Attempting to terminate the height discussion, Fred took an enormous gulp of milk and winced from the scalding heat. "I'd hoped Draco would practice magic with me. Professor Snape seemed to share that expectation, but Draco refused."
Fred's expression defied description:
"He actually dared speak sarcastically directly to Professor Snape's face! I was absolutely in awe of his courage."
Lys surveyed their surroundings warily. "Don't involve yourself. Lucius remains imprisoned in Azkaban—whatever assignment Draco's received likely won't be pleasant. I want your friendships to remain free choices, but I don't believe you possess the capability to resolve your friend's predicament."
Fred's gaze flickered evasively—he couldn't admit that sometimes he couldn't even locate Draco, that recently Draco had been avoiding him as thoroughly as he avoided everyone else. "The newspapers announced Aurors arrested three Death Eaters. Is that accurate?"
"Consider the source." Lys's tone carried dismissive skepticism.
"Oh..."
"Recently the papers mentioned Greyback attacking children." Fred spoke with careful deliberation.
Many events predating his birth were never discussed in their household. Only Senna, when sufficiently intoxicated, would occasionally reference fragments through powerless, incoherent sentences.
He'd witnessed Senna secretly admiring a collection of teeth behind their father's back. Senna had explained then: his sister had claimed vengeance in her teens—revenge that two adults had spent lifetimes unable to secure.
"She killed it, avenged herself and avenged us all. Sometimes I truly cannot fathom her reasoning..." Senna had stared at Fred with profound bewilderment, something threatening to spill forth, but then she'd glimpsed her own reflection in the mirror behind Fred. She'd sealed her lips, appearing even more confused.
Grimacing, she'd awkwardly redirected: "Er... these belonged to the werewolf that savaged your father. Care to examine them?"
Fred had felt utterly stunned discovering his Sis had once killed someone—or rather, eliminated a werewolf.
So now, seeing Fenrir Greyback's name resurface in print, he felt surprised.
Lys studied Fred with penetrating intensity. "Indeed, he represents Greyback. Whoever the Dark Lord designates as Greyback becomes Greyback."
"It's a rallying symbol, a figurehead. Utilizing the most recognizable name to draw werewolves from concealment into the Dark Lord's service."
Lys poured herself another cup while explaining.
Fred paused, then sipped thoughtfully. He couldn't suppress the thought: so whoever the Dark Lord declares to be Black becomes Black?
But quickly his attention returned to their conversation.
Listening to Fred share school experiences, amusing tales of his Badger housemates—it provided fractured comfort amid her chaos.
She recalled her own academic aspirations: maintaining a normal family, becoming a Healer at St. Mungo's, perhaps pursuing Auror training...
But now...
She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Moments later, Fred's concern penetrated her thoughts:
"Sis, are you taking your medications properly?"
Lys opened her eyes, adopting a matter-of-fact expression while nodding confirmation.
Fred harbored doubts. Sis's medication abuse had been mentioned countless times by Senna, and he'd witnessed it personally. "I genuinely hope so, Sis. You must care for yourself properly, understand? Mother's absolutely right—pay greater attention to your own needs, Sis."
Lys nodded, consulted her pocket watch, then reminded Fred he should return to school.
After escorting her brother through the gates, Lys watched the child bundled in his yellow scarf like a cheerful sphere, waving enthusiastically, and smiled warmly. "Hurry along! Remember to search the dungeons for that armor!"
Fred dodged curious, gossipy stares from fellow Badgers while running toward the castle, calling back: "Understood!"
"My own needs? I require another wanted poster collection."
Lys extracted her blackthorn wand from its concealment beneath her coat's outer thigh, replacing the hawthorn wand in her grip, and Disapparated.
Throughout subsequent months, when Death Eaters rampaged externally and occasionally found themselves undermanned, some considered utilizing Lys—but such attempts invariably failed.
Because Lys refused cooperation, their missions only grew more convoluted.
After all, executing tasks successfully proved challenging, but sabotaging them remained effortlessly simple.
The Dark Lord couldn't be bothered managing Lys—he'd merely berate their inadequate capabilities for expecting assistance from someone with severe mental deficiencies!
Without sufficient support, they began employing the Imperius Curse extensively to complete objectives.
Soon the wizarding world descended into paranoia—people dared not admit even their own children, grandchildren, or intimate friends into their homes casually.
But this bore little relevance to Lys presently. She'd appropriated that wanted poster book and her blackthorn wand and vanished again.
Lys observed the wizard kneeling at her feet, unable to comprehend why these wizards remained so obsessed with deploying the Cruciatus Curse during combat. But no matter...
After emerald light flashed, another name disappeared from Lys's wanted poster book. She secured the Veritaserum she'd just administered.
Scum who experimented on young wizards to create Obscurials—this conclusion suited him perfectly.
Lys examined the notebook extracted from his robes, settling on a nearby tree stump to read thoroughly.
At the notebook's conclusion, he'd written almost like a prayer—hoping to meet the Dark Lord, who researched certain magical aspects externally...
Undeniably, these peculiar, obsessive individuals all possessed intellects superior to her own, and seemed to genuinely embrace the world the Dark Lord could manifest.
She thought of Little St. Mungo's.
After her contemplative moment, Lys eliminated her traces and vanished from the forest.
Two days later, that afternoon:
"Where is the wizard you promised to introduce? He's vanished? He retreated? And you failed detecting the problem, wasting your master's precious time!"
Lestrange endured the Dark Lord'sCruciatus torture until he could barely rise from the floor, only lie there suppressing agonized groans while gasping roughly.
He convulsed on the ground when he realized the pain hadn't resumed—the Dark Lord had suddenly fallen silent.
The Dark Lord had been preparing another Cruciatus.
But he spared Lestrange, laughing as he departed the chamber.
He seemed to recall something else entirely.
"The future Voldemort brings grows increasingly manifest—yes! The future I forge gradually assumes shape... More and more shall recognize that I! should be the master they serve, the master they worship! Hahahaha!"
Indeed, the momentous event occurring some time later merited the Dark Lord's exultant laughter.
He possessed every reason for celebration.
Dumbledore was dead.
Deceased at Hogwarts one fateful night.
The greatest banner in British wizarding hearts had fallen...
One could argue that overnight, the sky had collapsed for those supporting peace, supporting the Order of the Phoenix, who weren't pure-blood wizards.
Now arrived the moment for the Dark Lord to formally announce his presence!
Darkness prepared to engulf everything.
...............
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