"The bar was full of Aurors! The one lying here cost us five people! And the rest of them? They escaped with a bunch of brats, riding broomsticks! How did I not think of that? We only managed to catch these two, damn it..."
They escaped. Good, they escaped…
If they hadn't, I wouldn't have saved them again.
Crouched in the corner, Lys quietly transformed her necklace into a mask, stretched her robes into a hood, and silently slipped away from the crowd.
Gripping Gabbang's tail to stop it from strangling her, Lys scanned the small square. The number of people here far exceeded those who had initially Apparated in.
There were even newcomers in casual attire, their faces alight with fanaticism. It wasn't until Lys backed out of half the crowd that her mind caught up with what she was seeing.
Terrifying.
They claimed to fight for the interests and dominance of purebloods, shouting their slogans. But some… some were here purely for the thrill of malice and slaughter.
Lys was dragged back by the madwoman Bellatrix Lestrange, who sneered at her timidity. "See some blood, and you'll truly feel the joy magic brings! Only then will you understand what the Dark Lord offers us!"
Wasn't it supposed to be glory? Power and victory?
What is this? Gouged-out eyes, cursed and withered legs? Aurors screaming in agony under torture?
What does tormenting him achieve!?
This isn't right. This isn't Slytherin. This isn't what Father told me about!
"We come from the mire, filled with ambition, yearning for power. We are strong and composed, elegant and restrained. We never regret. We are Slytherin."
Where is the composure and restraint in these people? Where is the elegance in this chaos? If you don't want regret, then don't do things you'll regret!
Under the threat of Bellatrix's wand, Lys cast a Burning Curse on the Auror's face. She didn't flinch at his screams as he clutched his face, the bloody cavity of his eye seared by the heat. At least he wouldn't die from blood loss.
Feeling the pressure of the wand against her waist again, Lys steadily raised her hand and used a Cutting Curse to carve the flesh from the Auror's thigh.
The Auror's screams echoed across half the square. Many turned to look, some even commenting, "A fresh technique, more melodious screams, don't you think?"
Lys's hand didn't tremble as she meticulously removed all the cursed tissue from the leg.
She slipped a silent Stunning Spell into the gaps between her curses, loudly declaring her incantations. When the Auror fell silent, she kicked his wound.
The body shifted slightly under her push, showing no signs of life.
"Oh, he's dead? How could he die?" Glancing at the excited madwoman beside her, Lys flipped her wrist and tossed the body onto the platform. There wasn't even time to cast a Hemorrhage-Stopping Spell. Hopefully, he would survive.
Slytherins assess the situation. Lys wasn't about to resist everyone. As she told that young Moody, if she sought death, then the Death Eaters and the Blacks, eager to clear suspicion, would dig up her family. No one could protect them.
As for that Auror? She did her best.
Most of the black-robed figures suddenly froze, clutching their left arms and shouting, "The Dark Lord is coming! Our Lord is arriving!"
Lys wanted to run immediately. While the madwoman and most others gathered in the center, she quickly retreated into the alley behind her.
But just as she turned to leave, a flash of red hair caught her eye—red hair the same shade as hers.
Suppressing the urge to flee, Lys turned back for a closer look.
That one glance sent all her composure and restraint to hell.
Pulling her wand roughly and swiftly from her left palm, she unleashed an unrestrained curse toward the center.
It was Senna!
She was being held by Walburga Black, the matriarch of the Black family, her wand pressed against Senna's chin. Behind Senna was the platform.
She wants to kill Mother!
The jagged edges of her wand cut into Lys's palm, the blood-drenched wand amplifying its power.
Unfortunately, the distance was too great. Lys's curse was too conspicuous, detected early. A man beside Walburga raised his wand to block it but was injured by the curse's recoil, spitting blood.
"Let go of my mother!"
Lys screamed, charging toward the center. Walburga didn't even flinch. "Avada Kedav—"
Before she could finish her incantation, the explosion from Lys's curse forced her to close her mouth.
"Let go! My mother!" Lys even began chanting a Runespell that gathered water to crush. But there was no water here, only blood-soaked ground.
A crimson snake formed from the foul, stinking blood lunged at Walburga. In a moment of crisis, Walburga had to release Senna and retreat, casting protective spells to dissipate the curse's power.
Some around Lys gave way. Walburga had shown off too much in front of the Dark Lord. Perhaps this time, she would be humiliated.
Others tried to stop her. "The Dark Lord is coming! What are you doing?"
Amid the chaos, Senna, lying on the ground, propped herself up and shouted, "Kill her! That werewolf was sent by her—Stalys Black! Kill her!" She screamed almost hysterically at Lys.
She had sneaked in through Knockturn Alley's backstreets, unable to bear her husband's anxiety. She wanted to check the situation.
She heard the Dark Lord was coming and intended to leave, knowing her limited strength. She planned to look elsewhere. Noah was still waiting at home.
But at the last moment, that woman caught her.
What did she say?
"Why didn't the werewolf I sent, Fenrir Greyback, kill you rats? He even lied to me…"
She said that werewolf was sent by her!
"Kill her! Stalys!"
Senna barely exchanged two curses before being subdued by Walburga's husband. Seeing his wife struggling, he threatened, "Stop, or I'll kill her!"
At this point, the blood column had already pierced Walburga's shoulder. A slight flick of the wand would penetrate her heart.
For the first time, Lys disobeyed her mother. Before the blood column could pierce Walburga's heart, she stopped.
"Kill her!"
Senna glared at Lys with hatred.
"Exchange. Give me my mother!"
Nearly growling, Lys made her demand.
At this moment, Lys wasn't slow or timid. She wasn't blinded by the new world she had come to understand. With bloodshot eyes, she memorized the face of the Black patriarch.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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