Within a minute or two, Snape entered wearing black wizard robes beneath his cloak.
"Long time no see, Severus. You look considerably older," Lys said without ceremony, greeting him directly.
"Miss Lamb remains as radiant as ever. You appear unchanged in looks—I do hope your mind hasn't remained as static as your appearance." Snape's slightly averted black eyes conveyed his bewilderment.
Small wonder he was puzzled—Lys's appearance, save for becoming rather thinner, seemed virtually unchanged from a decade past.
Lys turned her head aside, deflecting the topic. "Draco did indeed encounter some sophisticated enchantment previously, in my assessment. The fluctuations and effects still linger upon him, though it appears nothing's been reapplied for some time. That object has likely departed Draco's vicinity. Otherwise... aside from his body seeming excessively frail, there don't appear to be any significant concerns."
"If you're genuinely worried, or should this object prove particularly troublesome, you'd best locate it and ensure Draco won't be repeatedly enchanted."
Lys's left hand, clad in dragonhide gloves, rested lightly upon her leg as she dismissed the matter with studied nonchalance.
But Lucius's expression grew rather grim.
Lys raised some matters concerning her materials trade, chatting with Lucius and Snape.
During their conversation, Lucius remarked upon Lys's ruthless business practices.
"I learned this from Bellatrix and yourself back then—to wield meaningful influence, one must control certain rare resources." Lys's tone remained bland, yet left a distinct impression upon Lucius.
When they'd served the Dark Lord, they'd indeed engaged in such tactics, severing potion supplies to the Order of the Phoenix and cutting financial lifelines to nobles who resisted to the bitter end, thereby indirectly forcing their capitulation.
The strategy hadn't proved entirely successful due to internal discord amongst Death Eaters, but now Stalys—someone simple-minded yet clear-headed—had adopted it.
"One evening last June or July, I'd rather overindulged. Whether 'twas hallucination or reality, I cannot say, but I felt the mark upon my left arm burn momentarily. Did either of you experience anything similar?"
Seeing both Lucius and Snape shake their heads, Lys did likewise. "Perhaps the terror of those years hasn't entirely dissipated..."
Yet Lys caught Lucius's slight hesitation. She'd always known that amongst her circle, Lucius possessed the weakest talent for concealment.
Lys straightened her left glove and launched into another round of idle conversation.
They even discussed why Dumbledore had been so remarkably active of late.
Snape mentioned with considerable mockery: "He even inquired after your recent activities, Stalys. I cannot fathom what manner of misunderstanding led him to believe I'd be privy to your affairs."
He afforded Lys no opportunity to interject, continuing:
"Hogwarts has been far from peaceful recently. I truly cannot comprehend what that brain stuffed with sherbet lemons is thinking, actually concerning himself with someone who's departed for Germany..."
His words flowed uninterrupted until Snape mentioned certain Hogwarts matters, demanding Lucius restrain Draco to remain within the Slytherin common room rather than wandering about carelessly. Lys perceived they required private discourse.
She rose, murmuring "I'll check on Friedm" before departing.
Lys stood beside the Malfoy fountain, unconsciously casting her gaze toward the gates.
She remembered with crystal clarity—the day Snape had offered his blood-stained loyalty, Fenrir Greyback had lurked beyond those ornate gates. She'd been too terrified even to glance twice, fearing to attract the beast's attention.
Later, she'd passed through this very fountain into the Malfoy residence to receive her Mark. Subsequently, she'd eliminated Fenrir Greyback, then suffered humiliation before the Dark Lord when Barty Crouch and Bellatrix targeted her. Lucius and Severus had interceded on her behalf then.
Her entire Death Eater career had been laughable from beginning to end, yet it had brought unbearable pressure upon herself and her family at the time.
So... Lys extracted a bottle from her satchel, uncorked it, took a sip, then secreted it away. Had their Marks shown any activity whatsoever?
The diary's disappearance... could it herald the Dark Lord's resurrection scheme? But what did Horcrux revival require?
Or had the Dark Lord already returned? Was it all beginning anew?
And what of herself now? Should the Dark Lord show signs of returning, could she endure it?
Were her current resources and backing sufficient to avoid renewed coercion?
If not, had she adequately concealed her false identities?
Snape had just been warning her that Dumbledore was observing her movements.
What was Dumbledore's disposition?
Should the situation truly repeat itself, how would Karkaroff react? Would her years of dependence offer support when she found herself vulnerable...
When Friedm swept past the fountain's cascading jets upon his broomstick and alighted before Lys, she realized she'd unconsciously retrieved the bottle and resumed drinking—having already consumed half its contents.
She discreetly stowed the bottle away. "What's amiss? Why aren't you continuing your games with Draco?"
"Lys, we're short a Keeper. Might you help us guard the goalposts?" Though Friedm bore a warming charm, his nose remained reddened by the wind. His eyes sparkled as he regarded Lys.
Lys nodded once. "Mind you don't become obsessive should you fail to score."
Settling Gabon upon a chair beside the fountain, Lys enveloped herself in magic and, employing "Arrow Flight," steadfastly defended the goal hoops.
Initially, Friedm's eyes held traces of showing off before Draco, but when neither he nor Draco could manage to score, his competitive nature emerged with vengeance. The broomstick Draco had lent him quickly grew overwhelmed by sudden stops, sharp acceleration, and violent reversals. More critically, Draco couldn't match Friedm's relentless pace.
The ash-blonde young master served as Seeker on Hogwarts'Quidditch team, requiring only that he evade player interference whilst scouring the pitch for a tiny golden Snitch. This manner of intense, direct competition proved far too taxing for his current physical condition.
Lys observed Friedm's broomstick control growing increasingly extreme and felt compelled to intervene: "Friedm."
Friedm clutched the Quaffle with one hand whilst controlling his broomstick with the other. During a particularly violent stop, his grip upon the handle lurched forward sharply, scraping his palm raw. Blood slowly seeped through his tightened grasp.
Draco hovered nearby, already thunderstruck by both Lys's unaided flight and Friedm's extraordinary broomstick manipulation.
Yet he quickly attempted comfort, though his words emerged rather stilted.
"You're already brilliant—it's simply that your sister is more so. What I mean is..." He flew to Friedm's side, attempting to pat his shoulder consolingly, but exclaimed, "Oh, Merlin! You're bleeding! Friedm's hand is bleeding!"
Lys released a weary sigh, gripping her wand in her left hand whilst her right seized the sheepish Friedm by his collar, alighting upon the ground.
On one side stood the applauding Lucius and a rather impatient Snape.
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