School was back in session!
Back in session!
Back in session!
And there was still this much to deal with!
Lys set the files on the other teachers' desks:
"This is Durmstrang's Honor Battle. Submit the names of your top students in each subject. Get all the paperwork done, then hand it back to me."
"I trust you all. Durmstrang's glory is in your hands."
Why did she have to do everything herself? Just delegate and be done with it...
The Triwizard Tournament. Select students to represent the school in three dangerous competitions to determine the strongest.
Honestly, in Lys's opinion, watching rookies peck at each other—what was the point?
Sitting in the office, the deputy headmaster informed her that the school board was coming to inspect the event's progress. Lys needed to be present too, since she'd been handling most of the arrangements.
Menilquide and several other board members sat in the headmaster's office.
Sharp-eyed. Languidly benevolent. Gripping canes with knowing smiles. Eyes gleaming with calculation. Not one of them looked easy to deal with.
Igor sat behind the headmaster's desk in his cloak, eyes darting, thoughts unreadable. His smooth, enthusiastic voice gave away nothing about his actual stance.
Only Lys tried to slouch in her chair and cross her legs. She was genuinely fed up.
Don't send the noble brats? Afraid they'd wade into murky waters? Just go through the motions without caring about results?
Lys's eyebrows shot up the moment she heard their requirements for this exchange, then furrowed tight.
Why didn't you say this earlier? I've finished all the paperwork and NOW you show up with this parade? Would it have killed you to send a steward ahead with a heads-up?
Menilquide cleared his throat, his oily, reedy voice announcing:
"This is a decision the board reached after careful deliberation. Going forward, we'll notify the relevant staff to take over directly. The work you've done so far has been quite important, hasn't it?"
An old man who looked somewhat more agreeable nodded. "We simply didn't expect a young person to work so efficiently and decisively. Very impressive."
Lys couldn't exactly talk back to the school board. She uncrossed her legs and accepted the compliment.
Can't be too accommodating. Show too much compliance and they'll dump everything on you. These past two years she'd done nothing but drown in paperwork. Her mother's documents she cared about—but this? What the hell was this supposed to be?
Lys thought viciously while maintaining perfect politeness as she excused herself.
Then, rounding the corner from the headmaster's office, she saw her brother pinned to the ground. Someone had just punched him. Her mind felt like it was about to explode.
"Friedheim! What's in your hand? You could kill him and I'd handle it—what are you waiting for?"
Behind her, the board members being escorted out by Igor Karkaroff stopped dead. All eyes turned.
The boy looked up briefly but didn't release his grip.
"Don't want your wand? Then snap it." Threat laced Lys's voice.
Friedheim fired off a spell without hesitation. But his opponent appeared to be a fifth-year—bigger, stronger, with more stable spellwork.
Spell-light blazed through the corridor. Friedheim used the opening when his opponent deflected his curse to spring to his feet.
Lys kept her wand trained on both boys, while grabbing a student trying to slink away. "What happened?"
The student shook his head, seeing the board members behind Lys, too afraid to speak.
Another student from a more prominent family finally explained.
"The Dortmund boy called you... a not-so-nice word in relation to Professor Karkaroff. Then he called Friedheim a puppy who only knows how to run to his sister. That's what started the fight."
Lys knew her position as faculty and her father's identity had caused Friedheim trouble. He didn't even have real friends.
But she hadn't realized when this trouble had escalated so severely.
She reached up stiffly with her left hand to rub her temple. "What not-so-nice word?"
The student didn't answer.
Half a minute later, Friedheim's swinging wand carved a gushing wound across his opponent's throat. A girl nearby let out a short, sharp scream. Only then did someone from the board speak:
"That's enough. Someone call the school medic."
The students glanced between Lys and the board members without moving.
Not that they feared Lys particularly—mainly, with the kid bleeding like that, if something happened en route, whose fault would it be?
Lys flicked her wand to stop the bleeding herself, then said coldly to the pale-faced boy clutching his throat: "Go yourself."
The boy seemed about to say something when the student who'd explained earlier grabbed his shoulder and forcibly led him away.
As a family likely to be elevated through marriage alliance with the Karkaroff patriarch, even though they were incompetent enough not to know even a shred of this professor's true backing, they'd still gained value worth cultivating.
"Menilquide Karkaroff. You should know whose child that was, yes?" Lys's tone was terrible.
Yes. Menilquide knew. That was his fiancée's younger brother.
His expression soured.
Partly because Lys showed him no face. Partly because he could probably guess what that word had been.
Something stuck hard in Menilquide's throat.
"I will give you a satisfactory answer, Miss Lys. I hope my oversight won't bring you further disruption in your life and work." With that, he angled his shoulder toward Lys and dipped his head slightly.
A gesture from the Karkaroff patriarch had to be taken seriously. Lys returned the courtesy with an equally sour expression before turning to check on her brother.
Friedheim's face looked as bad as Lys's.
What just happened was typical of the provocations he'd endured since coming to this school.
Before, he'd always hit back, and his opponents seemed to fear his sister enough not to go too far.
But this year, something had changed. The small clique led by that boy had become exceptionally arrogant, even deliberately picking this timing to provoke him. And his sister had witnessed it.
Friedheim glanced at everyone's grim faces and gripped his wand tightly. He picked at the bloodstain on the metal flower Silk had made for his wand. The corner of his mouth twitched upward before he pressed it back down.
"Do you want to go to Hogwarts? Students there have friction too, but it's not this disgusting. Plus you could play Quidditch with Draco."
In front of the entire board, Lys asked her brother if he needed to transfer schools. This made Igor Karkaroff cough in displeasure, shooting Lys a look before enthusiastically leading the board members off to inspect recent honors.
"No, Silk. I can handle it... Could you add some anti-slip measures to my wand though? I felt it slide a bit when I swung it full force just now."
That statement made the lingering students' hearts skip a beat.
After all, Friedheim's swing had nearly sliced that kid's throat open.
And he was complaining his wand was slippery?
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