finally turned, his expression was colder than ever.
"Wand out," he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Amoria hesitated, her hand hovering at her side.
"Don't make me repeat myself," he snapped, the sharpness in his voice cutting through her hesitation.
She drew her wand, gripping it tightly as she met his gaze. Whatever resentment or unease lingered between them would have to wait. For now, she had to focus.
Draco raised his own wand, his movements precise and measured. "We'll start with the basics," he said, his voice calm but laced with an edge of condescension. "If you're going to make it through this war, you'll need more than luck and reckless outbursts."
Amoria bristled at his tone but said nothing. She could feel his eyes on her, watching, waiting for her to falter.
"Let's see what you can do," Draco said, stepping back and leveling his wand at her. "Try to hit me."
Amoria froze, her grip tightening on her wand. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, his smirk returning, cold and infuriating. "Go ahead. Impress me."
Amoria took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She visualized the spell in her mind—what she wanted it to do—and emptied her thoughts of doubt. This time, when she raised her wand, she felt a surge of confidence. She focused on the target, her intention clear. With a fluid flick of her wrist, a red bolt of light shot from the end of her wand, aimed straight for Draco's shoulder.
He dodged it effortlessly, his movements sharp and deliberate. In a fluid, almost instinctive motion, he retaliated with a spell of his own, sending it hurtling toward her. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, she hesitated—her mind blanking, abandoning everything she'd studied about dueling, even the bloody shield charm. Panic surged, but she forced herself to react. She raised her wand just as the spell neared, and at the last possible second, the shield charm erupted into being, deflecting the impact with a sharp crack.
"Good," he said simply, his cold gaze locking onto hers. "But first lesson: never hesitate."
Before she could even process his words, Draco's wand slashed through the air, and a jet of red light came hurtling toward her.
Amoria reacted instinctively, throwing upProtegojust in time. The force of the spell hit her shield and ricocheted harmlessly into the ceiling, where it dissipated against the protective charms Draco had mentioned.
Her heart raced with a mix of excitement and relief, the rush of success buzzing in her veins. She couldn't help but grin to herself, though she quickly masked it, knowing Draco would never let her get away with even the smallest sign of pride.
"Not bad," he said, his tone almost grudging. "But you're slow."
Amoria narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't exactly give me a warning."
"And neither will anyone else," he shot back, his wand already moving again.
This time, she was ready. She dodged the spell with a sharp step to the side, her wand snapping up to counter with a Disarming Charm. Draco blocked it effortlessly, his movements fluid and unyielding.
"Congratulations," Draco said dryly, his voice laced with sarcasm, "You've managed to duel like a first-year. Again."
Amoria rolled her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. The grin was gone, replaced by determination. She took her stance again, focusing on him, blocking out everything else.
She cast the spell again, more precisely. Each attempt felt smoother, faster, as if her body and wand were starting to sync. Draco danced around her, effortlessly dodging each shot, his expression one of mild disinterest.
Amoria's heart pounded in her chest as the duel wore on, sweat beading on her brow, pain from the casts riddled her body. Draco's skill was undeniable, his movements precise and practiced, while hers felt clumsy and uncertain in comparison.
"Focus," he barked as one of her spells went wide, hitting a dead plant and reducing it to ash.
"I am focusing!" she snapped, frustration boiling over. Her patients was growing rather thin with his inflated ego.
"Not enough," he said sharply. "If this were real, you'd already be dead."
His words stung, but she didn't have time to dwell on them. Another spell was already flying toward her, and she barely managed to deflect it in time.
One after another, her spells flew from her wand, each one landing closer to him, forcing him to make sharper, more calculated moves. He didn't speak now, but she could feel his eyes on her, noting the shift.
The repetition was working. She was finding a rhythm, and with it, her confidence. It was no longer about her trying to prove something to him. It was about proving it to herself.
After several more rounds, Draco finally stopped, holding up a hand. "Enough," he said, his voice still cold but tinged with something that almost resembled approval.
Draco looked at her with a detached expression, his eyes narrowed. "Now that your basic casts are passable, it's just as important to learn how to dodge whatever's being cast at you. You may not always have time to cast a protection spell, but quick instincts could mean the difference between life and death."
He moved to the other side of the room, drawing his wand with a fluid motion. "I'm going to cast some basic spells at you. Your goal is to anticipate my next move and dodge. No hesitation."
Amoria nodded, trying to steady her breath as she readied herself.
Draco began casting, his movements quicker than before. Spells whipped past her with a speed she wasn't expecting, the force of each one stinging her skin. Though there was no lasting damage, the sharp impact of each spell left her frustrated and aching. She tried to focus on the rhythm of his wand movements, attempting to predict his next strike.
But just as she thought she had him figured out, Draco shifted his tactics. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a blast directly at her stomach. The sudden impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she stumbled backward, gasping for breath. Was he trying to teach her or hurt her? This felt more like punishment than a lesson.
The sting of pain turned into a simmering anger deep inside her, the familiar warmth pulsing through her veins, directly to her wand. Before she could stop herself, she whipped her wand forward, casting a spell far stronger than anything she had before. The blast hit Draco square in the chest, sending him crashing against the stone wall..
For a split second, his face was unreadable—his eyes wide with surprise—but then his expression twisted into something darker, something far more dangerous.
Before Amoria could react, Draco's wand shot out, and with a flick of his wrist, she felt her own wand fly from her hand. She barely had time to register what was happening before a giant ball of fire shot straight toward her.
The heat was blinding.
She tried to move, but it was too late. The fireball collided with her, sending her flying backward into the far wall. The impact was brutal, the force knocking the wind out of her lungs, leaving her gasping and struggling to breathe. She slumped to the floor, her body aching from the impact. The cold stone floor beneath her felt like an anchor, the only thing keeping her from spinning into unconsciousness.
Coughing violently, she tried to roll onto her back, desperately gasping for air. The burning in her lungs felt like fire itself, and for a moment, she couldn't get enough oxygen to stop the panic rising in her chest.
A shadow loomed over her.
Amoria's head turned slowly, and through the haze of pain, she saw Draco standing above her, his face twisted into a malicious smile. His eyes gleamed with something dark as he watched her struggle on the ground.
For a moment, he said nothing. The silence between them stretched, thick with tension. Then, his voice broke through, cold and taunting.
"Pathetic," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But I suppose it's a start."
His words felt like a slap to the face, but Amoria couldn't respond—her body wouldn't let her. All she could do was struggle to breathe, cursing him wordlessly in her mind. Her hands were shaking as she tried to push herself off the floor.
"I'll expect to see you again tomorrow for your second lesson," Draco continued, his voice dripping with contempt. He turned on his heel without another glance, his footsteps echoing as he walked out of the greenhouse, leaving her in a haze of agony and humiliation.
Amoria lay there, alone, for what felt like hours. Her body ached with the lingering pain of the impact, and the weight of his words pressed down on her chest like a suffocating force. When she finally managed to sit up, her body protested with every movement, each shift sending a wave of discomfort that made her wonder how she had gotten so weak.
The small confidence she had gained in their earlier practice began to crumble with every passing thought. She hadn't realized how much getting hit—even by basic spells—would hurt. Draco's spell had been nothing but a distraction compared to what she would face in real combat, and yet, the pain still rattled her.
Her breaths were shallow and shaky, and as she forced herself to her feet, her legs trembled beneath her. Her balance was off, each step feeling like it could send her crashing to the ground again. She was embarrassed. He had barely tried, and yet she had been knocked down so easily. She hadn't even lasted a full round.
Though she knew he was used to dueling at much higher stakes, how little effort it took him to overpower her was mortifying. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms as she swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat.
With unsteady steps, she stumbled out of the greenhouse, keeping her head low, unable to bear the weight of his judgment still hanging in the air.
Once inside her room, she locked the door behind her, the sound of the bolt sliding home a brief relief from the chaos outside. She slumped against the door, her chest rising and falling as though she had been holding her breath the entire way back. The silence of the room seemed to amplify the storm inside her—the whirlwind of self-doubt and frustration threatening to consume her.
Without a thought, she staggered to the bed, collapsing onto it with a soft thud. She buried her face in her hands, the weight of everything—his harsh words, her failures, the overwhelming pressure—crushing down on her.
Her breath caught, and for a moment, it felt as though the room itself was closing in on her, the walls pressing in with the crushing weight of her inadequacies.
Thoughts spiraled endlessly, each one more painful than the last. She could almost see Draco, smug with satisfaction, recounting her failure to the Dark Lord, relishing every detail. But worse than his gloating was the image of her father—his quiet, measured disappointment. No words, just the heavy reminder in his eyes that she was expected to be better than this.
Amoria wanted to find him, to explain herself—that Draco had barely taught her anything and seemed more interested in punishing her than actually helping her. But deep down, she knew better. Her father would want no excuses, no explanations. Only results.
When dinner arrived, neatly placed on her desk by unseen hands, she didn't even glance at it. The sight of the untouched meal made her stomach twist in disgust. Instead, she remained on the bed, staring blankly at the canopy above, the shadows on the ceiling reflecting the turmoil inside her.
The Dark Lord's threats echoed relentlessly in her mind, his voice so clear it was as if he were standing right beside her. She had endangered their safety with her failure, with her lack of ability. If this so-called "gift" was as special as everyone claimed, why couldn't she even manage a basic defensive spell without faltering?
Her power must have been a fluke—a one-time accident, a stroke of luck that would never happen again. But then, the memory of the spell she'd cast at Draco came rushing back. She could still feel the heat of it, the force that sent him stumbling, the shock in his eyes. Maybe it wasn't a fluke. Maybe it had always been there, dormant, waiting for the right moment to surface.
Frustration gnawed at her, sharp and relentless. The magic, whatever it was, came and went as it pleased. She couldn't grasp it, couldn't make it obey her, and the longer she tried, the more elusive it became. Trying to control it for a real purpose, to use it in a way that mattered—was proving to be a far greater challenge than she had anticipated.
The weight of expectations pressed down on her, suffocating and inescapable. She was already doomed. Worse, she had doomed her father as well. The thought solidified in her chest like stone: it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord's patience ran out. He wouldn't wait forever for her to master magic she barely understood, let alone control.
And when his patience ran out, she would either be dead or wished she was.
The tears came quietly at first—a single drop sliding down her cheek before the dam broke. She turned her face into her pillow, the muffled sobs spilling out in uncontrollable waves. Every emotion she had buried since her arrival—the fear, the crushing loneliness, the impossible pressure to prove herself—all of it poured out in a flood, relentless and raw.
She cried until her chest ached and her throat burned, her tears soaking into the fabric beneath her. It felt like she could never stop.
But eventually, the tears subsided, leaving her exhausted and hollow. The storm inside her quieted, leaving a heavy, numbing stillness in its wake. All her thoughts seemed to clear, leaving only the warmth of the bed and the distant crackle of the fire.
Her breathing slowed, and the heaviness of her body dragged her deeper into the mattress, pulling her into a restless, dreamless sleep.