But half a month later, Friedm got his wish anyway. He cradled his precious wand, examining it repeatedly.
The bizarre color combination that struck Lys as ghastly was treasured by Friedm, who fondled and admired it endlessly.
"Draco still hasn't written back?" Lys stood in the office, organizing her belongings.
The old professor's holiday had just ended, and the deputy headmaster had nearly driven him to distraction during Lys's week of truancy.
So for the remainder of this term, Lys could reclaim her personal time instead of staring at lesson plans and essays every night until her head split in two.
Friedm fell silent at this mention. He helped Lys stack all the copies of The Daily Prophet that had forgotten their address change during the holidays onto a side shelf.
Then, wielding his garish yellow-and-purple, thick and weighty wand, he cast Scourgify on the desk before spreading out his detention parchment.
Lys sighed watching the subdued Friedm. "I once warned that if you dared despise Dad because of others' gossip, I'd thrash you. But Draco remains your closest friend besides Lulu. If you wish to maintain that friendship, I suggest avoiding Dad-related topics in your correspondence."
Lys withdrew a silver cloak chain from her drawer—small serpents with emerald eyes glittered at both ends.
Friedm owned one too, though his featured Puffskein designs.
"You can gift this to your friend—it protects against magical harm and dark enchantments." Lys observed Friedm's reluctance to reach for it, continuing:
"You must understand, Friedm—your sister is a renowned anonymous alchemist and respectable materials dealer... er, merchant. Your mother is a senior potioneer and future Potions Master. As for you, what you become remains your choice. Like your name suggests, I hope that beyond your birth family, you possess the freedom to choose."
Friedm clutched his wand in one hand whilst accepting Lys's chain with the other. "I know, Lys."
"Lys, that intermediate potioneer..." Friedm's inquiry emerged cautiously. Despite his efforts at concealment, the quill pressed until its feather split betrayed his anxiety.
"Friedm, sometimes consequences must be paid for ages. I'm not referring to that potioneer—I mean myself."
Lys's tone carried implications Friedm couldn't grasp.
She'd lost control then.
That potioneer had actually attempted threatening Lys after receiving her warning.
He'd pointed at Lys's perpetually concealed left arm, declaring he knew only notorious Death Eaters behaved thus.
He'd mocked Senna for possessing not merely a werewolf husband, but a Death Eater daughter as well.
Lys refocused, handing Friedm hot milk before announcing: "Right then, your detention lines—I won't assist this time. The old professor's temper is absolutely dreadful. I fear I'd make him faint with rage."
Friedm's wails answered Lys.
Lys shook out the stack of expired Daily Prophet copies, preparing to organize and store them, but discovered news that soured her mood further.
Jailbreak—that bloody mutt had escaped...
Lys skimmed quickly. Below lay complete rubbish—essentially the Ministry of Magic promising full manhunts whilst preventing disruption to ordinary wizards' lives.
Snorting coldly, she shrunk the newspaper pile and stuffed it into storage. Only then did Lys open The Order of the Garter: Light on This Shore, which the History of Magic professor had thrust upon her before last term's holiday.
Actually, Lys's collection of knightly order books wasn't motivated by interest in those butchered adaptations or completely distorted histories.
Rather, young Lys had discovered her Patronus within those very tales.
When lacking abundant joyful memories, sufficiently resolute protective conviction had enabled Lys'sPatronus manifestation.
After finishing the book quite late and absent-mindedly handling all work plus Friedm's abandoned milk cup, Lys raised her wand.
"Expecto Patronum"
Yet her wand remained utterly unresponsive. She covered her eyes with one arm, slumping motionless in her chair.
She mocked herself—when capable of casting the Patronus Charm, she'd never used it. Now, unable to cast it, she obsessed daily.
When the magical flames extinguished on schedule, Durmstrang's distinctive chill quickly roused Lys.
Gabon also slithered toward Lys.
She seemingly casually extended her hand, then suddenly snatched the magical serpent tonic from her desk, forcibly pouring it down Gabon's throat whilst pinching his mouth shut to prevent spitting.
"This is the final dose, Gabon—we must utilize it properly, understand!"
Shaking Gabon's head, Lys coaxed: "After drinking, we'll go home. Dad sent word he's found you an enormous egg. Quick! Swallow it, then we'll go home for dinner!"
No choice—Gabon had despised medicine since Lys began school...
Recently, Lys had resorted to these surprise attacks to medicate Gabon.
When Noah returned home, he not only produced a freshly acquired egg but also retrieved a lengthy armguard from his workshop.
"Made from that snakeskin you brought back. I must say, this material's unique properties proved exceptionally challenging to work with."
Noah watched Lys examine it thoroughly, observing reflections dancing in Lys's eyes. He nodded with satisfaction—Little Star appeared delighted. His efforts flipping through countless design books to render the shimmer less gaudy hadn't been wasted.
Lys inspected the armguard repeatedly. The length suited her perfectly. The originally vivid green Basilisk hide had deepened somewhat after processing, acquiring an Eastern fabric's lustrous quality.
Following the scale patterns, Noah had avoided excessive design flourishes, ensuring only the leather's flexibility and coverage.
Moreover, it featured clasp fastenings—extremely convenient for wearing.
Most importantly, those shimmering elements were removable.
Thoroughly pleased, Lys donned the armguard upon returning to her cottage and changing clothes.
For coordination, Lys even wore matching wizard robes.
Noah contemplated acquiring Wilson Green Dragon hide for glove-making—otherwise, those brown-black gloves clashed terribly.
This day in Lys's office.
Lys was showcasing her armguard to Friedm for the countless time recently.
Friedm remained buried in detention lines, utterly absorbed, ink staining both hands and face, completely ignoring his sister.
"Lys, help with the Ancient Runes professor's punishment lines..."
Before Friedm finished speaking, wing-beats echoed from the window.
A massive eagle owl—somewhat familiar-looking.
Friedm glanced at the owl. "Oh! It's Draco's owl!"
Lys observed her brother's pathetic excitement.
She suspected little Malfoy's letter would absolutely thrill him senseless.
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