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.
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