The corridor was deathly silent, filled only with swirling dust, Hermione's pounding heartbeat, and ragged breaths.
Did we succeed? Hermione stared at the Troll lying before her like a fallen hill. Her mind went blank, and her legs gave out beneath her, nearly unable to keep her standing.
Lynn caught her at once, his arm firmly supporting her body. He was breathing hard; the blow he had unleashed with all his magic had drained him tremendously, and the Star Stone radiated waves of searing afterheat. He kept his eyes warily fixed on the Troll on the ground, his wand still clenched tightly.
"Hermione! Lynn!" The washroom door was yanked open a crack, and Parvati and Lavender's pale, tear-streaked faces peered out. Seeing the scene before them, they were too shocked to speak.
Just then, a jumble of hurried footsteps drew nearer.
"Over here! Quickly!" Professor McGonagall's stern voice rang out. She held her wand in hand, with Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell behind her. Quirrell still had his turban wrapped around his head, his face white as paper, but he appeared to have "come to."
When Professor McGonagall saw the fallen Troll in the corridor, the shattered door panels, the scattered remains of torch brackets, and Hermione—pale-faced and disheveled, shielded behind Lynn—her usually severe face filled with shock and lingering fear.
"Merlin's beard!" Professor McGonagall hurried forward, her sharp gaze swiftly sweeping over the scene before settling on Lynn and Hermione. "You... what are you doing here?! Are you hurt?" Her voice carried a rare mixture of severity and concern.
"Miss Granger was worried about her friends..." Lynn explained briefly, his voice hoarse from the battle as he glanced at Parvati and Lavender.
"We... we heard screaming... so we came to see..." Hermione's voice still trembled as she instinctively tightened her grip on the hand supporting her arm.
Professor McGonagall's stern gaze swept over the shaken Parvati and Lavender, then moved to the Troll immobilized by the Petrifying Spell, the broken copper pipe that had struck its wrist with perfect accuracy, and finally Lynn, gripping his wand tightly, his breathing uneven but his back still straight as he shielded Hermione. Her eyes held a tangle of emotions—shock, disbelief, lingering fear, and a faint but unmistakable... admiration.
"You..." Professor McGonagall took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. "...are utterly reckless! Completely foolhardy!" Her tone remained stern, but the concern beneath it was impossible to miss. "Go to the Hospital Wing immediately! Madam Pomfrey will check whether you are injured! Go, now!" Her eyes fell on Hermione's dust-covered sleeve, where her scraped elbow had begun to seep blood. Her tone allowed no argument.
"But, Professor..." Hermione tried to say something.
"No buts!" Professor McGonagall cut her off, turning to Snape and Quirrell. "Severus, Filius—Professor Flitwick had arrived as well—please handle this. Professor Quirrell..." She looked at the still-shivering Quirrell. "You need to be checked too."
The Hospital Wing was filled with the soothing fragrance of medicinal herbs. Madam Pomfrey, a kind-faced woman who moved with brisk efficiency, applied a cool, mint-scented green ointment to the shallow but stinging scrape on Hermione's elbow while lecturing her nonstop. "Thank Merlin it is only a scrape! What a blessing! Two first-years taking on a Troll? Gryffindor courage can sometimes be... quite a headache!" Yet her hands were exceptionally gentle as she dressed the wound.
Lynn sat on the bed beside her. Madam Pomfrey had insisted on examining him as well, confirming that he had merely overexerted his magic and was somewhat exhausted, with no external injuries, though he needed rest.
"You two will stay here under observation tonight!" Madam Pomfrey declared, leaving no room for argument. Once she had finished bandaging Hermione, she handed Lynn a steaming cup of foul-smelling restorative potion. "Drink it, then get some proper rest! No wandering about!" She glared sternly at them both, drew the curtains between the beds, and went to check on the other frightened students.
Only Lynn and Hermione remained in the little curtained space. Soft moonlight spilled in through the high windows, and the air was filled with the cool scent of ointment and the strange smell of the restorative potion. Once their taut nerves finally relaxed, overwhelming exhaustion and the pounding unease of surviving such danger came rushing in.
Hermione looked down at her bandaged elbow, then raised her eyes toward Lynn on the bed beside hers. Moonlight outlined the calm profile of his face as he slowly drank the foul-tasting potion, his brow faintly furrowed. The heart-stopping scenes in the corridor replayed in her mind—his unhesitating attempt to stop her, his decision to go against the tide, the protection of his tightly interlocked fingers, his precise and devastating attack, his tall back standing before her... and, at last, the solid strength in his arm when he caught her.
An emotion too powerful to suppress overwhelmed her in an instant, mingling lingering fear, gratitude, dependence, and an indescribable flutter. Tears surged up without warning and rolled down her cheeks in large drops.
"Lynn..." Her voice was thick with tears and choked sobs, her body trembling faintly as she cried.
Lynn set down his cup and looked at her. In the moonlight, her little face was pale, tear tracks winding down her cheeks, her brown curls messily clinging to the sides of her face. Those large eyes, always brimming with intelligence and curiosity, were now filled with tears, leaving her as fragile and helpless as a wounded little animal.
He rose and walked to her bedside. He did not offer any words of comfort. He merely reached out and, with extraordinary gentleness, brushed away the hot tears rolling down her cheeks with the pads of his fingers. His fingertips carried the lingering coolness of potion, as well as the warm afterglow of the Star Stone.
The touch of his fingers made Hermione's sobbing pause for a moment, but then her tears flowed even harder. She was no longer the proud young witch, only a terrified eleven-year-old girl. Instinctively, she reached out with her uninjured left hand, caught the hand Lynn was using to wipe away her tears, and held it tightly as though it were her only support. His hand was warm and strong, still stained with dust from the battle and carrying a faint smell of smoke from lingering magic.
"I'm sorry..." Hermione choked out, her vision blurred by tears. "I... I was too impulsive... I nearly got you hurt..." If she had not insisted on finding Parvati and the others, Lynn would never have had to face such terrible danger.
"You saved your friends." Lynn's voice was low and steady, carrying a peculiar calming power as he allowed her to clutch his hand tightly. "And you did well." He meant the courage she had shown in casting the Stunning Spell at the critical moment, even if it had had little effect.
"But you..." Hermione raised her tear-blurred eyes to him. "You used such a powerful Petrifying Spell... your magic..." She remembered how hard he had been breathing.
"I'll be fine after some rest." Lynn said it lightly. The pad of his thumb unconsciously and very gently stroked the back of her hand where she held his, beneath whose delicate skin her knuckles protruded slightly from the force of her grip.
That tiny gesture struck Hermione like a faint electric current. All her grievance, fear, and lingering terror seemed to find an outlet beneath the silent comfort of his fingertips and his steady gaze. She no longer held herself back. Gently and tentatively, she rested her forehead against Lynn's arm like a fledgling seeking shelter, drawing in the reassuring scent of him, mixed with herbs and a faint starlit fragrance, as she sobbed silently.
Lynn's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. The girl's warm forehead rested against his arm, her tears soaking into his sleeve, and her quiet sobs were like a kitten's whimpers, scratching at his heart. An unfamiliar, soft emotion spread through the cold depths of his starlight. He did not pull his hand away or push her aside. He simply stood there and let her lean on him, using his other hand to slowly and gently stroke over her disheveled but soft brown hair. The movement was clumsy, but it carried an awkward tenderness.
Moonlight flowed like water through the quiet Hospital Wing enclosure. Even the medicinal scent in the air seemed tinged with a faint sweetness. The fierce battle, the raging Troll, and the cold terror all seemed shut out by this silent reliance and clumsy comfort. In the stillness, the Star Stone and Moon White Stone emitted a soft, synchronized glow, like two stars that had finally found one another in the night and nestled close together. Hermione's sobs gradually quieted, but she did not loosen her grip on Lynn's hand, as though it were the only rope tethering her to a safe harbor. Madam Pomfrey's deliberately softened footsteps sounded in the distance, then slowly faded away, as though she too were making room for this tranquil moment after disaster.
Before you continue