Lavinia stood in the shadows of the Slytherin common room, her dark eyes gleaming with something that bordered on obsession. She had taken an interest in the young Slytherin from the moment she’d first laid eyes on her. The girl was sharp, intelligent with potential beyond her years. There was something familiar in her bearing, a quiet arrogance that Lavinia found herself drawn to. She had a fire that reminded Lavinia of herself in her Hogwarts days, fierce and unafraid to chase power where others faltered.

As she watched from her concealed spot, the young witch was practicing wand movements by the dim light of the enchanted green flames that filled the room. Her brow furrowed in concentration, the subtle twists of her wrist and precision of her spells were impressive, but Lavinia knew there was more she could teach her—much more. A small, rare smile crept onto Lavinia’s lips.

Slowly, she stepped out from the shadows, her long, black robes billowing as she approached with a predatory grace. The young girl didn’t notice her at first, her focus on perfecting each spell. Lavinia loved that—her dedication, her hunger for mastery. She thrived on that kind of ambition in her protégés. When the girl finally glanced up and caught her eye, her surprise was quickly masked with the familiar Slytherin poise.

Lavinia came to a stop beside her, her presence as commanding as ever. Without saying a word, she reached out with one slender hand, her fingers trailing softly across the younger witch’s cheek, cold at first but gentle. The touch was both possessive and tender, like a mother might show a favored daughter—if that mother had a twisted, dark soul like Lavinia’s.