HP: The Stellar Witch [OFC]

Lys let out a chuckle as she left the eighth floor, having just witnessed a foolish wizard getting hilariously knocked on the head.

When Lys appeared in the dimly lit dungeon where Severus Snape was brewing potions, her face was stormy. Snape, flipping through an experimental notebook, glanced at her and continued bottling his potion, waiting for her to speak.

Her first words, however, made his temper flare.

"Severus, are you sure about aligning yourself with the Malfoys after joining the Dark Lord?"

"What? A half-blood associating with the noble Malfoys makes you pure-bloods—"

Snape was about to retort sarcastically when Lys cut him off with, "Count me in." Her words left him momentarily speechless.

He hesitated, scrutinizing the unusually unguarded Lys Black. Ever since the conflict between the Light and Dark escalated, the question of allegiance had become sensitive. Lys had consistently avoided taking a stance in public, steering clear of the topic entirely.

In Snape's memory, she even had some interactions with Dumbledore.

For someone who had always kept their position ambiguous to suddenly declare a side...

"Did someone trouble you? And you didn't break their nose?" he asked, half-jokingly.

Lys irritably ruffled her hair as she began handling potion ingredients. "Not yet. But if I don't make my stance clear soon, a lot of people will start causing trouble. Who knows how the Black family fell from grace so quickly?"

Snape had heard whispers about the Black family's decline. Their stance had always been deliberately vague, and as for Lys, the daughter of a disgraced branch...

Lowering his gaze, Snape focused on the potion in his hand—a colorless, odorless, and highly challenging Veritaserum. Just a single drop in a drink could extract every secret from its consumer, down to the number of bricks in their ancestral home.

"Give me the letter. I'll deliver it to Lucius for you. You can discuss the details yourself," he said, tucking the potion into a concealed pocket on his belt.

To his surprise, Lys hadn't prepared a letter at all. She hastily scribbled one on the spot, right in front of him:

"To the Esteemed Mr. Malfoy,

Would I have the honor of receiving an invitation to your family's Christmas banquet?

Yours sincerely,

Lys Black."

The letter was scrawled carelessly, without even a proper envelope.

Snape gave Lys a long, scrutinizing look. She stood there in her shirt and trousers, her cloak hanging loosely over her shoulders. He couldn't tell if her behavior was genuinely discourteous or a calculated attempt to leave no traceable evidence.

Stuffing the letter into his pocket, Snape turned his attention to critiquing Lys's potion-making technique.

"Once again, this is crude! Sloppy! As if you've thrown your brain into the cauldron along with the ingredients. If you keep wasting my time like this, there won't be a next session!"

Lys slyly shoved a jar of pickled mandrake root and another herb into Snape's hands. "Bear with it, just a little longer. Once I graduate, I swear I won't touch a cauldron again, so your sacred art of potion-making won't be sullied anymore. Just endure it for now, okay?"

Snape clenched his teeth, holding the rare and time-consuming ingredients. Some secrets—some trump cards—he wasn't even willing to share with the Dark Lord or Lucius. For these, he relied on alternative sources. In his current state, without wealth or power, he couldn't afford to reject Lys Black's... tempting offers.

Damn her. Where did she even get these treasures?

And that snake, Gahbang. The small piece of shed skin he'd acquired last time had potency ten times that of an African Boomslang, far exceeding the norm.

Narrowing his eyes, Snape gave Lys's potion a final, scathing critique before tightening his cloak and leaving.

Lys remained seated until the magical flames beneath the cauldron burned out and the potion dried into a crust at the bottom. Only then did she explode in frustration, casting a spell that reduced the cauldron to powder before leaving the dungeon, her hand pressed against her temple.

The normal life she yearned for seemed to drift further and further away...

In the hazy depths of the night, Lys saw a frail left arm, twisted and scarred, pointing toward a tall, terrifying figure.

Clutching her head, she sat up abruptly in bed. It was two in the morning. Unable to fall back asleep, she decided to read.

Lys sighed, acknowledging that overthinking during the day always led to restless nights. She'd only slept three hours—an hour less than usual. Hopefully, today's History of Magic lecture wouldn't be too important.

Unfortunately, today's class delved into a murky chapter of history.

"Honor and ability must never be abandoned or forgotten, even if the enemy has already surrendered."

"Wizards lived in constant fear, with few means of resistance. Their choices were either to hide or to face death."

A Ravenclaw student couldn't help but complain, "Didn't we already cover this in fourth year? More about the Knights of the Garter? Those names are so archaic and hard to remember. What's the point?"

"In those days, every wizarding settlement had at least one wizard capable of casting the Patronus Charm, standing guard under the stars and clouds to protect those tormented by fear."

"Absolute willpower, \\u0026%@...￥%...\\u0026*," Lys frowned. What was the ghostly professor saying?

"More names—Latin, Greek, Egyptian—but no English ones. Some of these scripts are even lost. If it's not on the exam, why bother teaching it? What a waste of time!" The Ravenclaw slammed his History of Magic book shut and stormed out with his bag.

Lys glanced at the departing figure, then at the ghostly professor, who remained unperturbed, droning on. She decided to approach the podium.

The ghostly professor's teachings often diverged from their textbook. She wanted to see what he was reading...

To her astonishment, it was a blank, semi-transparent notebook. Not a single word—no ghostly script, nothing.

Sighing, Lys suddenly realized the droning lecture had ceased. Turning, she found herself locking eyes with the professor.

For the first time, she heard him speak words unrelated to the lesson: "Do you have a question, young lady?"

"I do!" Lys stood by the podium, engaging the ghostly professor in conversation. "What exactly was the fear they were driven out by?"

If it were some dangerous creature, perhaps Hagrid could help her acquire one...

"An unstoppable force, child. Unstoppable. Any form of the unstoppable breeds fear." The ghostly professor floated slightly higher, closing his notebook.

"And fear gives birth to something else. It takes root in the wizard's soul, grows from the soul. Only love, courage, unwavering hope, and the will to protect can resist it."

"That is the silver deity—the Patronus @#\\u0026...%￥%#," the professor said, slipping into an ancient language.

"Professor, what does that phrase mean in English?" she asked directly, her curiosity piqued.

"The secret self, and 'I am waiting for the arrival of the Patronus,'" the ghostly professor replied, tilting his gaze upward to meet the much taller student. He floated a bit higher to level their eye contact.

"And so, in ancient Latin, the incantation doesn't mean summoning the Patronus but waiting for it. Those with true serenity or immense resolve will earn the Patronus's favor."

"Those knights, in turn, became their own Patronuses."

The ghostly professor opened his blank notebook to face the class. "And during this period..."

The monotonous lecture resumed, eliciting collective sighs from the students below.

Lys, however, was lost in thought. Why did every professor seem to have a slightly different perspective on the Patronus? And now, this ghostly professor suggested that the Patronus Charm was essentially two spells with different purposes.

Some emphasized joy, others protection, and still others the light of willpower.

Since her first year, professors had stressed the importance of clear intent and determination when casting spells.

Lys paced back to her seat.

Should a Patronus embody joy? Light? Or the will to protect?

Now she wasn't even sure of her goal.

To facilitate her attendance at the banquet, Lys took the train back to the Black family library for the Christmas holidays.

Three days before Christmas, she received a reply from Malfoy, delivered by Snape.

Stripped of its flowery language, the letter essentially stated that there would be no banquet but that she and Severus were welcome to visit on Christmas Eve.

Lys agreed readily. She donned a velvet suit tailored by Noah, its smoky gray lapels adorned with pearls. Beneath it, she wore a dark red silk shirt, the first button left undone due to the oversized silver chain and amber pendant.

Carrying her prepared Christmas gift, Lys clung to Snape's arm as they Apparated to the outskirts of Malfoy Manor.

Snape, dressed in his usual black robes, couldn't help but glance back at the oddly dressed Lys before pressing the doorbell.

As the second chime faded, the grand, ornate gates slowly swung inward. Lys watched as her flamboyant senior, wielding his ostentatiously modified wand, spread his arms in a warm welcome.

Snape maintained his frosty demeanor, offering only a slight nod. Lys, meanwhile, stepped aside and handed over her gift box.

Aside from throwing punches, Lys disliked physical contact with others.

"A small handmade gift for Christmas. I hope you won't mind my lack of formality," Lys said, tugging at her collar. She had underdressed; even with a warming charm, she felt the chill.

Lys thought they would proceed into the house, but Malfoy insisted on giving them a tour of the manor.

As they strolled through the gardens, dotted with white peacocks, Lys sniffled, drawing Malfoy's attention.

"Of course, we could also visit the greenhouse. Some plants, though nearing extinction, are not sufficient for material use but hold significant ornamental value, wouldn't you agree?"

Lys stared at the knobby plants before her, puzzled by their supposed beauty. She cast a questioning glance at Snape, only to find him avoiding her gaze.

Snape, of course, understood that Lucius was flaunting his wealth and power to Lys. Maintaining such rare plants solely for display required immense resources—a subtle show of strength.

But Lys, with her own collection of rare items, likely didn't grasp the significance of this display.

"Time is getting on," Snape interjected, signaling to Lucius. As the intermediary, his role was to facilitate arrangements, not to endure Lucius's peacock-like strutting through the ostentatious manor.

Lucius Malfoy subtly raised his cane, signaling the house-elves in the shadows and notifying Narcissa in the drawing room of their guests' arrival.

Ordinarily, the daughter of a disgraced werewolf-born would not warrant such elaborate hospitality. However, recent intelligence from Knockturn Alley, confirmed by Severus, suggested that the masked healer known as the "White Lily" was likely Lys Black.

If true, this was intriguing. The wizarding world's limited pool of medical talent was almost entirely monopolized by St. Mungo's.

For those aligned with the Dark Lord, injuries often needed to be treated discreetly. A skilled, secretive healer was a resource not to be overlooked.

As Lys entered the manor, she couldn't help but marvel at its grandeur. Towering portraits on the walls nodded slightly in greeting. Ancient goblin-forged armor adorned the corners, and every inch of the space was adorned with intricate carvings, gilded embellishments, and ostentatious displays of wealth.

After a brief tour of the opulent library and treasure room, Malfoy led them to the formal drawing room, ready to begin his probing.

He posed a few tentative questions but failed to elicit the answers he sought.

She neither condemned the pure-bloods' exploitation nor supported the enslavement of "inferior" bloodlines.

It seemed she wasn't suited to be recommended directly to the Dark Lord.

Lucius subtly glanced at his wife.

Narcissa's eyes glinted as she spoke. "It's getting late. Perhaps we could continue our conversation over dinner?"

Lys wasn't particularly hungry, but since the host had suggested it, she decided to oblige.

However, as she sat at the table, she immediately regretted it. Three sets of cutlery flanked her plate, along with three differently sized gold-rimmed dishes and a massive crystal basin filled with petal-infused water.

The sight reminded her of the dining etiquette disasters she'd endured at the Slytherin table, where her lack of refinement had often drawn stares.

At home or at school, if there weren't proper utensils or if she was in a hurry, Lys wouldn't hesitate to grab a chicken leg with her hands.

She stared at the array of tableware, then at Snape, who stared back at the plates.

He was here as a mediator, not as a babysitter for table manners.

~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~ 

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