On the morning of July 15, London lay shrouded in gray rain and mist, the air damp and cold. In a quiet alley near King's Cross Station, rain drummed against the glass roof of an abandoned phone booth. Lynn wore a neatly pressed dark green robe—one Aunt Monica had altered overnight from Uncle Wendell's old robes—and his face looked even paler beneath the overcast sky. Hermione stood close beside him beneath a large umbrella, one hand gripping his wrist tightly, as though afraid the Ministry of Magic might take him away at any moment. She wore a long dress remade from her best brown school robes, her hair combed immaculately, but her eyes were taut as a drawn bow, full of vigilance.
The clock pointed to nine fifty. Steady footsteps sounded from the mouth of the alley. Dumbledore's tall figure emerged through the curtain of rain, his silver-white beard and hair still striking against the dim sky. His bright blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles swept over the two children standing ready, carrying a deep, calming reassurance.
"Good morning, children." His voice was gentle, dispelling a little of the rainy day's gloom. "It seems we'll have to use one of the Ministry of Magic's special entrances." He walked to the battered red phone booth, picked up the receiver, and said clearly, "Ministry of Magic."
A dull mechanical rumble came from inside the phone booth as it began to descend slowly! Hermione instinctively tightened her grip on Lynn's arm, while he covered the back of her hand with his own. His fingertips were icy, yet carried an unquestionable steadiness. The descent lasted for several dozen seconds. When the vibrations stopped, the booth door slid open automatically, and the view before them suddenly opened up—
A vast Ministry Atrium, dizzyingly enormous, spread before them! Its peacock-blue ceiling soared into the "clouds," embedded with shimmering golden runes like a true magical starry sky. The dark wooden walls were covered with magical portraits that moved constantly and whispered among themselves. Wizards in all manner of robes hurried across the polished black marble floor, gleaming like a mirror. Green flames rose from the fireplaces from time to time, spitting out hurried figures. The air was thick with parchment, Floo Powder, and the cold, distinctive scent of an institution of power.
"The Department of Mysteries is on the ninth floor," Dumbledore said calmly, as if he were merely taking them through an ordinary museum. He led them through the crowded, noisy atrium, ignoring the curious, scrutinizing, and faintly hostile looks cast their way, toward a row of golden lifts.
The lift was cramped, and its golden grille gate clicked crisply shut. A cold female voice announced, "Ninth floor, Department of Mysteries. Authorized personnel only." The lift shot upward with startling speed, bringing a brief sensation of weightlessness. Hermione felt Lynn's fingers tighten slightly over the back of her hand.
The ninth-floor corridor was utterly unlike the clamorous atrium below. Its dark gray stone walls were cold and solemn, its lighting dim, with only a faint blue torch burning at widely spaced intervals along the walls. The air was unnaturally silent. Only the footsteps of the three of them echoed through the empty corridor, carrying a suffocating pressure. Countless identical, unmarked black wooden doors lined both sides. From the Door Cracks seeped an indescribable chill and whispering Magic Fluctuations, as though the deepest secrets of the universe lay hidden behind them.
The door to Hearing Room Seven slid open soundlessly. The room was small and circular, its walls a bottomless black that seemed to swallow light. At its center stood a lone, cold metal table with three chairs of the same material. Three people sat at the far end of the table.
In the center was a severe-looking witch with a meticulously arranged gray bun. She wore dark purple robes trimmed in gold, and her sharp gaze locked onto Lynn the moment he entered, like a searchlight. Pinned to her chest was a badge denoting the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—Amelia Bones. To her left sat a short, pudgy wizard with a small mustache and a falsely amiable smile—Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. To Fudge's right sat a pale wizard whose darting eyes made him resemble a frightened rat—the Senior Deputy Minister, Dolores Umbridge. She wore a pink bow and a cloying smile that made one deeply uncomfortable.
The air in the room seemed frozen solid. An invisible pressure bore down on them head-on like a tangible wall.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Bones said in a voice like cold metal scraping, without any pleasantries. "Please, sit. This is Mr. Lynn Evans?" Her sharp gaze fell on Lynn, openly scrutinizing and evaluating him. "And... Miss Granger?" She looked at Hermione, her brow creasing almost imperceptibly. Clearly, the presence of an underage witness had surprised her.
"Director Bones, Minister Fudge." Dumbledore gave a slight nod and calmly took the chair opposite Lynn, as relaxed as though he were having afternoon tea. "Yes, this is Lynn Evans. As a direct participant in the incident and a key witness, I believe Miss Granger's presence is vital to clarifying the truth. Naturally, as Mr. Lynn's temporary guardian, I will supervise the questioning." His words were calm but carried undeniable weight, neatly resolving the issue of Hermione's age while emphasizing her importance.
Fudge's smile stiffened for a moment. He cleared his throat and tried to speak in a smoother tone. "Ah, of course, of course! Welcome, children! Don't be nervous. This is merely routine procedure, just to understand a few things..." His words were cut off by a cold look from Bones.
"Mr. Evans." Bones ignored Fudge, her eyes fixed firmly on Lynn as she went straight to the point. "Please describe in detail your encounter with Quirinus Quirrell and the fragment of Voldemort's soul attached to him during the final stage of the Philosopher's Stone protection incident at Hogwarts. Focus on the origin, nature, and extent of your control over the 'special power' you used—the power capable of resisting the Killing Curse, calming a three-headed dog, and even causing Quirrell to designate you the 'Son of Stars.'"
The question was like an icy dagger, striking straight at the heart of the matter! Fudge and Umbridge's gazes snapped onto Lynn as well—one filled with probing greed, the other with deep wariness beneath false concern.
Lynn met Bones's sharp gaze with calm, unwavering eyes. He neither avoided it nor showed anger. Beneath the table, Hermione's cool yet remarkably firm hand gripped his tightly. Her fingertip traced lightly across his palm, silently conveying her support: Don't be afraid. I'm here.
"Professor Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort," Lynn began. His voice was not loud, but it was extraordinarily clear, carrying an unusual penetrating quality as it echoed through the cold room. "He attempted to seize the Philosopher's Stone. We—I, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger—entered the underground protective chambers to stop him." His account was exceptionally concise, like an experimental report. He mentioned only the critical points: encountering Quirrell—and Voldemort—the Killing Curse attack, the Star Stone's passive activation and resistance, and Voldemort's soul fragment escaping.
When he mentioned the Star Stone, he raised a hand and gently pulled open the collar of his robes, revealing the savage blackened scar beneath his neck, as though lightning had torn through him. Dark red, spiderweb-like cracks still lingered around its edges! Exposed to the cold air, the wound silently spoke of the terrible price paid that night.
Bones's gaze lingered on the shocking scar for several seconds. Something faint seemed to pass through the depths of her cold eyes. Fudge sucked in a breath and instinctively shrank back. Umbridge, meanwhile, scribbled rapidly across her parchment with a quill, the cloying smile on her face stiffening for an instant.
"The Star Stone." Lynn lowered his collar, covering the scar, his voice still steady. "It was an item I obtained by chance while at Camphor House Orphanage. I do not know its precise origin. I only know that it can respond passively to my intentions, especially by offering limited protection in times of danger. Its power consumes my life force as its price, and it is highly unstable. After that incident..." He spread his palm upward and moved his fingertips slightly, trying to gather the faintest glimmer of light. Yet only an incredibly weak silver spark, like the dying flame of a candle in the wind, flickered at his fingertips before going out at once, as though it had never existed. His face seemed to grow a shade paler, and his breathing quickened slightly. "...as you can see."
Silence. Cold silence.
Bones studied Lynn with sharp eyes, as though she meant to pierce his flesh and look directly upon the source of his soul. Lynn met her gaze openly, his eyes as still as an ancient well.
"Director Bones!" Hermione could no longer hold back. Her voice trembled slightly with agitation and anger, yet it was exceptionally clear. "Everything Lynn said is true! Quirrell was a victim controlled by Voldemort! Lynn only passively activated the Star Stone's power at the brink of life and death in order to protect all of us! He nearly paid for it with his life, and his magic has been severely damaged! He's a hero! Instead of hunting down Voldemort, the Ministry of Magic is interrogating him here—is that fair?!"
"Miss Granger." Bones turned her scrutinizing gaze on Hermione. "We will record your testimony. But the title of 'hero' is not determined by personal feelings. What we need are verifiable facts and a clear definition of the nature of this power." Her tone remained cold, though it seemed less aggressive than before. "Do you have any additional information regarding the Star Stone? For example, the characteristics of its Magic Fluctuation? Or any resonance you sensed?"
Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "The Moon White Stone." She drew out the smooth white stone hanging around her neck. "This is my Moon White Stone. When I first met Lynn on the Hogwarts Express, they resonated with each other. I can feel that the Moon White Stone seems able to... calm the Star Stone's power fluctuations. During the protection incident, that resonance seemed to intensify, especially when we..." She paused, her cheeks flushing faintly, but her voice remained firm. "...when we were close. But that is only what I felt. It cannot be quantified."
Her display of the Moon White Stone and her account of the "resonance" made Fudge and Umbridge exchange a look. Bones, meanwhile, gazed thoughtfully at the smooth stone.
"Resonance? Calming?" Umbridge suddenly spoke in her sickeningly sweet, syrupy voice, wearing a false smile. "What a... fascinating description, dear. It sounds like some sort of... unregistered Magical Connection? It might even involve... influence on the level of the soul?" Her words were poison needles wrapped in sugar, full of malicious insinuation.
"Deputy Minister Umbridge!" For the first time, Dumbledore's voice carried unmistakable coldness, like an Ice Layer cracking apart. "Baseless speculation and insinuation are not the purpose of this questioning. Miss Granger has described an objectively existing magical phenomenon. It has nothing whatsoever to do with Soul Magic. I suggest we focus on the facts themselves."
Dumbledore's presence instantly overwhelmed Umbridge. The false smile froze on her face, and she shut her mouth resentfully.
Bones fell silent for a moment, tapping her fingertips lightly against the tabletop as if weighing her options. In the cold room, only the steady tap of her fingers remained, like a countdown.
At last, she raised her eyes and looked at Lynn again. "Mr. Evans, the Ministry of Magic will conduct an initial, non-contact Magic Fluctuation scan of your Star Stone for registration as a potentially anomalous magical object. At the same time, given your current physical condition, the instability of your power, and your status as an underage wizard, the Ministry of Magic requires you to submit a report on your magical recovery to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing every quarter over the next year, signed and confirmed by Madam Pomfrey. Until you have fully recovered, you are forbidden from attempting any magic above the level of basic spells outside Hogwarts or without the supervision of an adult wizard. Do you understand and accept?"
This was not an acquittal. It was more like strict surveillance and restriction. But compared to a worse outcome, it was already a tremendous concession. Fudge seemed about to say something, but Bones silenced him with a glance.
Lynn was silent for several seconds. Meeting Bones's appraising gaze, he answered clearly, "I accept."
"Very well." Bones closed the parchment case before her with a soft sound, marking the end of the questioning. "You may leave."
Only after they walked out through that cold, heavy black door and returned to the dim, oppressive corridor on the ninth floor did Hermione let out a long, silent breath, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Only then did she realize that her palm was slick with cold sweat from holding Lynn's hand. Lynn's fingers remained icy, but he gently squeezed her hand in return.
Dumbledore walked ahead with unhurried steps. The golden grille gate of the lift shut again, carrying them downward. When the lift doors opened once more and they returned to the bustling Ministry Atrium, filled with the ordinary bustle of life, Hermione felt as though an age had passed. The crackle of fireplace flames, the chatter of wizards, the calls of owls... all those noisy sounds now felt incomparably familiar.
"That was handled with relative... restraint." Dumbledore stopped beside the fountain in the atrium and looked at Lynn, deep meaning in his bright blue eyes. "Bones is a woman of principles, though those principles can sometimes seem cold. Fudge..." He gave a slight shake of his head. "Fear has made him shortsighted. You must be cautious in the year ahead."
Lynn nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Headmaster."
"And you, Miss Granger." Dumbledore turned to Hermione, his eyes full of approval. "Your courage and clear logic were impressive." He gave her a mischievous wink. "Especially that line, 'He's a hero.' It carried real force."
Hermione's face instantly turned red, and she lowered her head in embarrassment.
"All right." Dumbledore smiled. "I believe you two could use a little sunshine. I won't see you out. Remember, Hogwarts will always stand behind you." He waved, then turned and vanished into the green flames rising from a fireplace.
When they left the cold Ministry of Magic and stood once more beneath London's gray rain, Hermione felt as though sunlight had pierced the clouds and shone into her heart. Holding Lynn's hand, she did not lead him toward the Underground station. Instead, she turned into the familiar bakery on the corner, fragrant with rich sweetness.
"Sir! Two Chocolate Croissants! With double chocolate sauce!" Hermione's voice carried the lightness of someone who had survived a disaster.
The bakery owner was a kind bald old man. Smiling, he packed two golden, crisp croissants drenched in rich chocolate sauce into a paper bag. "Here you go, little Hermione! And one for your friend! Today's bread has a little special 'sunshine magic' in it. Guaranteed to drive away all gloom!"
Hermione took the warm paper bag and eagerly tore off a piece of croissant coated in chocolate sauce. Rising onto her toes, she held it to Lynn's mouth, her eyes shining like stars. "Quick, try it! Let's celebrate our victory!"
Lynn lowered his head and took a bite from her hand. The crisp crust shattered, and the warm chocolate sauce, flowing like lava across his tongue, filled his mouth with rich sweetness. The faint warm current brought by the Jubilee Agent rose from his stomach again, driving away the last trace of chill left by the Ministry of Magic.
"Mmm." Looking into Hermione's expectant eyes, the corners of his mouth lifted into a distinct curve—extremely slight, yet utterly genuine. "Very sweet."
Rain continued to drift down, dampening the umbrellas of passersby and the streets. Yet beneath the bakery's warm awning, amid the sweet fragrance of Chocolate Croissants, the girl's bright smile, and the real warmth in his palm, the Star Stone in Lynn's chest gave a clear, warm throb through his robes. It was no longer the cold, piercing pain of a warning. It was like a tiny spark that had been lit—steady, warm, and filled with an unprecedented vitality. He tightened his grip around Hermione's hand.
The gloom would eventually disperse, but some lights had already begun to spread like wildfire beneath the cold Star Mark.
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