Malkov Estate, Russian Countryside
Severus had spent all of last night studying, pouring over the Malkov family history and the various texts Bennet had given him. It wasn't unfamiliar territory—he had spent countless nights doing the same at Hogwarts, staying up late to study, perfect his craft, and stay ahead. But this time, it felt different. There was something more at stake.
The next morning, he stood before his grandmother, Irina, who was seated at the large mahogany table. Her sharp eyes assessed him as if he were a piece of delicate china that had been handled carelessly.
"You were up all night?" Irina asked, her voice low, but the edge to it was unmistakable.
Severus, though tired, nodded. "I had much to catch up on," he said, his tone neutral, trying to keep his exhaustion from showing.
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze piercing through him. "And yet, you've ignored my instructions to take proper rest. Do you know what your problem is, Severus?"
He stood a little straighter, but he knew better than to answer immediately. Irina never asked a question without expecting an answer she already had in mind.
"You think that knowledge alone is enough," she continued, her voice now sharper. "You think that burying your head in books will solve everything. But that's not how you're going to succeed here."
Severus frowned, not entirely sure where this was going. "I'm doing what's necessary."
"Necessary?" Irina repeated, her tone amused, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Necessary for you, perhaps. But not for what you need to achieve."
Severus felt a flicker of frustration. "And what exactly am I supposed to be doing then?"
Irina's expression softened, but only just. "You're not just here to learn history, Severus. You're here to learn how to lead. How to command, how to understand people, and how to make them listen."
Severus blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in tone. "I've never had to do that before."
"And that," Irina said, her voice carrying a strange mix of approval and disappointment, "is why you're struggling."
She stood, moving toward him with fluid grace, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was light, but it carried a weight of expectation. "You have potential, Severus. You're clever, resourceful, but you've relied too much on your intelligence. Knowledge is power, but it's only part of the equation. You must learn how to wield it."
Severus wasn't sure what to say to that. He had always relied on what he knew—books, spells, potions. The idea of leading or commanding people was foreign, something he'd never considered.
Irina gave him a knowing look, as if reading his mind. "You are Malkov blood, Severus. And that means more than just your name. It means something to these people, whether you like it or not."
"I'm not like them," Severus muttered, more to himself than to her.
Irina's gaze hardened for a moment, but her voice softened again. "That's the problem, Severus. You have to make them see that you are like them. You are their heir."
The word hung in the air, heavy with implications.
Severus swallowed, the weight of it sinking in. This wasn't just about knowledge. This was about control. About understanding the power dynamics around him, and playing them to his advantage.
"Get some rest, Severus," Irina said after a long pause. "But when you wake, you will continue your lessons—not just about family history, but about the future."
He nodded silently, still processing everything she had said. As he turned to leave, Irina's voice stopped him.
"One more thing."
Severus paused and looked back, meeting her eyes.
"You'll need more than just knowledge to win them over," Irina said, her tone almost conspiratorial. "You'll need to prove yourself. And you'll do that by showing them who you are—not who they expect you to be."
With that, she turned away, her figure retreating into the shadows of the grand hall. Severus stood still for a moment longer, the weight of her words pressing down on him.
With a groan, Severus rose from his seat and made his way down the hall, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration as he replayed Irina's words in his mind. The pressure, the expectations—he'd never been trained for this. All his life, he'd relied on what he knew, what he could learn from books, from potions, from spells. But now, Irina was telling him it was more than that. He had to lead. He had to command. And he wasn't sure he had it in him.
As his thoughts swirled, he passed by a cracked door. A faint conversation caught his attention, drawing him to a stop. He could hear voices murmuring from the other side, low and urgent.
"We can't let him make it," one voice said, the tone thick with contempt.
Severus froze, his curiosity piqued. He recognized the voice—it was Damon's. The bitterness was unmistakable. He pressed closer to the door, trying to stay as quiet as possible, straining to hear more.
"He's not fit," another voice added, this one smooth and controlled, though laced with a quiet venom. Severus couldn't place it, but it sounded familiar.
"Not fit?" Damon scoffed. "He's a nobody. He doesn't belong here, not like us. If we let him have any power, the whole family will fall apart."
Severus's breath hitched. Was this about him? Were they planning something against him already? His fingers tightened into fists, the sting of anger flaring in his chest. He had no idea what they were plotting, but he knew one thing for sure—it didn't sound good.
"We need to act quickly," the smooth voice continued. "Before he gains any more influence. The family will rally behind him, and then it will be too late."
Severus's heart raced. Act quickly? He had no clue what they were planning, but it was clear they weren't going to let him take control without a fight.
He backed away from the door, his mind spinning. He had to tell someone, but who? Irina? She was the one who had put him here in the first place, and he wasn't sure if she would take him seriously.
With a sharp exhale, Severus turned and continued down the hallway, his thoughts churning. He needed to think. He needed to be smart about this. Whatever they were planning, he had to stay one step ahead. He couldn't afford to let them see how vulnerable he felt.
When he reached his room, he shut the door behind him with a soft click, locking it. He paced for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Who could he trust? He needed more information. He needed to know exactly what Damon and the others were scheming.
Severus's eyes narrowed as he glanced toward the window. It was time to stop being reactive. He needed to play this game.
Malkov Estate, Russian Countryside
After a quick nap and a refreshing bath, Severus made his way to the drawing room, where he was to have his first session with Lady Evelina. From what he had already gathered about the woman, she seemed kind enough—the mothering type, warm yet firm—so he thought he knew what to expect.
As he stepped into the room, his sharp eyes searched for her, but to his surprise, she was nowhere in sight. Severus frowned, glancing at the clock. How could the woman teaching him about decorum and proper behavior be late? With an exasperated sigh, he let himself fall into the plush couch, his thoughts drifting to the hushed voices he had overheard earlier with Damon.
Who was the other voice? And what exactly were they planning? He barely had time to mull over the possibilities before a sharp sting shot across the back of his neck, making him yelp and jump to his feet.
"What the—?" he hissed, spinning around. His eyes immediately landed on Lady Evelina, who stood behind him, holding a riding crop. Her stern expression was a far cry from the kind demeanor he had imagined.
"You sit," she snapped, her tone sharp and uncompromising, "you do not plop."
Severus blinked, caught off guard. "I—what?" he stammered, still rubbing the back of his neck where the crop had struck him.
Lady Evelina raised an unimpressed brow, tapping the riding crop lightly against her palm. "A true heir does not lounge about like some unruly child. Every movement, every gesture, must exude poise and control. If you are to carry the Malkov name, you will learn to embody it in everything you do."
Severus's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to nod. "Very well," he said stiffly, lowering himself back onto the couch with deliberate, careful movements.
Evelina observed him critically before giving a curt nod of approval. "Better," she said, stepping forward to take her seat across from him.
"You may think my methods harsh," she began, setting the crop aside, "but the world you are stepping into is not forgiving, Severus. Every action you take will be judged. Every misstep will be used against you. Do you understand?"
Severus met her gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. "I understand," he replied evenly, though inside, he wasn't sure if he fully did.
"Good," Evelina said, her tone softening slightly. "Now, let us begin. Your first lesson is posture and presence. A commanding presence is half the battle won."
As she launched into the intricacies of sitting, standing, and walking with the grace and authority expected of a Malkov heir, Severus couldn't help but feel like he was preparing for war. The thought made him smirk faintly.
"If posture is a weapon," he murmured under his breath, "then I suppose I'll have to wield it well."
Evelina's sharp ears caught his remark, and for the first time, her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Precisely," she said. "And make no mistake, Severus—this is a battlefield. One where you must always emerge victorious."
The lesson continued, but Severus's thoughts drifted back to Damon and the mysterious conversation. Whatever battlefield Evelina was preparing him for, he suspected he would need every weapon in his arsenal to survive.
Training with Lady Evelina was brutal. Unlike Bennet, who would occasionally roll his eyes or give Severus a cutting glare, Evelina didn't bother with passive disapproval—she was mean. There was no hesitation in her corrections, no softening of her words to spare his feelings. She wielded that riding crop like a general commanding troops, and Severus had to wonder how horses managed to tolerate such an instrument of torment.
"Back straight! Chin up!" Evelina barked, the crop snapping against the back of the chair near his elbow. "Do you think people will take you seriously if you slouch like that? You look like you're ready to fall asleep in a tavern!"
Severus clenched his jaw, forcing his shoulders back and straightening his spine. He could feel the muscles in his back screaming in protest. "I'm standing perfectly straight," he muttered under his breath.
"Perfectly straight?" Evelina echoed, her voice sharp as a dagger. She strode over and placed the crop across his shoulders, using it as a makeshift ruler. "This is perfectly straight, Severus. You are listing to the left like a drunken sailor."
He gritted his teeth, shifting his weight to balance himself more evenly. "Better?" he bit out.
Evelina stepped back, tilting her head as she scrutinized him. "Marginally," she said. "But your expression is all wrong. You look like you're plotting someone's demise."
"Maybe I am," he muttered, only half-joking.
Her eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, Severus thought she might actually hit him with the crop. Instead, she smirked, a gleam of approval in her eyes. "Good. A hint of danger is not unwelcome, but it must be controlled. Always controlled."
Severus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and instead focused on keeping his posture intact as Evelina circled him like a hawk. This was going to be a long session.
Hours later, Severus collapsed into a chair in the library, his limbs aching from the relentless drilling. He had no idea how Evelina managed to find fault with even the most minuscule details of his posture and movements, but she had. He thought back to the way she had made him walk back and forth across the drawing room at least twenty times, adjusting his gait each time.
"Too stiff."
"Too loose."
"Are you walking or marching into battle?"
Her voice echoed in his head, and he let out a groan, rubbing his temples. Just as he thought he might get a moment of peace, the door to the library creaked open, and Alina stepped in, her expression hesitant.
"Lady Irina requests your presence in the main parlor," she said softly.
Severus's eyes flicked up to her, his exhaustion clear. "Now?" he asked, his tone betraying just how little energy he had left to deal with whatever fresh ordeal awaited him.
Alina gave a small nod. "She said it was important."
With a resigned sigh, Severus pushed himself to his feet. "Important," he muttered to himself. "It always is."
He followed Alina down the hall, bracing himself for whatever challenge awaited him this time. As they approached the parlor, muffled voices filtered through the door. One of them was Irina's, calm and measured as always. The other, however, was unfamiliar—deep and commanding.
Alina pushed the door open, stepping aside to let him in. Severus entered the room, his eyes immediately landing on the source of the unfamiliar voice. A tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing blue eyes and a sharp jawline stood by the fireplace, his presence commanding the room.
"Severus," Irina said, her tone clipped. "This is Lord Viktor. He has come to discuss matters of...significant importance regarding your role as heir."
Severus raised a brow, glancing between Irina and the imposing man. "Significant importance?" he echoed, his voice carefully neutral.
Viktor turned to face him fully, his piercing gaze settling on Severus with an intensity that made it clear he was not a man to be trifled with. "Your grandmother speaks highly of your potential," Viktor said, his voice like rolling thunder. "Let us see if you can live up to it."
Severus stiffened slightly, his curiosity piqued despite himself. Whatever this was about, he had the distinct feeling that it was going to test him in ways Evelina's training never could.
Viktor gestured toward the settee across from where Irina was seated, a silent command for Severus to sit. Severus hesitated for only a fraction of a second before moving to the chair. He sat with the posture Evelina had drilled into him—back straight, chin high, every movement precise. Viktor's eyes flickered briefly in acknowledgment, though whether it was approval or something else, Severus couldn't tell.
"Tell me, Severus," Viktor began, his tone measured but heavy with intent, "what do you know of your responsibilities as the Malkov heir?"
Severus's dark eyes flicked to Irina, hoping for a hint of guidance, but her face was a perfect mask of neutrality. Turning back to Viktor, he squared his shoulders and replied evenly, "Why do you ask?"
For a moment, Viktor's gaze sharpened, and Severus could see the faintest clench of his jaw. The older man leaned back slightly, muttering just loud enough for Severus to hear, "Clearly not fit."
The words hit Severus like a physical blow, his entire body tensing. Not fit. The phrase echoed in his mind, dredging up the memory of the hushed conversation he'd overheard in the hall.
"He's not fit."
His chest tightened, and his fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers to keep his hands from trembling. But Severus forced his expression into a mask of icy composure, concealing the turmoil roiling beneath. "Perhaps," he said, his voice cutting through the room with a blade-like sharpness, "you'd care to speak up, rather than muttering under your breath, Lord Viktor?"
The older man's eyes narrowed at the challenge, his smirk faltering into something colder, more calculating. He leaned forward slightly, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. "You've got a sharp tongue for someone who barely understands the weight of the name he bears," Viktor retorted, his voice smooth but biting. "Do you think arrogance will carry you through, boy?"
Severus met his gaze evenly, his own dark eyes glinting with defiance. "I think clarity does more for a conversation than cowardly mutters," he replied coolly, his words deliberate and precise. "If you have a point to make, I suggest you make it."
A tense silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint rustle of Irina adjusting her gown. She set her teacup down with a soft clink, the sound commanding attention without raising her voice. "Enough," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "This bickering serves no purpose. Viktor, you are here to guide Severus, not to undermine him at every turn."
Viktor's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head toward her, clearly biting back a retort. "As you wish, Lady Irina," he said, though his tone betrayed his dissatisfaction.
Irina turned her sharp gaze to Severus. "And you, Severus," she said, her voice softening but still firm, "must learn to temper your words. Power lies in control, not in defiance. You will not win respect by snapping at those who question you."
Severus's jaw tightened, but he nodded curtly. "Understood," he said, though his tone remained clipped. He couldn't deny the truth of her words, even if they stung.
Viktor stood, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve as he straightened. "Tomorrow at dawn, we begin your training," he announced. "I suggest you rest tonight, Severus. You'll need your wits about you."
As Viktor exited the room, Severus allowed himself a small exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly. Irina's gaze remained on him, her expression inscrutable. "You will face worse than Viktor in the days to come," she said after a moment. "Remember what I told you, Severus. Control is key. Prove them wrong with your actions, not your temper."
Severus inclined his head, her words echoing in his mind as he excused himself from the drawing room. He strode down the long corridors of the manor, his thoughts churning. Viktor's words had struck a nerve, but they also lit a spark of determination deep within him.
The Malkov name was now his burden to bear, and he'd be damned if he allowed anyone to strip him of it.