The bell marking the end of term finally rang. The Hogwarts Express puffed out white steam as it pulled away from the platform, carrying students eager to return home. Lynn did not follow the crowd toward Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station. Carrying a simple suitcase containing only his school robes, textbooks, and a few changes of clothes, he followed Hermione and her parents—Wendell and Monica Granger—in an entirely different direction.
The taxi passed through London's bustling streets before finally stopping in front of a terraced house with a small garden. Green ivy climbed its red-brick walls, while the polished white window frames glowed with warm yellow light. The air carried the scent of freshly cut grass and the sweet aroma of bread baking next door, utterly unlike the disinfectant mingled with old dust at Camphor House Orphanage.
"Welcome home, Lynn!" Dr. Monica Granger smiled warmly as she took Lynn's feather-light suitcase, as though it were something fragile. She had brown curls like Hermione's, with eyes that were both gentle and capable.
"Your room is upstairs, right next to Hermione's," Wendell Granger, the dentist, said brightly, patting Lynn's shoulder while carefully avoiding his chest. "We tidied it up. We hope you like it. If you need anything, just tell us. Don't stand on ceremony." His gaze swept over Lynn's still-pale face and overly quiet demeanor, filled with kindly concern.
"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger." Lynn's voice was still low, but his usual aloofness had been replaced by an awkward gentleness. The moment he stepped into the entryway, warm, dry air enveloped him, carrying the scents of old books, coffee, and baked pastries. It was unfamiliar, yet strangely reassuring. The living room had soft, comfortable sofas, a beige shag rug, and a carefully tended little garden beyond the French windows. It all stood in far too stark a contrast to the cold, empty Common Room at Camphor House Orphanage, the squeaking iron-framed beds, and the air that had always reeked of disinfectant and faint mildew.
"Don't call us Mr. and Mrs. Granger. It's too formal!" Monica pretended to scold him. "Just call us Uncle Wendell and Aunt Monica. Go have a look at your room, then come down and try the orange cake I just baked! Hermione said it's the only dessert you ever called 'not bad'?" She winked teasingly at her daughter.
Hermione's cheeks instantly flushed red. Pushing Lynn toward the stairs, she said, "Mum! Go look at the room!" As Lynn was ushered up the carpeted stairs, the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
The room was not large, but it was bright and tidy. One window faced a lush apple tree in the back garden. The walls were painted a soft pale blue. A single bed with dark blue sheets patterned with stars and moons stood against the wall, with a wooden desk and wardrobe beside it, simple and practical. Several brand-new notebooks and a set of drafting tools had even been neatly arranged on the desk—clearly Hermione's doing.
"It's... very nice." Lynn's gaze swept over every corner of the room before settling on the swaying shadows of the trees outside. He spoke softly. The faint sense of weightlessness in his chest from leaving a familiar environment seemed gently supported by the warmth of the room and the vibrant greenery beyond the window.
"Of course it is!" Hermione lifted her chin, a little pride in her voice. "I picked the curtains. The star-and-moon pattern looks like the glow of your Star Stone, doesn't it? And I chose where to put the desk too. The light is best here. And these notebooks..." She picked up one with a dark blue cover. "They're for recording... um, your Magic Recovery Progress! Scientific observation is important!" She tried to sound perfectly justified, concealing the care she had put into it.
Lynn turned to look at her. The golden glow of the setting sun streamed through the window, outlining her fluffy curls. The blush had not quite faded from her cheeks, and her brown eyes shone brightly with pure anticipation and a trace of barely concealed nervousness. An unfamiliar warmth rippled through the still waters of his heart like a stone dropped into a lake.
Dinner was relaxed and cheerful. Aunt Monica's roast chicken was crisp outside and tender within, while the lasagna was rich and fragrant. Uncle Wendell told amusing little stories from his dental clinic. Hermione excitedly shared funny things from Hogwarts, deliberately skipping all the dangerous parts and focusing on Peeves's pranks and Neville's "disasters" in Potions Class. Lynn ate quietly, occasionally nodding when Aunt Monica asked with concern, "Would you like some more?" Or a faint smile would flicker in his eyes at one of Uncle Wendell's jokes. The crisp clink of dishes, the gentle conversation, and the aroma of food formed a real, warm picture of "home," slowly filling some long-empty space in his life.
After dinner, Hermione eagerly pulled Lynn to the sofa in the living room. Her thick copy of Advanced Algebra Explained lay open on the coffee table, beside a plate of sliced orange cake that gave off a fresh fruity fragrance.
"Our promised strategic energy reserves!" She placed a piece of cake in Lynn's hand, then sat cross-legged on the rug and opened the book. "Last time, we got to how applications of calculus models could inspire Magic Circuit Stability. I think this idea is brilliant! Look here..." Immediately immersed, she ran her fingertip across the complex equations on the page and explained at a rapid pace, her eyes bright with concentration.
Lynn leaned back against the soft cushions, the warm cake in his hand giving off a sweet scent. He did not eat it right away. Instead, he quietly watched the girl beside him, absorbed in her own world on the rug. Her fluffy brown curls swayed slightly with her gestures. Warm yellow lamplight danced across her serious profile, and her long lashes cast little fan-shaped shadows beneath her eyes. Whenever she became engrossed in explaining something, she unconsciously bobbed her head, and a few loose strands of hair would fall to brush her fair temple. The lingering sweetness of orange cake that belonged to her, mixed with the freshness of grass warmed by sunlight, drifted around his nose.
The Star Stone beneath his collar gave off an extremely faint but steady warmth, as if soothed by this peaceful atmosphere. The heavy weakness caused by his depleted magic remained, and the wound on his chest still throbbed faintly, but an unprecedented sense of calm seeped slowly into his taut nerves and frozen agitation like warm water.
"So, the rate of change of this function can actually be compared to the Collapse Threshold of Magic Nodes under overload... Lynn?" Hermione finally looked up from the equations, only to find that Lynn was not looking at the book. He was quietly watching her with an expression she had never seen before... gentle? Like a still, deep pool beneath moonlight.
"Hmm?" Lynn responded in a low voice, without looking away.
Hermione's heart inexplicably skipped a beat, and her cheeks began to burn again. She hurriedly picked up a piece of cake and took a bite to hide it, asking vaguely, "Did... did you understand? Was I talking too fast?"
"No." Lynn finally lowered his gaze to the spot on the page where her finger rested. He picked up the cake he had not touched and took a small bite. The fresh sweetness of orange and the soft cake melted across his tongue, carrying the taste of sunshine. "You explained it well," he added, as calmly as if stating a fact.
That simple "well" made flowers bloom in Hermione's heart. It was sweeter than eating ten pieces of orange cake. She tried hard to suppress the smile threatening to curl her lips and focused on the book again, though an unconscious lightness crept into her voice as she continued.
Night deepened outside, and the apple tree in the garden rustled in the evening breeze. In the living room, there was only the sound of turning pages, Hermione's soft and earnest explanations, and the faint sounds of the two occasionally sharing a piece of orange cake. Wendell and Monica quietly cleared the dishes in the kitchen. From time to time, they glanced over at the slender, quiet boy reading on the sofa and their radiant daughter on the rug, exchanging a warm, knowing smile.
When Hermione closed the book and declared that tonight's "academic seminar" was over, the Moon White Stone pendant at Lynn's chest—now threaded on a sturdier silver chain Aunt Monica had thoughtfully put on for him—gave a distinct, warm pulse through his thin pajamas. He looked down at it, then at Hermione, who was yawning and stretching. The faint bluish shadows beneath her eyes were more obvious in the lamplight, evidence of the exhaustion accumulated during the hospital stay and journey.
"Hermione." Lynn's voice sounded in the quiet living room.
"Hmm?" Hermione rubbed her eyes and looked at him.
"Thank you." He looked directly into her eyes and spoke the two words clearly. Not merely for tonight's explanation, the room, or the cake, but for the unconditional acceptance and protection that had drawn him out of cold loneliness and into a warm human world.
Hermione froze. Warm yellow light fell into her brown eyes like a scattering of tiny stars. As she looked at the rare, genuine softness on Lynn's calm face, and at the Moon White Stone on his chest resonating with her own, immense satisfaction and indescribable sweetness instantly washed away all her exhaustion. She pressed her lips together, her cheeks crimson, before finally smiling with curved eyes—a smile sweeter than orange cake.
"Idiot," she muttered softly, her voice as light as a feather brushing past. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow... tomorrow we'll continue with Fourier Transform!" With that, she fled upstairs with her book in her arms like a startled rabbit.
Lynn sat alone on the living room sofa, his fingers unconsciously brushing the warm Moon White Stone at his chest. Outside, real stars began to shimmer in the deep blue night sky. The memories of Camphor House had not disappeared. The shackles of magic still weighed heavily upon him, and Voldemort's shadow was far from gone. But at this moment, in this house filled with the sweet fragrance of orange cake, the scent of pages, and warm yellow light, accompanied by the steady breathing of the girl in the room next door—he could almost imagine her sleeping face buried in her pillow—the coldness and heaviness seemed, for the first time, to be pierced by a warmer, more enduring light.
New roots were quietly taking hold in the soil called "home," drawing nourishment from the sunlight called "Hermione."
Before you continue