I Promise This Isn't A Cultivation Story.

(Seras POV)

My control over magic has been steadily increasing over the past month through constant experimentation. While it might seem dangerous—and it is—the small amounts of magic I manipulate cause only slight discomfort and occasional pain. Most excitingly, my motor skills have improved, and I can now stimulate specific glands in my body to produce more hormones. This might seem like a minor achievement, but it is incredibly valuable in my first steps toward making myself stronger.

One significant issue that most young aspiring wizards face is that most magic is cast using a wand. It is challenging to direct magic that starts within oneself before it interacts with the outside world. The wand is a critical piece of technology that I am eager to study. It acts as a conduit for spells, controls the spell after it is cast, amplifies the spell's strength, and allows even the weakest wizards to wield powerful magic. Additionally, the wand trains the muscles and pathways of a wizard, eventually enabling wandless casting.

My father, much like any accomplished Death Eater and head of a household, constantly practices his magic. From observing his various training sessions and reading articles in the Daily Prophet, I've learned that performing a spell requires understanding both the magical theory and the physical movements of the wand. These two aspects together build the magical muscle needed for wandless casting.

Moving magic through your body to control its functions works differently and, as far as I can tell, is quite novel in this world. It is easier to control magic within yourself in small amounts than it is to cast it outside your body. This process requires immense concentration, but with practice, I've learned to compartmentalize it while going about my daily activities. This alone has likely increased my magical reserves and left my physique stronger than the average wizard's.

An accidental discovery furthered my understanding. While moving magic around my legs while walking, Draco started doing the only thing he does well: crying. I lost concentration, fell, and cut my finger. The cut wasn't deep, but it gave me a new idea—what would it feel like to heal magically, and could I do it myself? For the first time, I cried out, and my mother rushed in with unprecedented speed. She healed my finger with the spell Episkey, and I felt the magic stimulate tissue regrowth. This experience showed me two things: first, that healing spells can be used reliably as long as there's enough magic in the body, and second, that my control and awareness of my body's functions were much higher than in my past life. There is a distinct difference between knowing what each cell in your body does and understanding what each cell is doing in real-time.

A recent development has been my evolving relationship with our house elf, Dobby. I spoke my first words to him, asking for more food late at night while he was watching Draco and me. I instructed him to keep my speech a secret from my parents, and he complied. However, the complexities of Dobby's servitude are something I am still trying to understand. Every time I try to act kindly toward him, he has a mental breakdown. This is a problem I plan to address more effectively when I'm older.

These advancements have led to the creation of what I call my "Cultivation" technique. This method involves controlling the creation and synthesis of proteins through healing and boosting hormone levels in the body. With an almost unlimited supply of nutrition from Dobby, I have started a rigorous routine to enhance my physical strength. In this magical world as far as I know some live to see as late as 500 so maybe immortality was possible, but it would be a long time before I try to find out if that's even possible.

The initial plan to work my muscles to their physical limit through exercise like an Olympic athlete wasn't feasible, given my age. So, I did something dangerous, foolhardy, and very painful. I overused my magic to stimulate muscle growth, similar to how I almost overdosed on magic in the womb. This process worked but was excruciating. Here I was, at seven months old, enduring pain that rivaled death for a small increase in strength. I might have significant mental issues that need addressing in the future.

My new daily routine involves waking up before my parents and using mana to stress and tear my weakest muscles. I then enhance the repair of these muscle fibers through protein synthesis, hormonal regulation, and optimized nutrition. My focus is on strength, not size, after all a jacked baby would probably be the most suspicious thing I could be. Finally, I check the newly grown fibers for irregularities or cancer, causing cell apoptosis with a magical overload when necessary. Each session ends with a calorie and nutrient-rich meal from Dobby.

Eventually, I'll need to consult a potion master to create a perfect recovery potion, but that will have to wait. I also need to find a way to dull the pain from these processes, but that's a problem for later. I repeat this routine a second time each day when my mother is away at one of her various witch groups, the wife of a powerful man has constant favors asked of her. The only witness is baby Draco and he was in no position to speak on all of it.

Half a month later, I decided to speak to my parents for the first time. After much deliberation, I chose the word "book" to show my parents what I valued. This simple word would soon lead to full sentences, allowing me to start reading, not so suspiciously, by the age of one and a half—two and a half years ahead of a normal Muggle child. I eagerly anticipated exploring the ideas of the greatest wizards in history, hoping they would be as valuable as I imagined, but with what I had seen so far of this world, finding something valuable would be like a needle in a haystack.

(Narcissa Malfoy POV)

When I found out I was pregnant, I had never been happier, and discovering it was twins nearly made my heart skip a beat. The pregnancy was rough, but it had all been worth it—two beautiful platinum blonde-haired twins, a girl and a boy. They were a reward for me and my husband, ensuring the continuation of two great pure-blooded households.

Our fortunes changed a little when that beast of a woman, Lily Evans, gave birth to the rotten Potter's child. The pain this caused our good friend Severus was evident. I thought it would all end nicely. The night Voldemort went to deal with the problem, my sister was dealing with the Longbottoms, and then it would just be a matter of rooting out the pure-blooded traitors like the Weasleys and Bones. But tragedy struck when a child killed the greatest visionary in history. I lost my sister and brother-in-law to that infernal Azkaban, and my parents' health began to decline soon after. Throughout these trying times, however, I had my two little bundles of joy and my husband, who no one else seemed to think was a bundle of joy.

My son Draco was a little man in the making. He looked similar to his father and had a temper to match. He was unable to give up any toy he held and seemed to be the perfect little noble. Of course, I spoiled him rotten, just like someone of his status deserved. My daughter Seras, on the other hand, was a completely different story. She was gifted from the moment she was born, as Severus noted. She had eyes like a hawk, similar to her father's, but with the complexion expected of a noble girl. I could tell she was going to be a heartbreaker. She was crawling at six months old but never seemed to babble or cry. She began walking at seven months, which was highly unusual, but she was gifted in a way that few other children are. The only time I ever saw her cry was when she fell, but it seemed almost forced, as if she had picked it up from her brother and was hoping for more attention. The minute I used magic, her eyes changed to those calculative ones, telling me she was processing something. She would then sit in thought for a few minutes before I left to go back to what I had been doing.

I hope she doesn't grow to resent Draco in any way. He just seems to require more of my attention; otherwise, he would get into trouble. He constantly wants new toys, a story, or just to be the center of attention. When my children were eight months old, Seras said her first word. She pointed at the family grimoire I was reading at a nearby table and said, "book." She repeated "book" a few more times before saying "read." Once again, my daughter proved just how smart she was. She was blessed with magic and an inquisitive nature. Around the same time, Draco was simply crawling around, following a toy duck I had bought him last time I went to Diagon Alley. It was clear he needed more attention if he was going to catch up to his sister.