At times when St. Mungo's strong support was needed, even the Minister for Magic dared not casually offend St. Mungo's healers.
Especially when the other party was a senior chief physician.
They could only come to Lys's hospital room to negotiate.
At this moment, Shacklebolt's bodyguards were nervously watching Lys, afraid she might suddenly leap up and hurl a couple of curses to kill their charge.
But Lys only stared silently at the Minister for Magic before her, inwardly marveling that he truly deserved to be Dumbledore's recommended candidate for Minister.
He was genuinely realistic and genuinely flexible.
She pondered the words the man had just spoken. For a moment, though the room held many people, it fell into silence...
Only Cerebrus at the bedside made soft cooing sounds.
Lys understood Shacklebolt's meaning—they wanted to use her positive actions to bury the innocent wizards' blood on her hands and her past from over a decade ago.
"Just blur it all out like that?" Lys was somewhat dazed, realizing what she'd said and quickly waving her hand. "Pretend I didn't ask."
Shacklebolt remained silent. This wasn't important—what mattered was that the higher-ups wanted to exonerate her.
Using the wand she'd raised against the Dark Lord when the Savior was presumed dead.
Using the half-book of wanted notices and several Death Eaters she'd eliminated.
Using the massive numbers of Muggle-born wizards she'd thrown to other countries to save their lives.
The higher-ups currently held back a batch of wizards—victims of the Imperius Curse, Death Eaters, and those who'd collaborated for profit were simply too numerous, especially those in ambiguous positions.
If someone like Starlys was convicted, then those who'd already fled abroad and those who couldn't be touched to maintain the wizarding world's normal operations would become the Ministry of Magic's greatest joke.
So they needed an excuse, a precedent.
If not Starlys Lam, it would be someone else—but the witch before him would be more convincing.
In the unclear black and white, some standards had to be blurred.
He thought for a moment and asked: "When you did these things to help and protect the wizarding populace during that Dark Lord's peak, what was your motivation?"
Lys was startled, looking at his formulaic smile.
For venting anger...
For forcing herself to make a choice...
Then she suddenly had an inspiration and answered:
"For justice!"
Shacklebolt's smile became more satisfied.
"So then, Miss Lam, do you think you can accept the proposal I just made?"
Lys nodded. "Of course. If the Dark Lord is truly dead, this is also my chance to truly begin my life, isn't it?"
Shacklebolt was very satisfied with Lys's pragmatism. Given her friendly attitude, he extended his hand and shook hers.
He just had a small inner doubt about why this witch kept emphasizing the premise that the Dark Lord was 'truly' dead.
The Dark Lord's body had already been collected by the Ministry of Magic—darkness had perished, which was an established fact, wasn't it?
Taking advantage of this moment, Lys also made her own request: "I'd like to meet little Potter. Can that be arranged?"
Shacklebolt nodded but didn't immediately agree. His visit to see this witch and make such a proposal was merely a compromise with current events.
He personally didn't trust these former Death Eaters—more precisely, he didn't trust them at all.
"I'll inquire about Mr. Potter's wishes. If he agrees and can spare time in his schedule, I'll notify you immediately. Well then, I wish you a speedy recovery, madam."
Standing up, he politely took his leave.
After Frey slowly helped Lys lie down, he read letters from Noah and Senna to her. Listening, Lys gradually grew drowsy...
"Precautions for brewing Soul-Stabilizing Draught: Make that little madwoman lie still and don't let her approach your cauldron with useless worries. Uh... well, ignore that line." Frey awkwardly skipped over it and continued reading softly: "Lucy sent a Muggle cassette player. Lulu put Little Star's favorite music inside. I listened once in the courtyard, and those singing lilies learned it—now they're humming day and night..."
Several days later, in the evening.
When most victims' funerals after the Hogwarts battle had ended.
Lys finally met Potter.
Actually, Potter hadn't come to see Lys—he'd come to see Snape.
But Snape didn't want to see Potter, so Potter could only hand over that vial of memories, yet couldn't even enter Snape's room...
When Potter stood silently at the door for a long time while the room remained quiet, he turned to leave.
Frey saw him and joyfully intercepted him.
When Potter entered the room next to Professor Snape's, he saw that rust-red haired witch looking up at the ceiling.
The witch held a chubby snake with bandaged tail and neck in her arms, and a bald owl stood at the bedside, muttering about something.
Then Potter realized he'd misunderstood—it wasn't the witch muttering but the snake.
However, since losing his Parseltongue ability after that day's battle, he could no longer understand its words.
Little Potter smiled at Frey, who'd enthusiastically led him in, and Frey returned a brilliant smile.
"Sis! Professor Snape won't let Potter in, so I brought him over!"
Frey said happily, summoning a chair for Harry Potter to sit.
Potter's smile became somewhat strained.
"Sit!" Frey arranged for Potter, then turned to slowly help Lys sit up against the headboard.
Seeing Potter seated, Lys asked almost impatiently—she desperately wanted to know if the thorns that had once nearly buried her had left any seeds in this world.
"I saw the memories Snape gave you that day. I've already apologized to him about this, and I learned some secrets from it. I also confirmed with Dumbledore's portrait, so now I want to confirm with you once more. Potter, would you mind if we talked alone?"
Someone behind Potter was unwilling—Lys was, after all, a Death Eater—but Potter nodded.
After the war, he'd heard about this witch's deeds. They said she'd killed people in her youth but saved many when older.
Shacklebolt had also mentioned this witch to him, advising against meeting her.
Lupin, who'd been beside him then, seemed to have complex feelings about this witch, though he'd had to visit Tonks and hadn't discussed it in detail.
The headmaster's portrait had also mentioned this witch, saying she'd be very dangerous if she chose wrongly.
But Potter was also somewhat curious—how did she know about Horcruxes?
"Potter, I saw what Dumbledore said in Snape's memories—that your body protected a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul. Can you swear on your life with magic that your soul is now independent and complete, with no other souls attached? That all known Horcruxes of Vol-Vol-Voldemort have been completely destroyed without a trace remaining?"
Potter heard that chubby snake muttering sounds he couldn't understand while watching that Hufflepuff who always stood with Draco Malfoy take away the retching bald owl.
He remembered what Dumbledore's portrait had told him—not to let this witch called Starlys have any misconception that Voldemort might have a chance to return.
Somewhat distracted, he looked toward Lys. Starting with swearing on his life... he somewhat regretted being alone in a space with her...
"I'm not very good at magical oaths, but I can tell you—yes, this isn't just my own answer but what the headmaster personally told me."
When Lys heard Potter say Dumbledore had confirmed Voldemort's defeat in that white space, her attention immediately wandered as she relaxed: "You mean he actively found you there and spoke with you!"
Potter nodded, trying to explain it wasn't his hallucination.
She wasn't surprised that someone could linger in that world of the dead without moving forward while maintaining sanity—Lys even felt strangely familiar with it.
But Lys didn't think deeply about it, just continued listening to Potter's simple explanation of that great battle's secrets and Dumbledore's arrangements.
All things he'd said on the battlefield, but Lys hadn't heard everything then. Hearing it again now, she finally sorted out the thread.
"Seven Horcruxes—you really managed to dig them all up..."
Her distrust of Dumbledore, stemming from that diary Horcrux that had escaped disaster, decreased slightly again. Grindelwald's words echoed in her ears: "Albus doesn't say, but he must be clear in his heart..."
So... perhaps she could truly believe that diary was merely Dumbledore's first mistake encountering such things.
Potter hesitated, wanting to ask his own questions but also wanting to leave quickly.
Seeing Potter's hesitation, Lys asked: "What do you want to ask me?"
"How... did you know about Horcruxes?"
Lys pulled her mouth into a bitter smile: "Do you know Regulus Black? Your stupid dog godfather's brother."
Perhaps from sitting up too hastily earlier, or from rapid breathing while bitter-smiling, Lys felt her ribs aching terribly, making her overlook Potter's unhappy yet surprised expression.
"He discovered the Dark Lord'sHorcrux hidden on the sea. That year we were only eighteen or nineteen—one couldn't bear the disillusionment of dreams, one couldn't control the desire to grasp unknown influences on the future, one tried to end it all and somehow disappeared. One felt overwhelming terror and seized the chance to flee the country."
Lys looked at Frey standing quietly nearby before looking back at Potter: "Horcruxes aren't a secret. Many people knew or suspected he'd made Horcruxes."
"It's just... some people were powerless, some were cowardly, and some didn't care."
"What about you?" Potter's emerald eyes looked through his glasses at the witch before him.
Lys didn't say which type she was. She'd once respectfully returned a Horcrux that fell into her hands to its original place, been forced to destroy a Horcrux that dared touch her family, and finally pointed her wand at Nagini and even the Dark Lord... Her choices had constantly changed with circumstances.
Silence spread between them. The wizard outside pushed the door open a crack, nervously checking that Potter was unharmed, explaining: "Miss Lam's behavior is still somewhat controversial, so Harry, have your questions been answered?"
Potter looked at Starlys Lam, the Hufflepuff beside her, and that chubby snake. "Do you regret killing those people you're accused of killing?"
Lys's ribs ached terribly, but she still took a breath and said:
"I'm very sorry for killing them, so when possible, I prevented their families' complete destruction. I hid their children, drove away relatives not mentioned in reports beforehand. But regret?"
"Do you know that after the Dark Lord occupied Lucius—Malfoy's home for a while, his living room never had carpets again? Because every moment, some corner would be soaked with blood—escapees, betrayers, those who couldn't complete orders..."
Lys finally closed her eyes. She didn't want to see disapproval in others' eyes—it would make her uncomfortable. "I don't have the right to regret. I couldn't defeat him. If I didn't want my family and me to become bloodstains on that carpet, I had to act."
She'd made a selfish choice.
Potter looked somewhat disgusted but possibly remembered she had indeed tried to protect his safety and saved many people. His expression was quite awkward as he raised his hand to check the time.
Lys understood his desire to end the conversation, removing the armor from her left hand and extending it.
"Do I have the honor of shaking hands with you? Little Mr. Potter, who ended the nightmare."
Potter looked at her strange-looking hand but, remembering the scene of her being struck by the Dark Lord that day, extended his own hand and shook hers.
In that instant, an icy feeling penetrated him, as if a ghost stood overlapping with him. He quickly shook off Lys's hand, looking at her warily while others hurriedly pulled him behind them.
But Lys calmly put that armored arm back on her left arm.
The most important thing she'd been thinking about since the Dark Lord's death.
—Shaking hands with Potter.
"Congratulations to us—we're finally free, aren't we, Potter?"
Lys covered her left arm, which felt more numb from using power again, watching Potter's retreating figure with a sincere smile.
Potter, being persuaded to leave, frowned and looked back once more at the strange witch on the hospital bed.
Completely unaware he'd nearly been decided to disappear after some time.
From Potter's departure, Lys kept coughing while holding her left arm and ribs.
The coughing wouldn't stop.
Frey didn't dare pat Lys, afraid of hitting problematic areas that would make her more uncomfortable.
"Sis!"
"Doctor! My... my sister's coughing up blood again!"
Until the bald physician summoned doctors from various departments for a chaotic period, Lys finally quieted down, pale-faced.
"Frey, cough cough, read the newspaper to me..."
Her gaze swept across the back of the newspaper Frey held up.
Facing that long page of obituaries, death sentences, and wanted notices, Lys blinked.
Though unintentional, she'd indeed survived while being chosen to retain her identity.
Because of her strength.
Because of her attitude toward the Dark Lord.
After the fact... how ironic that post-facto judgment differed so greatly from reality.
So was Mr. Grindelwald truly wrong?
After all, right and wrong lay not in facts but in people's needs.
But it didn't matter anymore...
All past experiences accumulated, the height Lys had reached finally let her emerge half her head above the sea surface.
Being feared—being treated with caution.
This world was like the ocean floor—without struggling and waving limbs, who would be the next to sink to the bottom?
At least it won't be me anymore...
—"I'm not Herpo, but I haven't fallen to become the Warlock with the Hairy Heart either, have I... Frey..."
Lys sighed softly, borrowing Frey's name, reaching out to grasp an extra bandage on the tip of Gabon's wildly swishing tail.
She felt the current result wasn't bad.
After all, even Merlin couldn't promise that people's efforts would definitely result in grandeur and magnificence.
—The End—
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