Lys stayed in the reading room for several days, growing more convinced that Grindelwald had brushed her off!
She irritably threw the materials in her hands aside and buried her head in her arms, falling back into the pile of cushions.
How she thought about it now, Grindelwald hadn't said anything at all?!
Lys had only heard Grindelwald telling her to endure.
But he did say Fred was doing well, just hadn't grown taller...
Looking at her brother who'd returned for Easter holidays, Lys sighed and hid him away. Bellatrix had come by once, very seriously tilting her head and telling Lys:
She wanted to help the Black family raise a proper heir.
Then Bellatrix was sent away in a daze after Lys vented some frustration on her and used Obliviate.
But before Lys could develop any further ideas about Bellatrix, her Dark Mark burned hot.
The Malfoy family and Bellatrix had caused enormous trouble. Lys was implicated too. The Dark Lord was furious—more furious than ever before.
Lys received two Cruciatus curses just for standing quietly to one side. She didn't even know why.
Everyone in the house didn't dare make the slightest sound of breathing, only Bella frantically begging her master's forgiveness.
"Potter! I will definitely catch Potter! This was just an accident, my Lord. I am your—your most loyal, your most devoted... Ahh!!"
Lys was grateful to Bellatrix. If she hadn't spoken up, who knew when her own Cruciatus would have stopped.
She collapsed on the carpet, teeth chattering from the pain.
Scanning around with her eyes, Lys saw the corpse of that short Peter Pettigrew.
The purple bruises on his neck and the silver fingers that hadn't relaxed clearly told Lys he'd been strangled by his own hand.
Lys shivered as she tried to guess what had happened.
Listening to the Dark Lord's scolding, Lys finally learned the cause.
Someone had captured Potter and his gang of brats.
Hey!
They'd locked them in the dungeons, and they escaped again!
Lys cursed inwardly: Damn Lucius, why was he so eager to capture Potter and present him to the Dark Lord?! Now look—wife and child scattered on the floor, home nearly torn apart!
She remembered Grindelwald's words and desperately wanted to laugh—
"Fate is a very magical thing. You're not someone favored by fate, but someone is."
A whole house of Death Eaters! The Death Eaters' headquarters!
They escaped!
Ha!
Was this reasonable? No, it wasn't reasonable, but they'd escaped anyway. Why could they do it?
How many people had died at the hands of those Death Eaters? How could they let a few children escape?!
Why had the Dark Lord been away and not returned immediately?!
She buried her face between her arms and the carpet, gasping for breath. Others thought she was curling up because she couldn't bear the Cruciatus torture, but actually Lys was nearly losing control.
Turning her head slightly, Lys revealed her eyes, looking toward the Dark Lord. Her bloodshot whites and eye corners that seemed ready to split made her smile seem to lose all its original meaning.
Magic, fate, prophecy, Potter and little Potter—they always escaped from the Dark Lord's grasp time and again.
She wanted to ask Grindelwald: Why?!
Was this fate's favor? This wasn't favor—this was absolute partiality!
But the Dark Lord had confined them all.
Fred took advantage of taking Draco back to school to give Lys a small German newspaper.
It read:
Gellert Grindelwald confirmed dead in the early hours of the day this paper was issued.
Lys gulped down potions, straightened her arm guards and clothing, and slipped past those Death Eaters with ill intentions who were closely watching the confined Malfoys, heading to Germany.
Lys saw a simple black grave had been added beneath the dark tower.
Actually seeing Grindelwald had been only a brief time. The old man's aging and weakness made it impossible for Lys to find the image she'd once looked up to.
But Lys remembered that last day, when he'd looked at her with conviction in his eyes: "Do you trust me?"
His raised wand, the ignited Fiendfyre, how he'd removed the spell restrictions for her.
That line: "Though you're not necessarily that kind of person, this shouldn't be a reason to restrict you. You should be free, and right and wrong will be judged after everything passes."
These suddenly overlapped with Lys's twenty-plus years of admiration for him.
Outside the dark tower, others stood at a distance, wearing black robes with unclear faces, silently paying their respects. In front of the simple grave was a small pile of various Saints symbol ornaments, some new, some old.
Lys also stepped forward a few paces. After thinking, she raised the blackthorn wand and seriously began transforming the grave's appearance.
Taking a few more steps forward, Lys's magic radiated outward chaotically, suppressing several wizards who thought Lys was disturbing Grindelwald's rest and tried to cast spells.
She couldn't explain exactly what she was thinking. She wanted to believe Grindelwald's words that things would end, but she also saw the Dark Lord step by step truly grasping complete control of the British Ministry of Magic.
If Harry Potter was really killed by the Dark Lord, he would prove to the outside world and to himself that his past failures were mere accidents.
That would be when her brother would be forced down the same path as Thomas, Black, St. Mungo's, and Malfoy.
"Can I really trust you?"
Lys flicked her wand to deflect a spell trying to stop her from approaching, then muttered, "If I don't trust you, I can't think of any other solution... I have no way to actually kill him..."
She solidified the grave's appearance and said loudly: "The one who taught us what freedom means shouldn't sleep in a grave so much inferior to Dumbledore's. But he didn't win, so let them sleep in identical graves to forever commemorate that past and its outcome."
What Lys said wasn't entirely accurate, but her sorrowful, passionate tone stirred feelings in those scattered wizards' hearts.
That man who had abandoned them to imprison himself in Nurmengard, waiting for the day of his return—they ultimately hadn't waited for the day he would walk out of the tower and gather them again.
Lys saw the old man from the Karkaroff family leaning on his cane.
Saw the proud witch whose face wasn't clear.
Some people left while others came.
Later arrivals even thought the grave's grand appearance was original. Lys found it ridiculous.
But Lys simply stood before the grave, wand resting on her shoulder, and bowed just as she had that time at Hogwarts years ago.
The existence she'd admired since her youth...
"Of course I know how many people you killed, how many died because of you. Mr. Grindelwald, I'm not noble enough to be unwilling to bear guilt for taking others' lives."
Lys gripped her numb left arm. "But unable to..."
She'd already noticed some aftereffects from her wanton killing, and she hadn't even felt much guilt or remorse for those deaths she'd brought about.
After a moment of silence, Lys cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and departed on her Flying Arrow.
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