Fred's letter rambled on as always, written thick with his characteristic verbosity.
When Lys read that Draco seemed on the verge of complete breakdown—constantly oscillating between begging Fred to help him and demanding Fred stay away—she frowned deeply.
Then, seeing Fred mention that some Hogwarts courses seemed rather elementary now, her expression smoothed.
She nearly laughed aloud. Where on earth did this boy find such confidence?
The letter continued with Fred's complaints about how the hippogriff kept refusing to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest lately—something massive had apparently taken up residence there.
Several areas within the forest showed signs of catastrophic violence. Hagrid was behaving strangely too. Fred had delivered countless bottles of dittany essence—enough to bathe a small dragon—yet Hagrid's face remained a grotesque mess of wounds.
The Acromantulas were everywhere now, scuttling through the undergrowth to ambush animals and attack him. Though he'd sustained some injuries...
"But! But! The hippogriff and I knocked down loads of those giant spiders together!"
Fred had traced over this sentence multiple times, making it leap from the parchment with boyish pride.
Lys glanced at the vial secured to the owl's leg and recognition dawned—Acromantula venom. Of course.
She returned to the letter with renewed interest.
What truly surprised her was learning that Snape had finally achieved his coveted position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Fred wrote that Snape had personally brewed antidotes for him, purging the lingering spider toxins from his system. More remarkably, he'd actually answered Fred's questions about advanced magical theory.
Though Snape maintained his characteristic impatience, Fred spent most evenings in the professor's office, staying until well past curfew.
He'd grown rather fond of Professor Snape, actually.
Provided the man didn't speak, naturally.
The upcoming Hogsmeade weekend would bring remedial Charms lessons—Professor Flitwick had volunteered for individual tutoring sessions...
Fred had emphasized this in bold strokes: Because Hogwarts and Durmstrang teach completely different methodologies.
Gone were his previous boasts about coursework being too simple or having mastered everything the previous year.
But the following Hogsmeade visit would find him at the Three Broomsticks, where they could finally meet and talk properly.
Lys read through the letter twice more before folding it carefully and tucking it into Snap's collar, drawing both creatures close against her chest.
She sank deeper into the floor cushions, knowing she should relocate to her desk and review her notes, yet unable to summon the energy to move.
Covering her tracks after each killing spree had required extensive travel across multiple countries. Though the bloodshed left her feeling remarkably centered, the constant vigilance exhausted her completely.
She forced down the spoonful of medicine she'd been avoiding, then attempted sleep.
Sleep refused to come.
Perhaps she could request Veritaserum from Snape—some of those faded wanted posters deserved more careful scrutiny.
Who could say whether innocents like Lucius might be among them? People used as convenient scapegoats, condemned for crimes they'd never committed.
She harbored no delusions about heroism, but neither did she wish to carry unearned guilt.
The systematic disappearances of wanted criminals had begun attracting notice from both Ministry Aurors and certain Death Eaters.
The Aurors celebrated the borderlands' newfound tranquility—werewolf raids on wizarding settlements and Muggle villages had decreased by nearly twenty-five percent.
Their premature relief only agitated the Death Eaters further.
Death Eaters rarely operated in isolation—each maintained networks of subordinates for mundane but necessary tasks. Now these underlings had either vanished entirely or cowered in hiding.
More assignments required personal attention. Efficiency plummeted. This terrified them, because the Dark Lord had grown displeased.
And Bellatrix Lestrange took anything that displeased her master very personally indeed.
Particularly when this mysterious figure's actions carried such obvious provocation, kindling dangerous hope among the cowering masses.
Such defiance threatened their broader campaign of terror.
Now she stood back-to-back with her thoroughly inadequate husband, hunting the legendary vigilante who'd been systematically eliminating dark wizards across three countries.
That legendary vigilante—namely Lys—currently perched on slender branches thirty feet above them, calculating departure windows with predatory patience.
Bellatrix's alternating threats and honeyed promises bored her immensely, but premature movement carried far greater risk than waiting for their inevitable departure.
Recent months had seen the Ministry of Magic thoroughly compromised through a combination of Imperius Curses and old-fashioned intimidation.
Equipment from the Department of Magical Transportation now served Death Eater operations, facilitating the Dark Lord's expanding influence.
Watching Bellatrix spray curses randomly into the canopy, Lys gracefully leaped to an adjacent tree. Patience had its limits—she'd withdraw to safer distance before Apparating.
Unfortunately, Bellatrix's involvement meant British operations must cease temporarily.
Lys's tactical retreat proved wise. After Bellatrix's impotent fury reached its crescendo—
Lord Voldemort materialized.
The Dark Lord surveyed the devastated clearing and erupted in incandescent rage. Bellatrix's indiscriminate dark magic had obliterated every trace of their quarry's magical signature.
This recent 'hero'—whispered about in taverns and safe houses—resembled a banner raised over ruins. Each time his Death Eaters moved to tear it down, it simply... vanished.
Only to resurface elsewhere, operating with greater stealth than his own elite operatives.
Such individuals required either recruitment or absolute destruction.
Yet they couldn't even locate this phantom. Though his Death Eaters hadn't committed their full resources to the hunt, their failure still infuriated him beyond measure. Returning to Malfoy Manor, he unleashed his wrath upon the assembled furniture.
Defiance always enraged him.
But more pressing matters demanded attention. During the next gathering, he formally delegated the search to his inner circle.
Lys huddled on the stone steps beside Nagini, arms wrapped around her knees, projecting the image of a terrified young woman shrinking into shadows.
Only after the Dark Lord's departure and the subsequent dispersal did she partially lower her Occlumency barriers—Nagini's supernatural perception made emotional concealment essential.
After months of careful suppression, she'd finally managed to genuinely inconvenience Lord Voldemort.
Sitting mere feet behind him, listening to his frustrated complaints about her handiwork—
Lys savored a deliciously secret and utterly perverse satisfaction.
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