"Click."
The sound of the lock turning in the dormitory, which was so silent it felt frozen, was like a death knell rung by the Grim Reaper.
Lia's whole body stiffened, her blood seemingly freezing in an instant.
The Red ribbon in her hand, which she had crumpled out of shape, slipped from her fingers like a snake touched by a branding iron, falling onto the cold floor.
I'm cooked!
The door was pushed open by a force devoid of any emotion.
Hermione's figure appeared at the doorway, still carrying the scent of the fireplace's embers and old books from the Headmasters Office.
But none of that could hide the Siberian cold current she was radiating, which seemed capable of freezing even a soul into ice crystals.
Her gaze didn't shift at all, landing on the empty large bed.
The bed was messy, the covers still holding the indentation of someone who had been lying there not long ago, but the slender ankles that should have been bound to the bedpost by that Red ribbon, along with her figure, had disappeared.
In that instant, Hermione's expression became terrifyingly gloomy.
She took a step, then another, walking into the room.
The heels of her leather shoes tapped against the ancient stone floor, producing a crisp and rhythmic "clack, clack" sound.
Her gaze finally settled on the broken Red ribbon lying quietly on the floor.
She had tied it herself. It was the last leash extended from her own burning soul.
Now, it was broken.
She reached out and picked up the ribbon, rubbing it between her fingers, her thoughts unknown.
Just then.
"Her... Hermione?"
A familiar voice, tinged with a hint of cautious fawning, drifted faintly from another corner of the room.
Hermione's movements came to a sudden halt, like a volcano about to erupt being instantly paused.
She turned her head extremely slowly, the anger in her beautiful brown eyes suddenly freezing in place.
From behind the bathroom door, a small head poked out cautiously.
Long silvery-white hair clung wetly to her cheeks, water droplets dripping from the ends.
The pair of snowy-white cat ears atop her head twitched violently and uneasily; a few crystalline droplets hung from the tips, precarious with every movement.
Lia was wrapped tightly in a bath towel, revealing only her delicate collarbones and a small patch of fair shoulder that was slightly flushed from nervousness.
She looked at Hermione, her sky-blue eyes filled with guilt and panic, as she forced a dry smile that looked worse than crying.
"You... why are you... back so suddenly?"
Hermione didn't answer her question.
She just looked at her, walking toward her step by step.
That heavy, mountain-like pressure made the air in the entire room become thick; Lia even felt like every breath required all her strength.
"What are you doing?" Hermione's voice was very calm, so calm there wasn't a single ripple. But—
Lia heard a danger ten thousand times more terrifying than any roar or scream.
Lia's eyes began to dart around frantically, her gaze unconsciously drifting to the ceiling, then out the window, simply not daring to meet her eyes.
"I..."
"Look at me."
Lia's body shuddered violently, as if she had been lashed by that whip from the other day; she was forced to raise her head and meet those eyes where a storm was gathering.
"I asked you, what are you doing?"
Hermione repeated, her hand already raised. Her cool fingertips lightly touched Lia's cheek, which was pulled tight from tension; the touch made Lia's body tremble uncontrollably again.
"You... last night, you made me..."
Lia's voice grew smaller and smaller, as if she had exhausted all her courage, a suspicious blush rising on her cheeks.
"My body... I was all sweaty, it was too dirty... I just wanted... I just wanted to take a bath..."
There was a hint of unmistakable grievance in her voice.
It was like complaining that last night's match was too intense, and like desperately explaining her current behavior.
Hermione's fingertips paused for a moment.
Her gaze, like something physical, followed Lia's dodging eyes, past her shoulder, and looked at the other side of the room.
On the large bed, the crumpled covers were half-draped on the floor, with dust marking some untidy spots.
A towel was draped over a chair by the bed, drying with the warmth of the fireplace.
In the air, there seemed to be a faint, lingering scent unique to the two of them intertwined.
The storm in Hermione's eyes seemed to subside slightly.
Her anger was somewhat suppressed by this ambiguous scene and Lia's aggrieved complaint.
She recalled the judgment made by Professor McGonagall and Sirius in the Headmasters Office based on various signs—after all the Horcruxes were destroyed, Lord Voldemort's soul had been severely damaged, and it was impossible for him to launch a full-scale attack in the short term.
So, was she being too sensitive?
But Lia like this was just too tempting!
Her heart was screaming silently.
A very faint, bitter smile with an air of endless self-mockery escaped the corner of Hermione's mouth.
The suffocating pressure in the room quietly dissipated a bit.
Lia secretly breathed a long sigh of relief, her tense cat ears also drooping down in relaxation.
However, in the next second, her Danger Intuition sounded the highest level of alarm again, sharper and more lethal than before!
Because Hermione's gaze had changed.
If before it was a cold rage that contained the destruction of everything.
Then now, churning in those brown eyes was a possessiveness as frenzied as magma surging from the earth's core.
Her gaze, as if possessing a scorching physical temperature, greedily patrolled every inch from Lia's wet silver hair to her uneasily twitching cat ears, and then to her slender body wrapped in the bath towel, which showed all her curves.
There indeed wasn't enough time for another match.
But... Lia saw Hermione's throat roll uncontrollably; she extended the tip of her tongue and slowly licked her somewhat dry lips.
This action made Lia's hair stand on end with a "whoosh."
Not good!
Very not good!
"Her... Hermione! W-what are you thinking about again?!"
Lia's voice carried an uncontrollable tremble; she instinctively wanted to step back, only to find in despair that her back was already pressed tightly against the cold bathroom door, with nowhere left to retreat.
Hermione blinked, the coldness on her face dissipating like spring snow melting, replaced by an incredibly kind, even gentle smile.
"Nothing."
She said softly, her voice as soft as a lover's whisper in the ear.
"I just think that you're right."
"Huh?" Lia was stunned, her mind going blank.
Hermione's hand slid ambiguously down her cheek, brushing past her slender, fragile neck, and finally landed on the edge of that white bath towel.
"If you wash by yourself, you definitely won't be able to get clean."
Hermione's fingertips lightly hooked the crookedly tied knot of the bath towel.
"In case there's somewhere that isn't clean, I can help you," she paused, adding suggestively, "or if a scent that doesn't belong to you is left behind, that wouldn't be good."
"So..."
"I'll help you wash one more time."
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