Whispers of Rumors and Mistletoe

The moonlight and herbal fragrance of the Hospital Wing seemed to still linger beneath their noses, but the wheel of time at Hogwarts never stopped. Only after Madam Pomfrey confirmed that Lynn's magic had stabilized and Hermione's scrapes were nothing serious did she reluctantly allow them to leave before breakfast the next morning. The moment they stepped through the Hospital Wing's heavy oak doors, the noisy chatter in the corridors and the scent of frying bacon rushed over them, making it feel as though ages had passed.

Yet when they returned to the familiar Gryffindor Tower, the atmosphere had subtly changed.

"Look! It's them!"

"Merlin's beard, did they really take down a Troll?"

"I heard Lynn Li used an incredibly powerful Petrifying Spell!"

"Hermione Granger rushed in too! She used a Stunning Spell!"

"Parvati said Hermione went back to save them..."

Whispers spread like ripples over water as Lynn and Hermione entered the Common Room. Countless gazes settled on them—curious, admiring, probing, and even faintly fearful. The previously noisy room quieted at once. Ron and Harry sprang from the armchairs beside the fireplace and hurried over.

"Lynn! Hermione! Are you all right?" Harry's green eyes were full of sincere concern and lingering fright. "You scared us to death yesterday! Professor McGonagall only said you were in the Hospital Wing!"

"Madam Pomfrey said we're fine now." Hermione's voice was slightly hoarse with exhaustion. She instinctively adjusted her sleeve, hiding the bandage around her elbow, stained pale green by ointment. Her eyes swept across the classmates watching her and Lynn, and her small face tightened slightly. She clearly was not used to being the center of attention.

Ron's eyes widened as he looked Lynn up and down as if meeting him for the first time. "You really... froze an adult Troll with a Petrifying Spell? Right when it was about to flatten you? Fred and George said that required at least a fifth-year's magical power!" His tone was filled with incredulous amazement.

"Luck." Lynn's answer was as brief and calm as ever, as though he were merely commenting on the weather. His deep gaze passed over the Common Room, utterly unmoved by the searching looks. The Star Stone at his chest gave off a steady warmth.

"It wasn't luck!" Hermione immediately objected, her tone holding a protectiveness she did not even notice herself. Her face reddened slightly with agitation. "Lynn's plan was perfect! He first destroyed the torch stand, then used a copper pipe to injure the Troll's wrist and make it drop its weapon! Only at the most dangerous moment did he use the Petrifying Spell! Every step was crucial!" She recounted it with clear logic, her eyes shining with admiration for Lynn's calmness and strength.

Ron and Harry listened with their mouths hanging open. The whispers around them grew louder.

"All right, Miss Granger, Mr. Lee." A stern voice rang out. Professor McGonagall had appeared at the entrance to the Common Room without anyone noticing. Her gaze swept across the crowd with its usual severity, though when she looked at Lynn and Hermione, there was a barely perceptible softness to it. "In light of your... exceptional courage last night," she said, carefully choosing her words, "and Miss Granger's concern for her companions' safety, although her actions were exceedingly reckless..." She gave Hermione a severe look, and Hermione immediately lowered her head. "Gryffindor will receive... fifty points."

"Fifty points?!" The Common Room instantly erupted. The first-years cried out in shock. The competition for the House Cup was fierce, and fifty points was practically an astronomical number. Even Percy pushed up his glasses, looking surprised.

"Twenty-five points each?" Ron asked, his mouth open wide.

"No," Professor McGonagall corrected him. "Fifty points in total. Thirty points for Mr. Lynn Li, and twenty for Miss Hermione Granger." Her gaze passed over them again. "I hope this reminds you that true courage requires the guidance of wisdom, not mere impulse. Now go have breakfast and prepare for class." With that, she turned and left, leaving a wave of excited discussion behind her.

"Twenty-five each is still good!" Ron said excitedly, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Now Gryffindor's definitely going to beat Slytherin!"

Hermione, however, seemed a little downcast. As she followed Lynn toward the Great Hall, she muttered softly, "Professor McGonagall was right... I was too impulsive... If it hadn't been for you..." Remembering the danger of last night and the powerful spell that had drained Lynn so badly, she felt full of guilt.

"The result was good." Lynn's low voice interrupted her self-reproach. "Miss Granger's courage was worth twenty points." He deliberately used Professor McGonagall's formal address, though his tone carried a faint, almost imperceptible tease.

Hermione's cheeks immediately turned scarlet. She shot him a reproachful glare. "Don't imitate Professor McGonagall!" Her little sulk was easily dispelled by a single sentence from Lynn, replaced by a subtle sweetness. The Moon White Stone at her chest clearly responded to the Star Stone's warmth.

However, not everyone bore them goodwill. During Potions Class, when Lynn and Hermione were once again working together to brew a relatively simple Wakefulness Potion—a potion that briefly sharpened concentration—Professor Snape glided to a stop beside their table like a moving shadow.

His cold black eyes swept over their perfectly coordinated movements like probing needles—Hermione focused on stirring the pale golden liquid in the cauldron, while Lynn precisely handed her the sliced Evening Primrose Petals. There was no expression on Snape's waxen face, yet his thin lips curved into an extremely cold smile.

"It seems last night's... adventure has not affected Miss Granger's much-vaunted... ability to apply theory." His voice was like a venomous snake hissing, steeped in biting sarcasm. "And our deeply concealed Mr. Lee still maintains... such eye-catching precision of control. One wonders, however, whether that sudden burst of powerful magic depleted the precious source of your... 'Beyond the Star Trail.'" His gaze stabbed at Lynn like an ice pick, his words filled with undisguised malice, probing, and mockery.

The flames dancing beneath the cauldron reflected Hermione's suddenly bloodless face and tightly pressed lips. Snape's words were like poisoned needles, piercing directly into her guilt and concern for Lynn. Her fingers clenched around the stirring rod until her knuckles turned white, nearly snapping the glass rod in two.

Lynn did not pause for even an instant. Calmly, he dropped the final Evening Primrose Petal into the cauldron. The potion immediately turned a clear, bright pale green, releasing a fresh herbal scent. Only then did he lift his eyes to meet Snape's cold, scrutinizing stare. Those deep black eyes were like an ancient, bottomless well, utterly still as they clearly reflected Snape's malicious face.

"Your concern is appreciated, Professor." Lynn's voice was not loud, yet it clearly covered the cauldron's bubbling, calm as though he were stating a fact. "Magic is like the stars; it has its own path of movement. Focusing too much on another's path makes it easy to lose one's own direction." Meaningfully, he glanced at the hem of Snape's robes, where there was an extremely small, barely noticeable tear from the bite of some powerful magical creature, clumsily repaired with magic.

Snape's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly. He suddenly clenched the fist hidden in his sleeve, and a flash of furious alarm at having his secret exposed crossed his waxen face. He stared fixedly at Lynn. Darker malice churned in his cold black eyes, along with... a trace of indescribable wariness. In the end, he said nothing. He merely let out a suppressed cold snort, his black robes billowing as he glided toward his next target like an enraged bat.

Hermione silently let out a long breath, and her tense body relaxed. The way she looked at Lynn was filled with undisguised gratitude and admiration. In that moment, Lynn's calm yet invisibly sharp retort had reassured her more than any spell could have. Beneath the table, she quietly reached out and, with a fleeting touch that carried a hint of comforting warmth, brushed her fingertips over the back of Lynn's hand resting on his knee.

Lynn's fingers moved almost imperceptibly, but he did not pull away. The Star Stone sent out a clear wave of warmth, dispelling the chill Snape had brought with him.

Time slipped into December amid demanding schoolwork and feelings that quietly deepened. The castle was thoroughly adorned by holiday magic. A massive fir tree stood in the center of the Great Hall, hung with singing golden bells, glittering Ice Crystals, and enchanted ornaments whose patterns constantly changed. The corridors were filled with the sweet scent of pine needles and hot mead. The suits of armor had been enchanted to hum off-key Christmas carols. Even Filch's bony cat, Mrs. Norris, had a tiny, crooked bow tied around her neck by kind-hearted students.

As Christmas break approached, students began signing up to either remain at school or return home. Holding a quill, Hermione looked at the two choices on the parchment—"stay at school" and "go home"—and fell into a small dilemma. Of course, she missed her parents' warm dental practice and their home in London, but... she secretly glanced toward Lynn, who was sitting quietly by a window some distance away, reading a thick book of magical lore. Leaning against the window frame, his calm profile was dappled with colorful light as winter sunlight passed through the stained glass. He had no home to return to and could only remain at Hogwarts.

"Lynn," Hermione said as she walked over, her voice carrying a trace of hesitation, "will you... be staying at school for Christmas break?"

Lynn lifted his eyes from the page and nodded. "Yes."

"Then... I..." Hermione's fingers unconsciously twisted the feathered end of her quill, her face flushing. "My parents said... if I wanted to stay at school and experience a magical Christmas, I could..." Her voice grew softer and softer, though her meaning could not have been clearer.

Lynn's deep eyes took in her slightly reddened cheeks and evasive gaze, and he understood. A faint smile touched the corner of his lips. "Christmas at Hogwarts should be interesting." He did not directly say, "Stay with me," but his gentle tone and gaze were answer enough.

Hermione's eyes lit up at once, as though stars had fallen into them. "Really? Then... then I'll stay too!" She immediately signed her name firmly beside the "stay at school" option on the parchment, her movements full of delight.

Once she had decided to stay, Hermione seemed to have put down a small burden, and her whole body became lighter. She began eagerly discussing what they could do over the holiday with Lynn—explore the edge of the Restricted Section in the library, though only in theory; study the suits of armor that could dance; or visit the kitchens and ask the House-elves for special Christmas treats, as she had heard older students mention...

That afternoon, they had just borrowed several books on Ancient Runes from the library and were passing through an arcade hung with wreaths of holly and berries. Above them, a sprig of lush green mistletoe dotted with pearl-white berries hung in the center by magic, giving off a fresh herbal fragrance.

"Lynn, look!" Hermione pointed eagerly at the mistletoe and began explaining, "The books say mistletoe has special magical significance at Christmas. It symbolizes..." Her words abruptly stopped.

Because Lynn had stopped as well. Standing at the border between light and shadow at the entrance to the arcade, his deep gaze settled on Hermione's cheeks, lit by the winter sun and flushed with healthy color. Then his eyes slowly lifted to the green sprig above her head, which symbolized love, peace, and... romantic encounters. Winter sunlight outlined her fluffy curls, and the air was filled with the scent of pine needles, parchment, and... the faint, sun-warmed bookish fragrance that belonged to the girl.

Hermione sensed the subtle shift in the atmosphere too. Following Lynn's gaze, she looked up and saw the mistletoe above them, especially lush and alluring beneath its magical glow, along with the unspoken romantic tradition that hung beneath it. Her cheeks instantly flared like sunset, the heat spreading swiftly to her ears and neck. Her heart pounded uncontrollably, as if it might burst from her chest. She instinctively hugged the books to herself, her fingers digging into their hard covers. Her long lashes fluttered rapidly like startled butterfly wings. Her gaze dropped in panic, yet she could not stop herself from stealing quick glances at Lynn.

The arcade was so quiet that only distant carols and the clear sound of their heartbeats remained. Sunlight passed through the stained glass and cast dreamlike patches of color over the stone floor. The mistletoe leaves swayed lightly in an almost imperceptible current of air, its white berries like shy eyes.

Lynn stood there quietly, his gaze calm yet filled with a focus unlike anything before. He neither spoke nor moved. He simply looked deeply at her, as though he wanted to engrave her embarrassment, panic, and budding loveliness into the deepest memories of the stars' path. The Star Stone at his chest pulsed with clear, warm beats like a silent drum.

Hermione felt as though she could barely breathe. Time seemed to stretch without end. What should she do? Run away? Or... Her gaze drifted involuntarily to Lynn's sharply defined jaw, then lower, to his slightly pressed lips, which looked... perhaps rather soft? The thought sent all the blood in her body rushing to her head. She abruptly closed her eyes, as though doing so could shield her from the heart-stopping intimacy of the moment.

Just as Hermione was nearly about to turn and flee in embarrassment, Lynn moved.

He did not bend down as the stories said he should. Instead, with extreme slowness and something almost precious in his manner, he raised his right hand. His fingertips did not touch her cheek or lips. Rather, with a faintly cool touch, they gently brushed over a soft curl by her temple, turned golden by the sunlight, and tucked it behind her delicate ear.

His fingertips grazed the sensitive edge of her ear, bringing a faint, trembling jolt like an electric current. Hermione's body went rigid at once, then trembled slightly from the touch, so restrained yet so intensely intimate. Her long lashes shook violently like butterfly wings, but she did not open her eyes. All that escaped her throat was a tiny, trembling hum.

"You had a stray lock." Lynn's low voice sounded beside her ear, carrying a barely noticeable huskiness, like a feather brushing across her heart. He withdrew his hand, his fingertips seeming to still retain the softness of her hair and the delicate warmth of her ear.

Having done all that, he acted as though he had merely finished the most natural little task. He turned and was the first to leave the arcade beneath the mistletoe's magic, his steps as steady as ever, though his back seemed a little straighter than usual.

Winter sunlight fell over her face again, carrying a faint warmth. Only then did Hermione dare open her eyes. Looking at Lynn's tall, straight back, her cheeks were still burning fiercely and her heart thundered like a drum. She lifted a hand, her fingertips lightly touching the edge of the ear he had just brushed. It seemed to still hold the faint coolness of his fingers and that... indescribable flutter. She hugged the books in her arms even tighter, as though trying to restrain her wildly racing heart.

Behind them, the mistletoe leaves swayed softly, their white berries gleaming with pure light beneath the sun. There had been no kiss, no embrace—only that gentle motion of brushing aside a stray lock, and a simple, "You had a stray lock." Yet it cast a star brighter than any magic into the lake of the girl's heart, sending ripples outward that lingered for a long time. She jogged a few steps to catch up with Lynn, then walked beside him down the sunlit corridor. Between them flowed an unspoken understanding warmer than the winter sunlight. Beneath their robes, the Star Stone and Moon White Stone glowed softly and in perfect rhythm, separated by only a short distance.