As long as she lived, Lord Voldemort would never truly die.
The victory Harry and the others fought for with their blood was nothing more than a brief, ridiculous illusion.
And the only way to kill her... was to let her face her ninth, and final, true, eternal death.
Under the gaze of those brown eyes, filled with incomprehension yet already etched with terror, Lia gently pushed open the door.
Her movement was as soft as a cat's paw pad stepping on fresh winter snow, without a sound, yet it crushed Hermione's heart with a deafening roar of collapse.
"Lia?"
Hermione's voice was a trembling, disbelieving shriek.
She sprang from her chair, her outstretched hand frozen in mid-air.
The silky, warm touch of Lia's wrist still lingered on her fingertips, but that warmth was rapidly receding at a terrifying speed.
Outside the door, Dumbledore's ethereal spirit stood quietly, a gentle, all-knowing smile on his face.
His half-moon spectacles reflected the corridor's candlelight, but could no longer mirror any true warmth belonging to the living.
He was not summoned by a spell, but drawn by the extreme love and resolute will to die in this room, powerful enough to shake Hogwarts' ancient magic.
"Child,"
Dumbledore's voice was like a distant church bell, carrying a slight chill and pity unique to a soul.
"It seems you have, after all, reached the end of this path yourself, and made your choice."
Lia merely looked at him silently, Dumbledore's translucent figure reflected in her sky-blue eyes without a ripple.
She had already experienced her eighth death; this world, in her eyes, was already a different, incredibly exhausting, true tapestry woven from soul lines, magic flows, and emotional colors.
Dumbledore's soul glowed with a soft golden light, like a sun about to burn out.
But Lia could see deeper, into the core of his soul.
A dark crack (crack), left when he forcibly tore through space to save her and Hermione from Lord Voldemort, was mending at an extremely slow pace.
At this rate, perhaps less than half would be repaired even after this generation of students had all died of old age.
That was the price this great White Wizard paid for them.
"Your mission should not be so heavy,"
Dumbledore's large hand slowly stroked Lia's head, the touch of his soul chilling to the bone, like a block of ice pressed against her forehead in winter.
"You simply... bore too much that wasn't yours."
Lia slightly tilted her head, avoiding that pitying caress, and for the first time, a sharp resistance emerged from her god-like indifference.
"No," she finally spoke, her voice clear and calm, yet resonant.
"This is my own choice. I chose to devour them, and I choose to... end all of this."
Dumbledore withdrew his hand indifferently, gazing deeply at Lia.
His eyes passed through her and fell upon Hermione behind her, who had already guessed something.
Hermione was trembling uncontrollably, her breathing shattered.
"Is that so..."
The old Principal sighed softly, his words carrying a hint of approval and a deeper sorrow.
"Then, remember, love is sometimes a cage, sometimes salvation. But it is always a magic older and greater than death."
As his words fell, Dumbledore's figure, like a wisp of smoke scattered by the wind, slowly vanished into the air, carrying blessings and unfulfilled prophecies.
"Lia..."
A choked sob, suppressed to the extreme, Hermione's voice was tearful, almost unrecognizable.
She lunged forward, embracing Lia from behind with all her strength, as if to squeeze her into her own body.
"Don't go... I won't let you go!"
She pleaded incoherently, her cheek pressed tightly against Lia's nape, hot tears instantly soaking the cool fabric.
"Where are you going? What do you want to do? You promised me! You promised you wouldn't leave me!"
Lia's body completely froze.
Dark fragments hidden deep in her soul roared, urging her to break free;
While her own survival instinct screamed, telling her to escape back into this warm embrace.
Once upon a time, these arms were the sun of her entire world, her only eternal refuge after struggling out of the cold darkness of endless death.
She remembered the sweet, soft taste of the pumpkin pasty when Hermione carefully and expectantly fed her for the first time on the Hogwarts Express.
She remembered the warm grease when Hermione, at the Welcoming Feast, fiercely protected her when she had uncontrollably turned into a cat-ball, and with those nimble fingers accustomed to quills, stubbornly and clumsily tore open the greasy roast chicken for her.
She remembered that Christmas, Hermione, blushing, put the silver bell collar engraved with "Lia, Hermione's" around her neck, her shyness and possessiveness, and the burning skin beneath the cool metal.
She remembered countless nights awakened by nightmares, falling asleep peacefully in Hermione's warm embrace, feeling the body temperature and heartbeat that dispelled all coldness and fear, carrying a faint scent of books.
She subconsciously raised her other hand and gently touched the bell collar around her neck, woven from Phoenix tail feather and Hermione's burning love.
This collar was once a restraint, a mark, proof of Hermione's absolute possession of her.
But now, it was her only last link to this beautiful world, to her self "as Lia."
Her "being alive" was the root cause of this war's eternal inability to be won, the most malicious Sword of Damocles hanging over Hermione's head.
She couldn't promise Hermione that she would survive, because her journey was, in fact, towards that ninth, and only, ultimate death from which there was no return.
But she had to go.
For Hermione.
To allow her to live in a new world truly free of Lord Voldemort, free of fear, where she could breathe freely, laugh wantonly, and read peacefully in the library all day long.
Lia slowly turned around, grasping Hermione's cold, trembling fingers—cold from exertion—with her own hand, warming them little by little with her body temperature.
On her face, a very faint, very gentle smile appeared, condensing all the love of this life.
In her sky-blue eyes, the god-like indifference and coldness were melting and disintegrating inch by inch at a visible speed.
Finally, they were completely replaced by a burning love deep enough to drown the entire world.
She was no longer a god; at this moment, she was merely Hermione's Lia.
She gazed into Hermione's brown eyes, already red from crying, filled with terror and despair.
Word by word, she used the last of her soul's strength to make her life's gentlest, yet most cruel, promise.
"Don't worry," she said softly, her voice not loud, but carrying an unprecedented, heartbreaking firmness that made Hermione's heart ache.
She raised her hand and gently wiped away Hermione's tears with her thumb, her movements as tender as if touching a peerless treasure.
"After I take care of this last little trouble..."
"...I will return."
[Dark, twisted crawling... it's easy to get sleepy on vacation...]
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