But this had nothing to do with Lys anymore.
She simply wanted to understand the Karkaroff family's stance.
With Muggle warfare ravaging Africa and magical departments virtually non-existent, Lys had even made relatively discreet arrangements there. However, conditions were abysmal, and the so-called safety was merely relative—she wouldn't readily drag her family to live in such circumstances.
Moreover, judging by the old sir's attitude, it seemed they'd already reached a decision regarding her concerns about being targeted by that fiancée.
But what exactly did he mean by—
"As long as you remain Karkaroff's ally and serve Karkaroff's interests, we Karkaroffs welcome all exceptional young people"?
This was precisely why Lys despised clever people. Even when she spoke with complete candour, their words remained maddeningly ambiguous...
After observing for some time, Lys confirmed that the old sir's attitude represented the Karkaroff position, then refocused on arranging matters for the Triwizard Tournament.
In her office, Lys handed Friedm a glass of milk. "Haven't you been corresponding with Draco lately?"
Friedm gripped the glass and forced himself to drain it. After belching, he wiped his mouth:
"I have, but apart from their barmy Dark Arts professor, there's nothing particularly noteworthy."
"Lys, my broomstick's broken again. Could I buy a Firebolt? Viktor told me that model's absolutely brilliant—the same one he rode in the World Cup."
Lys glanced at Friedm's already calloused palms and the hardened skin between his thumb and forefinger. "Viktor Krum rides a broomstick like he's weightless as a feather. You ride one like a bloody battering ram with a death wish. Are you certain you can control such a rapid broomstick without shattering your leg into seven pieces like last time?"
Friedm looked guiltily at Lys, then gripped his wand to demonstrate the spells he'd been practising recently, abandoning all mention of broomsticks.
Evening tutorial time commenced.
Days passed swiftly.
When late October arrived, the Durmstrang students permitted to participate in the competition boarded the great vessel that would carry them across the ocean.
Lys counted heads whilst listening to the deputy headmaster's instructions: "You can't manage everything alone. When situations arise, delegate to those older students—they're all capable."
Lys thought sardonically: Of course they're all capable—not a single pampered rich boy among them.
Only Viktor Krum was a Quidditch celebrity, brought aboard as Igor's trophy for external bragging rights.
"Right, understood."
As the ship slowly departed the dock, Lys's complexion visibly deteriorated.
She suffered from seasickness and loathed the ocean, immediately retreating to her cabin.
Friedm hovered around her like a devoted house-elf, tirelessly attending to her needs.
"Lys, why d'you hate the sea so much?"
Wrapping herself and Crunch tightly in blankets, Lys waved weakly and coughed.
This vessel travelled by gradually submerging beneath the ocean floor. The turbulence and bitter cold of the underwater currents left Lys thoroughly miserable—she was even developing a cold.
"Don't talk—I'm going to be sick." Lys's hoarse voice emerged as Friedm quickly offered her water. "Lys, just hold on. Viktor says we'll arrive in just over half a day."
Indeed, their ship was being operated by Viktor Krum and his group of students.
The only accompanying adults were one headmaster and one teacher—neither of whom was performing any actual duties.
When the ship emerged from Hogwarts' Black Lake, Lys felt absolutely dreadful, yet she still had to make an appearance for tonight's welcoming ceremony.
Lys wrapped herself in heavy robes, her arm resting on Friedm's shoulder as she entered Hogwarts with her students.
She led her brother directly to the Slytherin table without the slightest embarrassment.
Actually, few people paid them much attention, as most eyes were drawn to the legend of this Quidditch World Cup—today's finest Seeker, Viktor Krum.
The remaining attention was captured by the towering headmistress of the French school Beauxbatons—Madame Maxime.
Lys sat at the Slytherin table with Friedm and Krum on her left, Draco on her right, and a circle of students around them all attempting to speak with or shake hands with the legendary Quidditch Seeker.
Nursing a slight headache, Lys simply switched places with Krum. Under Draco's proud coordination, Lys finally found some relief.
She behaved exactly like any Durmstrang student, managing nothing, merely holding Crunch whilst eating whatever Friedm placed on her plate.
Those French dishes tasted peculiar—Lys wasn't particularly fond of them, so she tapped the table with her wand.
Soon a jug of milk materialised. Lys poured cups for all the students within reach. Both Draco and Krum thanked her politely.
"Thank you, Professor Lamb."
"Thank you, Miss Lamb."
Lys noticed Dumbledore, who'd just finished conversing with Madame Maxime, glance her way. She raised her milk cup in acknowledgement, then made no further gestures.
After the banquet concluded, Dumbledore droned on about the Triwizard Tournament's dangers and selection requirements.
Lys sat below, absently examining Crunch's scales whilst contemplating pitching a tent beside the Black Lake tonight.
She refused to sleep aboard that ship again—another night on that vessel would surely kill her.
When the legendary Goblet of Fire responsible for selecting champions was extracted from its container, Lys finally showed interest. This was an alchemical creation from several centuries past—she was curious about its operating principles and potential symbolic decorations.
Whilst Dumbledore remained nearby, Lys stood within the age-line preventing students under seventeen from approaching and examined it thoroughly multiple times.
She clasped her wand behind her back, bending low to inspect even the goblet's base, discovering nothing. She attempted to peer inside, but a tendril of blue-white flame that danced within singed Lys's hair, further charring her already scorched temple locks.
Unable to discern anything, Lys pursed her lips and, under everyone's observation, patted at the two burnt strands at her temples before departing.
This alchemical product emphasised magical precision, so Lys couldn't decipher much in such brief time.
"Lys, how does it know whom to select just from writing down school and name? What's this binding, mysterious contract the Hogwarts headmaster mentioned?"
"I don't know—couldn't work it out. Would be brilliant if I could hold it properly and study it."
The siblings perched atop their tent beside the Black Lake, gazing at stars and chatting idly.
"I'll take you to explore the forest. I'm quite familiar with the gamekeeper here—he keeps loads of adorable fuzzy creatures, the sort that shed everywhere."
But...
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