One quiet evening, Lys Black finally managed to break the curse on the labradorite bracelet. It wasn't that she had discovered a counter-curse; rather, after months of study, she had learned how to craft the curse herself. And knowing how to create it meant she knew exactly where to dismantle it.
Holding the string of beads in her hand, Lys glanced down at her left hand. Her thin, bony fingers, almost unnaturally delicate, were adorned with an iridescent abalone ring on her index finger. The ring's shimmering light contrasted starkly with her pale skin, making it appear even more ghostly. Beneath her translucent skin, the veins seemed to carry blue-green blood.
She pulled up her sleeve slightly, revealing the skin above her wrist—a patchwork of pits, scars, and uneven textures.
Tracing a raised, fresh scar with her fingers, Lys began dissecting her thoughts. To her unease, she realized she was unconsciously trying to decide something—something bold, terrifying, and too audacious to fully admit to herself.
Lowering her sleeve and bowing her head, Lys felt the thoughts that had once taken root in her mind begin to sprout again.
The speed at which these ideas resurfaced proved that she had long known she would eventually act on them. Having confirmed her intentions, Lys couldn't help but agree with her mother's nickname for her: "Little lunatic." How fitting.
But my mother's wishes are my wishes.
Sliding the labradorite beads onto her wrist, she thought of Hagrid's injured beasts from last year and their healed bones. Hugging Gābēng against her pillow, Lys burrowed into the warmth of her blanket.
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The next morning, Lys woke up with a pounding headache. She downed half a bottle of magical stabilizing potion as if it were water, grabbed her cauldron, and rushed to the Potions classroom—she was late.
Professor Slughorn was in the middle of teaching the class how to identify foods and drinks laced with potions and how to detect subtle differences in their scents.
This lesson followed news of yet another small family being poisoned. The entire family was now in St. Mungo's Potion-Induced Injuries Ward, all because they had decided Britain was no longer safe and planned to move to America.
Professor Slughorn made no comment on the incident but instead focused on equipping his students with practical knowledge.
"If you can't always carry antidotes," he explained, "you can carry a bezoar. Placing it near your throat can effectively neutralize some potion toxins or at least slow their spread until proper treatment can be administered."
The goal for this and the next lesson was to brew an antidote.
The potion wasn't particularly complex. Lys even had the mental space to daydream in a corner while brewing, her thoughts wandering back to the strange curses she had read about in St. Mungo's Curious Cases.
Perhaps she could try brewing a few bottles of Skele-Gro or ask Madam Pomfrey for some.
Absentmindedly stirring her cauldron with her wand, Lys barely noticed the yellow steam rising from it. Professor Slughorn cleared his throat loudly and reminded her, "Miss Black, if you keep brewing your potion like this, I might have a hard time giving you an O for Outstanding!"
Professor Slughorn had always been conflicted about Lys's potential. Should he invite her to the Slug Club? But watching her absentmindedly toss a solid lump of concentrated calming agent into her cauldron without first breaking it apart, he gave up on the idea again. This child was far too inconsistent and unpredictable—better to leave it be.
Lys, holding a mint leaf caked in dust and dirt, walked over to the sink to rinse it off, leaving her cauldron steaming behind her.
As she washed the leaf, her mind finally cleared. She turned back to look at her cauldron.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Lys froze the blond-haired boy who had been tossing something into her cauldron. A quick glance told her it was Thomas—the same boy she had silenced during History of Magic.
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