Lys had just made a fortune, and the first thing she did was promptly gather the materials she'd promised Severus Snape in compensation for those two locks of hair and deliver them.
Snape was brewing a potion, trying to be secretive about it. Lys simply plonked herself down across from his cauldron, which so infuriated Snape that he threw down his stirring rod and nearly drew his wand on her.
"If I hadn't been tricked into becoming a Death Eater, I'd actually think life isn't so bad right now," Lys sprawled on Snape's sofa, head tilted back as she gazed at the wall of books. "The higher-ups don't fancy me, they don't order me about, and I've got you, senior—plus Regulus, I suppose. At least someone's looking out for me."
When Snape narrowed his eyes and started mocking her fear of killing, Lys seemed not to hear. "What power do I have to resist, Severus? I'm just doing my best when I've got no choice. Survival isn't shameful!"
With a sudden stretch, Lys reached up and snagged a book from the shelf. Flipping it open revealed pages densely packed with handwritten notes analyzing spells.
Lys fell silent—this was pure talent! She couldn't understand a bloody word.
Without hesitation, Lys stuffed the book inside her robes, left the pile of urgently needed materials, and tried to scarper.
But Snape's casual remark—"I've had some new ideas about the Wolfsbane Potion..."—made her stay.
Lys nodded eagerly as she sorted through Mooncalf dung, trying to butter up Snape.
By the time she'd processed most of the materials—grinding brains had made her retch several times—Snape finally drawled, "Oh, I nearly forgot. I already posted that new potion recipe to Mrs. Black."
He smirked, waiting to see Lys embarrassed or vexed.
To his surprise, Lys only stirred the ingredients faster. "Really?! Brilliant, Severus! You're absolutely wonderful for thinking to send the information to Mum first—you're a fantastic mate!"
Snape looked as if he'd been scalded; his smirk vanished instantly.
Lys stayed until midnight finishing the ingredients before Snape finally booted her out.
Suppressing the grin that crept up after seeing Snape flustered, Lys checked the time and returned to her hillside home, bringing Coco some yarn and sweets.
She buried her face in her unfamiliar bed, reminding herself: Yes, when you can't choose, you've done your best.
Survival—no method is shameful. It's all unavoidable...
Pulling out the book she'd nicked from Snape, Lys resumed her studies and experiments.
While handling business in Knockturn Alley, she spotted the Thomas family's wanted poster. Lys couldn't help but marvel at their overreaction—weren't they just exposing their own cock-ups?
Besides, she hadn't even worn her brace that night, deliberately avoiding any identifying features. Fat chance they'd ever find her.
Two months later, Lucius invited a few young friends for a small celebration.
He was about to have an heir!
Listening to Lucius rabbit on about "my son," Lys nudged Regulus beside her. "Why's he so certain Narcissa will have a boy?"
Regulus explained simply.
Nobody knew exactly when it started, but for generations, the Malfoys had only ever had one child at a time—and never a daughter.
So this would be his only child? Lys glanced at Lucius, whose face was uncharacteristically flushed with pride.
"Every wish I speak as a Malfoy will come true!"
Lys lowered her gaze, hiding her envy behind her fork. Every wish spoken could come true?
How bloody wonderful...
She watched Lucius's beaming face through the candlelight, while Regulus regarded her over his wine glass.
If Mother had been ruthless enough back then, there would never have been a Stalys Black in this world.
But if she hadn't gone through with it, Stalys would've been just like her other cousins—Father's less-than-honorable background aside, the Black name alone would've given her a far better life than most.
Regulus sipped his wine. Not like now... Still, this girl's got something. Judging by the seating arrangements, she's got her own ways of getting things done, even where I can't see.
Lucius, radiant at the head table, while the others nursed their own thoughts...
At the end, Lys was puzzled when Lucius started probing about what had been stored in the Thomas warehouse. She assumed he was pissed and gloating over having outmaneuvered the Thomases.
She brushed him off and left.
A few days later, while sorting her things, Lys found a jewel-encrusted box in the lizard-skin pouch she'd used for the Nifflers.
The division of spoils with the Nifflers had been so chaotic she'd completely forgotten about it.
She'd been utterly careless when unlocking the magical seals, but now her spine turned to ice.
Staring at the old letters and documents inside, Lys realized the Thomas family hadn't given a damn about the other materials—it was this box and its contents that mattered.
No wonder the Niffler had clung to it so desperately, surrounded by treasures far more valuable.
Old Thomas must have gone to extraordinary lengths to hide this...
Lys collapsed onto a cushion, her back hitting the bookshelf with a dull thud.
Noah poked his head in, so Lys quickly stuffed everything back into the box, explaining she'd just banged into the shelf while relaxing.
Once Noah left, Lys picked up one of the letters:
Abraxas Malfoy, dragon pox.
Lys recoiled as if burned, dropping the paper onto the table.
She remembered Lucius's words about Thomas's downfall: "Old Thomas still fancies himself the Lord's collaborator, but..." and the growing number of young faces around the Dark Lord.
She thought of Walburga's injury—how could the Dark Lord not heal it? With his power, even if ordinary wizards couldn't manage it, the 'Dark' Lord wasn't just ruthless—he was a master of the Dark Arts. He'd won many followers with his knowledge and strength.
Just like the curse on her own arm—was it really that Dumbledore couldn't fix it? He simply couldn't be bothered...
Lys shuddered. Ever since fifth year, when she'd seen the Dark Lord standing on corpses while crowds knelt before him, she'd known something was fundamentally wrong with him.
But now, witnessing these secrets unfold, the small flame of contentment she'd felt with her current life was instantly snuffed out.
How could someone like that possibly bring a stable future?
She stared at the note on the table, every word mocking her naivety:
Thomas, I trust you'll handle Ab's end appropriately.
Yes, dragon pox—I hope it meets with your satisfaction.
After the affectionate "Ab" came a death sentence...
No wonder, after Abraxas Malfoy—Lucius's father—died, the Thomas family had swallowed up so much Malfoy business.
No wonder, back in her third and fourth years, the Dark Lord's methods had suddenly become more extreme, his ranks swelling with young followers.
From what Lys knew, Abraxas Malfoy had supported the Dark Lord from his early days—they'd always presented themselves as close friends, evident even in their correspondence: "Ab."
But dragon pox... Someone so obsessed with dignity, dying such an undignified death and being mocked for it for nearly three years—only for the gossip to disappear once Lucius took control of the Malfoy family. And it had all been orchestrated by the Dark Lord!
And now...
Lys didn't believe Lucius would dare move against Old Thomas without the Dark Lord's tacit approval!
Would the Dark Lord allow anyone to leak such methods?
Could his followers ever truly be safe with tactics like these?
And furthermore...
Lucius was testing her—she wasn't sure why, but he had indeed asked what she'd seen in the Thomas warehouse a few days ago.
Lucius didn't know, so he couldn't be allowed to know—especially not from her.
Turn the Dark Lord's right-hand man into an enemy?
The Dark Lord would kill me!
This isn't a secret I should even know!
Lys pressed her cold hands to her face. What am I supposed to do?
When Gabon silently climbed onto her shoulder, her stomach clenched and cold sweat broke out across her brow.
Covering her mouth, Lys hugged Gabon as it nuzzled her cheek, slowly steadying herself. The most crucial thing now was—
—Occlumency!
Even if the side effects were severe, she had to master it!
She'd act as if she knew nothing!
And she couldn't let anyone else discover that she knew!
After a moment's hesitation, Lys shoved the box behind her case of soul stabilizers, layered it with multiple alchemical protections, and still unsatisfied, frantically buried it inside the wall before casting Reparo over the surface.
Feeling the now-smooth wall, Lys forced herself to the kitchen. She needed to appear relaxed and, until she mastered Occlumency, stay home as much as possible.
Lys had virtually no talent for Occlumency. After every practice session, she emerged pale and made no progress whatsoever.
But her patience was extraordinary. Through endless repetition, Lys grew numb—her eyes stopped lighting up at Noah's custom-made clothes, and Gabon's comfort no longer softened her expression.
Under the strain of Occlumency, her gray eyes resembled the cold ashes of ruins—lifeless, flat, and empty.
Lys even suspected she might be practicing Occlumency incorrectly, but she didn't dare let anyone attempt Legilimency on her again—what if, like last time with Snape, all her secrets spilled out?
So she practiced alone in the reading room, sealing away memories and numbing her emotions.
Yet that growing numbness brought an even greater sense of security.
And Lys's decision proved absolutely correct.
The Dark Lord's reach extended everywhere, and the Thomas family's uncharacteristic secret search soon came to his attention.
This left Lucius increasingly puzzled at home—why was the Lord's patience with Old Thomas wearing so thin lately? And why did the Lord's words seem increasingly laced with warnings directed at him?
He wondered if there'd been something sensitive in the last haul, but Stalys just looked blank: "What are you on about? Didn't I give you everything? I don't know, haven't got a clue." With no leads, Lucius convinced himself he was simply being paranoid.
After all, he was about to have a son! He'd never let his precious child endure what he had suffered, and the foundation of that protection was a powerful Malfoy family. Perhaps he should push harder for that legislation the Lord had mentioned.
While Lucius was busy motivating himself, Lys, after leaving Malfoy Manor again, found her fear impossible to control.
If questions were reaching her level, it meant the Dark Lord was already suspicious—she had to remain vigilant every single second.
Every moment. Every minute.
Fortunately, this period of intense pressure didn't last long. One day, Lucius invited several young nobles favored by the Dark Lord to discuss the proposed legislation.
Regulus argued at the long table that the proposal was too extreme and harsh, bound to cause unnecessary trouble. The group was still hotly debating when Lys, as someone who'd have to attend the proceedings, sat silently in a corner, twisting the Ouroboros ring on her middle finger.
Almost the instant Lucius clutched his left arm, Lys tensed every nerve. Less than two seconds later, the Dark Lord, manifesting as a rolling mass of black mist, swept through Malfoy Manor's gates.
Only after the Dark Lord had gathered his magic and taken his seat at the head of the table did the youngest Lestrange boy even begin to recover from his shock.
Lys followed Regulus in bowing to the Dark Lord.
This time, the Dark Lord broke with tradition—he didn't demand they kneel, merely waved a hand for everyone to continue.
Suddenly, everyone's suggestions seemed to carry more weight, while Lys, standing to the side, felt awkwardly conspicuous.
She wanted to blend into the background, but she couldn't contribute a single proposal from a pureblood perspective.
The Dark Lord's gaze swept the great hall, pausing momentarily on the largest portrait in the corner before snapping to Lys.
He tilted his wand slightly toward her. Lys bowed her head and stepped forward. From this angle, her lowered eyes met the Dark Lord's crimson ones. Steeling herself, she dropped to one knee, breaking eye contact.
The tip of the Dark Lord's wand tapped her shoulder rhythmically. "Been assisting Lucius lately?"
Lys nodded. "Yes, my lord."
He withdrew his wand and asked several simple questions, which Lys answered truthfully—no omissions or evasions. The Dark Lord nodded approvingly, then suddenly asked, "So you were the one who visited the Thomas warehouse?"
Lys's jaw clenched involuntarily, the tension in her face so obvious that even Lucius, ten paces away, could see it clearly.
The entire room fell silent.
"Yes, my lord."
"I appreciate honesty. What was your name again?"
Lys began, "Stalys—" but was caught off guard as the man before her lifted her chin with his wand tip, forcing her gaze into an abyss of darkness and blood-red.
Under the unrestrained assault of his magic, Lys'sOcclumency nearly shattered. Memories flashed through her mind, but she let them flow—none of this would kill her. What mattered most was...
The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes, flicking her chin away with his wand.
A strange, incongruous box—hidden by magic because a Niffler wouldn't obey summons... was that it?
Hah. Thomas, Thomas—after all my demonstrations of power, you still can't grasp reality!
Left something behind, did you? And what exactly did you hope to accomplish with it?!
Utterly foolish!
I wonder how that imbecile Thomas will react when he discovers all this has fallen into the hands of the worthless pawn they used to placate me...
The Dark Lord rose, his robes billowing as he transformed once more into a formidable mass of black mist and vanished through the doors.
For a moment, the entire hall remained silent, broken only by Lys's ragged breathing.
If not for the crowd present, Lys might have burst into hysterical laughter.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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