...
Clocks might cease their ticking, but time itself could not be stopped.
Events' progression might be ignored, yet never prevented...
Lys gazed at the increasingly vivid mark upon her arm. She knew that day was fast approaching.
But she hadn't anticipated that when it arrived—when the Dark Lord summoned his servants—she'd be under countless watchful eyes...
The third task had commenced.
Because Igor insisted Krum had been attacked by a British Ministry official—that Barty Crouch from the Department of International Magical Cooperation—he harbored fierce objections!
Therefore, he demanded Durmstrang personnel be included in the third task's patrol to ensure fairness.
For this reason, Lys found herself assigned to the maze's perimeter as patrol staff.
Lys hadn't expected that even now—with Igor sometimes too terrified by his mark to venture outdoors—he'd still obsess over Krum claiming that trophy for him...
To this end, he stubbornly insisted the vanished Crouch was Krum's attacker, despite Lys revealing the true culprit. He refused to communicate with Dumbledore...
Of course, perhaps he simply dared not provoke that hideous Moody... much as Lys preferred avoiding Dumbledore.
Initially, Lys felt indifferent about the competition's start.
Merely standing outside during a match for appearances.
But when her left arm began burning with pain—that Dark Mark symbolizing the Dark Lord's summons reawakening—everything changed.
She witnessed Igor's panic, Snape standing pale behind Dumbledore, and Dumbledore's gaze sweeping over her.
Lys's eyes lingered on Friedm for an eternity, as though finally reaching some resolution, before she walked toward the stands clutching Crunch.
Passing the risen Igor, he seemed intent on grasping Lys to speak, but she brushed his hand aside.
Hogwarts forbade Apparition—she nearly missed the Dark Lord's summons.
Nearly. When she materialized silently behind Lucius, masked, he almost cried out.
Lys observed the increasingly grotesque Dark Lord and bowed respectfully. Amid the yew trees' rustling, the Dark Lord began his reckoning.
Following Lucius's movements, kneeling together, Lys spared no glance for trembling colleagues beside her, ignored the Boy Who Lived bound to the tombstone, didn't even examine the young corpse upon the ground.
As the Dark Lord accused someone of returning solely from fear, Lys too endured the Cruciatus Curse.
Fortunately, the Dark Lord seemed to have much more to say—this Cruciatus proved relatively brief.
Trembling hands adjusting her mask, Lys continued standing behind Lucius. Snape had been correct—the Dark Lord's impression of her remained shallow.
In his mind, she was merely a failed selection and Lucius's assistant.
Nothing more.
Lys fervently hoped the Dark Lord would persist in not remembering her name.
She listened to his rambling: "Unicorn blood, serpent venom... fresh journeys... Hogwarts arrangements." Lys's gaze flickered toward several nearby figures and the ground-dwelling serpent staring at her. Lys harbored no doubt this snake could swallow a person whole.
She witnessed the Dark Lord employ an almost convulsive gesture to test his resistance against that ancient magic.
That finger—dry and pallid as though dead for decades—pressed against the Boy Who Lived's scar upon the tombstone.
She heard the Dark Lord's distorted laughter, then his continued low muttering expressing dissatisfaction with past experiences.
Those worlds constructed during his absence had collapsed into nothingness...
He was disappointed.
She stood quietly behind Lucius.
Watching the Dark Lord attempt to slay that fourteen-year-old Boy Who Lived outright—proving to his servants and himself that Voldemort had returned.
But he failed.
This exceeded Lys's expectations.
Yet she merely stood silently behind Lucius, withholding even her gaze.
From her peripheral vision, she observed strange phenomena occurring between the Boy Who Lived's and Dark Lord's wands.
Lys recalled retrieving her father—how departed souls had actually returned to this world belonging solely to the 'living' through this wondrous wand reaction.
They'd even influenced the Dark Lord. She felt somewhat startled.
Lys followed Lucius in feigning urgency.
Fear?
The Dark Lord's face scarcely resembled human features now, hampering Lys's assessment, yet she believed that noseless visage displayed—'fear.'
After her surprise, she performed her role, half-heartedly pursuing the Boy Who Lived who'd escaped the Dark Lord.
Lys's spells proved energetic yet fired wildly askew.
When the Boy Who Lived dragged that young corpse away via the trophy-turned-Portkey, Lucius suddenly retreated to the crowd's rear, Lys adhering closely behind him.
A wise decision.
Those standing forward bore the Dark Lord's fury.
Lys watched the Dark Lord unleash his magic. After clearly witnessing his power hadn't diminished whatsoever...
Lys felt profoundly disappointed. She'd thought...
She'd thought...
Thought...
Beyond disappointment, Lys silently lowered her head, exhaling tremblingly.
At that moment, the Dark Lord seemed to sense something. His head snapped toward Lucius's cluster of wizards, regarding them suspiciously.
Immediately, an unfortunate soul before Lys was savagely lashed by a whip twisted from magical force.
After the Dark Lord vented his emotions freely, Lucius stepped forward to address inquiries about external intelligence.
When Lucius spoke of something, the Dark Lord glanced at Lys with contempt before looking toward the vacant space behind her.
Previously, he might have amused himself with those competing for his attention, but now?
Such fools need only obediently contribute what Lucius mentioned.
The Dark Lord understood clearly—he required clear-minded subordinates now, at minimum not idiotic fools who'd eliminate their own allies during external conflicts.
Originally, he'd believed he could effortlessly reclaim his former status, but observing his current followers...
Worthless, foolish, cowardly!
Perhaps he still required time—required planning.
He would thoroughly cleanse his fallen past with the death of that Boy Who LivedDumbledore had thrust into prominence.
He would certainly use Harry Potter's corpse to satiate Nagini's soul-deep hunger.
And presently...
"I should possess more useful subordinates, dear Lucius. Indeed, they await me in Azkaban."
The Dark Lord chose not to return to his former manor, instead walking before Lucius to occupy the Malfoy patriarch's seat.
He would appear here periodically.
He intended to observe them—watch this collection of cowards who'd distance themselves from him at any opportunity—execute his commands.
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