During her travels, Lys would occasionally stop at owl post stations, hiring the strongest birds to deliver gifts to people like Snape and Malfoy.
Sometimes she'd send fresh, curious trinkets back to Frey.
Every so often, she'd receive letters in return from Frey. Though the childish script mixed German and English—more often requiring drawings to replace words—Lys could still decipher what he meant to say.
After the occasional brush with danger, pulling out those letters to examine and read them actually brought Lys more peace than all her wandering adventures combined.
————————
Several years later, Albanian Forest:
"Glenn, petrify it! Bloody hell, this thing can run!" Lys pursued a Niffler relentlessly, conjuring obstacles in its path. But the little creature proved maddeningly slippery, its natural stealth making Lys waste precious minutes without success.
It had pilfered Lys's labradorite bracelet. She wouldn't let that stand.
To conceal her identity and avoid unwanted attention, Lys had tucked away her ouroboros ring, ammolite ring, and labradorite bracelet.
Who could have predicted that in the brief moment Lys tilted her head to adjust her hair, the crafty thing would ransack her satchel!
Glenn, lying in ambush up ahead, burst from cover. The petrification spell struck the Niffler dead-on, and Lys seized her chance, transfiguring a net that ensnared the black creature.
Gripping its hind legs, Lys shook it thoroughly. Glittering treasures tumbled to the forest floor while the Niffler's tiny black eyes watched in utter despair. Holding the creature one-handed, Lys retrieved her belongings, then helped herself to several rare minerals from the scattered hoard.
She fixed the dangling Niffler with a stern look. "Consider this compensation for wasting my time!" Only then did she lower the creature onto the pile of shimmering objects.
While the Niffler frantically crammed the glittering prizes into its magical pouch, Lys took Glenn and Apparated to a nearby wizarding tavern.
The reek of unwashed boots forced Lys to wrap herself in a weather charm. She paid the barkeep in gold and followed him to a clearly illegal Floo connection that whisked her back to Germany.
Returning to the German club left Lys feeling oddly displaced. Six months of wilderness living had taken its toll on her appearance. Before heading home, she made a detour to a wizarding beauty parlor.
She settled into the salon chair wearing her weathered, oversized dragonhide coat, lips curved in a subtle smile as she outlined her requirements.
The stylist, however, had other ideas. Voice pitched artificially high, pinky extended, she gestured dismissively at Lys's hair, skin, and attire.
But under Lys's rapidly fading smile, she quickly set to work according to her client's specifications.
The chaotically chopped hair was trimmed to evenness—just past shoulder-length, ensuring it could be easily secured with a hair tie.
Moisturizing salve was smoothed over Lys's roughened, slightly reddened face and hands. The beautician reached for her arms—summer was approaching, after all, and lighter clothing would be appropriate—but found Lys's wand tip pressed against her wrist.
The woman wisely withdrew her hand and turned her attention to the dull fingernails instead.
She attempted to apply scar-removal potion to Lys's left fingertips, but it proved utterly ineffective. For a moment, she wondered if her potion had spoiled.
Noticing her confusion, Lys indicated the potion was fine—her scars simply couldn't be removed.
After the full treatment, Lys studied her reflection.
The coat that had seemed awkward earlier now carried an air of casual, untamed elegance.
Her gradually sharpening features, framed by those narrow gray eyes, once again held echoes of the fierce edge she'd possessed fresh from graduation.
But only echoes—she'd changed considerably since those days.
She ran fingers through her newly lustrous hair and arched an eyebrow.
The rust-colored strands remained tousled but had regained their vibrant hue. Only the two prominent streaks of dark, withered black hair at her right temple—a lasting reminder of drinking the Dark Lord's Horcrux-protecting potion—remained stubbornly unchanged.
Lys paid the silent beautician and gathered Glenn, who'd just completed his own scale treatment, before heading home.
This time, Lys had been away for nearly a year. She wondered whether that little pest still remembered her. Muttering under her breath, she pushed open the courtyard gate.
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