Warmth Protocol and Undercurrents

The icy air of the common room was rekindled by the hearth, the crackling firewood dispelling the shadows in the corners but not the lingering shock in Hermione's eyes. Linley leaned back in his exclusive armchair, padded with thick velvet cushions (which Hermione had moved from her own bed), wrapped in three Gryffindor scarves, with her thickest woolen blanket draped over his knees. His face was still pale, but his tightly pursed lips had finally regained a hint of color, and the Star Stone radiated a faint but steady warmth through the layers of fabric.

"Open," Hermione commanded, her tone brooks no argument, and she brought a spoonful of steaming turmeric potion to his lips. The strong, spicy aroma filled the air; it was Madam Pomfrey's special potion to ward off the cold.

Linley frowned. The smell was comparable to Snape's failed potions. But under Hermione's intense gaze, which seemed to imply she would force-feed him if he didn't drink, he could only swallow obediently. The hot liquid slid down his throat, causing his Adam's apple to bob, and a warmth spread through his stomach, yet it also brought on a wave of nausea.

"Very good, another spoonful," Hermione said with satisfaction, watching him swallow, like a head nurse caring for a seriously ill patient. "Madam Pomfrey said you must finish it! Once every hour!" She shook the potion bottle, which was the size of a thermos.

Linley: "..." He felt his stomach protesting.

"And this," Hermione produced a thick roll of parchment from her bag as if by magic, unfurling it with a rustle. The title read: Protocol (Draft) on Limiting the Use of High-Consumption Source Magic. The clauses below were dense:

>Article 1: The use of "Magic Resonance Field" and similar source magic is prohibited in situations other than life-threatening emergencies.

>Article 2: Within one hour after each use, the user must report their body temperature and magic fluctuation data to the Supervisor (Hermione Granger).

>Article 3: The Supervisor has the final decision-making power regarding mandatory medication and physical warming (including but not limited to warming hands and abdomen)...

>Signature Column: _____________(Linley A. Stone)

Linley looked at the line "physical warming" and recalled the burning skin pressed against his abdomen last night. The tips of his ears involuntarily turned red. He looked up at Hermione – she was trying hard to maintain a stern "Supervisor" demeanor, but her slightly flushed earlobes and flickering eyes betrayed her shyness.

"Are you going to sign or not?" She shoved the quill into his hand, which was still a bit cold, wrapped in the blanket. Her fingertips brushed against his palm.

Linley silently took the pen and signed his name at the end of the parchment. His handwriting was a bit sloppier than usual.

Hermione quickly snatched back the protocol and tucked it into the innermost layer of her bag as if hiding a treasure. The corners of her mouth couldn't help but curl up into a small arc. She naturally reached out to touch Linley's forehead – her movement was much more practiced than last night. "Hmm, the temperature is a little higher." She breathed a sigh of relief and picked up a piece of "special supply" cake with candied orange peel, sent by Aunt Monica, "to replenish energy."

The atmosphere in the castle was heavy and stagnant, like Mrs. Norris frozen in ice. The shadow of the "Attack Incident" loomed over everyone. Whispers filled the corridors, students hurried along, their eyes darting uncertainly at the walls and corners.

"Did you hear? Filch's cat turned into an ice sculpture!"

"There were words on the wall too! Saying the 'Chamber of Secrets' is about to open!"

"The Heir! Slytherin's Heir is back!"

"Who will be next? A Mud... Muggle-born?"

Panic spread like an invisible plague. Several younger Muggle-born students huddled together, their faces looking terrified. When Harry and Ron found Linley and Hermione, they were sitting in a corner by the window in the library (the sunlight was abundant here, which Hermione believed was beneficial for Linley's recovery).

"Were you at the scene last night?" Harry lowered his voice, his green eyes full of worry. "What exactly happened? Was it really... a monster from the Chamber of Secrets?"

Ron's face was pale. "Ginny woke up this morning, but her eyes were vacant. She didn't know anything when asked, just kept clutching that wretched diary... Mom sent a Howler, yelling at Fred and George for showing her a Dark Magic Item!" He ran his hand through his red hair in frustration.

Hermione glanced at Linley with concern and said to Harry and Ron, "We only saw Mrs. Norris frozen and words made of ice on the wall. Filch was terrified." She concealed Linley's actions and his exhaustion.

Linley's gaze swept past the courtyard outside the window. Two figures in dark purple uniforms with gold trim, their expressions serious and stern, were walking across the lawn, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. The woman in the lead had her hair pulled back tightly against her scalp, a hooked nose, and her lips were pressed into a severe straight line.

"From the Ministry of Magic," Linley said in a low voice. The plot had accelerated – due to the change in the attack method (freezing instead of petrification), the Ministry's intervention was earlier and more direct than in the original story.

As expected, the Charms class that afternoon was canceled indefinitely. All students were instructed to remain in the common room under the supervision of the Prefects. The Ministry investigators – Assistant Deputy Minister Aurora Hopkins and her assistant – accompanied by Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape, began a swift (and extremely unfriendly) interrogation.

Ms. Hopkins' questioning was like a cold scalpel. She focused on all the students who had been near the second floor during the time of the attack, her questions sharp and insinuating:

"Mr. Longbottom, you seem to have quite an 'aptitude' for Freezing Magic? I hear you often cause frosty accidents in Potions class?"

"Mr. Weasleys, you seem to have a long-standing grudge against Mr. Filch and his cat?"

"Mr. Potter, the Boy Who Lived... are you particularly interested in the castle's 'Special Legends'?"

When her gaze fell on Linley, her gray eyes were as sharp as searchlights. "Mr. Stone. According to Filch's vague testimony, there was an 'extremely dazzling, unknown source' of light when the attack occurred, and you... seemed to be nearby? Furthermore, someone noticed your body temperature has been abnormally low recently?" She leaned forward, exuding an oppressive aura. "Can you explain? Some kind of... special magical talent? Or... after-effects?"

The common room fell silent instantly, all eyes focused on Linley. Harry and Ron watched him nervously, and Hermione's hand, resting on her lap, clenched tightly, her nails digging into her palm.

Linley leaned back against the chair, wrapped in his scarf, his face still unnaturally pale, but his eyes were calm and placid, like a deep pool. "A bright light? Perhaps an accidental trigger of some Defensive Magic. As for my body temperature," he glanced indifferently at the tense Hermione beside him, "I simply inhaled some rare Frost Grass pollen from Professor Sprout's greenhouse and Madam Pomfrey is treating me. If Ms. Hopkins requires medical records, I can apply to have them accessed." His tone was steady, casually deflecting the issue to an accident and Madam Pomfrey.

Hopkins stared at him for a few seconds, seemingly evaluating the truthfulness of his words. Finally, she snorted coldly, scribbled something on her parchment, and turned to the next person: "Miss Granger, Muggle-born. According to the 'Chamber of Secrets' legend, you seem to be a high-risk target? Where were you last night?"

Hermione straightened her back, her voice clear. "I was in the library researching. Madam Pince can attest to that. I only came out when I heard the commotion." She deliberately emphasized "Madam Pince," a witness renowned for her rigor and memory.

The interrogation lasted for a full two hours, the atmosphere so oppressive it was suffocating. When the investigators finally left, a sigh of relief erupted in the common room, followed by even greater unease.

"They didn't find out anything!" Ron grumbled indignantly.

"They don't care about the truth! They just want to find someone to blame!" Harry's face was grim.

"They're scared," Hermione said softly, looking at the closed door. "Scared of the 'Chamber of Secrets,' scared of a power they can't control."

Night fell. Hermione "ordered" Linley to rest early. He lay on the soft cushions of his four-poster bed, flipping through a tome on Ancient Protective Runes borrowed from the Restricted Section (Hermione had helped him borrow it under the guise of research for a paper), by the dim moonlight outside the window. The Star Stone in his chest pulsed with a regular warmth, his strength slowly recovering, but a persistent chill remained deep within his limbs.

The door creaked open slightly, and Hermione, in her pajamas, tiptoed in with a lumpy ball of yarn, quickly closing the door behind her. She walked barefoot on the soft carpet, as light as a cat, to Linley's bedside.

"Supervisor's room check," she whispered, her cheeks flushing slightly in the dim light. She habitually reached out to feel Linley's forehead, then grabbed his hand to check its temperature. "Hmm, much better." She sighed with relief, then handed him the ball of yarn.

Linley looked down, seeing clearly by the moonlight – it was a scarf that had just been started, using Gryffindor's gold and scarlet yarn. The stitches were crooked, clearly the work of a novice. A note was attached to the top: "Addendum to the Warmth Protocol: Supervisor's Handmade Warmth Item Trial Version."

"It might... not look very good..." Hermione's voice held a hint of embarrassment, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her pajamas. "But it's very thick! And..." She suddenly leaned closer, a sweet scent of citrus mixed with the warmth of wool wafting towards him. She pulled Linley's cool hand and pressed his palm against the fluffy, soft scarf she had just knitted a small section of. "Can you feel it? It's very warm!"

The warmth of the girl's palm transferred through the fluffy yarn, carrying her unique scent and clumsy affection. Linley's fingertips unconsciously brushed against the crooked stitches, and a stream of warmth spread from his fingertips, dispelling the last bit of chill from his bones more effectively than any potion. The Star Stone in his chest pulsed steadily, emitting a resonance of warmth that was almost contentment.

"Mmm," he responded in a low voice, carefully placing the ball of yarn on his pillow. He turned and clasped Hermione's hand, which was still resting on the scarf. This time, it wasn't a cold taking, but a warm intertwining.

Outside the window, Hogwarts' night sky was overcast, with no stars or moon visible. Deep within the castle, the traces of freezing had not yet melted, and the shadow of the Ministry of Magic had not yet dispersed. But in the small space of the boys' dormitory, a crooked scarf and clasped hands were silently weaving warmth against the cold night. Hermione didn't pull her hand away, letting him hold it, and sat quietly on the carpet by the bed, her head resting gently against his blanket-covered knee. The moonlight finally struggled through the clouds, casting a quiet silver glow throughout the room, gently stretching the shadows of the two figures leaning against each other.