Lord Voldemort had spotted Harry too, but time had run out; Albus Dumbledore would be back any second. With a shriek of frustration, Voldemort shot out of Hogwarts at top speed.
At that same moment, Headmaster Dumbledore hurried through the gaping hole in the wall into the Potions chamber. Seeing Harry standing there unharmed, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief, though he didn't relax completely—after all, the huge breaches in this wall and the one opposite were hardly something Harry and his friends could have managed.
Of everyone who had been in close contact with Harry, only one person came to mind who might be capable of such destruction, and right now he couldn't be sure that child was safe.
'Headmaster Dumbledore!' Harry sagged with relief, slumping back against the wall. The Headmaster was here; it was all over… Before anyone could mention Lynn, she stepped out of the hole behind Harry.
The young Witch's robe was a wreck, testimony to how perilously she had dodged curses, and the thick coating of dust proclaimed the fierceness of the fight.
'Miss Lynn.' When he saw her emerge safely, the last of Dumbledore's tension melted away. With a wave of his wand he straightened her wizard robe and at the same time gave her a careful medical examination.
'Headmaster Dumbledore, good evening.' Lynn regarded him without expression, offering a polite nod.
'Headmaster, is Lynn all right?' Harry asked anxiously from the side.
Putting his wand away, Dumbledore gave Harry a kindly smile. 'Rest assured, Miss Lynn is fine—merely overtired. A visit to the Hospital Wing for a draught of living death from Madam Pomfrey and some rest will set her to rights.'
'Good.' Harry exhaled.
Lynn stood beside Harry, gaze calm, saying nothing, her face blank, as though the discussion concerned someone else entirely.
Leading both children out of the Forbidden Section, the Headmaster glanced back at Harry. 'You were very brave, Harry—just like your parents. They would be proud of you.'
'Yeah.' Harry smiled, but inwardly he warned himself never to be so reckless again.
Tonight Ron had been knocked out on the chessboard, and Lynn had been left filthy and bruised; the thought chilled him. If his actions ever got his friends killed… he could never forgive himself.
Looking at Lynn, who seemed permanently composed, Dumbledore hesitated, then reached out and gently smoothed her hair in a grandfatherly gesture.
Like an affectionate elder comforting a favoured grand-daughter.
'Miss Lynn, your loyalty to your friends and your courage in the face of danger are admirable. Please allow me to apologise—though you may not know why.'
Lynn lifted her eyes calmly to his.
She truly could not deduce why the Headmaster felt the need to apologise to her.
Teachers and parents did not err; one's duty was simply to obey.
Under Dumbledore's gentle gaze she slowly lowered her eyes, her mind already calculating.
Breaking curfew: one punishment. Stunning Cerberus, thereby injuring Hagrid's pet: one punishment. Burning devils snare and damaging Professor Sprout's personal property: one punishment. Blowing up a door and destroying school property: one punishment. Smashing chess pieces and ruining Professor McGonagall's personal property: one punishment. Taking out two walls: two punishments. Destroying a section of floor: one punishment.
She finished the tally in an instant: eight punishments were due.
'Headmaster, how are Hermione and Ron?' Harry asked as they climbed the moving staircase behind Dumbledore.
'Minerva has taken them to the Hospital Wing; they're fine.' The Headmaster turned to give Harry a reassuring smile.
At Hermione's name Lynn, who had just fixed the number of punishments in her mind, instinctively looked up.
Only when she heard that Hermione was safe did she lower her head and continue walking.
They reached the Hospital Wing without incident. Ron's injuries had already been healed by Madam Pomfrey, who had forced him to swallow a draught of living death; he was now fast asleep.
Hermione, anxious about Lynn and Harry, had refused the Potion, insisting on seeing them safe first.
Since she was unhurt, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall had indulged her.
The moment she saw Lynn and Harry enter with the Headmaster, Hermione jumped off her bed and flung her arms around Lynn.
Startled, Lynn hesitated, then imitated the gesture and hugged her back.
'Thank Merlin you're all right…' Hermione's voice cracked, trembling with delayed shock.
Lynn opened her mouth; her brain supplied the appropriate response, and she spoke in a mechanical tone. 'Yes… I'm fine. Headmaster Dumbledore checked me.'
Hermione released her and nodded gratefully to Dumbledore. 'Thank you, Headmaster.'
He shook his head, guilt thick in his eyes. 'No… it is I who should apologise to you.'
The final words were barely a whisper. A school ought to be a place of safety, yet for Harry's future and the future of the Wizarding World he had to harden his heart and allow Harry—and the friends who stood by him—to endure these trials.
Even if Harry ended up hating him, even if future generations declared him an unfit headmaster, it would not matter—so long as they could still stand safely within Hogwarts.
But… could he truly be so ruthless? Watching the two young witches face each other while Harry tried to hide his watering eyes, Dumbledore asked himself that very question.
'Right then, Miss Granger, I believe you too should drink a draught of living death and get some proper sleep.'
Professor McGonagall approached from Ron's bedside, her lips trembling as she looked at the three students.
She had just heard the whole tale from Hermione—Lord Voldemort… She had come within a hair's breadth of losing these children forever.
If only she had believed them earlier… McGonagall drew a steadying breath, blinking back tears, and, in a gesture unprecedented for the usually stern Professor, removed her pointed Wizard hat to the three students.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Miss Lynn. I didn't believe you at the time and forced you to go alone… into danger."
Hermione was the first to grow uneasy; she flusteredly lifted a hand and waved it. "No, it's not your fault, Professor."
Harry also raised a hand, sheepishly scratching his cheek. "Hermione's right, Professor. It isn't your fault. I was too rushed and spoke the wrong way; that's what misled you."
Looking up with a blank face, Lynn voiced the certainty in her mind. "A Professor can't be wrong."
Everyone present assumed she was simply comforting Professor McGonagall, so no one noticed the exact phrase she used: "can't be wrong."
Under Madam Pomfrey's direction, Lynn, Hermione, and Harry each settled onto a hospital bed. Taking the draught of living death, Lynn swallowed it without hesitation.
Her expression still unchanged, her eyelids grew heavy after only two seconds; the next moment she slipped into deep sleep.
Seeing the children finally resting, the two Professors present allowed themselves relieved smiles.
Beside them, Madam Pomfrey continued waving her wand, examining Harry and Lynn.
Harry was fine—still a bit thin, but some extra meals would soon fix that.
When it came to Lynn, however, Madam Pomfrey ran her check once, disbelieved the results, and ran it again.
She spun toward Headmaster Dumbledore; the glare she fixed on him was almost shooting sparks.
For no apparent reason, Headmaster Dumbledore felt a chill down his spine. Turning stiffly, he met Madam Pomfrey's blazing eyes.
'Madam Pomfrey… what's the matter?' the Headmaster asked, uneasy and puzzled—surely he hadn't done anything wrong.
'Albus, I believe our coursework at Hogwarts isn't particularly heavy, is it?' Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes, pinning the Headmaster where he stood.
Dumbledore nodded at once. 'Of course. We always put a Young Wizard's wellbeing first when planning lessons.'
He would never let students sacrifice their health for study—such a thing was unthinkable.
'Then why is this child's mind so wound tight? She can't have had a decent night's sleep in ages.'
The question left Headmaster Dumbledore at a loss; even a Headmaster doesn't know everything.
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips and answered for him.
'At the start of term… Filius, Pomona, and I gave her advanced reading. Later we realised every subject was piling work on her, and since she'd already studied plenty, we stopped.'
Madam Pomfrey gave a curt nod, then shook her head. 'No—she's still not resting; her condition wouldn't be this poor otherwise.'
'She's probably studying on her own, then,' McGonagall guessed. 'She is a Ravenclaw, after all.'
'Very well…' Madam Pomfrey sighed, accepting the explanation for now.
Fortunately, with final exams approaching, Lynn had missed Potion Class and incurred no punishments; the livid handprint on her left thigh had already faded.
Besides, when heading to the fourth-floor forbidden corridor she had skipped her usual self-punishment to stay mobile, so Madam Pomfrey found nothing amiss.
Still, Madam Pomfrey prepared several days' worth of draught of living death, determined to let her sleep her fill in the Hospital Wing
before the girl went back to studying day and night.
As a Ravenclaw, Lynn's welfare concerned Professor Flitwick; Headmaster Dumbledore sent for him, and moments later Flitwick burst through the Hospital Wing doors, still in his nightshirt—clearly he'd rushed straight over.
'Albus, how are the children?' he whispered, seeing the four asleep in their beds.
'All fine; they're resting,' Dumbledore replied with a shake of his head.
'Yes—though Miss Lynn is rather worse off,' Madam Pomfrey added, directing several Potion vials to settle on the bedside table with her wand.
'What's wrong with Miss Lynn?' Flitwick asked at once, alarmed.
'She needs rest—ample rest,' Madam Pomfrey declared. 'And her stomach—Merlin's supper, I can't believe what she's done to it; early signs of ulcer. Was she the one who used to finish meals in minutes?'
'Yes… Albus and Minerva tried, but only got her to slow down on Christmas Day,' Flitwick sighed, voice sinking.
Madam Pomfrey inhaled sharply. 'Fine—my infirmary will stock stomach elixirs permanently from now on!'
Before anyone could reply, the hour was up; Lynn's eyelids fluttered as her ingrained habit fought the Potion's power.
Groggily she prised her eyes open a slit, forced awake, but before she could focus she slipped back into sleep.
The three Professors and Madam Pomfrey caught the moment; Madam Pomfrey frowned and stepped closer—she had never seen anyone wake before the draught's eight hours were done.
A careful check showed the Potion still active, leaving her baffled.
She turned to the most knowledgeable person present—Headmaster Dumbledore—but he merely shook his head, equally mystified.
After some thought, Madam Pomfrey fetched a chair and sat beside Lynn, intent on watching every change.
As Ravenclaw's Head, Professor Flitwick refused to leave; he took a chair beside his student.
Seeing this, Professor McGonagall transformed into a cat and curled up at the foot of the bed, while Headmaster Dumbledore departed to deal with Quirrell.
And so, that night, two Professors and the nurse watched Lynn wrench herself awake every hour, only to fall back asleep—eight cycles for the eight-hour Potion.
Simply watching left them aching: the sight of her struggling with every ounce of will to open her eyes…
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