In the days that followed, Lys found herself under Fred's earnest supervision as she took her medication.
Even when Lys occasionally knocked the potion over—watching that silvery-white mist escape the bottle and evaporate into nothingness upon the ground—she restrained herself from unleashing nameless fury upon Fred.
"Perhaps if I truly went mad, I'd dare do what I want to do, Fred. If I could raise my wand and point it at him, would I stop suffering so much?"
"Step by step," Lys's gaze grew distant as she raised her wine glass to clink against Fred's milk cup. "You know what? I originally thought hiding behind Malfoy would allow me to avoid becoming a Death Eater until one side achieved victory."
She swallowed a mouthful of wine. "Every time I believed I'd find hope—including when he first vanished. I always thought hope would come, but the result remains identical. Do you see? The Dark Lord isn't remotely human. Hiding until the end yields the same outcome. I keep compromising, paying to avoid losing, but now the payment hurts as much as the loss itself. I can barely endure it anymore... Oh, right... you're not a Death Eater, haven't entered the meeting room. That's fortunate—you'd better never go inside."
Lys muttered something, seeming vexed at her own words, then leaned close to Fred's ear and whispered: "Did you know your beloved Professor Snape loves someone else's wife?"
Fred observed his sister's gossiping expression with pained bewilderment, momentarily unable to process the conversational leap.
"What? What?!"
"Hehe, the Savior's parents and I were Severus's schoolmates, tsk tsk..."
Then Fred endured half an hour of his sister revealing his professor's secrets.
"I dare say he still cannot release that Evans woman. Little Potter fled, and the previous day he carried lily fragrance. Thank Bellatrix Lestrange!"
Fred watched Lys raise her wine glass and begin incoherent rambling. With considerable effort, he drew his wand beneath the table, vanished both wine bottles, and replaced them with milk identical to his own.
Lys suddenly froze. She extended her trembling, intoxicated hand to lift the milk cup and pour it into her mouth. "Wait, what did I just say?"
Fred poured milk while thinking, recalling only: "You said thank Bellatrix Lestrange."
But Lys simply stared blankly, saying nothing as she drained Fred's milk, then maintained eerie silence as she collapsed onto the bed.
Fred opened another door and returned to his own chamber, settling on the bedside with a sigh.
Tomorrow he would board the train to Hogwarts for sixth year.
He couldn't quite comprehend—if Sis knew the final result would be identical, why hadn't she raised her wand as she'd contemplated, or taken him away from this place?
Besides, if the Dark Lord could designate anyone's identity at will, his Black bloodline shouldn't matter so significantly—he wouldn't care that intensely, would he?
Even having witnessed the Dark Lord's behavior, he still couldn't understand what Lys truly feared.
He only knew his Sis wasn't thriving. She craved freedom, and she'd once possessed it.
She was sufficiently dedicated and accomplished.
She deserved that freedom.
"If you desire it, you should act, Sis," Fred's voice emerged from behind the slightly ajar door. "I've spoken with Draco. I understand what you're confronting, so if you wish it, you should proceed. The final outcome remains unchanged... because whatever decision you make, I'll support you."
Her alcohol-fueled speculation interrupted, Lys raised her arm to shield her eyes.
Her brow creased tightly beneath her arm. She felt Fred still didn't grasp how profoundly the Dark Lord despised betrayal following his resurrection.
Those who'd feigned death, sought foreign sanctuary, retreated into hiding... the carpets in Lucius's home knew those individuals' fates with crystalline clarity.
But she, who possessed answers, remained powerless. Enlightening Fred would only amplify his terror, ensnare him in panic, and potentially cost him his composure.
Even the reason she dared not act rashly—that secret of the Dark Lord she profoundly dreaded—Lys dared not voice aloud to him.
Lys regretted that perhaps she should have redirected the conversation earlier after her verbal slip.
Until the following day when Lys escorted Fred onto the Hogwarts Express, she offered no response to Fred's words.
The Hogwarts Express expelled massive steam clouds, obscuring Lys's view of Fred. As the train accelerated into the distance, Lys also Disapparated.
Lys was again dispatched to hunt Mudbloods or half-bloods, but she remained the most incompetent—the two she retrieved were obviously pure-bloods...
"Malfoy, this is your assistant. I even suspect she harbors objections to the Lord's commands—observe how she completes her assignments."
The wizard supervising this matter pursed his lips, regarding Lucius with malicious intent.
But Lucius merely returned the stare. "Then you may report to the Dark Lord, exposing your inadequate capabilities and incomplete tasks while attempting to shift responsibility onto someone... without a functioning brain."
Lucius found it remarkable that Lys retained sufficient rationality to placate these imbeciles.
After all, when departing the previous meeting, the Dark Lord had casually instructed Snape and Draco, walking at the rear, to properly educate that red-haired Black's brother.
Everyone present could observe Lys's obviously rigid expression behind the Dark Lord.
Only Bellatrix, after glancing at Crabbe, maintained her fixed stare upon Fred and Lys, as though they'd stolen something precious from her.
Her family member chosen by the Dark Lord, yet she could remain composed.
This exceeded Lucius's expectations.
Ultimately, Lucius installed Lys in the Ministry's Department for International Magical Cooperation, ostensibly for surveillance, but actually to position her beyond others' sight, reducing their interference.
In this department, Lys's primary occupation involved observing foreign Dark wizards who'd somehow infiltrated the country to serve the Dark Lord.
Intriguingly, despite the Ministry's current chaotic state, entry permits still required signatures and stamps from various departments. Lys found this amusing.
Locating the Imperius-cursed Minister for Magic's office, Lys deposited a stack of entry permits upon his desk, then watched helplessly as the Minister signed everything in incorrect locations.
She inquired of the rotund, perpetually smiling man at the adjacent desk, "Is the Imperius Curse weakening somewhat?"
The man casually lowered the list he'd been perusing. "Mr. Lestrange and the Dark Lord have subjected him to the Imperius Curse excessively—too frequently, for too long. Well... his mental faculties tend toward malfunction."
Lys asked curiously, "Then during public appearances, can you still properly control his signatures and speeches?"
The man displayed no impatience, continuing: "He employs a red-haired assistant, called... what was it? From the Weasley family, quite competent professionally. For such delicate matters, we typically deploy him."
Lys responded "Oh," sensing something amiss. "Isn't the Weasley family affiliated with the Order of the Phoenix?"
The smiling wizard, having no pressing obligations, settled into conversation with Lys.
"Precisely why they say power and wealth corrupt hearts. That boy's mind and vision are consumed with 'authority,'" he handed Lys the list he'd been examining, observing her mask as he continued: "Originally I intended him to extract intelligence from Dumbledore, but the boy returned home and quarreled with his family. Such a pity—he forfeited an opportunity to distinguish himself."
The wizard's regretful tone resembled a parent lamenting to neighbors about an unambitious child, making Lys's skin crawl with revulsion.
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