"I saw it with my own eyes! She's a complete freak, that's why she keeps her face covered."
Lynna and two other girls suddenly cornered Cyrus, pointing straight at her face. Ever since she had been assigned to share a room with that girl, Lynna had felt completely uneasy in her own skin, even imagining that her clothes were reeking of the girl and her hound.
Perhaps Cyrus herself had not even noticed the faint smell of blood that clung to her year-round, impossible to wash away. Although she bathed every single night since arriving at Hogwarts, that deadly aura born from fighting wild beasts deep in the forest could never truly be masked.
As Cyrus's roommate, Lynna had grown rather frightened of this quiet, taciturn girl whose whereabouts outside of class were completely unpredictable. There were no traces of her daily life left in the dormitory; every morning, Lynna woke up to a bed that looked as though it had never been slept in.
This eerie feeling became more and more unbearable for Lynna, and she resolved to drive this person out! Seizing the opportunity now, she cornered Cyrus.
"Hey! You're covering your face because you're scared of being laughed at, aren't you?"
"I reckon you sneaked into the school on your own. What kind of wizard can't even cast a single spell? I've never seen a wizard who was blind, hahaha!"
"She never takes off those bandages, there's definitely something wrong with her!"
The more Lynna talked, the more worked up she became, attracting a small crowd of students looking for excitement. A Slytherin boy named Cree even drew his wand with a smirk, saying, "How about I give you a proper demonstration of how to use a wand?" With that, he cast the Tarantallegra curse at Cyrus, making the target's limbs dance uncontrollably. Cyrus simply tilted her head slightly to dodge it, looking at Cree with a detached, mild interest.
Angered by Cyrus's provocation, the group drew their wands and pointed them straight at her. Just as a confrontation seemed ready to erupt, Professor McGonagall's furious voice rang out: "What are you all doing? Stop that this instant!"
Lynna clicked her tongue in annoyance, then turned to Professor McGonagall, who was hurrying over. "We were just teaching her how to use a wand, Professor, otherwise she'd keep bringing shame to Slytherin!" Several students nearby nodded in agreement, though they could not conceal the looks of disgust they shot at Cyrus.
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together and looked sternly at Cree. "Mr. Brant, is casting a mischievous dancing charm on a fellow student part of your curriculum? Using dark charms against a classmate—twenty points from Slytherin! And the rest of you, I saw you draw your wands plain as day! Now, follow me to your Head of House!"
With that, Professor McGonagall turned to Cyrus, preparing to offer a few comforting words.
"Excuse me—why is Professor McGonagall disciplining Slytherin students?"
Cyrus instinctively turned her head toward the source of the voice. Having had points deducted and dreading the prospect of facing their terrifying Head of House, Lynna and her friends wanted nothing more than to rip Cyrus apart right then and there. Seeing Cyrus turn away, Lynna lunged forward and grabbed the bandages tied around the back of the girl's head.
Noticing the corridor packed with students, Snape had quickened his pace, intending to hand out some point deductions. Finding Professor McGonagall standing sternly before a group of Slytherin students, his eyes were immediately drawn to a familiar figure from behind, a girl accompanied by a massive hound that reached his shoulder.
What was going on here? He lengthened his stride. Just as he called out to ask what had happened, the girl who had been turning toward him suddenly froze.
Then, the tightly wrapped bandages on her face were violently ripped off from behind. The white bandages gradually unwrapped, exposing horrifying, crisscrossing scars to everyone present. The surrounding students gasped in shock, and even Professor McGonagall was stunned into momentary silence, while Lynna stood smugly, eager to mock her.
Then Lynna laid eyes upon the nightmare that would haunt her dreams every single night to come, realizing that anything above this person's nose could hardly be called a human face.
Hideous scars crossed back and forth in a tangled mess, one stacked upon another. Skin that should have been flesh-toned was bruised purple and blackened. Those blood-curdling scars of varying thickness and length were reflected entirely in Lynna's pupils. Yet the owner of those scars wore a cold, expressionless face. Her eyes remained closed as she stepped closer and closer to Lynna. When Lynna pressed her back against the wall with nowhere left to run, the girl spoke:
"Do you like what you see?"
Her tone was steady and calm, yet it sent a shiver down everyone's spine.
By this time, Lynna was shaking so violently her facial muscles twitched. Expressionless, Cyrus turned on her heel and, amidst the complex gazes of the crowd, calmly produced a fresh roll of bandages and rewrapped her face.
She looked at Snape, who had stopped dangerously close to her, his tightly clenched wand looking jarringly out of place. Cyrus lowered her voice so that only the two of them could hear:
"If I wanted to—do you think you could stop me, Professor?"
Veins bulged on the back of Snape's hand as he forced the words through his teeth: "Professor McGonagall, please take these students to the hospital wing!" With that, he grabbed Cyrus by the collar, practically hoisting her off the ground as he dragged her into his office.
The heavy wooden door slammed shut, and Cyrus was shoved back against the wall. Snape leaned in, pinning her shoulders with one hand while raising his wand to press against her slender throat. Their faces were dangerously close, the sharp scent of bitter herbs mingling with the faint smell of blood. From time to time, the sound of claws scratching against the stone wall drifted in from outside.
"Who—exactly are you! And what is your game? I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking letting you into this school, but do you really think you can get away with murder just like you did six years ago?"
Cyrus felt the wand pressing against her throat grow heavier, as if it intended to pierce right through her windpipe. Her cool, unrippleable voice echoed softly by Snape's ear. "I won't do anything. Even if Professor Snape didn't stop me, Dumbledore would kill me the moment I harbored murderous intent. As I've said before, I don't want to die just yet."
"As for who I am... I am Cyrus, and nothing more than Cyrus." A rare trace of sorrow flickered across the girl's perpetually unchanging expression. "I suppose that in Professor Snape's eyes, I have never been your student, but merely a murderer who belongs in Azkaban."
The venomous retort hovering on the tip of Snape's tongue died away. He seemed unsure how to define the girl standing before him. She possessed capabilities far beyond her years, yet was more eager to learn than any ordinary student. If he hadn't witnessed firsthand her cold-blooded resolve and terrifying strength in eliminating four adult wizards all those years ago, he might have dismissed her as simply an exceptionally precocious child.
The horrifying, scarred visage of the girl flashed back into his mind, and Snape suspected he might have rushed to judgment. Under the present circumstances, if she had been any other student, he would have simply written it off as justified self-defense against bullies. Besides, she hadn't actually done anything.
Relaxing the grip pinning Cyrus down, Snape turned his back to her. "Do you know the recipe for scar-tissue removal potion..." Cyrus waved a hand dismissively, not caring whether Snape saw it or not. Hesitating for a moment, she asked, "Professor Snape, what is your view on blood purity?"
Assuming the girl's identity had left her sensitive to the targeted gossip, Snape answered, "I've said it before: Slytherin has always pursued strength and glory, not blind faith in foolish rumors!"
"I phrased it poorly. Whether it's Gryffindor, Slytherin, or even this entire world—I have never felt a sense of belonging or identity toward any of it. Do you feel that a stranger passing you on the street, your own students, or even Professor McGonagall and the rest of them... are they all the same existence to you?"
Crossing his arms, Snape studied the girl closely. Instead of answering the question, he waited for her to continue.
Understanding his silence, Cyrus went on. "To me, they are all the same. People, animals, inanimate objects—to me, there is no difference whatsoever. You wouldn't cast a Killing Curse on a pebble by the roadside just because it bruised your foot, would you? I can sense malice, but I simply don't care about it."
"With Dumbledore here, you needn't worry about me stepping out of line. Do you remember? Angus is the only reason I have left to stay alive. But if one day... I lose that reason to live—do you suppose I would still fear Dumbledore's power then?"
Standing before Snape was no longer an eleven-year-old first-year student, but the very Dark Lord who had once plunged all of Britain into terror. She wasn't inactive out of weakness or cowardice.
It was simply that the time had not yet come to reveal her true hand. When the day came that she voluntarily bared her fangs, whoever stood in her path would face a fatal, sword-like blow.
Over the next few days, the various pranks against Cyrus within Slytherin came to a sudden halt. Since Cyrus hadn't retaliated against Lynna and her friends, no punitive measures were taken against her.
Lynna and her cohorts were instead sentenced to copying school rules and serving detentions. Yet the whispering and gossip about Cyrus only grew louder, and most students began giving her a wide berth. Professor McGonagall had once attempted to discuss Cyrus with Snape, but Snape proved just as tight-lipped as Dumbledore. Whenever the topic of the girl came up, he would either brush it off with vague remarks or fall completely silent.
Lynna Shafiq and her little clique never troubled Cyrus again. Lynna spent her days hiding out in other people's dormitories, and Cyrus finally enjoyed a few days of peace and quiet. The only disturbance came every morning at breakfast, when a flurry of Howlers would swarm around Cyrus. After all, how could they let their family's precious little darling suffer grievances at school without a fight? Such was the pride of high-born purebloods.