Betrayal of the Black

thirty-four

He gave her an combination and she followed through. Not once did he correct her; whether because she was doing everything right, or because he didn't want to interrupt her flow, she didn't know.

Her arm began to ache, but she didn't stop. She imagined opponents, their faces and bodies a blur as she attacked them, slashing at them like they were truly there.

She thought of Mad-Eye Moody and Remus Lupin and how hand-to-hand combat had failed her, how they tortured her, even now after she had escaped.

She thought of Sirius Black, and how she never truly got to exact any kind of revenge, how she had been nothing more than an abomination to him, even when all she wanted to be was his daughter.

She thought of Harry Potter, and how he did not understand anything, how he'd stolen her father from her, even after death.

She thought of Dumbledore, and how he was going to destroy Draco's sanity, how he turned a blind eye to matters where Slytherins are the victims, even though he'd seen how Celestia had been bullied for her fathers crimes.

She thought of every person who had ever wronged her, however little, and vowed that they would never be able to hurt her again: physically, emotionally, or mentally.

She thought of all the times she had yearned for unity, how she wished for a world where they stood together in harmony, even when they had hexed and cursed her.

No longer, though, did she crave to be their equal. If they wanted her to be their enemy, she would become the villain. If they wanted her to be the villain, then she would become the devil.

If they wanted to advocate for muggles, then they could die by her blade like one.

"One last time. Counter five, duck, strike." She obeyed, and he smiled. "Good girl."

Letting the sword drop to the floor, she rolled her shoulders back, relishing in no longer having to be in a stance. Some of her hair had fallen out from her ponytail, framing her face.

"Are we going to spar?" she asked, wiping a hand over her forehead.

She had asked him that every single time since they'd begun training with swords, but he had yet to say yes. Still, she thought considering they had used actual blades earlier than she had expected, perhaps they'd finally spar.

He leaned back against a small, circular and wooden table. "Not today, no."

She threw her head back and groaned. He gulped at the expanse of her sweat slicked throat, remembering the day when he'd wrapped his hand around it.

"Why not?" Celestia whined.

"I'd beat your arse, darling," he laughed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Arrogant prick."

He shook his head before changing the subject. "I have something for you."

She realised that on the table, where'd they placed their wands before training, there was also a small box.

Theo picked up the box and held it out to her, and she moved to stand in front of him before taking it out of his hands. The box was black, polished wood, and absolutely gorgeous.

Running a hand down the edge of it, she glanced up at him. "What's this for? My birthday isn't for about a month."

"It was going to be your Christmas present"—he shifted awkwardly against the table—"but you know what happened. I still wanted to give it to you, though."

Celestia looked back down at the box and nodded. She opened the box, and it swung open on its hinges from the inside. A soft gasp escaped her lips at what she found inside.