New Home and the Starlight of Orange Cake

The bell signaling the end of the term finally rang. The Hogwarts Express, spewing white steam, pulled away from the platform, filled with students eager to go home. Linley didn't join the crowd heading for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station. Carrying a simple suitcase (containing only his robes, textbooks, and a few changes of clothes), he followed Hermione and her parents—Wendell and Monica Granger—in a completely different direction.

The taxi drove through the bustling streets of London and finally stopped in front of a terraced house with a small garden. Green ivy climbed the red brick walls, and the white window frames were polished to a shine, revealing warm, yellow light within. The air was filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and the sweet aroma of bread baking from the neighbor's house, a stark contrast to the orphanage's disinfectant mixed with old dust.

"Welcome home, Linley!" Dr. Monica Granger's smile was warm as she took Linley's light suitcase, as if it were something fragile. She had curly brown hair similar to Hermione's, and her eyes were gentle yet capable.

"Your room is on the second floor, right next to Hermione's," dentist Wendell Granger patted Linley's shoulder, the force perfectly avoiding his chest. His voice was cheerful, "We've tidied it up, and we hope you like it. If you need anything, just tell us, don't be shy." His gaze swept over Linley's still pale face and unusually quiet demeanor, filled with kind concern.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Linley's voice was still low, but the usual sense of distance was replaced by a nascent gentleness. Stepping into the entryway, the warm, dry air enveloped him, mixed with the scent of old books, coffee, and baked treats—unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. The living room sofa was soft and comfortable, with a beige shag carpet, and beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows lay the meticulously maintained small garden. All of this was in sharp contrast to the cold, empty common room of Camphor House Orphanage in his memory, the creaking metal-frame beds, and the air that always carried the smell of disinfectant and faint mold.

"Don't call us Mr. and Mrs., it sounds too formal!" Monica feigned a scolding tone. "Just call us Uncle Wendell and Aunt Monica. Go see your room, and then come down to try the orange cake I just baked! Hermione said it's the only dessert you've ever said was 'acceptable'?" She winked mischievously at her daughter.

Hermione's cheeks instantly flushed red. She pushed Linley towards the stairs, "Mom! Let's go see the room!" Linley was nudged by her onto the carpeted stairs, the corners of his mouth curving upward almost imperceptibly.

The room wasn't large, but it was bright and tidy. One window faced the lush apple tree in the backyard garden. The walls were painted a soft light blue, and a single bed with a dark blue star and moon patterned bedsheet was placed against the wall. Next to it were a desk and a wardrobe, both in natural wood, simple and practical. The desk was even neatly arranged with several brand-new notebooks and a set of drawing tools—clearly Hermione's doing.

"This... is very nice," Linley's gaze swept over every corner of the room, finally settling on the swaying tree shadows outside the window, he said in a low voice. The subtle feeling of being unmoored, born from leaving a familiar environment, seemed to be gently supported by the warmth of the room and the vibrant greenery outside the window.

"Of course!" Hermione lifted her chin with a touch of pride, "I picked the curtains, the star and moon pattern, doesn't it look like the glow of your Star Stone? I also chose the desk's position, where the light is best. And these notebooks..." She picked up a notebook with a dark blue cover, "They're for you to record... um, your Magic Recovery Progress! Scientific observation is important!" She tried to make her tone sound righteous, masking her careful thoughtfulness.

Linley turned to look at her. The golden sunset light streamed through the window, outlining the silhouette of her fluffy curly hair. The blush on her cheeks hadn't completely faded, and her brown eyes sparkled, full of pure expectation and a hint of imperceptible nervousness. A strange, warm emotion, like a pebble dropped into a calm lake, rippled through his dormant heart.

The dinner atmosphere was relaxed and pleasant. Aunt Monica's roast chicken was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, the lasagna was rich and flavorful, and Uncle Wendell told amusing anecdotes from his dental clinic. Hermione excitedly shared stories from Hogwarts, deliberately skipping any dangerous parts, focusing instead on Peeves' pranks and Neville's "disasters" in Potions class. Linley ate quietly, occasionally nodding when Aunt Monica kindly asked, "Would you like some more?", or a faint hint of a smile would flash in his eyes when Uncle Wendell's jokes amused him. The crisp sound of clinking dishes, the gentle murmur of conversation, and the aroma of food painted a picture of a real and warm "home," slowly filling a long-standing void in his life.

After dinner, Hermione eagerly pulled Linley to the living room sofa. Her thick book, "Advanced Algebra Explained," was spread open on the low coffee table, with a plate of sliced orange cake emitting a fresh fruity aroma beside it.

"Strategic reserve energy, as promised!" She picked up a piece of cake and stuffed it into Linley's hand, then sat cross-legged on the carpet and opened the book. "Last time we talked about the application models of calculus to inspire Magic Circuit Stability, I thought this approach was brilliant! Look here..." She immediately got into character, her fingertip tracing the complex formulas on the page, explaining at a rapid pace, her eyes focused and shining.

Linley leaned back against the soft sofa cushion, the warm cake in his hand emitting a sweet fragrance. He didn't eat it immediately, just quietly watched the girl on the carpet beside him, engrossed in her own world. Her fluffy brown curls swayed slightly with her explanations, the warm yellow lamplight danced on her focused profile, and her long eyelashes cast small fan-like shadows beneath her eyes. When she spoke with passion, she would unconsciously nod her head, a few stray hairs falling down, brushing against her fair forehead. The lingering sweet scent of her orange cake, mixed with the fresh aroma of grass dried by the sun, wafted around his nose.

The Star Stone under his collar emitted an extremely faint but steady warmth, as if soothed by the peaceful and serene atmosphere. The heavy weakness from his depleted magic still lingered, and the wound on his chest ached faintly, but an unprecedented sense of peace, like warm water, slowly permeated his tense nerves and frozen anxiety.

"So, the rate of change of this function can actually be analogized to the Collapse Threshold when a Magic Node is in Overload... Linley?" Hermione finally looked up from the formulas, only to find Linley wasn't looking at the book but quietly watching her, his eyes holding a softness she had never seen before... like a calm deep pool under moonlight.

"Hmm?" Linley responded, his voice low, without looking away.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat for no reason, and her cheeks started to feel hot again. She quickly picked up a piece of cake and took a bite as if to hide it, asking vaguely, "Did... did you understand? Was I talking too fast?"

"No," Linley's gaze finally returned to where her finger was pointing on the page. He picked up his own piece of cake, which he hadn't touched, and took a small bite. The sweet orange flavor and soft cake melted on his tongue, tasting of sunshine. "You explained it very well," he added, his tone calmly stating a fact.

A simple "very well" made Hermione's heart bloom instantly, sweeter than eating ten pieces of orange cake. She tried to suppress the corners of her mouth from turning up and refocused on the book, but her voice now carried an unconscious hint of lighthearted joy.

The night deepened outside the window, and the apple tree in the garden rustled in the evening breeze. In the living room, only the sound of turning pages, Hermione's soft and earnest explanations, and the faint sounds when they occasionally shared a piece of orange cake could be heard. Wendell and Monica were quietly cleaning up dishes in the kitchen, occasionally glancing over, watching the slender boy quietly reading on the sofa and their spirited daughter on the carpet, exchanging a knowing, warm smile.

When Hermione closed the book, announcing the end of tonight's "academic seminar," the Moon White Stone pendant on Linley's chest (Aunt Monica had carefully threaded it onto a sturdier silver chain for him) sent a clear and warm pulse through his thin pajamas. He looked down, then looked at Hermione, who was yawning and stretching. The faint dark circles under her eyes were more noticeable in the lamplight, a sign of the fatigue accumulated from her time at the hospital and the journey.

"Hermione," Linley's voice echoed in the quiet living room.

"Hmm?" Hermione rubbed her eyes and looked at him.

"Thank you," he met her eyes and clearly spoke the two words. It wasn't just for tonight's explanation, for the room, for the cake, but more for this unreserved acceptance and protection that had pulled him from cold loneliness into warmth.

Hermione froze. The warm yellow light fell into her brown eyes, like scattered tiny stars. She looked at the rare, genuine softness on Linley's calm face, at the Moon White Stone on his chest resonating with hers, and a sense of immense satisfaction and indescribable sweetness instantly washed away all her fatigue. She pursed her lips, her cheeks flushed, and finally just curved her eyes into a smile sweeter than orange cake.

"Silly," she mumbled softly, her voice as light as a feather brushing by, "Go to sleep. Tomorrow... tomorrow we'll continue talking about the Fourier Transform!" With that, she darted upstairs like a startled rabbit, clutching her book.

Linley sat alone on the living room sofa, his fingertips unconsciously brushing the warm Moon White Stone on his chest. Outside the window, the real stars began to twinkle in the deep blue night sky. The memories of Camphor House hadn't vanished, the shackles of magic remained heavy, and Voldemort's shadow was far from gone. But at this moment, in this house filled with the sweet scent of orange cake, the aroma of books, and warm yellow light, accompanied by the steady breathing of the girl in the next room (he could almost imagine her sleeping face buried in her pillow), those coldness and heaviness seemed, for the first time, to be pierced by a more enduring, warmer light.

New roots were quietly taking hold in the soil called "home," drawing nourishment from the sunlight called "Hermione."