A Mask of Perfection
Wanda walked calmly through the school hallways. Behind her, like two little shadows, came Astoria and Luna, carrying a couple of books that weren't really necessary. They had decided, of their own accord, to become her assistants. Maybe they just wanted to be near their "Aunt Wanda," and since it seemed to amuse them, she didn't stop them. In fact, the girls were smiling so much that the simple scene radiated happiness.
"Aunt Wanda, can you see the Wrackspurts too?" Luna suddenly asked, her eyes sparkling with that familiar gleam that always appeared whenever she mentioned one of her strange creatures.
Wanda smiled softly. She was used to Luna asking her questions like that. To the little girl, Wanda seemed so powerful she might know all the secrets of the magical world.
"What are Wrackspurts?" Astoria asked innocently, tilting her head and frowning a little, as if she didn't want to be left out of the conversation.
"Oh, yes… Wrackspurts," Luna explained excitedly, raising a finger like someone about to share a great secret. "They're invisible, you know? They slip into your ears and suddenly your head feels as if it's filled with fog. That's why people sometimes stare blankly into space or say silly things: it's not their fault, it's the Wrackspurts confusing them. They're not exactly evil, just a bit annoying. They like to flutter around inside wizards' heads. And of course, everyone thinks they're thinking for themselves, but in reality they've got a Wrackspurt tickling their brain."
Astoria's eyes widened, and, worried, she quickly covered her ears with the books she carried.
Wanda's smile deepened, amused by the child's reaction.
"Don't worry," Luna said naturally, as if speaking of something completely real. She shifted the books under one arm and, from the little bag at her side, pulled out a pair of enormous glasses with brightly colored, almost psychedelic lenses. She put them on proudly and looked around before nodding with certainty. "There aren't any nearby."
"Phew…" Astoria sighed in relief, accepting her friend's words as an absolute truth.
But Luna's eyes suddenly turned to one of the large windows. There, in the garden, was Luciel. He was training alone, his face set and his body glistening with sweat, wielding his saber with a precision that looked almost professional. He swung the blade as if fighting an invisible opponent—or perhaps an adversary only he could see.
"Oh no. Looks like all the Wrackspurts are out there," Luna said with total conviction, pointing at him.
Wanda followed her gaze. All she saw was Luciel training with intensity, though for an instant, her own eyes tinged red. A barely noticeable smile appeared on her lips, as if she understood something no one else could.
"Remember to attend special magic classes," she told Luna gently, before sending the girls off to the library to deliver the books. They ran off happily, proud to be useful, while Luna still marched with her glasses on, patrolling the halls like a hunter of invisible beasts, and Astoria followed close behind.
Wanda watched them go, amused by their childlike energy, then stepped through the window and into the garden, where Luciel was still training.
Wish. Wish.
The sound of the saber cutting through the air was constant. Drops of sweat slid down his forehead, and the trembling of his arms betrayed the exhaustion of hours of practice. The ground, marked by his steps, bore witness to his discipline.
Luciel tensed when he felt a nearby presence. He turned his head quickly and found Wanda standing there, watching him in silence, her calm unshaken.
He was surprised not to have noticed her before, but soon realized it was surely because she had allowed it.
"Hello, Professor Maximoff," he greeted formally, sheathing his saber.
"I couldn't help but notice you've been training almost every day lately, ever since the last time we met," Wanda commented naturally, reminding him—with a playful hint—of the time she had transformed them into babies just to take pictures.
Luciel frowned slightly, uncomfortable at the remark.
"Ah, yes. I realized I lost a bit of physique over the holidays," he replied with a calm smile.
Wanda didn't need to press him to know it was a lie.
"Looks like when I broke the enchantment… I ended up breaking others too, didn't I?" she said serenely, letting the words fall as if they were nothing more than an observation.
Luciel's eyes widened in surprise before curving into a bitter, almost mocking smile. He knew this woman's power. After all, she had rejuvenated two of the oldest living elders in France, reduced teenagers to babies for her amusement, and rumors claimed she had dismantled Hogwarts with ease and slain a basilisk. In England, they already called her the Red Sorceress—or the Scarlet Witch. The latter had a better ring to it.
Still, speaking seemed to weigh on him. Something inside him stirred, as though it had been waiting for years to surface.
"You know… I'll only be a teacher for a year," Wanda said, bringing a hand to her chin, as if talking more to herself than to him. "When my son and my nephews return to Hogwarts, I'll have to make sure an old man doesn't plan things that might endanger their school days. Although it may sound too meddlesome… maybe that's Susan's fault," she added quietly, realizing perhaps she was a little too involved.
She turned to leave, but a single word stopped her.
"I…"
Luciel had spoken, almost urgently. Wanda turned back to him. His expression was complicated, heavy with something he hadn't yet managed to release.
"Maybe it'll do me good to tell it," Luciel murmured, scratching his head in discomfort. Finally, he let out the words he had been holding back. "My father is Armand Duvalier."
Wanda looked at him with slight bewilderment, tilting her head.
"Who?"
Luciel raised his gaze, surprised. This time he truly seemed incredulous.
"You… don't know him?" he asked.
She slowly shook her head.
"Well, this is awkward. It feels like one of those rich kids bragging about their father and expecting everyone to know who he is." He tried to smile with a touch of humor, but Wanda instantly perceived it was only a shield.
She watched him in silence, patient, until Luciel gathered the courage to add:
"He's a lot like his son, professor. In personality, I mean."
"Thank you," Wanda replied, as if she took it as a compliment.
Luciel took a deep breath before continuing.
"A perfect man. Prince Charming. That's what they used to call him," Luciel began, his tone bitter. "People even mocked Aunt Apolline for choosing her current husband. They said he was too plain for her, that he wasn't handsome. But my uncle… he's a good man. Loving, kind. Maybe not much to look at, but he truly loves his family."
Luciel lowered his voice a little, as if it pained him to say it.
"My mother, on the other hand, was said to have chosen the ideal man. Rich, elegant, attractive, from an old family. Together, they were the perfect couple. And when I was born, we supposedly completed the picture: beautiful, wealthy, impeccable. A perfect family."
The boy lowered his gaze, his expression hardening.
"But all of that was just a façade. A mask of perfection he maintained at any cost. If my clothes were even slightly out of order before we appeared in public, my mother would be beaten for not preparing me properly. If a single strand of her hair was out of place, he would rip it out in fury and then 'heal' her with potions. Everything had to be perfect. And I… I could only watch."
His voice cracked. A tear slid down his cheek.
"She was so good… so gentle. She truly loved me."
Luciel paused, swallowing hard, before pressing on.
"When I was five, I wanted to do something. Something childish and desperate. I dragged a table over to the wall to reach one of the decorative swords. I dreamed of being like the heroes from the stories my mother told me at bedtime. Rescuing the princess from the villain."
He smiled sadly, but his lips trembled, and tears began to fall in earnest.
"He came in at that exact moment. He entered with my mother and saw me standing on the table, dirty feet on his perfect decoration, holding one of his swords. When he saw me standing against him, defying him, he went mad. His fury exploded. With a flick of his wand, all the swords flew at me."
Luciel closed his eyes for a moment, as if the memory tore him apart from within.
"I should have died right there. But my mother… she embraced me. She wrapped me with all her strength, with all her love. The swords pierced her, not me."
His voice was no more than a broken whisper.
"When that man realized what he had done, he ran. He fled like a coward. And I… I was left in my mother's arms, still holding me, still smiling through tears. She died within seconds. She only managed to tell me that she loved me… one last time… before closing her eyes forever."
He covered his face with both hands, letting the tears run freely.
"The next day the Aurors finally arrived. I was still there, unwilling to let her go, refusing to let anyone take her from me. I spent the whole night in her embrace—embracing a corpse. The healers said that memory would destroy me, so they erased it. They gave me a false one instead: that the swords had fallen by accident, that my father had gone mad afterward and committed crimes. But I remembered the truth. It was him. He killed her… and she died because of me."
Wanda listened in silence, serious, her eyes heavy with the understanding of someone who also knew pain. In her mind echoed the laughter of children, reminding her with brutal clarity of the limits of magic. Even the most powerful—even she—knew that not everything could be fixed.
Luciel wiped his tears as best he could, though his voice remained broken.
"The last thing I ever heard about that man… is that he lost his mind. He tried a horrible ritual, something so dark that not even he survived it. And honestly, better that way."
He was silent for a few seconds, before managing a small, tired smile, but one more genuine.
"You know the story of Fleur and her mother, don't you? My mother and Aunt Apolline were the same, truly the same," he said, speaking of the damage his aunt had suffered protecting Fleur. "When it all ended, they adopted me. Though technically I'm Fleur's cousin, to me she's like a little sister. Even if she's older than me… she's often far too childish. She tries to act mature, but most of the time she fails miserably."
A faint warm light flickered in his eyes at the memory.
Wanda watched him in silence. She didn't interrupt or correct him, simply let his last words settle. She knew he hadn't told her everything, that there were still deeper scars. But she also knew that, at least in that moment, Luciel had allowed himself to breathe a little more freely.