Snape's words stabbed into everyone's hearts like a knife.
"No... it's impossible..." Mrs. Weasley covered her mouth, tears streaming down.
It was over.
Harry's heart sank to the bottom; everything Snape said was true.
Going to Gringotts, destroying the cup... all of it was true.
"You... filthy... half-blood!"
Sirius completely lost control. He broke free from Lupin, half his body already transformed into a large black dog. With his hackles raised, he roared and charged at Snape.
"Impedimenta!"
"Protego!" Snape didn't even look at him, casting a spell effortlessly to block the attack. His eyes remained fixed on Harry with a sickly sense of satisfaction.
"Look at them, Potter! Ask that Know-it-all Granger if she acted on her own!
Ask that monster she keeps if it destroyed that damned cup! Ask them if they're smug about it, thinking they've saved the world once again!"
"Enough!"
Dumbledore suddenly appeared.
Looking at the messy Headmasters Office, he drifted helplessly to his seat.
"I was reinforcing the school's defenses. How did it turn into this as soon as I returned?"
"Children, now is not the time for infighting," Dumbledore's voice was as calm as before. "You are now Hogwarts' last line of defense. Do you want to see Hogwarts turned into ruins tonight?"
At this tense moment, a trembling exclamation interrupted everyone.
"Heavens... oh my..."
It was Madam Pomfrey, who had hurried over and remained kneeling by Lia's side for a final examination.
"Her wounds... good God, her wounds are healing again!"
She pointed at Lia's body, her voice shaking. "Wait! I remember she died once before, didn't she?!"
Everyone looked over in unison.
On Lia's lifeless "corpse," which should have been gradually stiffening.
Those hideous wounds, torn by Dark Arts and deep enough to see bone, were now like living things, slowly squirming and growing at a visible rate.
Faint, almost imperceptible wisps of black mist drifted from the wounds—the lingering malicious curse of Lord Voldemort's soul-stripping spell.
They circled once before being greedily reabsorbed by her own body, as if she were tasting a bitter yet highly nourishing dessert.
In a bloody hole that had pierced through her chest, new granulation tissue was frantically weaving and climbing, making a faint "sizzling" sound as it attempted to reconstruct a complete heart.
This scene was filled with an eerie and sinister vitality that made one's skin crawl.
Seeing this, Snape showed a complex expression mixed with disgust and envy.
"Hmph, monster..." He stared into Dumbledore's eyes.
"I warned you long ago that her very existence is the greatest variable in this war!"
No one responded to Snape's hysteria.
On the sofa, Lia's finger twitched very slightly.
The entire Headmasters Office watched the scene in silence.
Returning from the dead was something that felt strange no matter how many times one saw it.
Look at Lord Voldemort; he worked hard for decades and was feared by Wizards.
He only had seven lives. Look at Lia.
Born with nine lives—they were truly worlds apart.
Harry and Ron's eyes widened, their faces filled with ecstasy.
"Lia!"
Under everyone's horrified gaze, Lia's closed eyelashes began to flutter slightly.
Then, she slowly opened her eyes.
What kind of eyes were they?
Still sky-blue, as pure as a washed sky.
But in the depths of those pupils, there was no longer the purity and innocence of the past, nor the alertness and ignorance of a beast.
Within them was an indifference bordering on the divine.
It was as if they reflected eternal time, having seen all the partings, deaths, joys, and sorrows of the world, yet remaining without a ripple.
She was awake.
There were no earth-shattering phenomena, no magnificent magical light effects.
She simply sat up calmly, her movements too fluid for someone who had just "returned from the dead."
The hideous wounds on her body had vanished, her skin as smooth as new, as if she had never been injured.
Only the holes in her clothes at her chest proved that the previous torture of soul-stripping was not an illusion.
The eighth death.
Magic Metabolism: A portion of the spells endured can restore her own magic.
Her gaze calmly swept over everyone in the room.
She saw the trust and entrustment belonging to Dumbledore on Professor McGonagall, which was dimming due to grief.
She saw the fire of revenge burning fiercely in Sirius and Lupin because of the passing of their dear friend.
She saw the ancient protective magic called "Love" from Harry's mother on him, which was now resonating in a complex way with Dumbledore's death.
She also saw Snape.
She saw, deep within his soul—disguised by layers of Dark Arts and sarcasm—a lonely, beautiful Silver Doe, lowing mournfully.
Finally, her gaze fell on Hermione, who was still asleep beside her.
She saw that pure and powerful soul, like the sturdiest of ramparts, isolating all external harm.
And at the very core of that rampart, a wisp of Lia's own gold-red soul essence was gently enveloping and nourishing Hermione's soul.
The indifference in Lia's eyes finally melted a fraction, flickering with a nearly invisible tenderness.
"Lia... are... are you okay?"
Harry spoke cautiously, breaking the suffocating silence.
Lia turned her head to look at him, then at Sirius, then at Lupin, and then at all the people who had fallen into despair and division because of Dumbledore's death.
She shook her head gently.
Then she glanced at Hermione, who was still asleep.
She was fine; other than still being asleep, there was nothing unusual.
She would be fine once she woke up.
It was just that she seemed to have died once again.
She wondered how Hermione would react when she found out...
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