"Friedm..."
"Friedm..." "Friedm..."
"Friedm! Take Draco and bugger off!"
Lys clutched her amber plate, irritably shooing away Draco, who kept bleating "Friedm" incessantly beside her.
After accepting the water Friedm offered, she reminded them once more: "You two can do whatever you like, but keep well away from Moody."
"But Lys, Draco and I have his class on this afternoon's timetable."
"Don't attend."
"Right then, Lys—can I go search for the giant squid on the lake this afternoon?"
Nodding as she watched Friedm transfigure a wooden stick into an oar, complete with elegant anti-slip grooves, Lys narrowed her eyes and drifted into thought.
Alastor Moody was problematic, but Lys couldn't pinpoint exactly where the problem lay.
This Moody didn't remember her saving his life, and... that malice in his gaze...
But Moody had been considered barking mad for years. He suspected everyone—supposedly even mistook dustbins for dark wizards attempting to break into his house.
Besides, Lys had never believed she'd concealed her Death Eater identity particularly well...
Though no one possessed concrete evidence, Lys knew that those intimately connected to the Dark Lord and Potter had basically sussed out her identity already.
Walking toward the Great Hall, Lys rolled her eyes at the sight of Draco's "Potter Stinks" badge pinned to his chest.
Childish...
A red-haired boy covered in freckles approached, shooting Friedm and Draco a distinctly unfriendly look.
The girl beside him reminded him that a professor was present—they should mind their manners.
"Hermione, politeness is for people who deserve courteous treatment. No need for civility with someone who discriminates based on blood and breeding!"
Though the girl appeared somewhat exasperated, she merely nodded at Lys whilst clutching her books, then hurried to catch up.
Only after they'd walked some distance did Draco defend himself in hushed tones: "I was warning them that Mudblood was dangerous then. You know—that time in the forest when your sister found me. I was simply telling them to scarper quickly."
Mudblood... an exceptionally vicious slur for wizards born to Muggle parents.
Friedm remained silent. Under Lys's influence, Friedm believed that discrimination based on blood and birth was actually another form of weakness.
It meant: Apart from things you cannot change about yourself, I've nothing else to measure against you.
Moreover, he saw no point in discriminating against blood and birth—matters beyond one's control—because he understood this intimately from personal experience.
When he sat beside Draco in the Potions classroom, the "Potter Stinks" badges flashing all around made his brow furrow deeply.
He couldn't fathom how Draco had managed to distribute these things in such a short span.
And what was the bloody point?
For some time afterward, he stopped standing with Draco every day. Rather dejectedly, he asked Lys:
"Lys, I don't understand why Draco's so obsessed with staring at Potter."
"I haven't the foggiest."
Lys held her amber plate up to eye level and scrutinized it intently.
Adults already weighing pros and cons shouldn't meddle in children's friendships—she'd learned that lesson in her own second year.
Lys had been remarkably free lately. Igor Karkaroff seemed rather intimidated by Alastor Moody and rarely disembarked unless absolutely necessary.
Student affairs were all handled by Krum, who only summoned Friedm as a translator when genuine language barriers arose.
This allowed Lys to spend entire days beside the Black Lake carving her amber, right up until the first task commenced.
Dragons?!
Lys had received some advance intelligence, but she'd never imagined these headmasters would actually pit these children against dragons single-handedly—and brooding, temperamental dragons at that.
"Lys, Lys, that's Fireball! Fireball won't get hurt, will she?!"
"That's not Fireball. Fireball's already been returned to the Eastern wilderness for release."
"Oh..."
Dragons posed no particular threat to Lys. In a life-or-death situation, she could dispatch a dragon swiftly herself. But down there were a group of children barely approaching adulthood—and one merely fourteen.
Lys supported providing them with challenges, but... dragons?!
This level of danger still struck Lys as rather excessive.
Lys genuinely couldn't comprehend it. She glanced at the five judges on the platform.
Dumbledore's eyes behind his spectacles remained perpetually unreadable. Madame Maxime appeared mildly concerned but not overly so—displaying more of the competitiveness similar to Igor Karkaroff.
Barty Crouch looked utterly knackered—heaven knew how exhausting these positions were.
And Ludo Bagman? Beyond excitement and anticipation, he harbored only traces of nervousness and apprehension.
Lys felt no interest in the children's dragon-fighting techniques. Only when Potter mounted his Firebolt did Lys think of his father.
Gripping her wand, she applauded slowly a few times and glanced toward Friedm.
If it were Friedm, would he perform better?...
Smirking slightly, Lys returned her attention to the scoring. Then she buried her face in her hands—shameless Igor Karkaroff had actually awarded Potter 4 points when everyone else had given at least 8!
Only 4 points! Absolutely shameless...
But Lys discovered fresh entertainment in the days that followed—the Weasley twins.
"Ten wands, two packets of Canary Creams, and what's this? Tongue-enlarging sweets? For licking food scraps off floors? I'll pass on that one... What happens if you eat them together? Not recommended? Right then..."
Lys stood at the Great Hall entrance and made the twins' largest sale to date. For this, they even winked conspiratorially and gifted her a small stack of fireworks, which Lys casually passed to Friedm.
Around her tent by the Black Lake, Lys had conjured a small pocket of weather magic. She'd even cultivated a cluster of Singing Lilies within.
The bulbs came from Professor Sprout. In exchange, she'd borrowed Crunch to capture those slippery magical insects.
Once Crunch entered the greenhouse, working with the magic crystals Lys had accumulated, he cast two petrification spells and resolved everything within a minute.
The only time wasted was munching them off the ground. By the time Lys finished carving the amber in her hands whilst seated at the entrance, Crunch had barely finished his feast.
The Triwizard Tournament consisted of three tasks total. The second was scheduled for February 24th. Lys intended to remain in her tent until the competition began.
Because here—whether it was Hogwarts' headmaster, peculiar Aurors, the so-called Saviour, or her former colleagues—Lys wanted to encounter none of them.
This Hogwarts was far too chaotic. She needed to lay low, especially after that young Saviour had been thrust into perilous competitions.
But soon Lys received a desperate plea for help from Friedm...
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