There, the scent belonging to her still remained, left behind from their frantic entanglement not long ago.
The next second.
Amidst Hermione's pupils, which were dilated in terror, Lia's finger gave a gentle flick.
An irresistible yet incredibly gentle force transmitted from their interlaced fingers.
Hermione felt a soft force push her back; her arms reflexively let go, and she stumbled back two steps, falling heavily onto the large bed that still held their lingering warmth.
She watched helplessly.
She watched as Lia gave her one last gentle smile, one that would be etched into her soul until the very end.
Then, Lia turned around.
Without a hint of lingering attachment, without looking back for a moment.
Just like that, step by step, she walked out of this dormitory that held all their sweetness and madness, walking out of this warm harbor that belonged solely to them.
"No..."
Hermione let out a broken wail, struggling to climb up from the bed, wanting to rush forward.
But her body felt as if all its strength had been drained, heavy as if filled with lead.
Her legs were weak; she couldn't even manage to stand up.
She could only watch helplessly as that door was gently pulled shut in her field of vision.
"Click."
The sound of the lock falling completely isolated two different worlds... Lia walked barefoot through the cold, dilapidated stone corridors of Hogwarts.
She walked very slowly, every step silent.
She was quite certain that the spell she had secretly cast would prevent Hermione from coming out for a short while.
The cheers of victory still echoed, yet they were like water-soaked fireworks, carrying a hint of exhaustion and bewilderment beneath their lack of conviction.
Lord Voldemort's body lay right there in the center of the hall, not dissipating.
Like a massive, silent mockery, it ridiculed all the celebrations of the survivors.
Harry gripped the warm elder wand tightly; a sense of unease, originating from the depths of his soul and stronger than anything felt during the battle, almost suffocated him.
Just then, the two oak doors of the hall, which had already been blasted open, were slowly pushed further by an invisible force amidst a tooth-aching creak.
A petite figure walked in step by step against the blood-stained dawn light filtering through the doorway.
Silver-white long hair, sky-blue eyes, snow-white cat ears, and a long tail.
It was Lia.
She was still wearing that soft nightgown, her feet as white as jade bare against the cold, rough stone slabs, yet she didn't make a single sound.
She walked so lightly, as if she wasn't stepping on the ground, but on everyone's heartbeats.
In that instant, the clamor of the entire hall vanished.
It wasn't that people chose to be quiet, but an instinctive silencing.
All the cheering, weeping, and conversation were instantly deadened, as if an invisible hand had clamped shut every throat.
The air seemed to freeze into ice, the candlelight no longer flickered, and even the floating dust became still.
A terrifying aura, a mixture of divine mercy and predatory beast, emanated from her slender body, silently announcing her arrival.
Everyone's gaze focused on her involuntarily—a mix of awe, confusion, and... a primal fear that surged from the base of their spines to the tops of their heads.
Lia didn't look at anyone; her gaze passed over everyone and landed straight on Lord Voldemort's "corpse" in the center of the hall.
More accurately, it landed on the filthy, tattered, yet still stubbornly burning black soul-fire hovering above the corpse, which only she and Harry could vaguely perceive.
"If he were truly dead..." Lia spoke, her sky-blue eyes devoid of any emotion, "...how wonderful that would be."
Her voice was very light, yet like an icicle, it pierced clearly into everyone's ears, instantly shattering all the joy of victory.
Inside the hall, there was a deathly silence.
"Wha... what did you say?" Ron asked stutteringly, the smile on his face as stiff as a mask.
Lia slowly raised her hand, her slender index finger pointing gently at her own heart.
There was no expression on her face; her sky-blue eyes calmly reflected the horrified faces of every Wizard present, like a lake mirroring the end of the world.
Then, in a tone that stated a universal axiom without any emotion, she revealed the final, cruelly maddening truth.
"I," Lia's voice was a calm without ripples, "am his last, most perfect, ultimate Horcrux."
Ultimate.
Horcrux.
These words were like a bolt of frozen black lightning, ruthlessly cleaving through everyone's minds.
After a suffocatingly brief silence, a violent uproar erupted like a volcanic explosion.
"No! That's impossible!" Professor McGonagall cried out, her face deathly pale.
"A joke... this is absolutely a hallucination caused by the Dark Arts!"
Sirius instinctively raised his wand, but didn't know who to point it at.
"Monster... she really is a monster! She's in league with the Dark Lord!"
An upperclassman screamed tremulously, sparking a wave of echoing panic.
Doubt, panic, and anger—various emotions intertwined into a chaotic noise that almost lifted the ruined roof of Hogwarts.
Harry stood frozen in place, the elder wand in his hand heavy as a mountain, almost impossible to hold.
He finally understood where that lingering sense of unease in his heart had come from!
Lord Voldemort's body hadn't turned to ash like Quirrell's, not because of the elder wand's uniqueness.
But because his primary soul was locked to this world by an anchor more solid and perfect than any object!
And that anchor was Lia.
The cat that would shamelessly sprawl on Hermione's books for a nap while she read;
The Cat-girl who would squint her eyes in happiness over a single salmon milk candy;
The vital companion who, relying on the fact that she wouldn't truly die, had used her petite body time and again to block lethal curses for them... absurd, cruel, yet... despairingly logical.
In the corner, Snape's face could no longer be described as pale; it was the color of ash.
He stumbled back half a step, hitting the cold wall.
He had seen the private conversations between Dumbledore and Lia and had once despised those profound-sounding riddles.
So... so that was it.
This was the true chessboard.
Dumbledore wasn't just raising a savior; he was feeding a final sacrificial offering.
Lia paid no mind to the mountain-shaking commotion around her.
She just stood there quietly, feeling the soul fragments belonging to Tom Riddle within her.
They were frantically awakening, cheering, and roaring.
The vanity of the diary, the arrogance of the ring, the zealotry of the locket, the greed of the goblet, the envy of the diadem, the bestiality of Nagini... like a pack of sharks smelling blood, they sensed that eternal fire of the primary soul and were preparing to welcome their true master "back" to this warmest, most solid, and most perfect "home."
She could feel that mass of black flame perched above Lord Voldemort's corpse excitedly reaching out invisible tentacles toward her, attempting to establish the final connection.
Once the connection was complete, Lord Voldemort would use her as a new vessel, completely reborn in an unprecedentedly perfect form.
A truly immortal and indestructible Dark Lord, fused with undying traits and carrying the power of all Tom Riddle's Horcruxes.
By then, the entire wizarding world would have no hope left.
"You don't believe it?" Lia's tone lacked any inflection as she slightly raised her chin.
She gestured for Harry to look at Lord Voldemort's scorched corpse. "You can... ask him."
Just as everyone's gaze instinctively followed her guidance and landed on the corpse once more.
A sudden change occurred!
"Heh... heh heh... ha ha ha ha..."
A raspy, weak, yet infinitely venomous and ecstatic laugh echoed hollowly from the corpse that should have been devoid of life.
The laugh was low at first, like dry leaves scraping against the ground, but soon it grew louder, clearer, and more insane!
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!"
Lord Voldemort's "corpse" suddenly twitched, and those scarlet snake-like eyes, which had been dull and lightless, abruptly lit up again!
No, it was no longer simple scarlet.
Deep within the pupils, a mass of pitch-black flame ignited, as if it could swallow all light!
"Ul... ti... mate... Hor... crux..."
Lord Voldemort's voice no longer came through his mouth, but turned into a cold thought that rang directly in everyone's minds, carrying a vibration and resonance at the soul level.
"Well said... truly well said... my dear... little cat..."
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