"Lucius."
"Oh!"
Lucius startled at Lys lurking in the corner.
He'd assumed everyone had departed after the Dark Lord's orders: "Junior, why are you still here?"
"His strength hasn't diminished in the slightest."
Lucius turned his head, frowning slightly as he repeated and confirmed Lys's statement: "Yes, Lord's power hasn't declined at all."
Lys's face, concealed behind her mask, twisted uncontrollably.
She heard Lucius say: "We should feel fortunate about this. Our glory is about to descend upon us once more, isn't it?"
Lys heard herself respond:
"Yes, our glory is about to descend upon us once more."
...
Departing Malfoy Manor, she hurried back from Hogwarts' gates using her Swift-Step Wizarding Boots, locating her brother in the Great Hall.
Draco stood nearby. Lys sensed he was attempting to comfort Friedm, but he seemed to miss the mark entirely, making Friedm want to rise and escape him.
As Crunch lifted his head, Friedm also spotted Lys at the Great Hall entrance—hair disheveled, face deathly pale.
After soothing Friedm, Lys summoned a Durmstrang boy with instructions: "Gather all Durmstrang students and tell Karkaroff..."
"The headmaster's vanished. He left before you did and hasn't returned."
Lys pressed her lips together, simply saying, "I understand."
So he'd truly fled. Igor had always excelled at reading the winds—escaping swiftly without daring even to test the waters...
Had the Karkaroff family completely abandoned their investment in the Dark Lord?
The Triwizard Tournament results emerged. The Boy Who Lived and the young man who'd died through his involvement tied for first place.
Lys clutched Crunch, wondering what purpose any of it served.
She didn't visit the Great Hall even once afterward.
June had arrived. Lys spent entire days beside the lake, sequestered in her tent.
Even Friedm—Lys no longer permitted him to attend Slytherin classes, instead teaching him herself within the Black Lake's boundaries.
Awaiting Durmstrang's departure.
She listened to Friedm speak while carving amber plates with her hands. Even when the plates cracked, Lys continued etching upon them.
Her mind churned with Friedm's recent revelation—that Moody was Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise...
The Boy Who Lived's delivery to the Dark Lord had been his calculated scheme.
Yet before interrogation could commence, the Dementor brought by the Minister of Magic claimed his life.
So that obviously unhinged Alastor Moody hadn't been someone Dumbledore arranged to monitor the Death Eaters at all.
He too was a Death Eater...
So when he'd said:
"But I don't believe you've fulfilled your obligations."
"Then both the rule-breaker and you deserve punishment, don't you?"
He hadn't meant she'd failed to control Friedm properly—but that she'd failed as a Death Eater...
She listened to Friedm say: "Draco apologized to me, but this past half-year I feel he's quite different from the person who wrote to me. Still, I hope we can remain good friends."
She listened to Friedm say: "Dumbledore seemed to argue with that rotund minister about something."
So Draco had apologized? Yet why hadn't her brother made any friends either?
She listened to Friedm continue...
Gradually, Lys drifted into distraction.
She'd always heard rumors of the Dark Lord recuperating in Albanian forests, preparing his comeback.
Lys began wavering. After nearly perishing for touching forbidden things and shattering barriers she shouldn't have breached, she'd specifically investigated this world's invisible, intangible layer of rules—established or tacitly accepted by all upper echelons.
From Thomas's correspondence, Lys had gleaned information about the Dark Lord's past.
Such intelligence wasn't classified—merely that virtually no surviving British families dared mention it, avoiding the topic as Germany did with former Grindelwald.
The Dark Lord was mixed-blood, from a Muggle orphanage.
Yet part of his lineage truly descended from Slytherin—this required no falsification.
He'd traveled various nations, lingered in Germany briefly, then returned to Britain to launch his enterprise.
He'd conquered nobles through interests, through promises of pureblood revival's future.
He'd conquered their heirs through glory, renown, and personal charisma.
Then gradually trampled underfoot those aristocrats who'd once sought to extract benefits from him.
His meticulous planning and scheming ensured he appeared legitimate and brilliant upon emerging publicly.
But what of it?
The world's upper echelons weren't easily ascended. To her, he represented an insurmountable mountain denying her any chance to raise her head—but what of those apex families?
From Mr. Karkaroff Sr.'s words, she'd formed theories. These premier families also made investments. Even during the Dark Lord's genuine zenith ten or twenty years past, the Karkaroff family had merely dispatched a competitive heir, positioned as tempering experience.
Now, Durmstrang's board of governors hadn't sent their family heirs to Britain, even forfeiting the Triwizard Tournament's honor.
Even the Karkaroff-surnamed individual beside the Dark Lord received no protection—though partly due to Igor's excessive roguishness and incompetence.
Yet Lys suspected she might... perhaps she could interpret the upper echelons' inadvertent message: the Dark Lord wouldn't reach the summit? He lacked value warranting continued investment?
Or perhaps those elite families actually rejected partners like the Dark Lord who'd eventually turn predatory?
Or were they simply observing?
Lys couldn't be certain.
But she'd grown weary of life suppressed by invisible intimidation. Perhaps she could test the waters—nothing elaborate, merely observe whether those families would accept her Dark Lord-affiliated business, and with what attitude.
This could determine Lys's dedication level when executing the Dark Lord's commands.
Or...
Certain preparations she'd made early in Africa.
Or perhaps...
Her delusional fantasies.
She stood upon the castle entrance lawn, facing Hagrid and Friedm's puzzled expressions.
Her gaze drifted toward the increasingly robust beech tree upon the hillside.
"Of course I'd be terrified..."
Lys departed Hogwarts and sent Friedm back to Germany. Friedm returned to Durmstrang, promising to ensure his own safety.
Yet he remained dejected. "Lys, when will I be able to help our family?"
Lys offered no comfort, only spoke earnestly: "When I can disregard the fear of losing family—what I need now is family. I've always yearned for a home, so I treasure you all. What you can do now is help me by protecting yourself, enabling me to stabilize my emotions and avoid losing control before the Dark Lord. Alright?"
Friedm nodded solemnly. "But I still hope to help you somehow, after learning about those things."
Lys merely ruffled his hair before departing to arrange matters for Senna and Noah, plus Lucy and Lulu—the mother-daughter pair who'd consistently served her.
She hadn't revealed these truths to Friedm expecting him to act.
Lys simply hoped Friedm would grasp the situation's gravity and avoid inadvertently creating troubles beyond her ability to handle.
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