"Stand before me and lift your head. I remember you, the child who built the platform for me with Bellatrix in Diagon Alley."
The Dark Lord, clad in black robes, slowly turned around, no longer gazing out the window.
He took a step forward, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He was almost the same height as Lys. Reaching out his left hand, the Dark Lord gently stroked Gabbang's head down to its spine. Lys wanted to retreat, but an irresistible magical force rooted her to the spot.
His sleeve brushed against Lys's cheek and shoulder, his cold breath contrasting with the soft motion as he lifted Gabbang's head.
"You've taken good care of it—a somewhat spoiled little creature." Lys felt a flicker of relief; it seemed the Dark Lord was in a good mood today.
But the atmosphere abruptly shifted. "Thomas has told me you're an excellent witch, merely hindered by your family. So, tell me..."
The Dark Lord suddenly tugged at his robe and sat on a chair that had moved to his side, his cold gaze fixed on Lys's downcast eyes. "What do you seek by joining the Death Eaters?"
Lys had anticipated questions about her abilities, but this unexpected topic caught her off guard. And who was Thomas? Her mind involuntarily recalled her earlier thoughts at the door.
"To... uh, to kill Fenrir Greyback? So no one would dare trouble my family again?" Lys's slightly rising tone was filled with uncertainty.
Lys was momentarily at a loss for words, and the Dark Lord narrowed his eyes.
"You want to kill Thomas," the Dark Lord stated flatly, as if reading the thoughts that had just crossed Lys's mind.
Lys lowered her gaze slightly, not daring to speak.
"Why?" His tone carried no displeasure, yet the magical power lurking within was palpable, a faint malice swirling in the air.
Lys swallowed hard, not daring to lie, unsure of what the Dark Lord had glimpsed in her mind just moments ago.
"Because he manipulated me into joining the Death Eaters. We already had conflicts, and given my less-than-illustrious background, I believe he intended to use it to drag down the Black family and Lucius Malfoy."
The Dark Lord closed his eyes slightly, leaning back in the chair without a sound, yet remaining the undeniable center of the room.
Thomas, that fool, thought he could coerce the Black family and Lucius into supporting his agenda by forcing this girl with her muddled mind into the Death Eaters. A pure-blooded Black woman... a pawn to disgust his enemies while currying favor with himself.
The Dark Lord opened his eyes slightly, gazing at Lys. "You don't wish to join the Death Eaters? Why?"
His tone was almost gentle, yet Lys's survival instincts sensed the exact opposite.
Lys kept her gaze lowered, not daring to move a muscle. In the increasingly oppressive atmosphere, she struggled to find the right words.
The brief Legilimency could only extract fleeting thoughts. Lys desperately suppressed the turmoil in her mind, pondering how to respond.
The Dark Lord's patience was wearing thin.
With a thin-lipped incantation, Lys could no longer remain upright. She collapsed onto the Malfoy family's carpet, writhing under the Cruciatus Curse cast with a casual flick of the Dark Lord's wand.
The pain, magnified severalfold compared to the counter-curse Snape had once used on her, scraped against every bone in Lys's body, twisted her organs, and even made her labored breathing a source of agony.
Despite the mind-numbing torment, Lys's instincts remained intact.
She reached out to grip Gabbang's head, silencing its hissing protests. Even as the pain continued unabated, Lys forced herself into a half-kneeling position before the Dark Lord.
Though she dared not lie, she clung to the advice Regulus and Lucius had subtly hinted at: when presented before the Dark Lord, one must either submit or perish.
No one had the right to refuse.
The Dark Lord gently caressed his wand. He had some plans that required manpower, and his standards for selecting Death Eaters had become somewhat lax. But Thomas, oh Thomas, it seemed his subordinates had grown overly ambitious lately.
To send such a fool before him was simply...
He glanced at the crimson-haired Lys Black kneeling on the floor, recalling the time he had Apparated in Diagon Alley and seen this girl. For the sake of her laughable family ties and to protect her frail mother, she had unleashed a vicious spell, a chaotic mix of curses and unrestrained magical control.
Even now, Walburga carried the scent of blood on her.
The Dark Lord suddenly smiled again, though the mirth never reached his crimson eyes. "Do not be afraid. Tell me why."
Lys kept her head bowed, her body trembling as she endured the lingering pain. Her right hand adjusted its position to support herself on the ground.
"I..." Lys's mind raced. She couldn't possibly say she thought the Dark Lord was insane—that would be courting death.
She had prepared countless speeches about her aspirations to join the Death Eaters and serve the Dark Lord, but who could have predicted that this man would steer the conversation in a completely unexpected direction?
"I..." Beads of cold sweat broke out on Lys's forehead.
The Dark Lord's cold, piercing gaze swept over her like a predator sizing up its prey, sending chills down her spine.
The suffocating silence made Lys's scalp tingle. She tightened her grip on Gabbang's head, convinced that if the snake could curse, it would be spewing expletives by now. After all, the Dark Lord, as a Parselmouth and heir of Slytherin, could understand snake language.
"I deeply admire the opportunity to join the Death Eaters and serve you. However, I fear that my foolishness and lack of foresight might displease you, leaving me unworthy of your recognition and glory, and instead entangled in circumstances beyond my control."
Compared to those who sought only to benefit from him, the Dark Lord found her reasoning refreshingly lucid.
So, she was aware of her own shortcomings? Indeed, some tasks were best entrusted to those with vulnerabilities and a healthy dose of fear—they were far more reliable.
And perhaps it was time to offer the Black family a carrot after so many sticks.
"Hehehe... isn't that a form of wisdom in itself? I've seen you cast spells—sharp, ruthless. I like that," the Dark Lord said, tapping his wand lightly, as if the Cruciatus Curse moments ago had not been his doing at all.
"Thomas is an old friend of mine. His life is not something you should speak of so casually."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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