The cold touch of stone walls, the scent of disinfectant mixed with blood and herbs, and... the reassuring warmth and firm grip against his fingertips.
Lynn's consciousness slowly rose from chaotic darkness, like a drowning man surfacing from the water. The first thing to return was sensation—the tearing agony in his right arm, the suffocating pressure in his chest, and... the familiar warmth in his left hand, trembling faintly yet incomparably resolute.
He struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. The familiar vaulted ceiling of the Hospital Wing came into view beneath the soft magical lights. His gaze shifted downward and settled beside the bed.
Hermione was asleep at his bedside, her head resting on her arms. Her curly brown hair lay in disarray across the white sheets. The bruises beneath her eyes were clear even in sleep, and dried tear tracks still clung to her long lashes. Her right hand gripped his left tightly, their fingers interlocked, her knuckles faintly white with effort, as though it were the only rope tethering her to this world.
Lynn's gaze lingered on her exhausted, pale sleeping face for a long time. The last clear images in his memory were the Basilisk's mad hissing after being blinded, the agony of his body being struck by immense force, the metallic sweetness rising in his throat, and... Hermione throwing herself to his side, tears streaming down her face as she screamed his name. A fine, piercing pain spread through his chest, clearer than any physical wound. He had made her worry.
He tried to move his fingers, intending to pull his hand free so she could sleep more comfortably.
That tiny movement immediately woke Hermione from her light sleep. She jerked her head up, lingering terror and confusion still in her eyes. When she saw Lynn's