Chapter 81: Eighty-One

From that point until Christmas, Lys couldn't figure it out. Even when Christmas arrived, she was still at a loss.

This year's Christmas gifts from Lys included not only some oddly baked cookies but also oversized woolen socks she had knitted while practicing. These socks were far too large to fit into shoes.

Nevertheless, Lys handed them out—to a few professors, Madam Pince, Madam Pomfrey, Ell, and even Snape.

As for Hagrid, he got a woolen hair tie instead. If she'd made socks for him too, there wouldn't have been enough yarn.

And her own sweater? It was hideous but barely wearable. On the first day she finished it, Lys accidentally burned a hole in it. Her overly intense magic had scorched the hem while she was trying to cast a simple warming charm.

Lys downed another bottle of magic stabilizer. Why did these glass bottles of stabilizer seem so ineffective? Her magic surged, and her arms ached.

It tasted just as awful as usual. Nothing seemed off.

At the Christmas feast, Madam Pomfrey proudly displayed her green socks. As a Slytherin alumna, she was delighted with the gift.

The professors praised Lys's thoughtful gesture. After all, Hogwarts was perched atop a mountain, and the castle was often chilly. A pair of thick, oversized socks was a practical gift. Besides, every wizard at the table was skilled enough to cast a resizing charm, weren't they?

Even Dumbledore, dressed in his moon-patterned wizard robes with twinkling stars on his hat, seemed to pout slightly, as if feeling left out.

Ever since her first visit to Hogsmeade, which turned out to be nothing like she'd imagined, Lys hadn't returned. However, she did notice Snape going there.

Judging by the strong potion smell emanating from him as he sat beside her now, he must have gone to that potion shop.

Lys barely managed to eat a salad and half a serving of mashed potatoes before retreating to her dormitory. She unwrapped her Christmas gifts as carefully as in previous years, saving the wrapping paper and tucking it neatly under her bed.

Ell had given her a rare, out-of-print cookbook on family recipes and two silver quills.

Snape's gift was a pile of magic stabilizers.

Hagrid's gift was a portable bag for Gobble. Last year's bag had become too small and was now just a coin pouch.

And then there was Madam Pomfrey's gift—a book titled Bizarre Cases at St. Mungo's.

The next day, when Lys visited Hagrid, she noticed he had tied the woolen hair tie around his beard.

"Lys, your gifts are always so thoughtful. Now I won't get my beard all dirty while eating," Hagrid said, beaming.

"Um... as long as you're happy," Lys replied, holding Gobble. She had also knitted a cylindrical woolen cover for Gobble. The stitches were neat and even, and it was quite impressive. She had enchanted it with two warming charms and adorned it with a small Slytherin serpent badge, reinforced with a protective charm.

This had become her new pastime during her recent struggles with spellcasting. She had turned to basic alchemy, practicing simple enchantments on small items.

She had even made something for Hagrid—a lion-shaped badge transfigured through magic. The enchantment it carried was a lighting charm, which she had finished just the night before.

"You can use it when you enter the Forbidden Forest at night. It's for emergencies—not as good as a torch, but it'll do," Lys explained, watching the big man wipe his eyes.

"You don't belong in Slytherin, Lys. You're a good kid, you—"

"That's enough, Hagrid. I am a Slytherin. Pursuing power and the glory demanded by my parents—that's the truth!"

Hagrid looked taken aback. He had probably never heard Lys speak so passionately before.

"Well, Gobble's feeling a bit cold. I'll take him back now. Goodbye, Hagrid." Lys knew Hagrid's words were the highest compliment he could give, but she still felt uncomfortable.

Suppressing her emotions, she pulled out a bottle of magic stabilizer and drank it. It had no effect. The discomfort from her surging magic only made her more irritable.

She decided to visit the hospital wing. The Singing Lily had extended its stem again. Lys had brought some fermented dragon dung from Professor Sprout, which could accelerate its blooming. Perhaps it would flower before the end of the term.

When preparing the fertilizer, Lys had personally sniffed it. It was completely odorless and impeccably clean. Carrying the fertilizer, she walked out of the common room with a neutral expression.

The common room had been particularly restless lately. Her conversation with Regulus had revealed that Slytherin operated under specific rules.

Previously, as a nobody, she had been overlooked. But ever since her unrestrained fight with Potter and his friends, she had caught the attention of these "investors."

Any conversation, acceptance of gifts, or even similar remarks made in different locations could inexplicably align her with a particular faction.

So, Lys chose not to speak, respond, or appear. Over time, they grew tired of her silence. High-and-mighty benefactors wouldn't wait forever for a subordinate's response.

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