Light.
Ultimate, pure, all-consuming white light.
Lia's final sensation was a heart-rending wail, like a red-hot iron awl, searing itself onto the very core of her soul.
Then, everything sank into 'nothingness'.
As if it had never existed.
She didn't know how much time had passed—perhaps an instant, perhaps an eternity.
In this dimension devoid of the concepts of time and space, a faint spark of consciousness, guided by that unwilling-to-disperse wail, painstakingly began to coalesce once more.
"...Hermione?"
There was no confusion of 'who am I', no bewilderment of 'where am I'.
The moment this consciousness was born, a name, a figure, became the sole meaning of its existence.
The spark of light flickered with effort, trying to remember.
Memories were like a mirror shattered and scattered by the wind, countless fragmented, formless images floating and sinking within the pure white.
She seemed... to remember a pair of hands, with distinct knuckles, carrying the scent of old books, always gentle yet slightly calloused as they stroked her cat ears, making her want to purr in comfort.
She seemed... to remember the taste of Dried Fish, but clearer still was the look of exasperated yet amused helplessness in that person's eyes when they hid a pill inside the Dried Fish to coax her into taking her medicine.
She remembered an embrace. It wasn't some safe harbor; it was her entire world.
"Hermione..."
When this name surfaced again from the depths of her consciousness, the spark trembled violently, causing ripples in the surrounding pure white space.
Just as Lia's consciousness was on the verge of dissipating, a distant, sorrowful, yet healing cry pierced through the pure white.
That song seemed to come from the dawn of the world's creation.
Lia saw a magnificent bird bathed in golden flames flying towards her from the depths of the pure white light.
It was Fawkes.
Dumbledore's Phoenix.
The golden-red Phoenix circled the spark of her consciousness. Its warm flames were not scorching; instead, they were like the softest feathers, carefully combing and mending her scattered soul fragments.
"It's you..."
Lia's consciousness conveyed a sense of familiarity.
She remembered it. Its tail feathers had once been the most beautiful adornment on the collar Hermione had given her, part of that link called love.
Fawkes let out another clear, melodious cry, as if responding to her.
Then, it gracefully turned and flew back in the direction it came from, gesturing for her to follow.
Lia's consciousness followed it uncontrollably.
Passing through layer upon layer of soft light, she saw a familiar figure.
The person was sitting on a bench of indistinct material, wearing a simple gray robe, his silvery-white hair and beard meticulously groomed.
He wasn't wearing his iconic half-moon spectacles. His brilliant blue eyes no longer held the calculation and weariness of old, only the clarity and gentleness of the sky.
He seemed much younger, yet also as if he had finally shed all burdens.
"Dumbledore... Professor?"
The spark of Lia's consciousness stopped before him, emitting waves of surprise and doubt.
The old man smiled, looked up, his blue eyes reflecting her tiny spark of light.
"We meet again, child."
His voice was exactly as she remembered—gentle, calm, yet carrying a compelling force.
"I... didn't I... die?" Lia's consciousness was filled with confusion.
"Yes, you did indeed activate the ultimate sacrifice. You should have vanished." Dumbledore nodded, extending a finger to gently touch the spark of her consciousness.
The warmth from that fingertip made Lia feel her 'existence' stabilize considerably.
"Your race is an ancient miracle born at the dawn of the magical world. Nine lives constitute a complete cycle.
Upon the ninth death, the 'Farewell', your soul should have been completely reclaimed by the world, all memories and power washed away. Then, in some unknown corner, it would be remolded into a cub with a fresh set of nine lives, beginning a brand new journey entirely unconnected to the past."
Dumbledore patiently explained.
Lia's consciousness spark flickered violently.
"Wash away all memories? Then I... would forget her?"
"Yes," Dumbledore's words were cruel.
"Simply put, the existence known as 'Lia', which carries all your memories and emotions, ended the moment you detonated your soul."
Ended... The spark dimmed sharply.
If she forgot Hermione, what difference would such a 'rebirth' be from complete death?
"But... why am I still here? Why... do I still remember her? Remember the way she cried for me!" Lia's consciousness issued a soundless cry.
"Because of a contingency. A contingency I prepared for you when you devoured your first Horcrux."
Dumbledore raised his hand. The Phoenix Fawkes landed gracefully on his arm, nuzzling his beard affectionately. The old man stroked Fawkes's splendid feathers, his gaze piercing through the endless pure white, as if seeing the world he could no longer reach but still cared for.
"Do you remember the collar Hermione put on you? That ribbon reinforced with Fawkes's tail feather.
"It wasn't just a leash, Lia." Dumbledore's voice grew solemn and grave. "It was a 'net'."
He opened his palm. A faint, almost invisible thread of golden-red silk was coiling and dancing in his palm.
Lia was intimately familiar with the aura on that thread. It was Hermione's love, that scorching soul bond between them that had been violently severed!
"A net woven from a Phoenix's immortal flame and life energy, specifically designed to capture soul fragments." Dumbledore gazed at the thread in his palm, his tone carrying a hint of relief and wonder. "In the final moment when you activated 'Farewell', perished together with Lord Voldemort, and your soul was about to completely dissipate and return to the world's origin, Fawkes triggered the last spell I left in that tail feather.
"It snatched something back for you... before you were completely 'reset to zero'."
The old man's blue eyes looked deeply at Lia's spark, saying word by word:
"It snatched back your core—your unextinguishable, scorching love for Hermione Granger."
"And precisely because of this, your cycle was forcibly interrupted. You were not erased of memory, yet you also cannot obtain a new cycle of life."
"Child," Dumbledore's voice held a trace of pity.
"You are stuck between 'the end' and 'the new beginning'."
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