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When Lys sat down, she failed to notice that the notorious Gryffindor quartet was seated right behind her.
Sirius Black raised an eyebrow and waved his wand in Lys's direction with a mischievous smirk.
Even though this was school, Lys couldn't suppress the rising panic. The sight of a wand pointing and gesturing at her triggered nauseating, terrifying memories, along with her mother's stern warning: "I told you, never let anyone's wand point at you!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Lys couldn't hold back—she reacted instinctively.
Sirius hadn't expected this quiet Slytherin to retaliate in class. He toppled over his desk and was about to charge at her.
But James Potter held him back, shouting loudly, "Professor McGonagall! Stalys Black just attacked a fellow student in class!"
Professor McGonagall, who had been assisting a student with a Transfiguration mishap in the back row, looked up to see Lys trembling, her wand still pointed at Sirius Black.
"Oh, put down your wand, child. What happened?" McGonagall said as she approached, gently but firmly lowering Lys's wrist.
From the middle of the classroom, Severus Snape sneered, "Hah, the idiotic Gryffindor prince tried to attack someone else's pet and failed, Professor." He never missed an opportunity to mock and humiliate the foolish Gryffindor quartet.
Casting a disdainful glance at the furious Sirius, Snape curled his upper lip. These self-proclaimed "Marauders" had truly lost all sense of shame—attacking someone's pet in class and then playing the victim.
McGonagall hesitated for a moment, observing the tense atmosphere between the five students. "It seems Mr. Snape may have a point. Gryffindor loses two points."
"That's not fair, Professor! The rat—he cast a spell on me first!" Sirius protested indignantly.
"Another point deducted, Mr. Potter and Mr. Black. I expect you both to remain quiet and stop provoking your classmates. I believe that's a reasonable request," McGonagall said sternly, cutting off their complaints.
These four troublemakers caused chaos wherever they went—did they think she didn't know?
Turning back to Lys, McGonagall brushed aside the hair covering her forehead. Bloodshot eyes and dark circles stood out starkly against her pale face.
"You don't look well. Would you like to return to your dormitory or visit the hospital wing?"
She still remembered how this child had bounced back quickly after a terrifying incident in the library last term, waking up the next day demanding three servings of food.
But now, this thin, exhausted, and jittery appearance was deeply concerning.
"Go get some rest. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to come to me for help."
With no classes that afternoon, Lys wandered back to her dormitory, cradling Cracker inside her robes.
She placed Cracker on the bed and began carefully examining it from head to tail. Then she took out the charred, damaged book and glanced at it.
The scorched edges seemed to tug at some nerve in Lys's mind, triggering an intense, uncontrollable reaction.
Kneeling by the bed, Lys clutched her head and leaned against Cracker's belly, feeling the snake nuzzle her hair in soothing motions.
The Black family, her father's ambitions, the ever-increasing academic expectations, Slytherin's pride, the bloodied images from those books, her mother's obsession with restoring her father's honor…
The filthy, dangerous Knockturn Alley… the breezy, bustling Diagon Alley… "Urgh…" Lys retched, though her stomach was empty, leaving her dry-heaving repeatedly.
Her need for magical stabilizers had increased significantly recently. Lys often woke in the middle of the night to find her magic surging uncontrollably, accompanied by unbearable pain in her left arm. Sometimes, even diluted potions failed to work.
To avoid Madam Pomfrey forcing her into the hospital wing or conducting an examination, Lys needed to brew her own stabilizers. But in her current state, simply avoiding an exploding cauldron was a challenge, so…
"Snape, here are the ingredients. I need a magical stabilizer." A stable transaction had formed between Lys and Snape.
Snape didn't ask—it wasn't his business. Lys didn't explain—it wasn't his concern.
Recently, the Singing Lily had shown signs of blooming. If you got close, you could hear faint, distant humming.
The cracks between its petals emitted a gentle fragrance that lingered around Lys, allowing her a rare moment of relaxation.
Gently stroking a leaf with a small bite mark left by an insect, Lys's expression softened slightly. She had discovered the plant after returning from the holiday.
The culprit was likely some kind of magical creature—so slippery it was impossible to catch. It was Cracker who, with a sudden strike, snatched the insect mid-air and swallowed it.
At first, Lys worried that Cracker might fall ill from eating random things, but nothing happened. In fact, Cracker seemed to enjoy hunting these insects in the greenhouse.
Professor Sprout also welcomed Cracker's presence. The insects bred rapidly and were difficult to catch due to their magical nature.
Since young wizards needed to use the greenhouse for classes, pesticides couldn't be used indiscriminately. The professor had been troubled by this for a long time.
Tomorrow, the school would host a Quidditch match—Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
Lys had never been interested in the sport. A dozen people chasing four balls on broomsticks, unable to use magic and having to hand over their wands—it baffled her.
She couldn't understand how Slytherins, who prided themselves on elegance and composure, could be so passionate about it. Even that platinum-haired prefect had been the Quidditch captain before graduating.
Then again, Lys, who never flew more than twenty centimeters off the ground, had never experienced the thrill of flying.
But it was fine. Tomorrow, she could take advantage of the empty grounds to let Cracker play by the lake. Her dormitory didn't have a bathtub, and Cracker, now over sixty centimeters long, could no longer enjoy the sink.
The next day, Lys spent two hours by the Black Lake, digging a small pool for Cracker to splash around in. She could still hear the distant roars and excitable commentary from the Quidditch pitch.
Deciding to check on her Singing Lily, Lys headed to the greenhouse.
The door was slightly ajar, not fully closed. The moisture and compost smells wafted out, and Lys had a nagging feeling that something was off.
Professor Sprout was a meticulous witch who never forgot to tidy up the greenhouse. Leaving the door like this, which would quickly lower the temperature and humidity, was entirely unlike her.
Perhaps it was a careless student.
With that thought, Lys entered the greenhouse, adjusted the magical humidifier, and took a deep breath of the air.
The Singing Lily's fragrance was so gentle, lacking the overpowering intensity of regular lilies.
Tilting her head to listen, she didn't hear the usual distant humming. Opening her eyes, which had been half-closed in enjoyment, Lys froze.
At the far end of the greenhouse, the pot was empty, save for a broken stem. The rough, jagged cut marks choked her, and she frantically looked around.
But no matter how much she searched, she couldn't find her lily, which should have bloomed any day now. The loss hit her hard.
Cracker climbed between the pot and Lys's hands, as if trying to help find the noisy plant.
Lys placed the pot deep on the shelf. It still contained the bulb—perhaps next year she'd have another chance to see it bloom. But the disappointment and sadness lingered. Would it still be the same flower?
She had looked forward to it since the day it was planted.
She had hoped for it all holiday, imagining it in every piece of furniture and mask in the shop.
And now? Don't let me find out who did this!
Clutching her throbbing head, Lys crossed the lawn, heading toward the Quidditch pitch to see if Professor Sprout was there.
The noisy stands made her headache worse. From a distance, she spotted Professor Sprout on the referee's platform next to the Gryffindor stands, chatting with Madam Pomfrey, who was there as medical staff.