In the days that followed, Hermione's life seemed to revolve around the Hospital Wing. She strictly followed Madam Pomfrey's visiting schedule, appearing without fail at three in the afternoon with warm pumpkin juice, cut fruit, or books she thought Lynn might find interesting—sometimes dense Ancient Runes theory, sometimes an issue of Transfiguration Today, and once even a Muggle copy of Principles of Basic Physics, which she offered tentatively, asking whether he wanted a change of pace.
Most of the time, Lynn merely listened quietly, occasionally giving a slight nod at key points or expressing his opinions in exceedingly brief words. His spirit was recovering slowly, and some color had gradually returned to his pale face, but the injury to his chest was healing agonizingly slowly. Beneath the thick bandages, the scorched skin and spiderweb-like cracks remained a shocking sight. Even more worrying was the state of his magic. Madam Pomfrey had strictly forbidden him from using even a trace of magic and warned that damage to the Star Origin was the most troublesome kind. Recovery would be long and uncertain, and one careless mistake could leave permanent hidden injuries.
Hermione keenly noticed the faint, barely perceptible gloom in the depths of his eyes. Proud as Lynn was, the sudden loss of his strength and being confined to a hospital bed were probably harder for him to endure than physical pain. She could only work harder to find things to talk about, trying to distract him, or simply sit quietly at his side, making even silence less difficult to bear.
That afternoon, Hermione came to the Hospital Wing as usual. Madam Pomfrey was brewing a pungent-smelling ointment in the inner room. Hermione crept softly to Lynn's bedside, only to find his eyes closed, apparently asleep.
Sunlight fell across his peaceful sleeping face, his long lashes casting faint fan-shaped shadows beneath his eyes. His breathing was steady, but his brows were slightly furrowed, as though something heavy troubled him even in his dreams. Hermione's heart softened. She did not wake him. Setting down what she had brought, she was about to sit in the chair beside him when her gaze accidentally swept over the hand resting outside the covers.
His fingers were tracing something across the white bedsheet in an incredibly slight, nearly imperceptible motion...
Hermione held her breath and focused. The path of his fingertips was not an unconscious movement, but carried a particular, familiar rhythm—it was the silent casting gesture for "Lumos"! He was trying to summon magic!
A chill shot from Hermione's feet to the top of her head! Madam Pomfrey's warning still rang in her ears! Had he gone mad?!
Almost the second Hermione realized what he was doing, Lynn's body jolted violently! His eyes flew open, and pain and extreme weakness flashed through those calm black eyes! He pressed his lips tightly together as fine cold sweat instantly beaded at his temples. The hand on the sheets clenched hard, his knuckles turning white! Beneath the bandages covering his chest, something seemed to be forcibly suppressed, causing a violent rise and fall!
"Lynn!" Hermione cried out, throwing herself to his bedside, her heart pounding. "What are you doing?! You can't use magic! Madam Pomfrey said..."
Lynn panted sharply several times, forcibly suppressing the intense pain and dizziness caused by the magical backlash. He raised his eyes to Hermione. There was a hint of embarrassment at being caught, but even more than that, a nearly obsessive stubbornness and unwillingness to yield. He said nothing, merely turned his gaze away, his jaw drawn tight.
Seeing his pale face and the sweat at his temples, Hermione was both anxious and angry, but even more heartbroken. "Do you know how dangerous this is?!" Her voice trembled with tears, though she did not dare raise it too loudly for fear of alerting Madam Pomfrey. "Damage to your origin isn't something to joke about! Forcing yourself to use magic now will only make your injuries worse! Do you want to never recover?!"
Lynn's lips pressed into a pale straight line, and he remained silent. Yet his tightly clenched fist and trembling shoulders revealed the struggle within him. Losing his strength was like a beast having its claws torn away; that sense of helplessness was nearly enough to swallow him whole. He only wanted to confirm it, even if it was just the faintest trace...
Hermione looked at his stubborn profile, and every word of reproach caught in her throat, turning into deeper heartache. She took a deep breath, suppressed the turbulent emotions inside her, and softened her voice with an unprecedented gentleness and resolve. "Lynn, look at me."
Lynn's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, and he slowly turned back.
Hermione looked directly into his unfathomable black eyes and said clearly, seriously, one word at a time, "I know this is hard. I know how important strength is to you. But this isn't the time to force yourself. You need time. You need patience. Trust me, and trust Madam Pomfrey, all right?" Her voice was gentle, yet carried an undeniable strength. "Until you are completely better, I'll always be here. Anything you need, anything I can do, I'll do it. So... don't take risks. Please."
Her gaze was clear and unwavering, carrying undisguised concern and an almost protective determination. Looking at his reflection in the girl's eyes, at the faint redness around her eyes from worry and tension, Lynn felt that tightly drawn string in his heart—called unwillingness and restlessness—seem to be gently plucked by a tender yet powerful hand.
A crack appeared in his wall of stubbornness. His clenched fist slowly, incredibly slowly, loosened. His tight jaw relaxed slightly as well. He did not speak, but the gloomy hostility deep in his eyes seemed to fade somewhat, replaced by a complicated exhaustion carrying a trace of compromise. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.
That tiny movement finally let Hermione's suspended heart settle. She let out a long breath and felt cold sweat coating her back. Quickly, she picked up the warm towel beside her and gently wiped away the sweat at his temples.
"Would you like some water?" She picked up the cup and carefully held it to his lips.
Lynn silently drank several sips of warm water from her hand. The water slid down his dry throat, seeming to slightly soothe the restless magical backlash inside him.
The atmosphere finally eased. Hermione sat back down in her chair. Rather than immediately picking up a book as usual, she simply stayed quietly by his side. Warm sunlight fell over them both. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and disinfectant, yet somehow it no longer seemed so pungent.
After a long while, Lynn's hoarse voice sounded, carrying a trace of barely noticeable awkwardness. "...That book."
"Hmm?" Hermione did not understand at first.
"The Muggle..." He paused. "Physics."
Hermione's eyes lit up at once! He had actually asked about the Muggle physics book she had thought least likely to interest him! This was enormous progress! She hurriedly took Principles of Basic Physics from her bag and held it out to him like a treasured offering. "This one! It talks about force and motion, energy conversion, and... well, some basic laws of the universe. They take a different form from magic, but I think some of the principles might be connected..."
She eagerly opened the book and began introducing the contents, pointing at the table of contents as her voice regained its usual liveliness. Lynn listened quietly, his gaze resting on those unfamiliar formulas and concepts, without interrupting her. Sunlight fell over the pages and across his focused profile, dispersing some of the gloom brought by his illness.
Time slipped quietly by amid Hermione's gentle explanations and Lynn's occasional nods. When the signal announcing the end of visiting hours sounded, Hermione was still somewhat reluctant to stop.
"I'll continue with Newton's Laws tomorrow?" She closed the book and looked at Lynn expectantly.
Lynn's gaze lingered on her face for a moment before he nodded. "...Mm."
Hermione could not stop the corners of her mouth from lifting. She packed her things and prepared to leave. When she reached the door, she could not help looking back and saw that Lynn was still watching her. Gathering her courage, she quickly said, "Take your medicine on time, and get plenty of rest!" Then, like a startled fawn, she turned and ran out.
Lynn watched her figure disappear through the doorway, then lowered his head to look at his own hand. His fingertips seemed to retain the warm touch of the towel from when she had wiped his sweat. Slowly, he raised his hand, his fingertips unconsciously brushing over the thick bandages on his chest. The pain remained, and the weakness of magical depletion still clung to him like a shadow, but the frozen, restless wasteland in his heart, born from losing his strength, seemed to have received a faint yet unceasing ray of warm sunlight.
After the raging storms, the Hogwarts school year finally sailed into a peaceful ending. With exam week over, the castle was filled with lighthearted, bittersweet farewells. The sunlight grew scorching, and the Black Lake glittered beneath it as if strewn with crushed diamonds.
After spending a full three weeks in the Hospital Wing, Lynn was finally "granted permission" by Madam Pomfrey to return to Gryffindor Tower to recuperate, though his range of movement remained strictly restricted and he was forbidden from using any magic. The scorched wound on his chest had already scabbed over, and the cracks around its edges had faded considerably. No silver light flickered from them anymore, but they had left behind a hideous permanent scar, as though he had been struck by lightning. As for the most crucial Star Origin, it was like a dried, cracked riverbed, recovering with agonizing slowness. Madam Pomfrey frankly told him it would require years of patient nurturing. In the short term, he could only be an "ordinary person" whose magic was so weak he was almost no different from a Squib.
This news was undoubtedly a heavy blow to proud Lynn. On the day he was discharged, Hermione, Harry, and Ron were waiting early outside the Hospital Wing. When Lynn emerged in a neat school robe, he seemed thinner than before, his complexion still pale from illness, though his eyes remained calm and gave little away. Only Hermione noticed that the fingers hanging at his side curled slightly in the sunlight.
"Hey! Mate! You're finally out!" Ron gave Lynn's shoulder a hearty pat, carefully avoiding his chest. "How do you feel? Madam Pomfrey's potions didn't pickle you, did they?"
Harry stepped forward with a grin as well. "Welcome back! We saved loads of Chocolate Frogs for you!"
Lynn nodded at them in acknowledgment. His gaze passed over them and landed on Hermione, who stood a step behind. She had deliberately smoothed her hair more neatly today, and her eyes shone with undisguised delight.
"Come on," Hermione said as she stepped forward, her voice light as she tried to dispel the invisible heaviness. "Back to the tower! The Common Room is holding a farewell party today. Fred and George made loads of... er... improved Butterbeer." She did not mention his magic, as though it were nothing more than a trivial problem.
The four of them walked through the sunlit corridors together. Lynn's steps were much slower than usual, and his breathing was faintly labored. Hermione naturally slowed down as well, walking just behind and beside him, her eyes constantly watching his condition. Ahead of them, Harry and Ron excitedly discussed holiday plans and rumors about the Quidditch World Cup, their chatter echoing through the corridor.
Just as they were about to reach the spiral staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower, a gentle voice called out to them.
"Mr. Lynn, Miss Granger. Please wait a moment."
Headmaster Dumbledore had appeared at the corner of the corridor at some point. His silver-white beard gleamed in the sunlight, and behind his half-moon spectacles, his bright blue eyes held all-seeing wisdom and a trace of barely perceptible gravity.
"Headmaster." The four stopped.
"Harry, Ron, please wait for a moment," Dumbledore said with a smile, his gaze settling on Lynn and Hermione. "I have a few words I would like to share privately with these two young heroes."
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. Though curious, they obediently moved away to wait nearby.
Dumbledore led the two of them to a sunlit bay window nearby. Beyond it lay the broad Quidditch pitch and rolling green hills in the distance.
"First, allow me to once again express my deepest respect and gratitude." Dumbledore's voice was gentle yet solemn. His gaze swept across Lynn's still-pale face and the faint outline of bandages beneath his school robe, then settled on Hermione. "The courage, wisdom, and spirit of sacrifice you displayed in protecting the Philosopher's Stone far exceeded your years. Hogwarts is proud of you."
Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly, and she instinctively glanced at Lynn beside her. Lynn merely stood quietly, his face expressionless.
"The Philosopher's Stone has been personally taken away and properly destroyed by Mr. Nicolas Flamel," Dumbledore continued. "Though Voldemort's remnant soul escaped, this severe blow has left him unable to make trouble again for some time. This brief peace was bought with your blood and courage."
He paused, and his blue eyes became profoundly deep, as though they could pierce through appearances and look directly upon the origin of one's soul. "Regarding Mr. Lynn's injuries..." His voice lowered. "I have consulted ancient records of the Star School concerning damage to the Star Origin. This bloodline-born talent cannot recover through external magical potions. It can only rely on slow self-nurturing and... powerful Mind Guidance. Patience and time are the best medicine. Forcing it will only have the opposite effect and cause irreparable harm." His gaze fell meaningfully on Lynn's face.
Lynn's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly. Dumbledore knew! He even knew about the Star School!
"As for you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, turning his gaze toward Hermione with deep gentleness, "the power of the Moon White Stone is equally ancient and mysterious. Its resonance with the Star Stone may become an unexpected aid in Mr. Lynn's recovery. The will to protect can sometimes create miracles."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively clenched the Moon White Stone pendant at her chest. It radiated a steady warmth. She looked at Lynn, her eyes filled with resolve.
"Lastly," Dumbledore's tone grew serious, "the Ministry of Magic is paying close attention to this incident. Minister Fudge... well, he may wish to send someone to learn the full details of the incident from you two during the summer holiday. Please be prepared." He gave them a suggestive wink. "Of course, how you choose to tell it is entirely up to you."
The news made Hermione frown slightly. The Ministry of Magic was getting involved? That was no good news.
"All right, that is all." Dumbledore resumed his relaxed tone. "Enjoy your holiday, children. Especially you, Mr. Lynn—rest well. Strength will return, in a more resilient form." He gave Lynn a meaningful look, then turned and left.
Sunlight streamed through the bay window, warmly bathing the two of them. On the distant Quidditch pitch, several younger students clumsily chased a model Snitch on their brooms, their laughter drifting faintly over.
Lynn silently gazed out the window. Sunlight fell over his sharply defined profile, his long lashes casting faint shadows beneath his eyes. The scar on his chest ached dully beneath his clothes, while the depleted magic inside him was like a dead and silent desert. Dumbledore's words and the Ministry of Magic's attention were like invisible shackles. The road ahead remained shrouded in mist.
Just then, a cool yet soft hand cautiously, tentatively, gently took hold of the hand hanging at his side.
Lynn's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, and he slowly turned his head.
Hermione was looking up at him. Sunlight danced in her brown eyes, gleaming with pure and unwavering light. She said nothing, simply looked at him as she tightened her grip slightly, as though trying to pass her own strength to him. Through their clasped hands and the fabric between them, the Moon White Stone gave off a clear, warm pulse.
That warmth was like a tiny current, flowing slowly through their joined hands and into Lynn's cold, exhausted body. Looking at the girl's unyielding trust and determination to protect him, the heavy wasteland in his heart seemed to be filled with a faint yet incomparably tenacious spring. He remained silent and did not pull his hand away. Instead, he returned her grip, ever so slightly.
His strength might have been temporarily lost, but some things were quietly growing in another form after the storm—more enduring than the stars.
Before you continue