The first morning of Ariana's training dawned cold and grey, the mist clinging to Peverell Castle like a living shroud. I stood in the high, stone-walled training hall, the air humming faintly with magic. She entered silently, her movements careful, measured—but I knew better. Beneath that cautious exterior was something potent, volatile, and dangerous. Perfect for my purposes.
"Today," I said, my voice echoing against the high walls, "we begin from the very beginning."
She tilted her head, her eyes a striking mixture of curiosity and caution. She was sixteen now, fourteen in body but carrying the latent weight of her years as an Obscurial. Years that had been stolen, memories shredded. That made her malleable, yes—but not weak.
"You've never had a formal magical education," I continued. "You've never been taught control, precision… or the finer points of spellcraft. That ends today."
I raised my wand. "First lesson: transfiguration. You will learn to shape your magic, not merely release it."
Her Obscurial magic rippled beneath the surface, faint at first, then like a storm pressing against a fragile dam. I smiled slightly. That barely restrained chaos was exactly what I wanted. A true weapon is nothing without control—but a weapon that can unleash hell is far more effective than one restrained.
I demonstrated a basic transfiguration, turning a stone block into a sleek black dagger, letting it hover in the air. She watched, eyes wide—but focused.
"Try it," I commanded.
She lifted her hand. The energy surged from her, dark and wild, but under my careful observation, I guided it, nudging, shaping, adjusting. The stone block shivered, cracked, then solidified into a crude dagger. Imperfect—but functional.
"Good," I said. "Control comes first. Precision comes second. Power… will come last. Never the other way around."
Her face was pale but determined. She was quick to learn, even more so than I had expected.
I moved to her side, demonstrating a dark curse designed for containment, not harm. "This spell," I said, "is designed to bind, to manipulate… but not to kill. Dark magic is versatile, Ariana. It is a tool. A weapon. A shield. And if wielded correctly… it is perfection."
She mirrored my movements, the Obscurial within her glowing faintly, a low hum of chaotic energy vibrating through the air.
"Your talent is… remarkable," I noted aloud. "Not Dumbledore's level—not yet—but close to Aberforth's. And with your Obscurial magic… you have the potential to surpass him for brief moments. That potential must be honed, focused."
I demonstrated a binding curse again, my wand movements sharp and precise, every flick and twist of my fingers calculated. Her attempt at mimicking me was messy—chaotic bursts of black energy lashing out—but I guided her hand, nudged her mind, fed her control.
"Magic," I said, my voice low, commanding, "is not chaos. Chaos is a tool. Magic is control. Power without control is destruction. You must remember that."
She nodded, sweat glistening faintly on her brow.
Hours passed. We worked through charms, transfiguration, dark spells specifically designed for combat. I focused on controlling the Obscurial inside her, tempering it just enough so it would obey my commands while still amplifying her natural talent.
"You are a weapon," I reminded her as she practiced again, the air bending unnaturally around her fingertips. "Not a child. Not a victim. But a force. Your magic—your Obscurial—exists for one purpose now: to serve me. To serve our goals. To bring Dumbledore to his knees."
Her lips parted slightly. There was no defiance. No question. Only obedience—and a spark of understanding that she did not yet fully grasp. That was… satisfactory.
By the end of the day, her magic was raw, chaotic—but manageable. Promising.
And I… felt a rare satisfaction.
The apprentice was awakening.
And I had only just begun.