"Every life is precious; the one each of us must cherish most is our own."
"In dire emergencies, for something larger—some greater good—we may choose to give ours up."
"But only when no other option exists. As long as there's an alternative, even one that costs you more, as long as it doesn't cost your life, you take it."
"So remember: you come first—promise me."
Though the answer contradicted her own calculated cost–benefit logic, Lynn nodded.
"Good." Hermione rose on tiptoe to brush a kiss across Lynn's forehead, quick and light, then raised an eyebrow at her.
And who says no one would worry if something happened to you? I would. Senior Maranhao would. Senior Marietta would. Senior Penelopa would. Harry and Ron would. All of Ravenclaw would. You've been in many people's hearts for a long time.
Held in Hermione's hands, Lynn's eyes stared at her, glass-like. In many people's hearts… Her own heart pounded, as though something were forcing its way through the soil.
So if anyone ever threatens your life, don't hold back. Hit them as hard as you can. As I said, your life comes first—always.
The Little Lion of Gryffindor curled her lips, showing her claws and fangs.
'All right.' Lynn nodded blankly, her mind automatically recording that sprouting feeling.
'Don't tell anyone what happened tonight,' Hermione said, leading her to the bed and sitting her down. 'No matter who asks, don't admit you did it.'
'Pretend it never happened. Understood?'
'Understood.' Lynn answered in a flat tone.
Hermione smoothed Lynn's hair, delighting in the silky strands that slipped through her fingers.
'All right, I'm heading back to the dorm. Get some rest, okay?'
'Mm.'
'Good night, Lynn.' Hermione rubbed the top of her head.
'Good night, Hermione.' Lynn felt the soft warmth of her hand.
Watching Hermione leave the Dormitory, Lynn returned to her desk, lowered her head, and stared at her hands with lifeless eyes.
Hermione said lives can't be weighed against each other; she had to value her own, not trade it to protect her.
Her mind raced, rapidly revising her conclusions.
Her brain insisted: she still wanted to protect Hermione.
Yes, whenever Hermione crossed her mind, the word protect surfaced automatically.
So she would still protect Hermione—only not with her life. She would keep Hermione safe while absolutely keeping herself alive.
Final decision reached, Lynn stopped reviewing the matter and began tallying how many school rules she'd broken and what punishments she deserved.
Failing to remove the threat to Hermione in time was one. Using magic illegally in the corridor was another.
The fire that damaged the Castle walls, floor, and ceiling counted; injuring classmates did too.
But Malfoy and his two cronies hadn't died, so the penalty should be reduced.
She drew her wand, walked to the bed, sat down, kicked off her shoes, and climbed in.
The moment she settled, she used magic to pull the bed-curtains shut.
Beneath her robe and skirt, faint bruises and a nearly healed pale scar marked the inside of her left thigh.
In Lynn's eyes, her left leg turned 'transparent,' veins and muscle tissue fully visible.
Studies came first; punishment mustn't interfere. So she chose a spot away from major vessels and muscles, ensuring normal leg function and minimal impact.
If blood loss made her dizzy while studying, efficiency would drop.
Target chosen, she held her wand just above her thigh.
Slowly moving the wand, she opened a gash on the pale skin, lengthening it with deliberate precision.
The wound wasn't deep, but not shallow either; red tissue showed through.
Within seconds, severed capillaries bled; when the cut reached ten centimetres, she stopped.
Intense pain beaded her forehead with sweat, yet her expression never changed.
After experiencing Crucio once, this pain felt bearable; the Cruciatus Curse remained the benchmark for 'unbearable'.
Watching blood flow, she tapped the wound and cast a simple Hemostasis spell.
Wizarding magic was convenient: healing spells could close wounds, while A single hemostatic spell stopped bleeding without healing.
The standalone charm existed to lower the learning curve.
Healing spells were difficult; stopping blood was far easier.
Most Wizards used it for emergency self-treatment to avoid bleeding out.
For Lynn, it offered the perfect solution: keep the wound and pain as punishment, yet prevent blood loss from hampering her studies—two gains at once.
She rearranged her skirt and robe, pulled the curtain aside, and stood; her left leg twitched.
After two steps she adjusted, and the leg moved normally again.
Nothing was affected except the pain.
She sat at her desk and took from her bag a Library book, reading attentively.
The cover was clean now, but it had been dusty; she'd used a cleaning charm before starting.
Given the topic, few ever checked it out.
A history of the Wizarding World's Sacred Twenty-Eight families—who would bother?
The families themselves didn't need it; they intermarried or nursed feuds—everyone knew everyone.
Muggle-borns or half-bloods rarely cared about magical nobility beyond knowing the name.
Reading it for fun? They weren't that idle.
Only someone like Lynn, who read everything, or a handful seeking to ally with a pure-blood house, would open it.
The edition was recent; she memorised as she read.
The Malfoy entry listed Draco Malfoy, so the book was at most twelve years old.
Some Wizarding titles lack publication dates; this was one, so she judged by content.
She turned a page and the next family appeared: Gaunt House.
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