There had never been an opportunity for Lys to experiment with this spell before. But this time, even if things went wrong, Thomas would do his best to salvage the situation, so...
The blood-soaked blackthorn wand in Lys's hand began to tremble as she chanted, a tremble filled with excitement and longing. Just before the spell was released, Lys could feel the absolute submission and resonance of her wand.
As the last syllable left Lys's lips, the flames on the ground rapidly gathered and solidified, finally forming a giant serpent. Its gaping maw loomed menacingly toward Lys, and for a moment, it seemed less like a mimicry of flames and more like a real ancient beast.
Lying in wait, ready to devour its prey.
Lys didn't flinch. Instead, she pulled out another potion and gulped it down. She needed to hurry; the people outside were no fools, and this illusion wouldn't fool them for long.
She continued chanting, increasing her magical output. The struggling serpent gradually became more solid, its form compressed until only occasional bursts of flame hinted at its illusory nature. Its body turned pitch black, reflecting no light except for faint silvery streaks where its scales met.
By now, the serpent had been compressed to about Lys's height. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Even so, Lys dared not slacken for a moment. With blood pooling in her mouth, she chanted faster and faster.
She glanced at her pocket watch, which she had deliberately taken out earlier. Half a minute had already passed—she needed to move faster!
Steeling herself, she shook off the sleeve of her left arm and, using the wound she had maintained with a Soul Stabilizing Potion, uttered the final incantation.
She threw out nearly all her compressed crystals and formations. Though the result fell slightly short of her expectations, she couldn't continue; Lys could feel her magic reserves running dangerously low.
This was a serious problem, so she stopped. The serpent, now compressed to the thickness of her wand, temporarily lost its ferocity and coiled around Lys's blackthorn wand.
As if they had been one from the very beginning.
The magical formation in the air, having drained a massive amount of magic, shattered into glittering dust. Lys quickly cleaned up the evidence.
Then she broke apart the Anti-Apparition Formation she had perfected last year and Apparated back to the corner of Diagon Alley where she had spoken with Hagrid earlier. She collapsed to the ground, unable to move.
Lys wanted to hide her mask—this identity couldn't be exposed yet—but her right hand clutched her wand tightly, unwilling to let go. Her left arm, bleeding profusely, was nearly numb.
She thought her mind must be broken. One moment, she was reminding herself to protect herself; the next, she nearly got herself killed.
She laughed bitterly. But there was no time for reflection. Someone could arrive here at any moment. Grabbing her last potion, Lys almost swallowed the bottle whole in her effort to muster some strength.
Back in the reading room, Noah glanced at Lys with concern. But seeing her exhausted expression, he said nothing.
Lys ended up sleeping for several days straight, waking only briefly to eat or use the bathroom before falling back asleep.
She refused to let go of her wand, even in her sleep. When Noah mentioned that a hulking figure was waiting to see her outside, she merely told him to send them away.
The rapid and excessive depletion of magic had left Lys utterly drained.
She felt miserable. She had read reports about Gellert Grindelwald, dubbed the First Dark Lord by some tabloids. Despite the information blockade in Britain, Knockturn Alley was rife with news.
In one foreign newspaper, there was a moving photo of Grindelwald, dancing like an artist on a stage of flames.
She finally understood the sentiments she had read before:
"He is like a conductor standing at the pinnacle—elegant, powerful, confident. The blue flames that dance with his wand will guide him in choosing his future allies."
"Each spell he casts is as graceful as attending a grand feast, captivating and terrifying the hearts of those below."
"He speaks not a word, yet the black tower of Nurmengard will forever stand as a monument in the hearts of wizards."
Such was the allure of the Dark Arts master.
But Lys had been too confident. Just because she had successfully cast a few moderately difficult Dark spells last Christmas, she dared to attempt something this grand, leaving herself weak, vomiting blood, and nearly exploited.
Forget elegance, power, and confidence—she felt she should thank Snape's potions for her survival, not her timely retreat.
These people were on another level, weren't they?
Others wielded powerful magic with flowing robes and composure.
Her magic, on the other hand, was a desperate gamble, fueled by blood and chaos.
Power...
When she was somewhat awake, Lys even thought, "This time, I really lost out. All those materials and formations I threw out—thousands of Galleons gone. I wonder if I can raise the price with Hagrid for those Venom vials?"
Half-conscious, Lys was so afraid she might let go of her wand in her sleep that she cast a Sticking Charm on her hand.
The incomplete and unstable spell effect on her wand required her magic to suppress it constantly. Occasionally waking up, Lys thought she would have to endure this for a long time.
She missed the Hogwarts Express. It was as if she was making up for all the sleep she had missed since her second year.
Noah often patted her hand, urging her to wake up and eat.
It was only a letter from Professor Slughorn that finally brought her back to school.
"Dear Miss Lys Black,
To achieve outstanding results in your NEWT exams, I believe you should return to school to continue your Potions studies, shouldn't you?"
Slughorn sat in his office, sipping mead, displeased with Dumbledore's instructions.
Clearly, it was Dumbledore who was wary of this talented child, fearing she might join the Dark Lord's Muggle-killing activities if she didn't return to school. Yet he tasked Slughorn with probing her.
Lys arrived in the headmaster's office through the Floo Network, carrying her trunk. Sleepy-eyed, she brushed the soot off her clothes.
"It seems you've had a fulfilling and exhausting holiday, haven't you? Would you care to share your story with your headmaster?"
Fulfilling? Exhausting? She nearly fulfilled herself to death.
Christmas break was only seven days long, but it felt more draining than everything she'd done since the start of her seventh year.
Collapsing onto Dumbledore's couch, she hugged Gubbon and tapped her head with her wand, adorned with an ostentatious, glittering wand cover, signaling the headmaster to hurry up and extract her memories.
"If I just say I didn't participate, you wouldn't believe me. I've read the Daily Prophet. Those 'promising young people' in the parade—you don't know who they are, do you?"
Lys raised her left hand, wrapped in bandages. "Barty Crouch—I bet he was there. He's gone mad! And Ra... Ravenclaw..." Lys seemed to want to say more but tilted her head back and fell asleep.
Gubbon perched on her stomach, flicking its forked tongue at Dumbledore.
Behind his delicate desk, Dumbledore's smile faded. His fingers steepled, his narrowed blue eyes seemed to gaze at something unseen...
It was nearly lunchtime the next day when Lys finally woke with a start.
"Finished watching? If you're done, I'm heading back to my dorm to sleep. Headmaster, call me if you need me. Why am I so hungry?"
Lys even forgot to take her trunk. Dumbledore, looking at the soot-covered trunk leaning against the couch, tiredly stroked his beard and summoned a house-elf to deliver it to her dormitory.
Back at school, Lys continued to sleep, occasionally sneaking to the kitchen for armfuls of bread and chicken legs.
She couldn't keep track of the timetable to attend classes. After all, her pocket watch only showed the time, not the date.
In that cramped dormitory, Lys finally found the rare peace she hadn't had in six years.
It wasn't until spring, when the grass began to sprout, that Lys emerged from her dormitory like a snake waking from hibernation.
When she appeared in class, disheveled and unkempt, there were only about four months left until the NEWT exams.
"Severus, there are only four months left until the exams. This is your last chance to see your beloved Potions insulted! Please!!"
Seeing Snape still wearing his usual scowl and walking away, Lys hurried to plead.
"I've got something good recently—I'll share it with you! It's absolutely top-notch."
Clinging to Snape's back, Lys had no choice. She was confident in all her other exams, but Potions...
It was her final year. Wouldn't a flawless transcript be beautiful?
When Snape suddenly turned to look at her, Lys quickly bowed slightly. She was taller than Snape, and while it usually didn't matter, she couldn't let him feel looked down upon now that she needed his help.
"Severus? I'll bring it to you in a few days. It's really good stuff—not even Knockturn Alley has it. Really!"
"Deal!" Before Snape could say anything else, Lys quickly ran off.
Faintly, she heard him mutter, "Wasting ingredients... daisy roots..."
Back in her dormitory, Lys looked at the letters and packages on her desk. She opened the packages first—Venom, delivered by Hagrid as agreed.
Then she opened the letters: one from Malfoy, one from Snape, and... one from Walburga Black?
She opened Snape's letter first. He hadn't said much earlier, had he?
Inside was a potion recipe—a modified trial version of the Wolfsbane Potion.
She tucked it into her pocket, planning to send it to her mother via owl later.
Malfoy's letter was full of extravagant nonsense. Lys read it twice and still couldn't make sense of it. This was why she hated dealing with clever people—couldn't they just be straightforward? She decided to ask Snape to translate it later.
Finally, there was Walburga Black's letter.
It offered Lys one last chance to be added to the family tree.
Lys snorted, her eyes cold as she tore the letter into tiny pieces.
When she had hired werewolves to destroy her own home, her family had been ruined. How could someone who knowingly inflicted lifelong pain on others remain so high and mighty, so self-righteous?
She wanted to kill her mother. She spoke of her father as if he were trash. And now, she dared to try pulling Lys back into the fold?
Had the decline of the Black family driven her mad?
If Lys were certain she could quell the ensuing chaos, she wouldn't wait for her mother's magic to collapse and slowly kill her.
Sighing, Lys headed to the Owlery at the top of the tower to send the potion recipe.
The constant grip on her wand caused Lys significant inconvenience in daily life. The most severe instance was during a Potions practice session with Snape in the underground laboratory.
With her hair greasy from potion fumes, Lys begged Snape not to leave. But Snape had had enough.
"In your second year, you could slice a whole bucket in ten minutes during detention! And now? Is this daisy root? Why don't you just throw the whole thing in?"
"Until you've resolved your wand issue, don't come back!" Snape snapped his cloak, snatched the spider venom from Lys's hand, and stormed out of the lab.
Left empty-handed, Lys clutched the letter she wanted translated and sighed helplessly.
Fine, she thought. Her wand issue did need to be addressed. After all, the blackthorn wand she was using wasn't the one she publicly carried at school.
Owning two wands was a serious matter, and Lys felt she needed to be cautious.
She chose a secluded rocky area in the Forbidden Forest and sat down to carefully examine her wand.
Two years ago, she had envisioned storing the Rune Spell: Gathering and Crushing within the wand. This would eliminate the need for summoning in waterless situations, allowing her to command the spell directly.
After all, in wizard duels, victory wasn't always about who was more skilled. Sometimes, seizing the initiative or catching the opponent off guard could turn the tide.
But after experimenting with layered curses using wizard blood on Walburga, ordinary compressed water no longer interested Lys.
Sitting on the wide stone, she exhaled deeply, clearing her mind of distractions.
Magic poured into the wand like it was free, enveloping the blackthorn wand that had submitted entirely to Lys, hammering and compressing the black serpent embedded within it.
The process went so smoothly that Lys almost believed she had succeeded.
But the occasional bursts of silvery sparks betrayed the flame's fierce resistance.
In her earlier haze, Lys had regretted her decision, thinking she should just throw the dangerous flame away.
But she couldn't bear to. This was the wand her mother had personally crafted for her when she was acknowledged.
Moreover, the known properties of Fiendfyre were enough to captivate Lys's desire for power.
Lost in thought, a cluster of sparks shot out under the excessive magic, startling Lys back to focus.
After a moment, she found herself marveling again at Grindelwald's brilliance. The Fiendfyre she treated like a wild beast was merely his stage entrance, wielded with such elegance and strength...
"Bang!"
Snapping her magic shut to extinguish the flame, Lys tensed completely, not daring to lose focus again.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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