When Lys returned to Malfoy Manor, she was retching so violently her stomach felt ready to turn itself inside out. The wizard Lucius had ordered to support her immediately released her arm after Apparating, terrified that unseemly stains might mar his robes before meeting the Dark Lord.
But the Dark Lord stood right there in the courtyard, arms spread wide, watching his servants' homecoming.
"Ugh!" Lys retreated as far as possible, bracing herself against Lucius's greenhouse edge and continuing to heave.
Nothing remained in her stomach to expel. She simply convulsed repeatedly, feeling spasmodic agony radiating from some unknown source.
A bloody purge...
Was it about to begin?
Contrary to Lys's expectations, the Dark Lord—now with ample manpower—didn't announce his return. Death Eaters came and went, yet outside newspapers weren't flooded with obituaries.
Instead, they engaged in desperate cover-ups, stirring rumors that Dumbledore sought to seize power.
Lucius remained overwhelmed while Lys lurked alone in this increasingly silent manor's corners, watching chaotic figures of uncertain identity constantly entering and leaving.
As Lys stood at a corridor's end discussing matters with Snape, her magic yanked a wizard from behind a door.
The wizard had been attempting to catch Snape compromised but found himself caught by Lys instead.
Before Snape could issue threats, Lys flicked her wand directly. "Obliviate." She flung him in the opposite direction, sending him downstairs in a bewildered daze.
Snape lowered his wand, quietly observing Lys continue their Hogwarts discussion.
"Dumbledore isn't even headmaster anymore. The Ministry's appointees caught him enabling foolish behavior and drove him from Hogwarts. So tell me... why would your brother want to go there now?"
Lys shook her head, muttering quietly: "Sounds like Hogwarts is considerably safer." Then she continued: "Perhaps it's me, perhaps Draco, perhaps the targeting that once arose at Durmstrang because of me has found him again. All possibilities."
"I need a chance to speak with him. Any signs of impending action? I don't want to be mid-conversation when the Mark suddenly burns, making the boy even more anxious."
Snape shook his head, hair plastered to his scalp making him appear quite bald. "I don't know."
Lys shrugged. "Right then. Perhaps I should prepare food for Snap and Nagini."
"You... spend every day doing these things?" Snape's expression grew hesitant.
Lys didn't respond, merely made swimming motions before departing the corridor.
Snape's expression defied description.
Had Lys been driven mad by this place's stimulation?
Nearly...
Lys stood in Lucius's study, curses flowing endlessly:
"After the Dark Lord's Cruciatus scrambles your brain, you'll show more resolve. Just a bit more—soon information can be extracted from his mouth. You get intelligence, he goes home! And now?!"
"Your mission failed, and he lost his life at St. Mungo's too. Brilliant! I'd just taken some Elixir of Euphoria preparing to sleep, only to be roused by you! It's merely the Imperius Curse, Lucius. Where exactly did your resolve falter?!"
"You're wavering—your heart lacks conviction. You harbor different thoughts, let them shake you, and your controlled target exploited that weakness to defeat you..."
Lys leaned halfway across the desk, staring directly at Lucius. But he merely sat in his chair with a ghastly expression, enduring her scrutiny.
Recent interviews with the Boy Who Lived had publicly identified him as a Death Eater. This sent panic through his heart. If Malfoy lost his light-side identity now, he'd forfeit his value to the Dark Lord.
Moreover...
Malfoy's original allegiance had aimed for greater family prominence.
And now?
Lucius's gaze swept past Lys, beyond doors and obstacles, seemingly seeing the desolate greenhouse, the fountain missing an unrepaired corner, living room carpet perpetually seeping blood from one corner, those filthy wizards, even the newly appointed werewolf leader occupying his expensive leather sofa.
Accounts growing increasingly unbalanced. He'd never heeded Lys's mention of "Karkaroff fleeing," but now tasted that event's bitter aftermath. Foreign contracts stalled; domestic orders barely replenished.
His heart wavered.
How could it not?
But Lys forced his weary eyes open with one gentle sentence.
"Can you still turn back?"
In that moment, he infinitely envied his junior's clarity and determination. Yet seeing the bloodshot in her eyes, he straightened his chest.
They were identical... neither had choices.
One bound firmly, the other—though not forced to watch—denied peace nonetheless.
Lucius had wondered what would happen if Lys escaped during the Dark Lord's neglect.
He recalled his dungeon, that living room carpet eternally seeping blood from one corner...
When the Dark Lord scolded him, mentioning "you and that fool under your command"—was Lys truly being ignored?
Perhaps the Dark Lord simply felt disdain...
Lucius's mouth curved slightly. Among those he'd brought for the prison break, some required support from escapees who'd just fled that hellish place...
Remaining personnel could be useless but absolutely no disloyalty would be tolerated.
He should've known long ago, shouldn't he? The returned Dark Lord remained perpetually suspicious.
He simply couldn't control himself...
"Yes, Junior Lys. I believe you're correct. Only by consistently completing our lord's orders better can we help him reclaim the pinnacle. Then Malfoy will again receive deserved rewards."
Lys's gaze remained enigmatic. She glanced at Lucius and stepped back.
"What now?"
"Give those eager to serve some opportunities..."
Lys understood his meaning. "Then prepare soothing potions. The Dark Lord's Cruciatus has grown considerably heavier lately."
Lucius studied Lys's complexion. "I can see that."
Lys rolled her eyes, donned her mask, and departed Lucius's study, sighing that she'd again avoided his attempt to make her cast Imperius.
A touch of mental magic—though the effect seemed slightly skewed. Still beneficial: he'd rallied, and she needn't be thrust forward. She hoped her senior could endure.
Lys felt if he wavered once more, she'd have to fish him from Azkaban herself. Lys absolutely refused that scenario.
Lys began missing those nonsensical essays. She somewhat longed for Durmstrang's dry cold.
She wanted to return home, glimpse little Snap and her parents—even briefly.
Quiet, peaceful—just as she'd heard from other children during her student days...
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