But such behavior diminished considerably after Lys accidentally killed a Death Eater.
The incident caught her completely off-guard—one moment of inattention leading to irreversible consequences. She'd never encountered him at the Dark Lord's gatherings, never seen him at Malfoy Manor.
So when Lys spotted the Dark Mark branded into his forearm, shock rippled through her.
She paced several steps, studying his features with forensic precision. Even revealing charms confirmed his appearance remained unaltered—no Polyjuice, no glamours.
Using advanced human transfiguration, Lys assumed his exact likeness, appropriated his clothing, then surveyed the area before transfiguring the corpse into a pocket watch and slipping it into her robes.
She pondered what purpose such a shadow operative might serve. To eliminate her magical signature entirely, she took the Knight Bus to the Ministry entrance, then ducked into a side alley—deliberately allowing a passerby to glimpse her before vanishing. Later, she materialized on the Hogsmeade-Hogwarts path, where several Slytherins spotted her moving with suspicious haste.
Every detail proceeded flawlessly—she even replicated the wizard's left-handed wand grip perfectly.
That evening, after departing Hogsmeade in his guise, she quietly returned to her reading room as though she'd never left at all.
A month later, Lys nearly missed her appointment with Fred.
Just as she prepared to depart—believing the Death Eater incident had passed—planning to bring Snap for their Hogsmeade meeting, the Dark Lord's summons blazed across her arm.
Lys huddled on the stone steps beside Nagini, arms wrapped protectively around her knees.
Lord Voldemort seethed with incandescent fury.
When he'd attempted gathering intelligence from his shadow network, seeking broader strategic information, he discovered one of his covert operatives had simply... vanished.
He'd issued the vigilante hunter's capture orders months ago.
Yet none of his subordinates could deliver results.
They couldn't even locate a shadow or trace of their quarry!
"One wizard," his voice carried deadly calm that made every Death Eater's blood freeze. "One wizard attempting to plant hope's banner in hearts destined for our dominion—this constitutes direct challenge to me, to the Dark Lord, to Voldemort himself."
Though his tone remained conversational, every seated Death Eater radiated palpable terror.
He abandoned his throne, circling behind each subordinate with predatory grace:
"You disappoint me profoundly. Your current value falls beneath even that simpleton on the stairs who merely tends serpents and maintains cleanliness."
Bellatrix's venomous, jealous glare immediately sought Lys, who remained hunched in shadow, head bowed submissively.
"I trust you won't disappoint me again. Nagini's appetite remains satisfied presently, so I expect meaningful progress before Voldemort's patience expires... Bella, accompany me. We have private matters requiring discussion."
Observing the room's collective paralysis, the Dark Lord approached the exit with casual indifference tinged by mounting irritation:
"Avoid further disappointment. You comprehend precisely what my displeasure entails. Those fools rotting in Azkaban await replacement... and that represents our most merciful option."
Thirty seconds after Bellatrix proudly followed her master's departure, Lys detected someone's audible gulp.
The nervous voice ventured: "Snape, you're embedded within the Order of the Phoenix—might this vigilante originate from their ranks?"
Severus Snape merely brushed imaginary lint from his robes, rose with fluid precision, gripped his wand, and strode toward the doorway.
"Were such an individual operating within Phoenix circles, I would possess comprehensive intelligence. Since I clearly lack such information, abandon hopes of placating the Dark Lord through baseless speculation. Engage those atrophied minds of yours—you'll recognize the profound foolishness of such deflection, won't you?"
Only after Snape's billowing robes vanished beyond the threshold did the previously silent wizard raise his head.
"Arrogant bastard," he muttered venomously. "Decade-long Dumbledore lapdog. Pathetic."
Yet he dared voice such sentiments only post-departure, because despite Snape's continued service to Dumbledore, the Dark Lord maintained unwavering favoritism toward him.
Though Voldemort frequently subjected Snape to verbal mockery and psychological testing, he consistently adopted the spy's counsel and intelligence.
The Dark Lord's preferences served as every Death Eater's moral compass.
Emerging into twilight, Lys consulted her pocket watch with raised eyebrows—rather late, but manageable.
Reaching Hogsmeade, Fred remained exactly where expected. He clutched his wand protectively, a pewter pot of thoroughly cold milk positioned before him. After extended anticipation, his head drooped in apparent self-recrimination.
Rather than disturbing Madam Rosmerta, Lys simply instructed Fred to reheat their refreshment.
Lifting the lid revealed predictably disastrous results—milk boiled over into crusty residue.
"With technique like this, how dare you claim Hogwarts coursework lacks challenge?"
Fred's cheeks flushed scarlet. "The professors assured me that combined with my written examinations, I should achieve Exceeds Expectations."
Lys blinked once. "Acceptable."
"Sis, I'll work tremendously hard for Outstanding!"
"Unnecessary."
Lys sipped the scalding milk, startled by her body's profound chill. She cradled the warm vessel gratefully. "Grades represent means, not ends—what matters is whether you've genuinely mastered your own capabilities."
Another careful sip. "Though our family demonstrates rather limited magical aptitude generally. Our actual talents tend toward the... unconventional. Mother's Italian heritage certainly contributed interesting complexities."
Fred smiled, extracting something from his robes—a small bag of slightly charred biscuits.
"I baked these myself. Originally intended as gratitude for Professor Snape, but he... well, his conversational style proves rather challenging."
Despite such difficulties, Fred's housemates had unanimously declared him Hufflepuff's bravest member. One Muggle-born Badger had even dubbed him their unofficial Defense Against the Dark Arts representative.
Lys smiled warmly, studying Fred with renewed attention. "Why haven't you grown taller?"
Fred leaped upright with wounded dignity, resembling an indignant child.
"I have grown! Over an inch, actually!"
His enthusiasm deflated slightly. "Though compared to my classmates—from anywhere, really—I remain considerably shorter. But Professor Flitwick insists I'm still developing, doesn't he?"
Clearly the diminutive Charms master's reassurances provided insufficient confidence.
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