Malkov Estate, Russian Countryside
"Ah, there you are, Severus," Irina said, setting her teacup down on the polished table with a deliberate grace. Her eyes lingered on him, sharp and expectant. "We were waiting for you."
Severus's gaze flicked to the two strangers seated opposite her, their presence unfamiliar and unexpected. A man and a woman, both dressed impeccably, sat with an air of casual authority that made his stomach churn slightly. The maids had mentioned nothing about guests.
He inclined his head slightly, masking his confusion with a neutral expression as he stepped further into the room. "I wasn't aware we had company," he said, his tone polite but tinged with curiosity.
Irina smiled faintly, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. "Join us, dear. It's important you meet everyone."
The man leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced together as he studied Severus. His sharp jawline and silver-streaked hair gave him an air of command, but it was the intensity of his blue eyes that struck Severus. They were piercing, as if they could see through every layer of pretense. The woman, in contrast, had a softer presence, though no less striking. Her auburn hair was neatly pinned back, and her smile seemed genuine, if not slightly guarded.
"This," Irina began, gesturing toward the man, "is Lord Bennet. He is the Malkov heir instructor, and from today onward, he will be your teacher as well."
Severus's eyes flicked to the man Irina introduced. Lord Bennet carried himself with a stern precision that was hard to miss. His dark suit was immaculate, his salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly back, and his sharp features were accentuated by a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that perched on the bridge of his nose. His expression was unreadable, save for the faint air of disapproval that seemed to follow him like a shadow.
"You'll find, young master," Bennet began, his voice clipped and deliberate, "that I am not one to tolerate excuses or mediocrity. My purpose is to shape you into a Malkov worthy of your title, and I will accept nothing less."
Severus arched a brow but remained silent, keeping his expression neutral. The words carried the weight of expectation, but he wasn't about to let himself feel intimidated, not yet.
"Lord Bennet has trained every Malkov heir for the past three generations," Irina continued, her tone carrying a mix of pride and finality. "You will learn everything from etiquette to strategy, and everything in between. He will ensure that no one can question your place in this family."
"How... thorough," Severus said evenly, glancing between Irina and Bennet. "And when does this instruction begin?"
"Immediately," Bennet replied curtly. "You've already lost valuable time. Report to the east study after breakfast. Bring nothing but your focus."
Severus inclined his head slightly, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course."
Irina's gaze shifted toward the other woman in the room, who had been quietly observing the exchange. "And this," Irina said with a wave of her hand, "is Lady Evelina. She is here to assist with your societal education—your manners, deportment, and presentation."
Lady Evelina stood gracefully, her silk gown pooling softly around her feet. She was tall and elegant, with an air of poise that radiated authority. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Severus," she said warmly, though there was a calculating edge to her smile. "My role is simple: to ensure you not only survive in this world but thrive in it."
"I see," Severus replied, his tone guarded. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. She was charming, yes, but there was a sharpness to her words that reminded him of Irina.
Irina picked up her teacup, her lips curving into a faint smile. "The two of them will see to it that you are prepared for the responsibilities of being my heir. Do not disappoint them."
Severus nodded, though the weight of her words settled heavily in his chest. It was clear that the days of quietly surviving on the sidelines were over.
"Shall we begin?" Lord Bennet asked pointedly, rising from his seat and motioning toward the door.
Suppressing a sigh, Severus stood as well, straightening his posture. "Lead the way," he said coolly, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead.
As he followed Lord Bennet and Lady Evelina through the winding corridors of the manor, Severus couldn't help but wonder what he was about to endure. If this "instruction" was anything like the dry, droning lectures in History of Magic at Hogwarts, then perhaps he could master the art of napping with his eyes open. A small, humorless smirk tugged at the corner of his lips at the thought, though he quickly schooled his expression when Lady Evelina glanced back at him briefly.
"Your first lesson will be in the study," Bennet announced without turning his head. "I expect your full attention, and do remember—you are no longer just Severus Snape. You are Severus Drakonovich Malkov now, and that carries expectations."
Severus clenched his jaw slightly at the use of his newfound surname. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with it, though he supposed he had no choice but to embrace it. This was his life now, whether he liked it or not.
They reached the east study, and Bennet pushed the heavy oak door open with ease. The room was grand but not ostentatious—shelves lined with thick, leather-bound books covered the walls, and a large mahogany desk stood at the center. A single chair was placed in front of the desk, clearly meant for him.
"Sit," Bennet instructed, motioning toward the chair as he moved behind the desk. Lady Evelina settled into a smaller seat off to the side, crossing her legs gracefully as she observed.
Severus complied, lowering himself into the chair with deliberate calmness, though he felt the beginnings of irritation creeping up his spine. He hated being scrutinized, and both Bennet and Evelina had a way of looking at him that made him feel like a specimen under a magnifying glass.
"Today's focus will be on this family's history," Bennet announced, his tone sharp and devoid of patience as he pulled a heavy, leather-bound book from a nearby shelf. He placed it on the desk with a thud, dust motes swirling in the sunlight streaming through the window.
Severus stifled a groan, glancing at the ornate cover. Gold lettering spelled out The Legacy of House Malkov, and beneath it was the family crest—a dragon's head with emerald eyes. It seemed almost alive, the dragon's gaze piercing even in its embossed form.
Bennet flipped the book open to a section marked by a crimson ribbon, his movements deliberate. "Before you can hope to carry the Malkov name with honor, you must understand the weight it carries," he began, his eyes locking onto Severus with an intensity that made it clear there would be no excuses. "This is not just a family—it is a legacy. One that spans centuries of influence, power, and sacrifice."
Severus leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers curling around the armrests. "And how, exactly, does memorizing centuries of family feuds and political schemes help me now?" he asked, his voice carefully measured. He wasn't trying to be insolent, but he couldn't help his skepticism.
Bennet's eyes narrowed, and Evelina, seated gracefully nearby, let out a soft chuckle. "Because, Severus," she interjected smoothly, "those feuds and schemes built the foundation you now stand on. Every decision, every alliance, every betrayal—it all matters. To understand your future, you must first understand your past."
Bennet nodded, his expression hard. "Well put, Lady Evelina. Now," he said, turning the book toward Severus, "we'll start with the founding of the Malkov dynasty. Take notes if you must, but pay attention."
Severus's eyes fell on the page, where an intricately drawn family tree spread across the parchment, roots twisting into names he didn't recognize. At the very top was a dragon, labeled as the founder of the family.
Severus's brow furrowed, his fingers pausing mid-air as he traced the elegant lines of the family tree. His eyes darted between the detailed image of the dragon and Bennet, who stood watching him with a peculiar mix of curiosity and amusement.
"A dragon?" Severus repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. "Why is a dragon labeled as the founder of the family?"
Bennet's smile deepened, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes. He leaned back against the desk, folding his arms. "Ah, the skepticism of youth," he said, his voice almost teasing. Then his expression turned sharp. "But tell me, Severus—have you never wondered why it was so... easy for you, a 15-year-old boy, to fire a killing curse at your own father?"
Severus stiffened, his breath hitching. He hadn't expected that to be brought up. Memories of that night—the shouting, the crash of glass, and the sheer, cold clarity as he uttered the curse—rushed back to him. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk, the weight of Bennet's words sinking in.
"I didn't think..." Severus began, his voice faltering slightly before he regained his composure. His dark eyes narrowed. "What does that have to do with a dragon?"
"Everything," Bennet said simply, his tone dropping to something darker, more intimate. He gestured toward the family tree. "The dragon isn't just a symbol, Severus. It's blood. It's power. Ivan Malkov, the so-called founder of this family, made a pact—a binding one—with the dragon that became our progenitor. That magic, that connection, has been passed down through generations. It lives in you."
Severus's jaw tightened. "So you're telling me that my ability to cast an Unforgivable curse was because of... blood magic?" His voice was laced with disbelief, but there was a flicker of something else—fear, or perhaps understanding.
Bennet nodded slowly, watching him intently. "You've always had a natural aptitude for magic, haven't you? Spells that should have taken years of study come to you with ease. Magic that others struggle to master feels almost... instinctive. That's not coincidence, Severus. It's the blood of the dragon flowing through you."
Severus opened his mouth to argue but hesitated. He thought of his childhood—how spells seemed to hum under his skin even before he'd gone to Hogwarts, how he could sense things others couldn't, how his anger often felt like it could consume the very air around him.
"And the killing curse?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Bennet leaned forward, his gaze intense. "The dragon's blood enhances not just your magic, but your will. To cast a spell like that, you need absolute conviction, absolute focus. You had it—whether you realized it or not. The magic answered you because it's a part of you."
Severus's stomach churned, but he didn't let it show. "So what does this mean?" he asked finally, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his mind. "What am I supposed to do with this... legacy?"
Bennet smirked, clearly pleased by the question. "That, my boy, is what I'm here to teach you. How to wield it. How to control it. How to ensure it doesn't consume you like it did others before you."
Severus's eyes flickered back to the family tree, tracing the names spiraling downward. There were so many questions, so many things he didn't understand. But one thing was clear—this wasn't just about family history. This was about power. And for the first time, Severus wondered if he could truly harness it without losing himself in the process.
"Very well," he said, his voice firm. "Teach me."
Bennet nodded approvingly. "Good. Then let's begin."
The hours flew by as Bennet guided Severus through the family's lore, teaching him about the magic tied to the dragon's bloodline. There were spells—ancient, forbidden ones—etched into the pages of the book, their descriptions chilling but undeniably fascinating. Bennet insisted Severus study them, memorize them, and understand their purpose and power.
By the time the lesson ended, Severus's head was spinning with information. He felt like he'd just scratched the surface of something far greater than himself. As he left the study, the book tucked under his arm, he couldn't shake the feeling that his life had taken a sharp turn.
He didn't have long to dwell on it, though, because as he turned the corner, he nearly collided with Damon.
"Watch it," Damon snarled, glaring down at him. But then his gaze flicked to the book in Severus's hands, and something in his expression shifted—curiosity, perhaps, or envy.
"What's that?" Damon asked, his tone casual but his eyes betraying his interest.
"None of your concern," Severus replied coldly, stepping around him.
Damon's sneer deepened, clearly unimpressed with the response. Without warning, he reached out and ripped the book from Severus's hands.
"Malkov family history," Damon read aloud, his voice dripping with mockery. But then his tone shifted, growing sharper. "Wait. Why are you reading this? You shouldn't be reading this unless you're—" His words faltered, his eyes narrowing as realization dawned. "No. You can't be serious."
Severus, his patience already frayed, straightened his posture. "Give it back, Damon," he said, his voice low and cutting, though his calm façade was underpinned with the tension of a coiled spring.
Damon ignored him, gripping the book tighter as he studied Severus with a mix of disbelief and simmering anger. "This has to be a joke. Grandmothers really putting you in heir training? You? Do you have any idea what that even means?" His tone rose, his indignation palpable.
"I'm aware," Severus replied, his tone even, though his jaw tightened. "More aware than you ever were, apparently."
The barb hit its mark. Damon's face twisted, his fury barely contained. "You think you can just stroll in here and take what's mine?" His voice was dangerously low now, his grip on the book tightening as though he intended to crush it.
Severus met his glare head-on, refusing to back down. "It was never yours," he said simply, the weight of the truth behind his words hanging in the air.
Damon's expression darkened further. "You're nothing. You don't belong here. And no amount of history lessons or bloodline rhetoric will change that."
"That's enough."
The voice that cut through the tension was sharp and commanding, making both Severus and Damon freeze. Lord Bennet had entered the corridor, his piercing gaze fixed on the scene before him.
"Damon," Bennet said, his voice measured but unyielding, "hand the book back. Now."
For a moment, Damon looked like he might argue, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the book. But Bennet's presence was too authoritative to ignore. With a growl of frustration, Damon shoved the book back into Severus's chest, hard enough to make him stagger slightly.
"This isn't over," Damon spat, his eyes burning with barely restrained rage before he turned and stormed off down the corridor.
Bennet watched him go before turning his attention to Severus. "Are you all right?"
Severus nodded, brushing imaginary dust from the book. "I'm fine," he said, though his voice was clipped.
Bennet regarded him for a moment, his sharp gaze seeming to assess every nuance of Severus's demeanor. "Good," he said finally. "But you'd best prepare yourself. Damon's not going to let this go."
"I didn't expect him to," Severus replied, his tone cool but resolute.
Bennet gave a small, approving nod. "Then we should continue with your lessons. You'll need to be ready for whatever he—and others—might throw at you."
Severus spent the rest of the day immersed in his studies, Bennet guiding him through more of the intricacies of the Malkov lineage. Each detail felt like another puzzle piece falling into place, painting a clearer picture of the power and responsibility that came with his position.
As night fell, Severus found himself in the library, the Malkov history book open before him. He couldn't help but replay the confrontation with Damon in his mind, the weight of his cousin's words lingering like an unwelcome shadow.
"You don't belong here."
The phrase echoed in his thoughts, but instead of letting it fester, Severus leaned into the determination that had driven him this far. He did belong here, whether Damon liked it or not.
Just as he was about to turn the page, the door to the library creaked open. Severus looked up, half-expecting Bennet or another maid. But instead, it was Irina.
"Still studying?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.
Severus nodded, sitting back slightly. "There's a lot to learn," he admitted, closing the book halfway. "And apparently, a lot of people who'd rather I didn't."
Irina's lips curved into a faint smile as she moved closer, her regal presence filling the room. "You're handling yourself well, considering the circumstances. Damon has always had... difficulty accepting change."
"That's putting it mildly," Severus muttered, earning a small chuckle from his grandmother.
"Let him rage," Irina said, her tone turning firm. "He can stomp and shout all he wants, but it changes nothing. You are the heir, Severus. And it's time you started acting like one."
Severus looked at her, surprised by the weight in her words. "And what does that mean, exactly?"
"It means you must not only learn our history but shape it," she said, her piercing gaze meeting his. "The Malkovs are not just a family. We are a legacy. And whether you like it or not, you are now the one tasked with carrying that legacy forward."
For a moment, Severus didn't reply, the enormity of her words sinking in. Then he nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. "I won't let you down."
Irina's smile returned, though it was tinged with something more—pride, perhaps, or maybe hope. "Good," she said simply. "Because the true test is yet to come."
With that, she turned and left the library, leaving Severus alone with his thoughts and the flickering candlelight.