Why Did Malfoy'S Mother Lie To Voldemort?

To avoid being accused of favoritism, my mother forced me, despite my severe anemia, to participate in the school's group blood donation drive. After only 100 milliliters, my vision started going dark. I reached for the needle, trying to stop the procedure, but the young nurse immediately grabbed my wrist and pinned it down. "Only 100 milliliters and you already want to quit? The other students all donated 400." She glanced at my pale face, her eyes full of disgust. "Donating blood is something honorable. Selfish people like you, pretending to be sick just to get out of it, deserve to have double drawn as punishment!" Nearby, my mother watched me coldly, disappointment written all over her face. "Briana Hayes, is this really how I raised you? "Everyone else donated. Don't think you're special. "You will finish these 400 milliliters today, even if it kills you!" I gasped for air, my heartbeat pounding so violently it felt like my chest would explode. By the time they reached the third bag, my vision had completely blurred, and I collapsed heavily onto the floor. My soul slowly drifted upward as I looked at my mother with guilt in my eyes. I'm sorry, Mom. I really wasn't lying. This time… I truly couldn't hold on any longer.

My mom is a pathological liar who enjoys making herself seem like the victim. Unfortunately, I'm always the scapegoat. When I was little, there was one time when she went out to play poker with her friends. As a result, she forgot to go home and prepare dinner on time. After that, she slapped me in front of the entire family. "This brat ran off to god knows where earlier! I went out looking for her, which is why dinner got delayed!" Because of that lie, I had to kneel in the courtyard throughout the night. When I was studying, I had to take an extremely important exam. My teacher repeatedly reminded the parents to prepare all materials required for their children. But my mom didn't even prepare anything for me. After that, she even said in front of everyone, "I've already prepared the materials for her. She was the one who threw them away when she was on her way to school because she didn't want to take the exam at all!" Since then, all of my classmates ostracized me throughout my entire school life. After I came of age, my mom kept crying to me in the middle of the night. "Your father has been abusing me for so many years. I had to endure everything for your sake, you know!" I advised her to get a divorce, only for her to tell an exaggerated version of what I said to my father. "Your daughter egged me on to divorce you! She said she doesn't need a useless father like you! I couldn't stand it anymore, so I'm telling you this!" He flew into a fit of rage on the spot, which led to him accidentally pushing me down the stairs. I died on the spot from the fall. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day my mom cries to me about my dad for the first time.

When Gwyneth opened her eyes, she found herself in a webnovel she had just binge-read, and she wasn’t just a random character—she was the villain’s mother! In the story, after the tragic death of her first husband, the original owner of her body had swiftly moved on and snagged a perfect new partner, only to heartlessly cast aside her son from the first marriage, worrying he would become a burden. Now armed with knowledge of the impending plot twists and the looming shadows of her future villain son, Gwyneth glanced at her surprisingly alive first husband and groaned. With the script she had been dealt, she'd rather face a dragon than revamp this narrative! She was determined to rewrite her destiny, but how could she escape this villainous fate?

My daughter Lyra believed the Moon Goddess had given our kind one virtue above all others: honesty. So she never told a single lie. I put on a newly bought lipstick and turned in front of the mirror. "Sweetheart, does Mommy look pretty today?" She glanced up at me. "Honestly, Mommy, you were ugly to start with, and that color only makes it worse." One evening I was scrambling around the kitchen while my mother-in-law scolded me for not being able to cook a decent meal. I asked Lyra, "Grandma says Mommy's useless. Does that upset you?" She kept stacking her blocks. "Honestly, I'm actually glad you're getting scolded." That night, while my husband read her a bedtime story, he asked whether she would take care of me when I was old and could no longer walk. She thought it over seriously, then rolled onto her other side. "No way. A useless wolf should just go off and die on its own." Something in me went cold. She only grinned. "But I'm just telling the truth." Later, when a caseworker from the Pup Welfare Council came to register us for the census and asked Lyra a few routine questions, she insisted on telling nothing but the truth. This time, though, it was a truth she would regret for the rest of her life.

I married my vampire husband ten years ago and gave him a half-blood heir, abandoning my career as a painter to become a full-time mother. Fortunately, my son inherited my talent. At just six years old, he held his first solo art exhibition, inspired by the theme "My Mother." But he never let me attend, and he never let me see his paintings. My husband said my presence would make Luke nervous---that I should stay home and do the housework as a good wife and mother, and wait for them to come back. I told myself he was just young and didn't know better, that he was only pushing back against my discipline, not truly rejecting me. Until the day I snuck into the gallery wearing a surgical mask pulled low. In the center of the crowd, my husband held our son's hand while tenderly pulling a woman in a red dress into his arms. He turned to the guests and announced: "This is Luke's mother---my wife." The three of them stood together, beaming with perfect happiness. And I---the one who'd stayed up all night setting up this exhibition---stood before the paintings while not a single person recognized me. That was when I finally understood. My seemingly gentle, caring vampire husband had long ago given our son a replacement mother. And I was nothing more than the human nanny who'd served her purpose by producing an heir.

After Mom stabbed Aunt Serena and was sent to prison, Aunt Serena became our new mother. The same Serena who used to “wrestle” with Dad in bed every afternoon at three o’clock. Everyone praised her for being kind and virtuous. They said she treated her husband’s children from his first marriage as if they were her own. She was practically the perfect stepmother. I believed them too. So when she told me there was a way to get to heaven and see Mom again, I believed her. I even carried along the baby brother she had just given birth to. And together, we followed her lie all the way to heaven.