Friedm didn't reluctantly bid farewell to Draco until August arrived:
"Draco, are you really not coming to Durmstrang? I'm planning to take advanced placement exams when school starts, so we could be in the same year."
Draco murmured something in response. Friedm looked rather disappointed but quickly perked up again.
"Then you must remember to write to me—and don't keep banging on about that Potter you mention. I'm not interested in him. Oh, right! Lys said you can visit Honeydukes this year. Remember to buy me sweets! You need to keep up your fitness, then we can mess about with broomsticks and experiment with magic together! I'll catch up to your academic progress, and I'll have Seirebold bring you a wand as well. Cheerio!"
Right up until LysApparated him away, Friedm's mouth never stopped running...
Lys stood before the smuggling fireplace. "What wand?"
"The one made from the Basilisk's whiskers, of course! Draco and I have already agreed—one each. I'll ask Mum to help. Hopefully her potion goes smoothly and she'll have time."
Lys remained noncommittal. She had other matters requiring attention, though... "I'll find a way to ensure her potion proceeds smoothly."
Before departing, Lys learned from senior Lucius that acquiring the armor from the dungeon corner was now impossible.
Moreover, it was because Lucius's previous leadership decisions had nearly forced Hogwarts to close permanently.
He'd been excluded from the Board of Governors' inner circle of power...
Lys thoroughly mocked her supposedly shrewd senior: "Covering subordinates' eyes and ears certainly amplifies your authority—but would Dumbledore permit it?"
"Senior, your son remains a student under his care! If he can't bring you down completely, you shouldn't stick your neck out so carelessly." These words made Lucius's expression turn rather ugly.
He certainly understood Dumbledore wouldn't allow the wizarding world's class divisions to be redrawn with such stark clarity.
Wouldn't permit the screening of incoming students to fall into the hands of nobles like himself.
Because even if nine out of ten wizards leaving school truly couldn't secure employment, that tenth wizard would still possess opportunities for dialogue with nobles and high officials.
Then those entering ordinary positions—those working in workshops—wouldn't have their ears and mouths stoppered. They'd retain chances to participate in the wizarding world's decisions.
Otherwise...
"Otherwise, they'd only know what nobles wished them to know. It would become a carnival for all aristocrats."
These were the Dark Lord's words from when he still walked among them...
Originally, he hadn't expected success this time either. He'd merely been laying groundwork, testing boundaries incrementally. Dumbledore was aging—he wouldn't remain Hogwarts' headmaster forever.
But this incident proved far too coincidental!
Draco...
No! This had nothing to do with his son.
That Dark Lord's cursed artifact from before had simply been too dangerous—a dark magical item attempting to purge Hogwarts of all "impure bloodlines."
Everything collided simultaneously, allowing Dumbledore to seize him by the throat!
Otherwise...
Despite feeling profound anguish over this affair's losses and lasting consequences—not to mention the bruising on his face—he'd still silently signed the materials sales contract Noah had posted.
Subsequently, he'd helped Lys settle matters with two British potions associations, securing genuine evaluations of Senna's potion data.
For additional data, Lys approached her former Potions professor Slughorn and Durmstrang's Potions instructor, barely meeting minimum requirements to submit Senna's potion data to the International Potions Organization.
However, due to Senna's background and previous unpleasant incidents Lys had experienced with them, many members refused to acknowledge Senna's qualification to stand on equal footing.
This caused the potion's application process to stagnate once more.
Over a month had elapsed. Friedm had already begun school, yet that application showed no progress whatsoever.
Then, this morning.
Noah clutched Lys's sleeve, refusing to release her. "Little Star!" Noah's face betrayed deep anxiety. "They're wrong, but it's not worth destroying yourself over!"
"Destroying myself? Publishing in newspapers?! How bloody dare they! Cowering like frightened rabbits, terrified I'll track them down, whilst simultaneously publishing articles insinuating that Mum's potion might infect drinkers with lycanthropy, transforming them into werewolves! Do they assume because there are many of them, I won't dare eliminate a few more?!" In her fury, Lys switched frantically between German and English.
Lys was absolutely livid. Upon discovering the newspaper Noah had concealed this morning, her mind had simply buzzed with rage.
Senna displayed surprisingly little reaction, calmly observing Noah restraining Lys. After swallowing her mouthful of fried egg, she finally spoke:
"Does Little Fly subscribe to newspapers? Does that little friend he constantly mentions subscribe to newspapers?"
Lys's departing figure froze. Bloody hell—Friedm, and the hostile stares he'd now face...
With this realization, Noah couldn't possibly restrain Lys.
Breaking free, Lys seized her wand and stormed out to raise hell.
High-profile. Extremely high-profile. Spectacularly high-profile.
Lys didn't report to work that entire week. Instead, she systematically hunted down every potioneer she could identify who'd participated in this affair.
Lys force-fed them Senna's potion—still undergoing approval—then thrashed them repeatedly whilst the effects lasted. Each time, before wounds could shed two drops of blood, the potion's properties would replenish their strength and rapidly heal injuries.
When beating the final few, Lys even dragged a photographer from the newspaper that had dared publish that mocking article, having the injury and healing process captured in moving photographs.
When flyers displaying those potioneers' wretched faces scattered throughout every street and alley, Senna's potion application process accelerated dramatically.
Facing perfunctory questioning from German law enforcement officials, Lys maintained profound dissatisfaction. Though the entire world recognized the figure behind that dismissive white mask as Lys, she refused acknowledgment. Without adverse consequences, magical law enforcement officers couldn't be bothered investigating.
Magic meant might makes right. They maintained order only whilst order remained functional.
As for the vanished intermediate potioneer?
Someone had reported him for potion fraud. Investigation confirmed he'd indeed killed several wizards. Probably hunted down by vengeful family members...
This affair concluded after Lys had beaten every troublemaking potioneer once, and Friedm had thrashed the classmates who'd approached to mock him.
In Durmstrang's faculty office.
Lys tended to Friedm's facial injuries. "When I was small, Mum taught me every battle is your final battle—never allow yourself to be wandpoint. I'm passing this wisdom to you now."
Lys examined Friedm's wand. "Also, if you're certain you genuinely enjoy clubbing people with your wand, I could add some metal embellishments."
"Really?! Lys, I'd love several little yellow flowers..."
"Absolutely not—that would be hideous!"
Lys could scarcely imagine bright yellow flowers adorning a broomstick handle carved with vivid purple designs...
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