Friedm clutched the letter by his fingertips, bursting to share with Lys:
"Blimey, Lys! I keep telling you Draco should come to Durmstrang and study with me! Hogwarts actually has Dementors! Lys, there's a fugitive too. Bloody hell."
"You're this chuffed that he wrote back?"
"Well, you see, Draco said he got his arm injured by a Hippogriff during Care of Magical Creatures."
Friedm's explanation felt forced—even he knew it didn't hold water. He understood Draco was actually bothered by his father's werewolf condition, which explained the prolonged silence. That injury was merely Draco's excuse.
But Lys simply replied: "As long as you don't mind. Why're you looking at me like that?"
Lys understood Noah's situation was genuinely problematic. If these two boys wished to maintain their friendship, this current approach of tactful avoidance remained their best option.
Seeing Lys handle her tasks as usual—as though her question had been merely casual—Friedm returned to reading.
Lys watched him delicately grip the parchment with his fingertips, terrified the ink on his hands might stain it. She flicked her wand, casting Scourgify.
Then asked offhandedly: "Did Draco share any interesting developments?"
"Draco's Defense professor has changed again. This year's is... I feel Draco's being rather cutting, but this is precisely what he wrote:"
Friedm continued with some bewilderment: "A Professor Lupin who appears so impoverished he's never eaten properly, which explains his constant illness. He even had Draco and the others practice against a Boggart."
"Oh, how dreadful..." Friedm's eyebrows shot skyward. "Draco also mentioned this new professor actually encouraged students to mock other staff members. Draco said he despises this new professor. I suddenly think Draco's previous language wasn't that harsh after all—the insulted party was their Head of House..."
"Who? That's impossible!"
Lys's mind went blank.
"Professor Snape. Draco genuinely wrote it."
Lys snatched the letter, scanning quickly.
"Remus Lupin?! Dumbledore's absolutely—I simply cannot fathom it! He's pulling this rubbish again!"
Lys's face contorted as she thrust the letter back to Friedm. She questioned anew how she'd ever entertained sending Friedm to Hogwarts...
With this arrangement, wasn't Dumbledore concerned Snape and Lupin might come to blows?
During their final school years, those four and Snape had never shown restraint in their fights and provocations.
Describing them as fire and water felt inadequate to Lys...
Had those four not mysteriously begun avoiding her after fifth year, Lys suspected she might've been included in that volatile dynamic.
"...Draco also mentioned the Dementors make everyone frightfully uncomfortable, worsening his already fragile health since the holidays."
Finishing the letter, Friedm carefully tucked it away before asking: "Lys, Draco said he still can't manage the Patronus Charm. Is it terribly difficult?"
Lys dragged her thoughts from imagined Snape-Lupin confrontations to consider Friedm's question.
After pondering, Lys offered no definitive response:
"Not precisely difficult, yet extremely challenging. It depends upon a wizard's... well... resolve or joyful emotions for manifestation. The incantation is Expecto Patronum. Give it a try."
Lys watched Friedm brandish his broomstick handle, recalling her own second-year holiday when Mum had demanded Patronus practice. Back then...
Distracted Lys was roused by Friedm's exclamation. A small patch of shimmering silver mist flickered before him.
"Lys, did I succeed?!"
Though his spell hadn't succeeded, his astonished delight successfully lifted Lys's mouth corners.
She smiled slightly, retrieving a relatively objective Patronus magic text from her bookshelf and tossing it to Friedm.
"Not quite, but I believe you will."
From then on, Friedm became obsessed with the Patronus Charm.
This obsession cost him one subject in his advanced placement examinations.
But who was Friedm's sister? She was the bloody examiner! During his second attempt—without distraction—Friedm successfully passed.
Though barely scraping through every subject, Lys remained satisfied.
Friedm had academic weaknesses—Lys had always known. The lad was mediocre across subjects, with only Potions grades significantly ahead.
She'd originally expected him to settle down after achieving his desired academic progress alongside his little friend.
But this privilege seemed to create considerable trouble for Friedm.
Lys slathered brown anti-swelling salve directly onto her brother's eye.
Even before his advanced examinations, this boy's classmates had towered over him.
Already naturally short, post-exam study companions now stood a full head taller.
"Fewer scraps, yeah? What the devil did they do!" Lys muttered whilst rubbing sticky ointment across his face.
"Those toffs are insufferably fake. Listening to them makes me sick. Then when I chat with other students, they make snide remarks in that same artificial manner. Bloody irritating."
"Then beat them into proper submission. One fight weekly—your punishment essays stacked together could crush a dragon."
"But they didn't use magic either." Friedm explained: "For fairness—since they avoided magic, I did too."
"They avoid magic fearing I'll hunt them down if you're injured. But understand—if you hurt them, I'm still the one they'll face."
Lys possessed this confidence. Despite being targeted in that Siberian wasteland for threatening numerous upper-class interests, Lys had survived and returned. This demonstrated her strength sufficiently intimidated those people.
If truly necessary, Lys wouldn't hesitate exposing one false identity.
"You've got the means to act. Provided you're not stirring pointless trouble or being excessively brutal, don't worry."
"Fairness doesn't equal justice, Friedm." Lys examined her brother's other eye.
"I nearly died in that frozen hellscape. That experience taught me this lesson, plus another: never consider action unnecessary—when you must strike, bloody well strike."
Striking first when necessary could prevent countless crises.
Friedm appeared bewildered by these words. He departed with salve coating his face, only to be dragged back—still salve-covered—by another professor, trailing a boy obviously cursed and mentally addled.
Seeing Lys's puzzled expression, Friedm immediately defended loudly:
"Lys, honestly wasn't my fault! He said I'd just returned from eating shite!"
As if confirming Friedm's account, the dazed boy stared at Friedm and repeated:
"Bloody hell! This Brit ate shite and didn't even wipe his gob!"
...
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