The Ministry of Magic is rotten to the core.
"Lia, let's go..." Hermione turned around, wanting to take hold of that familiar hand.
But her words froze stiffly in her throat.
Lia stood tall, and instead of snuggling close as usual, she took half a step back.
She looked at her with a cold gaze that Hermione had never seen before. In those sky-blue eyes that should have been as pure as gemstones, there was no longer any dependence, no longer any affection.
There was only scrutiny, contempt, and a bottomless disgust.
"Hermione," Lia spoke, her tone completely changed, every syllable trailing with an aristocratic, aria-like drawl.
Hermione's breath hitched. Her chest tightened.
This wasn't Lia; it was Tom Riddle speaking through her eyes.
"Look at her." Lia's gaze swept over the shivering Marietta in the corner, her tone one of disdain and impatience. "Cowardly, stupid, betraying for a pittance of benefit. What value does such an existence have, other than to be crushed?"
"Lia, shut up!" Hermione's voice was sharp. The chill emanating from her made Hermione shiver.
"Shut up?" Lia let out a soft laugh, an arrogant sound that looked down upon all living things. "Are you... commanding me?"
She took a step forward, her petite shadow lengthening and casting over Hermione, bringing with it a sense of oppression.
Those dark green vertical pupils, tainted by an eerie green halo, stared at Hermione as she spat out the most vicious word in the world, one syllable at a time, in an elegant tone.
"Who do you think you are? A filthy, lowly... mudblood."
As that word left her mouth, the surroundings fell silent. The color drained from Hermione's face.
She looked at Lia, her body swaying slightly.
However, the expression of the Lia who had spoken those words also suddenly distorted.
That word seemed to be a Killing Curse aimed at herself; before the sound had even faded, intense pain and boundless panic swept across her face.
Lia suddenly covered her mouth, and large tears surged like a broken dam from those fractured pupils.
Deep within her eyes, the eerie green halo and the pure sky-blue were locked in a tragic war.
"No... Hermione... I didn't... I didn't mean to..."
She let out a sob, her body shaking as if she were enduring torture.
This was her soul punishing itself, cutting away the 'it' that had spoken the forbidden word.
She was fighting to seize control of her body at any cost, resisting the demon named Tom Riddle.
The luster in her eyes vanished, turning into a dull gray. Her body went limp, and she collapsed backward.
Hermione rushed forward, catching her slumped body. Lia lost consciousness in her arms... The news of Umbridge being seriously injured and unconscious spread through Hogwarts even faster than the incident with Malfoy.
The next morning, when the students discovered that the pink figure and all the Educational Decrees she had issued had completely vanished from the Castle, the school erupted in the most deafening cheers since its founding.
The corridors, the Great Hall, and even the usually quiet library were filled with irrepressible joy.
Students high-fived each other and celebrated loudly; a tyrant had been overthrown.
Hermione walked through the reveling crowd, but those jubilant faces and shouts of victory felt as if they were behind a thick layer of glass, having nothing to do with her.
Her world was cold, and only the lifeless weight of Lia in her arms felt real.
Inside the Headmasters Office, however, the atmosphere was solemn.
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, was roaring at Dumbledore, his face turning the color of pig's liver. "Albus! You must give me an explanation! Your student attacked the Ministry's senior undersecretary! This is an act of war against the Ministry of Magic!"
Dumbledore sat calmly behind his desk, his fingers interlaced.
"Cornelius, before we discuss my student, we should first talk about the Blood Quill Dolores used on students, as well as her behavior in threatening an underage student with their family's employment."
Fudge's arrogance instantly deflated by half, and his eyes darted around.
"Furthermore," Dumbledore continued, his bright blue eyes sharp as a hawk's behind his half-moon spectacles, "Miss Lia only took action when Miss Hermione Granger's life was directly threatened. According to the self-defense clauses for Companion Creatures in the Magical Creature Constraint Act, her actions were legal. If you wish to appeal to the Wizengamot, I would be more than happy to provide Fawkes's memory as evidence."
At the mention of the Phoenix Fawkes's infallible memory, Fudge completely lost his temper.
He understood that he had lost this confrontation utterly, and in the end, he could only leave Hogwarts in a state of disarray, fuming with rage.
Dumbledore cleaned up the mess, suppressing all the turmoil within the high walls of the Castle.
But the true storm had already brewed deep within Hermione's heart, forming a hurricane capable of destroying everything.
Lia woke up. But she had changed.
She no longer clung to Hermione, no longer wrapped her fluffy tail around her arm, and no longer rubbed her warm cheek against her neck to act spoiled and ask for Dried Fish.
She became quiet and dull, spending most of her time curled up in the warmest corner by the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, staring blankly.
Those sky-blue eyes gazed hollowly at the dancing flames; her soul had been hollowed out, leaving only a beautiful empty shell.
Hermione tried every possible method.
She bought the freshest Salmon Milk Candy, but Lia only sniffed it and pushed it away indifferently.
She held Lia in her arms, gently stroking her most sensitive spots under the chin and behind the ears, but the body in her arms was as stiff as stone, and she could no longer hear that comforting, contented purr.
She told her stories, recited spells, and brought out Lia's favorite Feather Teaser Wand, but in return, there was always only a dead silence.
Late one night, Hermione woke up from a nightmare and instinctively reached out, only to find the space beside her cold. Lia was gone.
Her heart constricted sharply. She jumped out of bed in anxiety, searching frantically through the girls' dormitory, and finally found her in the shadows of the windowsill.
Lia was curled up, her face against the glass, muttering to herself in a very low and strange tone.
It was a hissing, slippery language that absolutely did not belong to humans.
Hermione's heart sank to the bottom. It was Parseltongue.
Lia was speaking Parseltongue.
She completely panicked.
That night, she carried Lia from the windowsill back to the bed, using every intense and intimate way she could think of.
She kissed her cold lips and hugged her forcefully, trying to use her own body heat, her own scent, and the most primal and deep soul-bond between them to wake up the Lia who belonged to her.
"You are mine, Lia," she whispered in her ear, her voice filled with sobs and commands, "Your soul is mine, and your body is mine. There is no room for that fellow here, do you hear me?"
Lia did not resist, nor did she respond.
She was like an exquisite, perfect puppet, submissively accepting all of Hermione's desperate and possessive advances.
She allowed Hermione to take what she wanted from her body, letting her brand her marks in the most private places, asserting a sovereignty that was on the verge of collapse.
When Hermione, driven by total loss of control and endless despair, bit down on her shoulder, leaving a deep red bite mark as a declaration of ownership, she only trembled slightly and gave no other reaction.
Lia's body was covered in Hermione's saliva and tears, yet her eyes remained hollow.
At the peak of their intense emotional merging, Hermione looked at Lia's unperturbed face and felt an overwhelming sense of despair.
The next day, Hermione went to see Dumbledore.
Speaking as fast as she could, she skipped over the unspeakable parts of the night and told the Principal everything about Lia's abnormalities, including that most hurtful word.
"She has been contaminated by Tom Riddle's soul, Professor. I... I can't control her anymore." Hermione's voice carried an irrepressible sob; her strong outer shell crumbled into powder before her mentor.
Dumbledore listened solemnly, a flash of deep sorrow passing through his deep blue eyes.
He asked, "Miss Granger, did the Phoenix tail feather I gave you—that gold and red ribbon that reinforced the collar—not serve as a suppression?"
Hermione's face went pale, her lips trembled, and she finally, with great difficulty, admitted the truth.
"Because... for certain reasons, in order to fight Umbridge... I... I allowed Lia to actively touch that memory and power."
Dumbledore's gaze instantly became incredibly grave. He let out a long sigh, his voice as soft as a whisper.
"You fed the abyss with love, child, and expected it to become your weapon. But you forgot that once the abyss is fed, the first thing it devours is the light closest to it."
"Take me to her," he stood up, "I hope it's not too late."
When Hermione hurriedly led Dumbledore back to the Gryffindor Common Room, the corner by the fire was empty.
The windowsill was also deserted.
Only the half-open window, letting in a cold wind mixed with the scent of damp earth and pine needles, announced the fact.
Lia was gone... Lia regained consciousness in a bone-chilling dampness.
She suddenly found herself again after a long, endless bout of sleepwalking.
That word... that word she had said to Hermione scorched her soul like a branding iron, the pain so intense she nearly curled up.
Lia found herself barefoot, stepping on cold, soft decaying leaves, her body seemingly still moving uncontrollably toward some dark direction.
Surrounding her were tall trees that felt vaguely familiar, blotting out the sky, with moonlight only leaking through in mottled, pale fragments.
The air was thick with the scent of rotting leaves and damp earth.
She was deep within the Forbidden Forest.
How did she get here? She didn't remember. She only remembered a long, vivid dream.
In the dream, she wasn't herself. She was a giant snake named Nagini.
Her body slithered against the stone floor, her perspective low and slimy, and everything around her was exceptionally tall. She could smell the thick metallic scent of rust in the air, the smell of disinfectant from the Ministry of Magic, and a bloody scent that made her nauseous.
She was in a dim corridor, attacking a man.
The man had the red hair she was familiar with; he was Ron's father, Mr. Weasley.
In the dream, she had bitten through his body with her fangs, feeling the spray of warm blood.
A strange, cruel pleasure echoed in that consciousness that did not belong to her—the ultimate satisfaction of hunting and killing.
"Blegh—"
Lia jolted awake from this horrific memory, her stomach churning. She leaned over the ground and dry-heaved violently, but could vomit nothing except for sour bile that burned her throat.
"You're awake, child," a gentle voice came.
Lia turned her head alertly and saw a Centaur standing in the moonlight.
He had a handsome human upper body and a powerful chestnut horse body, and in his hands, he held some plant roots covered in soil.
"Eat some. You need to replenish your energy." He handed the food over.
Lia didn't smell anything bad, so after a moment's hesitation, she took it and said in a very low voice, "Thank you."
A more elderly, more majestic figure stepped out from the shadows of the trees.
He was the leader of the Centaur tribe, Firenze.
Firenze's bright blue eyes looked at Lia, his gaze piercing through her soul to see the light and darkness coexisting within her.
"The stars have long foretold your arrival, Nine-Lived Creature." Firenze's voice was like an ancient chant. "You have stepped onto a path where you dance with destiny, drawing power from death and feeding on darkness."
Lia listened quietly, raising her head, her eyes full of confusion.
Firenze also looked up, gazing at the narrow patch of sky dotted with stars, and spoke the prophecy he had interpreted from the tracks of the stars.
"I see flames, I see sacrifice, and I see the fall of a Dark Crown."
"But what is clearest of all is your own choice."
"On the final day, for the sake of your only one, you will actively offer up everything you possess."
"Your life, your power, your memories... your very existence."
"You will actively walk toward your own demise."
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I'm begging you, meow~
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