HP: The Stellar Witch [OFC]

"Potions! Potions is a precise discipline that demands rigor! I spent an entire holiday dedicating all my spare time to preparing this—a small amount of perfectly proportioned powdered dragon sinew! To avoid magical interference, I even ventured into a Muggle forest! And now, this entire jar—ruined!"

Professor Slughorn was utterly devastated, with nowhere to vent his frustrations. That premium dragon sinew had been carefully selected and gifted to him by a student who had spent two years raising dragons in Brazil.

Fuming, the professor snatched Lys's schedule without the usual patience he showed other students. Instead of carefully considering her strengths, weaknesses, and career prospects, he hastily filled in all the subjects without much thought.

Lys felt the unusual thickness of her schedule but didn't dare ask. The professor, still irate, simply told her, "Next time, don't come here yourself. Just send a student with your message." With that, he stormed off to his next class.

Standing outside the professor's office, Lys felt a pang of uncertainty. Had her magic caused too much trouble for everyone?

Apparently so. When Lys stopped a student in the hall to ask for help with her schedule, her unstable magic, influenced by her confused emotions, caused two Hufflepuff water tanks to explode. Water, glass shards, and shy aquatic plants spilled everywhere.

All Lys could do was furrow her brows and glance in their general direction, unable to cast a single Reparo. "I'm sorry! Really sorry! I—I can't see right now; I didn't mean it. Are you okay?"

Retracting her magic, Lys could only vaguely make out two figures huddled together. She tried to approach them to check, but her arm was suddenly grabbed by someone.

"Senior! Senior, what's wrong with your eyes? Senior!" The moment she heard the term "Senior," Lys instantly recognized the voice—it was Tock Moody.

"Oh, I'm fine. I just can't see. Are those two alright?"

The two students clutching their herbology assignments hurriedly assured her, "We're fine! We're fine!" before fleeing as if a monster were chasing them.

Even though Senna hadn't given Lys anything to distinguish her house—no cloak or tie—the sight of her carrying a snake made it obvious to everyone that she was Lys Black from Slytherin. Naturally, a crowd gathered to watch.

Lys could feel the stares but had no idea what was actually happening. This wasn't how she had imagined things at all.

Gagbone, coiled around her neck, lightly tapped its tail against her shoulder.

Tock Moody's eyes widened in alarm. He waved his hand in front of Lys's face, but she only reacted faintly, which made him panic even more. "Senior!"

Lys calmly shook off his hand. "Didn't your uncle warn you?" She had spoken to Dumbledore about this—those who survived that day were to have no connection with her.

Tock Moody, being Alastor Moody's nephew, should harbor resentment toward her for his uncle's death. He shouldn't be calling her "Senior" so affectionately.

Reminded of this, Tock's expression froze. He stood there, watching Lys slowly navigate the corridor back to the staircase leading underground.

Clutching her schedule and wand, Lys made her way back to the common room. She needed help, so she sat down in front of Severus Snape's dormitory door.

Fortunately, Snape didn't return too late. When he saw Lys sitting on the steps, the muscles in his face twitched uncontrollably.

"Snape, is that you?" He didn't deny it, nor did he leave. "Snape, I need help. I can't see right now. Can you analyze this for me? Why do I have two schedules?"

Lys fumbled around and slapped the parchment onto what she assumed was his arm—but was actually his neck.

In that instant, Snape's expression turned dark. Even Avery, standing behind Lys, thought Snape might curse her on the spot.

But he didn't. Restraining his murderous impulses, he reluctantly examined the schedule, which was riddled with severe time conflicts.

"Clearly, our dear Miss Black has demonstrated her superhuman abilities. Apparently, you can attend Divination, Ancient Runes, and Charms all at the same time. Ten courses in total—this is truly a miraculous feat I've never heard of," Snape read aloud with biting sarcasm.

Lys processed his words. Higher-year students had more mandatory class hours each week, which had caused her schedule to become overloaded. From Snape's tone, it seemed they were supposed to select only a portion of the courses to attend.

"Oh, I see now. Thank you, Snape." Enlightened, Lys expressed her gratitude and began descending the stairs, almost stumbling as she considered her schedule.

She was entirely unaware of Snape trembling with rage behind her, clutching his wand. His sarcasm was meant to irritate her, but once again, she seemed completely indifferent. From her first year, it had always been like this—utterly oblivious!

Before heading to class, Lys studied her magical issues. Her magic was diffuse and prone to instability due to her emotions. After numerous experiments in her dormitory, she discovered that compressing her magic into the ground prevented it from affecting other students. This allowed her to use the terrain and her footsteps to gauge her surroundings.

Word spread quickly—Lys Black was blind. Some students even gathered outside classrooms to catch a glimpse of her, though they didn't always manage to find the right one.

Lys, however, was quite casual about it. She remembered the schedule Snape had read aloud and decided which classes to attend based on her interest or proximity.

Professor McGonagall was exasperated by this. Lys explained that the headmaster had given her a week's leave, and she was merely auditing classes to decide her selections.

Of all the classes she could attend—excluding those requiring vision, like Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy—Lys found Divination most intriguing.

It was even more relaxing than History of Magic, and there were only three students in the entire class. The Gypsy professor didn't bother her much.

Adjusting Gagbone's position on her shoulder, Lys felt a faint vibration in the stairs beneath her feet. Gripping the handrail tightly, she realized the dreaded staircase shift was happening.

"Is anyone here? What floor is this? Are there any ghosts, portraits, or suits of armor? Anyone who can speak?"

She called out to the usual castle inhabitants but received no response. Sighing, Lys stood by the staircase railing.

Releasing a bit of her magic, she sensed that most of the walls were covered in tapestries rather than portraits. Lys recalled that only the eighth floor was like this. Additionally, the tower's eighth floor was semi-abandoned, with no classrooms, so staircases rarely connected to it. She needed another plan.

If she were on the second floor, Lys might attempt her newly developed technique—using magic to lightly float down to the first floor.

But this was the eighth floor. One wrong move, and she could fall to her death. What should she do?

In the end, there was no solution.

She could only wait—wait until evening, when the house-elves began cleaning the castle. Perhaps then she could find her way back to the dormitory.

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