A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 65: Lessons in Control

Chapter 65: Lessons in Control

"Charming, the both of you," Lucius drawled, pale fingers adjusting the cuffs of his charcoal robes with absent precision. "You look like something out of a funeral portrait."

Anastasia didn't answer. She leaned against the windowsill, watching the snow swirl lazily beyond the frosted glass. Regulus didn't even bother looking up from the book in his lap.

Lucius raised a brow, expression cool but tired. "Fitting, considering how these sessions usually go, I suppose."

He still looked immaculate, every line of his coat straight, every hair in place, but there was something brittle behind the polish these days. Like the shine had been buffed over a crack he couldn't quite seal. As if ambition had begun to taste like ash in his mouth.

"I presume you've made progress," he said casually, glancing her way. "On your... research."

She didn't flinch. "No," she lied smoothly. "Nothing yet."

He tilted his head, just a fraction. "Strange. You used to be so promising."

Anastasia met his gaze evenly. "Sorry to disappoint."

Lucius smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Let's get this over with."

They walked together through the stone halls, shadows following in their wake. Down toward the Great Hall, which tonight had been transfigured into something more... utilitarian. The four long House tables were gone, replaced with a cleared central dueling platform, encircled by benches. Flitwick stood on a conjured dais, cheerfully bouncing on the balls of his feet beside Slughorn, who looked slightly out of breath already. Both professors scanned the gathering seventh-years with wary eyes. At the threshold, Regulus lingered.

Lucius turned slightly. "Seventh-years only, as you know," he said, not unkindly.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "I was just on my way to the library."

They found their seats off to the side—far enough from the Gryffindors to be safe from James's eyes, but not so far that they could avoid being called upon if Flitwick was feeling vindictive. Lucius and Anastasia had avoided dueling nights for most of the year—staying off the radar, letting the eager half-bloods and legacy Gryffindors spar for attention—but Flitwick had grown insistent. And persistent. It had become... impolite not to attend.

Flitwick clapped his hands, voice bright and clear. "You all know the rules by now—standard etiquette, no forbidden spells, no strikes above the collarbone. This is to improve form, not settle grudges. Wands at the ready, and remember—duel until disarm, not until injury."

The first duel was between Emma Macmillan of Hufflepuff and Corwin Edgecombe of Ravenclaw. It lasted less than thirty seconds. A clumsy trip hex, a poorly cast Expelliarmus, and Edgecombe was flat on his back, blinking up at the enchanted ceiling with embarrassment.

Lucius sighed. "Pathetic."

They watched another three duels, each about as inspiring as the first. A few good hits, but nothing worth noting—until Flitwick called for Cal Thatcher of Gryffindor and Daphne Greaves of Hufflepuff.

They were smaller, younger-seeming than the others, and yet— Anastasia leaned forward slightly. The spells were faster. Cleaner. Precise in a way that suggested... experience. Thatcher ducked under a hex that most would've countered, twisted sideways, and cast a spell Anastasia didn't recognise—something slicing but contained. Greaves countered with a shield charm not taught in class. Her wand movements were quiet, sharp, military. Neither of them smiled.

Lucius was watching too. "Interesting."

Anastasia didn't look at him. "They've been trained outside school."