HP: The Stellar Witch [OFC]

The runic spell's primary effect was to shatter magic itself. Even if she didn't kill her outright today, the chaotic and weakening magic would inevitably lead to her demise.

Lys Black, using her magic, suspended Walburga Black and managed to retrieve her mother.

Standing on one side of the square, she held her mother tightly in her arms. Around her coiled the stench of blood serpents and a massive, fat snake. She stood alone, isolated.

As she retreated slowly under the oppressive, eerie stares of the crowd, a voice—soft as a whisper yet resonant—echoed in everyone's ears.

"Is this the altar you've prepared to welcome me? Sacrificing those filthy bloodlines—primitive, unrefined. Hmm, I quite like it."

A tall wizard draped in a pure black cloak began ascending the high platform. With each step he took, a stone stair materialized beneath his feet, vanishing the moment he stepped forward.

Each step radiated an overwhelming, oppressive magic, so vast and terrifying that it seemed to choke the air itself.

It was him—the Dark Lord, Voldemort.

In a wave, more than half the crowd in the square dropped to one knee. The remaining few crouched low, their heads bowed in submission.

Even the injured Walburga dared not move recklessly, her posture radiating reverence and fear.

The oppressive magical aura was so intense that even Senna Black fainted under its weight.

Lys crouched down as well, holding Senna tightly. The red blood serpent, under the immense pressure and Lys's surrender, disintegrated into a spray of blood, splattering over her, Senna, and Gaben.

The Dark Lord reached the final step of the platform, his robes billowing as he turned to face the sea of kneeling figures below.

"My friends, my family, I am most pleased with the gift you have brought me," he declared, his voice smooth yet laced with chilling menace. "These filthy bloodlines are only fit to cleanse the ground beneath our feet, are they not? With our power, we shall restore the glory of pureblood."

He stepped onto the corpses, lifting his head high. His blood-red eyes gleamed with a sinister light, a stark contrast to his strikingly handsome features. "We will stand upon the bodies of these people and seize control of this world."

"Rejoice!" he commanded, his voice rising. "This is but a small declaration, a message to those fools out there. Our power and will are beyond defiance!"

Amid the cheers and praises, Lys kept her head bowed, barely breathing. She couldn't miss the faint trace of enchantment woven into the magic—subtle, yet unmistakable. This man was like a blazing sun in the darkness, his magic and aura so blinding that Lys dared not look directly at him.

Every ounce of power escaping from him was as conspicuous as fireflies in the night to Lys's heightened perception.

With a soft sigh, the Dark Lord lowered his wand. "It seems there has been a little... conflict among us. You didn't even notice my arrival! Walburga, what have you done to provoke such offense from our magically gifted new friend?"

Walburga bowed even lower, trembling under the rebuke for failing to properly welcome and create a spectacle for the Dark Lord.

She nervously explained that she had captured a woman she suspected of spying and trying to sabotage them, which led to a conflict with their new ally.

"No need to be so fearful, Walburga. Look up and tell me, is that so?"

Walburga hesitated to lift her head, knowing she hadn't told the truth. She had merely wanted to take advantage of the chaos to eliminate the woman.

"Crucio!" The Dark Lord's wand flicked mercilessly toward Walburga, striking her wounded shoulder.

The woman, prostrate on the ground, struggled to maintain her composure, but her head hit the floor, her back and leg muscles spasming violently. The veins on her neck bulged, and sweat mixed with dirt on her forehead, making her look even more pathetic.

The entire square fell silent, save for the muffled groans of pain escaping from Walburga Black's clenched teeth.

"I expect my family to answer my questions honestly. Walburga, you should not have made this mistake. Now, our new friend, lift your head. Perhaps you can tell me your story?"

Lys instinctively tightened her cloak around Gaben and Senna. She was trembling, but she managed to speak coherently. "I haven't graduated yet. My mother was worried and came to find me. She tried to kill my mother, and I stopped her. Then... then my mother told me that the werewolf who bit my father ten years ago was sent by her."

"Lift your head!" Voldemort commanded.

Lys's chin was suddenly forced upward by a surge of magic, pulling her neck muscles taut. She barely managed to meet the Dark Lord's gaze, her head splitting with pain.

When the magic dissipated, the Dark Lord asked, satisfied, "Yes, an honest child. What is your name?"

The Dark Lord was using this moment to establish his authority over Walburga Black!

"Lyst Black."

"The same surname..." Voldemort mused, a flicker of interest passing through his crimson eyes.

Lys caught the flicker of interest in the Dark Lord's expression as he uttered those words and continued, "Yes, my father was the illegitimate son of the previous head of the Black family."

The crowd erupted in sneers and murmurs, but Lys dared not ignore any of the Dark Lord's reactions.

She had disrupted his carefully planned display of power and persuasion, and he was equally displeased with her and Walburga.

Holding the unconscious Senna in her right arm and clutching Gaben's tail with her hand, Lys forced herself to remain calm and composed.

"I am truly fortunate to witness your radiance, my lord. It is an honor that you appreciate the altar prepared by me and Senior Bellatrix for you," Lys declared loudly, ensuring her voice carried across the square.

"Please forgive me for holding my mother in my arms, my lord. Otherwise, I would have raised my wand with both hands to show my reverence to you." Lys bowed deeply, presenting her blackthorn wand in the palm of her left hand, raising it above her head.

Her sleeve slipped, revealing her scarred arm adorned with the bead bracelet from her mother and the ring from her father. The sunlight glinted off the ouroboros ring, its calm magic offering Lys no warmth.

Submission—offering her wand as a symbol of submission.

Surrender—offering her wand as a symbol of surrender.

The crowd behind her followed suit, voicing their loyalty and admiration.

Soon, the square was filled with people bowing or kneeling, with more than half raising their wands in a gesture of submission.

The Dark Lord's lips curled slightly, seemingly satisfied. "I will lead you to claim the glory and status that rightfully belong to us. Be loyal to me, follow me, and rise! Together, we shall confront those pesky vermin."

"Dumbledore, you're late as always!" The Dark Lord taunted, using magic to levitate the bodies of two twins on the platform.

He waved his wand, sending the corpses flying toward the starry-robed, white-bearded old wizard who had just appeared in the square.

"The revelry is over, but I've prepared a gift for you!"

The two most powerful wizards of the age—Dark and Light—raised their wands, pointing them at each other!

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