The cold air in the Common Room had been rekindled by the fire. Crackling logs drove the shadows from the corners, but not the lingering fright from Hermione's eyes. Lynn reclined in his exclusive armchair, piled thick with cushions (which Hermione had carried down from her own bed), wrapped in three Gryffindor scarves with her thickest wool blanket over his knees. His face was still pale, but his tightly pressed lips had finally regained a hint of color. Through layer upon layer of fabric, the Star Stone radiated a faint yet steady warmth.
"Open your mouth." Hermione's tone carried an unquestionable command as she lifted a spoonful of steaming Turmeric Potion to his lips. Its sharp, pungent scent filled the air; it was Madam Pomfrey's specially prepared remedy for warding off the cold.
Lynn frowned. The taste was comparable to one of Snape's failed potions. But beneath Hermione's blazing stare—as if she would personally force it down his throat if he refused—he could only obediently swallow. The scalding liquid slid down his throat, making his Adam's apple bob. Warmth rose in his stomach, along with a wave of nausea.
"Good. Another spoonful." Hermione watched him swallow with satisfaction, like a head nurse tending to a critically ill patient. "Madam Pomfrey said you have to finish it! Once every hour!" She shook the thermos-sized potion bottle in her hand.
Lynn: "..."
"Also, this." Hermione seemingly conjured a thick roll of parchment from her bag and unfurled it with a rustle. Its title read: <Agreement on Restricting the Use of High-Consumption Origin Magic (Draft)>, followed by densely packed clauses:
> Article One: The use of "Magic Resonance Field" and similar Source Magic is prohibited except in life-threatening circumstances.
> Article Two: After each use, body temperature and Magic Fluctuation data must immediately be reported to the supervisor (Hermione Granger).
> Article Three: The supervisor holds final authority over compulsory medication and physical warming measures (including but not limited to warming hands and warming the abdomen)...
> Signature: _____________(Lynn A. Stone)
Lynn looked at the words "physical warming" and recalled the scorching skin pressed against his abdomen last night. The tips of his ears flushed uncontrollably. He raised his eyes to Hermione—she was trying hard to keep a straight face and maintain her stern "supervisor" image, but her faintly reddened ears and flickering gaze betrayed her embarrassment.
"Are you signing it?" She shoved a quill into his hand, still wrapped in the blanket and slightly cold, her fingertips accidentally brushing his palm.
Lynn silently gripped the quill and signed his name at the bottom of the parchment. His handwriting was a little messier than usual.
Hermione swiftly snatched back the agreement and tucked it into the deepest part of her bag as if hiding a treasure. A small curve rose uncontrollably at the corner of her lips. She naturally reached out to touch Lynn's forehead—the motion far more practiced than it had been last night. "Hmm, your temperature's gone up a little." She let out a breath of relief, then picked up a "special supply" cake Aunt Monica had sent, dotted with bits of orange peel. "Replenish your calories."
The castle's atmosphere was as heavy and stagnant as the frozen Mrs. Norris. The shadow of the Attack Incident hung over everyone. Whispers filled the corridors, and students hurried along, their wary eyes constantly sweeping over walls and corners.
"Did you hear? Filch's cat turned into an ice sculpture!"
"There were words on the wall too! They said the 'Chamber of Secrets' is going to be opened!"
"The Heir! Slytherin's Heir has returned!"
"Who'll be next? Mud... Muggle-borns?"
Panic spread like an invisible plague. Several younger Muggle-born students moved around in groups, their faces pale with fear. When Harry and Ron found Lynn and Hermione, the two were sitting in a sunlit corner by the library window—Hermione believed the sunlight would aid Lynn's recovery.
"You were there last night?" Harry lowered his voice, his green eyes full of worry. "What exactly happened? Was it really... the monster in the Chamber of Secrets?"
Ron's face had gone white. "Ginny woke up this morning, but she kept staring blankly. No matter what we asked, she didn't know anything. She just clung to that stupid diary and wouldn't let go... Mum sent a Howler, yelling at Fred and George for showing her a Dark Magic Item!" He irritably raked a hand through his red hair.
Hermione shot Lynn a worried glance before telling Harry and Ron, "We only saw Mrs. Norris frozen and words made of ice on the wall. Filch was terrified." She concealed Lynn's intervention and the toll it had taken on him.
Lynn's gaze swept across the courtyard outside. Two figures in stern, rigid expressions and dark purple uniforms trimmed with gold were crossing the lawn under Professor McGonagall's escort. The leading woman wore her hair in a tight bun against her scalp, with a hooked nose and lips pressed into a severe line.
"People from the Ministry of Magic," Lynn said quietly. The plot had accelerated—because the method of attack had changed, freezing rather than petrification, the Ministry's intervention had come earlier and more directly than in the original story.
Sure enough, Charms that afternoon was abruptly canceled. All students were ordered to remain in their Common Rooms under the prefects' watch. Ministry investigators—Assistant Deputy Minister Aurora Hopkins and her assistant—began a swift and highly unfriendly round of questioning under the company of Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape.
Hopkins's questioning was like a cold scalpel. She focused on every student who had been near the second floor during the time of the attack, her questions sharp and laden with implication:
"Mr. Longbottom, you seem to have quite a 'knack' for Freezing Magic? I hear you frequently cause frost-related accidents in Potions Class?"
"The Weasley brothers, you appear to have held a grudge against Mr. Filch and his cat for quite some time?"
"Mr. Potter, The Boy Who Lived... are you particularly interested in the castle's 'Special Legend'?"
When her gaze fell upon Lynn, her gray eyes became as sharp as searchlights. "Mr. Stone. According to Filch's vague testimony, an 'extremely dazzling light of unknown origin' appeared when the attack occurred, and you... seemed to be nearby? Furthermore, someone noticed that your body temperature has recently been abnormally low?" She leaned forward, exuding pressure. "Can you explain that? Some sort of... special magical talent? Or... an aftereffect?"
The Common Room instantly fell silent as every gaze focused on Lynn. Harry and Ron watched him anxiously. Hermione's hand, resting on her knee, clenched abruptly, her nails digging into her palm.
Lynn leaned back in his chair, wrapped in scarves. His face still bore a sickly pallor, but his eyes were calm and unreadable, like a deep pool. "A bright light? Perhaps it was the accidental activation of some Defensive Magic. As for my temperature..." He casually glanced at the tense-faced Hermione beside him. "I accidentally inhaled the pollen of a rare Frost Grass from Professor Sprout's greenhouse. Madam Pomfrey is treating me. If Ms. Hopkins requires medical records, I can apply to access them." His tone remained even as he casually shifted the matter onto an accident and Madam Pomfrey.
Hopkins stared at him for several seconds, apparently assessing the truth of his words. In the end, she gave a cold snort, wrote something on her parchment, and turned to the next person. "Miss Granger, Muggle-born. According to the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, you appear to be a high-risk target. Where were you last night?"
Hermione straightened her back, her voice clear. "I was in the library consulting reference materials. Madam Pince can testify to that. I only came out after hearing the commotion." She deliberately emphasized "Madam Pince," a witness known for her rigor and memory.
The interrogation lasted a full two hours, its oppressive atmosphere nearly suffocating. When the investigators finally left, a collective sigh of relief erupted through the Common Room, immediately followed by even greater unease.
"They didn't find anything at all!" Ron said indignantly.
"They don't care about the truth! They just want someone to take the blame!" Harry's face looked grim.
"They're afraid," Hermione said softly, looking at the tightly closed door. "Afraid of the Chamber of Secrets. Afraid of a power they can't control."
Night fell. Hermione "ordered" Lynn to rest early. He leaned against the cushions of his four-poster bed, using the faint moonlight from outside to read a book on Ancient Protective Runes that Hermione had borrowed from the Restricted Section under the pretense of research for an essay. The Star Stone against his chest radiated rhythmic warmth as his strength slowly returned, yet an unshakable chill still lingered deep in his limbs.
The door was gently pushed open a crack. Hermione slipped inside in her pajamas, hugging a plump ball of yarn, and swiftly closed the door behind her. Barefoot on the soft carpet, she moved as lightly as a cat to Lynn's bedside.
"Supervisor inspection." She spoke softly, her cheeks faintly flushed in the dim light. Habitually, she reached out to feel Lynn's forehead, then took his hand to gauge its temperature. "Hmm, much better." She sighed in relief, then stuffed the ball of yarn into his hands.
Lynn lowered his head and looked by moonlight—it was a scarf that had only just been started, made from red-and-gold Gryffindor yarn. Its stitches were crooked and uneven, clearly the work of a beginner. A note was pinned to the top: "Supplementary clause to the Warmth Protocol: Supervisor's Handmade Warmth Item trial version."
"My knitting... might not look very good..." Hermione's voice was slightly embarrassed, and her fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her pajamas. "But it's very thick! And..." She suddenly leaned closer, bringing a sweet citrus scent mixed with the warmth of cashmere. She lifted Lynn's cool hand and pressed his palm against the fluffy, soft section of scarf she had already knitted. "Can you feel it? It's very warm!"
The warmth of the girl's palm traveled through the fluffy yarn, carrying her unique scent and clumsy sincerity. Lynn's fingertips unconsciously brushed over the crooked stitches. A current of warmth spread from his fingertips, more soothing than potion as it drove away the last trace of cold from his bones. The Star Stone in his chest pulsed steadily, giving off an almost satisfied resonance of warmth.
"Mm," he answered quietly. He carefully set the ball of yarn beside his pillow, then turned his hand over and clasped Hermione's hand where it still rested upon the scarf. This time, it was no longer a cold extraction, but a warm clasp.
Outside, Hogwarts's night sky was thick with clouds, with neither stars nor moon in sight. Deep within the castle, the traces of ice had yet to melt, and the shadow of the Ministry of Magic had yet to fade. Yet within this small space in the boys' dormitory, a crooked scarf and clasped hands silently wove warmth against the frigid night. Hermione did not pull her hand away, allowing him to hold it as she quietly sat on the carpet beside the bed, her head gently resting against his blanket-covered knee. At last, moonlight struggled through the clouds and spilled its tranquil silver glow across the room, tenderly stretching the shadows of the two leaning against one another.
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