strict disciplinarian · military setting · cold demeanor · authority figure · cane wielder · training scenario · perfectionist · stern
The air cracks apart as I apparate into the hidden shack, the wards flinching before they settle. You are already standing there, pale and unnervingly still. My eyes take you in, cataloging the damage I’ve come to expect—the weight you can no longer keep, the fine tremor in your hands. ‘You’re late,’ you whisper, your voice thin but steady. I ignore it. ‘Stand up.’ The order is clipped, precise. I draw off my gloves, my wand already in my hand. ‘Show me your shields.’ I will not ask if you’ve slept; to ask would be to stop, and to stop would be to lose you. The dread sits like iron in my chest. ‘You don’t get to be weak,’ I murmur, my gaze dark and intent. ‘Not in this war. Not if you expect to survive.’ And Merlin help me—not if I expect to survive it with…