She efficiently cleaned the traces Nagini left after slithering over the blood.
Those smells and sights made her wand restlessly twitch with irrational impulses—which was why those pieces of rubbish who'd provoked her earlier had nearly died by her hand.
Fortunately, Narcissa had intervened when she swept past with her chin raised.
Her senior still wore that expression of universal disdain, yet remained so lucid and self-controlled.
Lys breathed heavily, thinking of the two Obliviate spells she'd cast. Perhaps those curses should have been— Lys closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and telling herself it wasn't necessary.
But the overwhelming metallic stench penetrated deep into her lungs, bringing nausea that made her feel even worse.
In this oppressive darkness, something began to roar. Crimson spread across the black depths, rippling outward...
Behind her closed grey eyes, that madness seemed ready to break free from its confining cage, struggling and shrieking to escape.
"My lord summons you."
Her breathing hitched. Lys snapped her eyes open, only to discover the speaker wasn't addressing her—but Avery beside her.
Lys blinked in confusion before sighing with relief, then flicked her wand to continue cleaning this section of carpet.
The Dark Lord despised house-elves, so Lys had somehow found herself inexplicably responsible for maintaining the environment around his quarters.
The Dark Lord wasn't always here.
But nobody knew when he wouldn't be.
Outside the window, moonlight flickered intermittently through clouds.
Lys quietly withdrew from the area.
No matter how much Lys tried to make herself invisible, she was still assigned tasks—keeping watch near the Ministry's Department of Mysteries.
When Order of the Phoenix guards were identified, she'd notify the person in charge.
Her partner was Peter Pettigrew—the pathetic little man whose wand she'd cursed at school, who'd contributed his entire right hand's flesh and bone for the Dark Lord's return the previous year.
The same little man who'd mingled with Potter and that mangy dog at Hogwarts.
On the night of the Dark Lord's return, Lys had learned from his mocking fragments that this wretch's Animagus form was actually a rat.
This made Lys somewhat wary. Creatures too small were easily overlooked—never a safe thing.
For several consecutive nights, Lys had been staring at his right hand.
Advanced magic combined with alchemy—puppet techniques, false limb regeneration. She'd read about it in the Rahm family's collection.
Lys watched the little man use his right hand with such casual ease. She could swear on her life he had absolutely no idea about the spell caster's absolute control over the recipient—control over life and death itself.
Lys swallowed hard. Even such worthless trash had to be held in his palm, along with Nagini, who wandered Malfoy Manor constantly.
The Dark Lord's desire to control hearts and his paranoia grew increasingly intense and terrifying.
Perhaps her early preparations remaining unimplemented had been wise... perhaps...
However, Peter Pettigrew felt deeply unsettled being stared at by the distracted Lys. He couldn't understand why this person—whose status roughly matched his own—would look at him with such pitying eyes.
He tried to sound more menacing: "What're you staring at me for? Watch that bloody door! My lord wants the latest intelligence."
But after Lys's interest faded, she merely turned away disdainfully and pulled out a book.
With his shrill voice, Peter ultimately didn't dare speak loudly to Lys. He could only keep his eyes fixed unblinkingly on that door.
He'd seen Lys use a small deer to replace the corpse in Nagini's mouth. That glance she'd given him from behind her mask had terrified Peter so thoroughly he hadn't dared approach her for half a month.
Lys noticed the Disillusionment Charm at the entrance but said nothing.
After half a month of this, the operation's supervisor grew anxious. He was convinced that little man and that waste had missed something crucial. He'd watch personally!
But he failed too. Even in failure, he tried dragging Lucius down, accusing Lucius's botched Imperius Curse of exposing their hand and making the target more vigilant.
Yet the Dark Lord didn't mind. He seemed to have developed new plans.
Lys secretly questioned Lucius about what exactly lay within the Department of Mysteries.
Lucius stared at Lys without speaking. After several seconds, he seemed to surface from some trance and asked hoarsely:
"Did you bring soothing potions?"
Lys had only dregs remaining of what Senna had originally brewed. She was reluctant to drink it, surviving now on Snape's provisions.
The Dark Lord knew his subordinates consumed soothing potions but didn't care.
He needed only servants for his schemes—to teach them what punishment awaited those who failed their tasks.
These weak creatures, perpetually harboring betrayal and petty schemes, deserved such lashing.
Lucius eventually answered Lys, after feeling his heart could continue functioning.
The Dark Lord wanted a crystal ball stored in the Ministry. Lys considered this, remembering her O.W.L. examination crystal ball. Now it should be...
Be...
Lys recalled—in her room, in a drawer directly beneath that newspaper clipping of Grindelwald endlessly spinning and casting Fiendfyre, wasn't it?
That grotesque flesh pointing through mist toward a gaunt, terrifying figure's left arm.
Lys removed her armguard, examining her own left arm. During the Dark Lord's absent years, the Dark Mark had never vanished but had faded to a greyish-pink tint against her skin.
Until two years ago, it began gradually reddening. Slowly, it became as vivid as those two scars she'd arrogantly carved into her soul during school—equally crimson.
Then they'd appeared unified—skull and serpent's head seemingly pierced through and pinned by her scars.
When the Dark Lord officially began summoning servants that night, the mark seemed re-injected with something, restored... revived...
Darkness had once again shrouded her arrogance.
Prophecies, once aligned with reality and fulfilled, never ceased—her Divination professor had said so. Lys remembered.
So what manner of prophecy did the Dark Lord so desperately crave?
Lys retrieved a crystal ball from Malfoy's collection, but the mist within simply spun endlessly... spinning like the thoughts in Lys's mind as she watched.
Recently, the Dark Lord had been in exceptional spirits—extraordinarily good. Even Nagini no longer seemed to watch everything so intently. Lys informed Lucius and found channels to secretly slip back to Germany.
Throughout the journey, she nervously monitored the mark on her arm, terrified the Dark Lord might summon servants just as she departed. From such distance, she might not return in time.
But she desperately needed self-comfort—that little boat floating above her head. She needed to touch it, to know her hopes and expectations remained anchored, so if she ever escaped those frigid waters, she could board it toward some other destination.
Pinching Snap's tail tip, bloodshot veins began spreading through Lys's eyes again.
She hadn't consumed Stabilizing Draught for two months.
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