Lynn shoved the window open. The cool, damp night wind rushed into the room. The sturdy barn owl immediately dropped the deep-purple envelope from its talons precisely at his feet, let out a short, urging hoot, then beat its wings and vanished into the heavy night, as though lingering for even a second longer would let some invisible terror seize it.
Hermione was fully awake now, all traces of sleep gone. She leaped out of bed, her bare feet landing on the cool floor, and rushed to Lynn's side. Her gaze locked onto the letter on the ground as if it were a hot potato. "The Ministry of Magic..." Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly, and her brown eyes were filled with shock and worry. "What do they want?"
Lynn bent down and picked up the envelope. It felt heavy in his hand, carrying the chilly, resilient texture unique to magical parchment. A complex, constantly writhing magical wax seal bound the flap, giving off a faint Magic Fluctuation. The calm expression he usually wore was replaced by a layer of frost. His sharp eyes swept over the ornate yet cold address on the envelope—down to the Granger family's house number. The Ministry of Magic not only knew he was here, but made no effort to conceal their "attention."
"Read it," Hermione said, her voice tight as she instinctively moved closer to Lynn, as if she could draw strength from him to resist whatever was coming.
Lynn infused his fingertips with an extremely faint trace of his remaining will and easily broke through the wax seal—the Ministry's seals seemed useless against Star Power. He pulled out the thick parchment letter and unfolded it. Hermione immediately leaned over, their heads nearly touching as they read by the faint glow of the bedside lamp.
The Ministry of Magic's striking emblem was printed at the top of the letter. The text beneath was written in an exceedingly official, cold, and unquestionable tone:
> Mr. Lynn Evans:
>
> You are hereby required to attend a formal inquiry and provide an official record at ten o'clock in the morning on July 15, 1992, in Hearing Room Seven of the Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic, London. The inquiry concerns your role in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry "Philosopher's Stone Protection Incident" at the end of the 1991–1992 school year, the source of the unusual power you displayed, and the detailed circumstances of your encounter with the remnant soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as "Voldemort."
>
> This inquiry has been personally authorized by Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge and will be presided over by Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
>
> You may be accompanied by one guardian or adult wizard.
>
> You are required to attend on time. Failure to appear will be regarded as contempt of the Ministry of Magic's authority and may result in a compulsory summons and corresponding legal consequences.
>
> Department of Magical Law Enforcement
> Department of Mysteries (Jointly Issued)
> July 10, 1992
The air seemed to freeze. The cold words were like steel needles, piercing through the warm barrier of the Granger home and casting the shadow of harsh reality nakedly into the room. Inquiry, source of unusual power, Voldemort's remnant soul... Every phrase carried enormous weight and dangerous implications. Personally authorized by Fudge, presided over by Bones! This was no ordinary questioning. It felt more like the prelude to a trial.
"How... how can they do this?!" Hermione's voice rose with anger, trembling with disbelief. "You were hurt protecting the Philosopher's Stone! You almost died! Instead of investigating Voldemort, they're interrogating you?!"
Lynn remained silent, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the letter. The Star Stone in his chest continued to send cold, stabbing pain through him, reminding him of his depleted strength and current helplessness. The Ministry of Magic's attention had come faster, more directly, and more... maliciously than he had expected. Fudge's cowardice and fear of Voldemort's possible return had clearly twisted into excessive vigilance toward anything "abnormal."
"A guardian or adult wizard..." Hermione's mind raced as she seized on a key point. "Mum and Dad are Muggles! They can't go! Headmaster Dumbledore! We can ask Headmaster Dumbledore! He'll definitely help you!" Hope flared in her eyes.
But Lynn slowly shook his head, his voice low and calm. "Dumbledore... is Hogwarts's headmaster and a party connected to this incident. The Ministry may be trying to test and divide us." He folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, his movements restrained with suppressed control. "Besides, Fudge may not trust him right now."
The spark of hope was extinguished at once. Hermione's heart sank as overwhelming helplessness and anger swept through her. Looking at Lynn's pale, composed profile and the faint outline of bandages beneath his school robes, a fierce desire to protect him mixed with aching concern and instantly overwhelmed her reason.
"I'll go with you!" She abruptly straightened, her voice firm and decisive, carrying an unquestionable resolve. "I'm an adult witch! I can attend as your... your supporter! They won't get to bully you!" (For later plot developments, Hermione is set as an adult.)
Lynn looked up at her. The girl stood in the dim light, slender and slight, with only a cardigan carelessly thrown over her nightgown. She was barefoot, her hair still a little messy, but those brown eyes blazed with fierce fire—bright, resolute, and fearless. Her courage in daring to stand against the authority of the entire Ministry of Magic for his sake was like a beam of light that instantly pierced the gloom shrouding his heart. An unfamiliar, scorching emotion surged within his silent heart, nearly bursting from his throat.
"Hermione..." His voice was slightly hoarse.
"It's settled!" Hermione refused to let him argue, her tone unusually forceful. "Tomorrow, I'll write to Harry and Ron and have them think of something too! Or we can ask Mr. Weasley! He works at the Ministry of Magic!" She began pacing anxiously around the room like an enraged lioness, considering every possible countermeasure. "And that notebook! Professor Snape's notebook! It must contain records about Star Power. Maybe it can prove the source of your power? Or..."
"The notebook can't be exposed." Lynn immediately cut her off, his tone absolute. "Its origin can't be explained, Snape's stance is unclear, and what's inside..." He thought of those dangerous deductions. "...is too sensitive."
Hermione stopped pacing. Seeing the grave look in his eyes, she understood how serious things were. "Then... then we'll reason with them!" She walked in front of Lynn and looked up at him, her eyes blazing. "Tell them the truth! Tell them how Quirrell was controlled by Voldemort, how you used the Star Stone's power to protect everyone! Tell them what price you paid for it!" Her voice caught slightly. "The Ministry of Magic has to be reasonable!"
Reason with them? Lynn looked at the pure faith in justice in Hermione's eyes, and bitterness rose in his heart. The Ministry of Magic under Fudge had long since been eroded by fear and bureaucracy. But he did not say it aloud. At this moment, the fire in her eyes and her wholehearted support were the only warmth he could hold onto.
"Mm." In the end, he only gave a quiet response. That single sound contained too many complicated emotions—his acceptance of her accompanying him, and his acknowledgment of her heavy, heartfelt devotion.
"Enough!" Hermione took a deep breath, as though she had made up her mind, forcibly suppressing the unease and anger in her heart. She bent down to pick up the pillow that had fallen to the floor earlier, dusted it off, then walked to the desk and picked up the empty vial of Calming Potion. "Now, you need to rest!" Her tone returned to its usual orderly cadence, but it carried an unquestionable force. "There are still five days until the fifteenth! For those five days, your job is to recover properly, drink the improved potion I made on schedule, and get yourself ready! Leave everything else to me!"
Without giving him a chance to protest, she pushed Lynn back down onto the edge of the bed. Her movements were clumsy but gentle. "Lie down! Close your eyes! Don't think about anything!" She then hugged the pillow and returned to the chair beside the bed, looking prepared to stand guard until the end.
Lynn looked at her little face, trying hard to appear calm even though shock, anger, and worry still lingered in her eyes. The cold stabbing pain in his chest seemed to be suppressed by another, fiercer emotion. He obediently lay down and closed his eyes. In the darkness, his senses became sharper. He could hear Hermione deliberately slowing her breathing, feel her protective gaze resting on him, and smell the faint freshness around her, like grass warmed by sunlight.
After a long time—so long that Lynn thought she had already fallen asleep—a very soft voice, carrying a trace of uncertainty, sounded in the darkness.
"Lynn... back at Camphor House... did you always have to face... everything alone?"
Camphor House... Cold fragments of memory instantly stabbed into his mind: empty corridors, indifferent faces, nights with no one to share them with, corners where he had licked his wounds alone... The loneliness he had deliberately forgotten surged back like an icy tide, trying to swallow him once more.
Lynn's body tensed almost imperceptibly, but he did not answer at once.
Hermione seemed to sense his stiffness. Her voice grew softer, carrying cautious probing and deep heartache. "Sorry... I shouldn't have asked... I just... I just think that... from now on... you won't be alone anymore."
In the darkness, a cool yet extraordinarily soft hand, carrying both hesitation and immense courage, gently and tentatively covered the back of his hand outside the blanket. Her fingertips trembled faintly, but they were unwaveringly firm.
That icy tide seemed to strike an unbreakable dam and instantly halted, then receded. A tremendous warmth surged through their overlapping hands, immediately drowning every cold memory that tried to return. The Star Stone against his chest gave a clear, warm throb, stronger than ever before.
Lynn turned his hand over. It was no longer a slight response; with almost stubborn force, he tightly clasped the hand covering his. Their palms pressed together, fingers interlacing. Her fingertips were still cool, yet they strangely soothed his chilled skin, passing on an endless warmth that made him feel at peace.
He said nothing. He only held her hand tighter, as if it were the only anchor in a raging storm.
Hermione's body stiffened slightly at his sudden, forceful grip, then completely relaxed. She did not pull her hand away. Instead, she adjusted her position to sit more comfortably, wrapping his hand even more securely in her cool yet steadfast palms.
In the darkness, only their mingled, steady breaths remained, along with the silent current of warmth passing through their tightly connected hands. Outside the window, the moonlight quietly shifted, casting the shadow of their clasped hands onto the deep-blue star-and-moon bedsheet like some eternal vow.
After an unknown length of time, Hermione leaned against the chair back, her breathing becoming even and deep. She had fallen asleep, but she never let go of Lynn's hand.
Lynn opened his eyes in the darkness. He did not move. He simply quietly felt the real warmth in his palm and the faint vibrations brought by the steady breathing of the girl beside him. The Star Stone in his chest continued to radiate warmth like a tiny spark that had been lit, driving away the bone-deep chill brought by the Ministry of Magic's letter.
The cold memories of Camphor House, the Ministry of Magic's aggressive pressure, Voldemort's lingering shadow... They were all still there. But at this moment, in the darkness enveloped by moonlight and the scent of a girl, within the wholehearted protection held in his palm, Lynn clearly felt for the first time that something had changed forever. He was no longer alone. He had someone he needed to protect, and someone who protected him. This heavy bond, like the sweet fragrance of Orange Cake, seeped into the cracks of his soul, quietly growing tough roots beneath the cold Star Mark.
Before you continue