Snape was extremely displeased with such an answer. He turned around, causing his black wizard's robe to billow, yet he did not leave.
"What is wrong with your name? I hardly think anyone would give themselves such a ridiculous name."
Snape had been avoiding calling her by her name ever since he learned that Cyrus had adopted the very description he used to mock her as her moniker, but under Dumbledore's instigation, his curiosity finally got the better of him.
There was a slight ripple in Cyrus's voice, making her sound at last less like a mindless machine. "Sir, the name is not ridiculous. I do not know what it feels like, but having a name makes one seem more like... a human."
Hearing this reply, Snape frowned. What a bizarre analogy. Did not having a name mean one was not human? But Snape quickly pushed the thought aside; there were far more important matters he needed to figure out.
"Where did you go after that day?"
After a moment of silence, Cyrus spoke again. "Was it Dumbledore who sent you to ask?"
Snape looked back at Cyrus, knowing that he did not want to answer her question, yet realizing this girl would never yield. In front of this girl, he felt an unexpected, helpless sense of impotence, alongside the fury of being played with by a child. He gritted his teeth and spoke every word with deliberate force:
"What—if—it—was?"
"Then I have nothing to say." Cyrus looked up, staring into Snape's somewhat terrifying expression, her face still devoid of emotion.
Snape was almost angry enough to laugh at such a reaction. In the past, those brats whose brains were overrun by trolls would lose all control of their fear just facing him. Yet this girl now carried an air of unyielding dignity. He took a deep breath and spoke rapidly, as if forcing the words out with great difficulty:
"What if *I* want to know?"
Snape would never have imagined he would say such a thing, but there were simply too many secrets surrounding this girl, and they were likely tied to his future plans. The corners of the girl's mouth rose slightly into a faint, barely perceptible curve.
"I went to save Angus."
"He... is my only reason to go on living."
Snape sat on the sofa, the cold, damp air eroding his entire being. With unlit pupils, he stared at the ceiling, Cyrus's words echoing over and over in his mind.
A girl who, like him, wrapped herself in darkness, spoke with an absence of inflection yet absolute determination. Would an eleven-year-old child truly contemplate something as complex as the meaning of life? What must she have endured when only an ordinary dog sustained her will to live?
He could not help but recall the scene after he lost the single light in his life. The world had turned devoid of warmth and color. He had lost the desire to live, yet he had to atone for his mistakes.
After all these years, he had drifted through a muddled existence, telling himself over and over how vile and despicable he was, how cowardly and incompetent, how utterly foolish.
He had nothing left. He hoped that sacrificing the wretched remainder of his life might earn him a sliver of psychological comfort.
Of course he felt pain and resentment; Lily's death was his greatest nightmare and the shackle of his lifetime. Yet he embraced it willingly.
*"He is my only reason to go on living."*
*"She is also my only reason not to die..."*
Ever since Snape left that day, Cyrus had taken Angus and departed the small village. Using the compensation she obtained from Dumbledore, she boarded the Knight Bus and returned to Diagon Alley. She had overheard some wizards in the village discussing how to hail the Knight bus, though she wasn't certain if she could summon it herself.
She could not use the wand she had purchased, nor could she use the wand of the wizard who had previously taken her in. She could feel magic within her body, but every time she tried to channel it, she encountered a severe blockage. If she weren't so adept at utilizing the power of her eyes, she would have thought she was a Squib.
She took a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Tom, the landlord, had initially been unwelcoming toward the dirty, bizarre-looking child, but the sight of the thick stack of Galleons on the table made him compromise. He even warned Cyrus that the people coming and going here were not entirely safe.
Cyrus did not understand his intent in offering such a warning; she had never experienced kindness from others, nor did she understand such behavior. She simply pulled out a few more Galleons for him, then went upstairs with Angus under the landlord's peculiar gaze.
For a month, apart from seeing the girl go out a few times during the first few days after checking in, landlord Tom never saw her leave her room again. Meals were simply delivered to her door automatically. Gradually, he forgot the girl even existed.
Cyrus finished processing the beast meat she had prepared for Angus and packed it into the Undetectable Extension pouch she had bought at great expense a few days prior. Ever since that night, she had lost the ability to use magic. Whenever she tried to channel it, the magic inside her always felt impossible to gather.
Every day she read books, frantically absorbing knowledge. Ever since she met Dumbledore, she had been consumed by unease. The gap in power between them was too vast, and moreover, every time Cyrus saw Dumbledore, a sense of irritation washed over her. That old man might have perceived something she herself did not know. Cyrus recalled the man from her memories who treated souls like sliced bread.
Though she wasn't certain if those visions were real, that man had still been able to use magic after creating Horcruxes, and he hadn't been nearly as pathetic as she was.
Angus could only ever eat the flesh and blood of magical creatures, otherwise he would grow extremely weak. In her most painful and helpless moments, only Angus had been by her side; he was the light of her life.
Only this single beam of light kept her from sinking entirely into the darkness. She did not care about other people's words or violence—she was long used to that. The only thing she could not bear was for Angus to be hurt, and she would never let Angus leave her again. Cyrus had no desires; the experiences of the past few years had left her unable even to taste her food. She only wanted to live together with Angus forever.
She could feel something in her body gradually collapsing, especially after overusing her abilities, which resulted in violent backlash. The pain of her soul being torn apart piece by piece made her wish for death every time, and on top of that, her senses would cut out for a period before recovering.
Blind, deaf, devoid of even taste and smell—only when she felt the warm, soft rise and fall of fur beside her would Cyrus feel that she was not the only one in this world.
She might not live much longer. A year? Two years? Or a day, two days? She did not fear death; arguably, true death would be a release for her.
She did not know who she was, nor where she came from. She had never been curious either, much like her fundamental lack of emotion.
Cyrus felt as though she had existed in this world long, long ago. Back then, she could neither think nor move. In that vast emptiness, a very long time passed... How long she drifted, she did not know, before strange scenes began to appear before her eyes. Towering, magnificent castles, young people flying on broomsticks, an old man with a white beard... a noseless monster, and... a black-robed man lying on the cold floor with blood gushing from his throat...
These images played on a loop in Cyrus's mind. She followed the people in the visions through death after death, restarting, dying again, in an endless cycle.
When she regained consciousness, she was wandering through a frozen wasteland. She did not know whether she was in reality or the previous illusion. She walked aimlessly like that, until she collapsed in the snow.
Her whole body itched and burned; for the first time, she experienced such sensations. Was she going to die again? When she opened her eyes once more, she saw a bloated, fierce-faced man staring down at her.
All around her came the hoarse roars of various beasts. Just like that, this time she didn't seem to die... she didn't resume that day-in, day-out cycle, but the next few years... she lived in hell.
Cyrus did not know if those earlier visions were real; she didn't recognize any of the people in them. It wasn't until she saw the figures from the illusion appear before her in the flesh that she was truly surprised by the convergence of reality and dream.
Yet for her, the only thing she could not let go of and truly cared about was Angus, who had endured the abyss alongside her. If she had to die, she hoped to die by the side of the only light in her life. Cyrus had willingly returned to the circus...
Four years later, on that night, looking at the figure collapsed in a pool of blood, it was the first time she possessed such complex emotions. She screamed, begged for help, and called out frantically.
Then she felt something transfer from her own body into that cold corpse. That night, she lost her soul, but Angus came back. Ever since then, she felt a powerful bond between herself and Angus.
When she next saw the man who had once saved her, it was during her standoff with the white-haired old man. She was both familiar and unfamiliar with them both.
She had watched them walk toward death time and time again. That old man was like a superior being carefully and cautiously holding the pieces on the chessboard of life, manipulating her fate and the lives of others. Cyrus had suffered too much malice; she could see in the eyes of that kind-looking old man that he had once harbored the intent to kill her, even if only for a fraction of a second.
Angus could always sense the fluctuations in Cyrus's heart. He stood up, licked Cyrus's face, and rubbed his head against her shoulder.
"I won't die, Angus. I still have you."
Cyrus thought of the tall, sharp-tongued black-robed man who looked so difficult to get along with. Perhaps when she prepared provisions for Angus later, she could send him some of the beast parts meant for potion-making. With that thought, she stood up to pack her luggage.
Cyrus put on her accustomed black shirt and black trousers, draped a wizard school uniform robe she had bought in Diagon Alley over her shoulders, and tied up her long hair. She was clad entirely in black—though the white bandages on her face remained. She liked dressing this way.
Any other color struck her as glaring, and black made it easy to conceal herself in the night. The roomy wizard's robe left plenty of space to hide weapons. Dragging her suitcase and leading Angus, she stepped out the door.