Halfway through the banquet, Orion Black made an announcement to the gathered crowd: Regulus Black would henceforth be the heir of the Black family!
It was at this moment that the Dark Lord finally arrived, fashionably late from the main hall. The crowd, who had been holding their glasses and offering toasts, immediately bowed their heads. No one dared to criticize him for such an egregiously impolite act.
The oppressive aura of his magic was overwhelming, forcefully enveloping everyone present. He picked up a glass of wine from a tray held by a servant and strode to the very front of the banquet hall, to the seat that should have belonged to the host of the banquet.
"Relax, my family," the towering Dark Lord said, gently lowering his hood. He raised his glass slightly toward the crowd below, then handed it to Bellatrix, who followed closely behind him.
"I am delighted. My old friend Walburga is having her only remaining child swear allegiance to me—a talented young man who understands the meaning of honor." He raised his hand, palm down, and slightly curled his fingers.
Walburga, her face flushed from an unknown number of doses of Glory Elixir, lightly patted Regulus on the shoulder, signaling him to step forward.
In the corner of the crowd, Lys watched the Dark Lord's intriguing gesture, sighing inwardly. The image of the Dark Mark on her arm from her crystal ball surfaced in her mind—she wondered when that vision would become reality.
"My young ones, you will be the most important part of restoring glory to its peak," the Dark Lord said, his blood-red eyes gazing down at the black-haired boy kneeling before him. "Regulus Black, tell me—tell the one who will lead you into the future—of your allegiance."
"I, Regulus Black, pledge my allegiance to you... You shall grant me what I deserve... and my every word, every action, shall align with your will, without deviation."
With that, he knelt on one knee, holding his wand high above his head with both hands.
The Dark Lord's lips curled into an enigmatic smile as he used his wand to push up the sleeve of Regulus's left arm, pressing the tip of his wand against the unblemished skin.
"I shall bring you glory."
Accompanied by a muffled groan from Regulus, a black skull slowly emerged on his left arm, with a dark serpent slithering out of its gaping jaw.
Throughout the process, Regulus Black trembled slightly, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead.
Lys caught a faint whiff of that putrid smell again. Though faint, she made a mental note of it.
When the mark was finally formed, Regulus stood up with the Dark Lord's phantom support, his face alight with fervent joy as he displayed his arm to the crowd.
The audience erupted into applause, as if they had already achieved ultimate victory.
At the Dark Lord's raised hand, the crowd resumed their toasts, conversing with either masked figures or familiar faces.
Lys noticed a girl who had been crying in the clothing store earlier and her father. The once-arrogant middle-aged man from Diagon Alley now appeared as a lowly figure in this different setting, even afraid to straighten his back.
Lys remained hidden behind a curtain, patiently waiting for the banquet to end.
Through a gap in the curtain, she observed the nobles in their formal attire mingling with the masked Death Eaters. She saw some young men being led into the Dark Lord's private room.
Squinting hard, Lys cursed the dim lighting of the Black family mansion under her breath. After some thought, she concluded that she hadn't been mistaken—that was indeed Severus Snape.
It seemed Snape was resolute in joining the Death Eaters, a decision that didn't surprise Lys. Snape had never been a "good" person, nor did he bother to hide his disdain for pointless cruelty. However, he had become increasingly radical, losing the pure hope and joy Lys had once felt from him in their first year.
That malicious streak against adversaries had begun to take root as early as their third year, when she nearly killed that stupid dog in the stands.
Lys continued to stay motionless behind the curtain.
Until someone else joined her behind the curtain—Lucius Malfoy. He wore a silver mask and a black robe that covered him entirely, but his distinctive wand made him unmistakable.
Lys glanced at the blue amber ring on his finger and silently averted her gaze.
"Miss Lys Black," he said in his signature drawl, "aren't you here to meet the Dark Lord? Why are you standing here alone?"
Lys shook her head slightly. "As a witch who only knows how to wave a wand, I lack the talent to face the Dark Lord. After all, displaying one's limited power before him would be laughable."
Malfoy, of course, understood the subtext of Lys's words. "Indeed, Severus's talent in potion-making is unparalleled in the Malfoy family. It will undoubtedly secure him a better, more fitting future, don't you think?"
Lys picked up a glass of wine from a passing tray, raised it slightly toward Lucius, but did not respond.
The Malfoy family had aligned with the Dark Lord even earlier than the Black family. As a high-ranking Death Eater, Lucius's life was no longer his own. Recruiting talent to increase his influence was merely a means to add weight to his bargaining chips.
Finding no response from Lys, Lucius felt the cramped space behind the curtain and her slight height advantage somewhat oppressive. He excused himself and left.
As he swirled his glass, Lucius Malfoy pondered the rumors of her blindness he'd heard earlier. Observing her up close, her eyes indeed seemed to have issues. This realization allowed him to temporarily shelve his plans against that werewolf.
A filthy werewolf... If greater benefits and rewards lay ahead, the noble Malfoy would reluctantly engage. But for now... A witch with an eye condition? He decided to keep observing. With this thought, he subtly shook his head toward Lestrange in the distance.
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