"Good heavens!"
Professor McGonagall's cry pierced the dead silence of the corridor, carrying a hint of irrepressible trembling.
She had discovered this scene, more horrific than any nightmare, during her routine patrol.
The two cold "stone statues" were quickly sent to the Hospital Wing.
Madam Pomfrey held her magic wand, the light of her diagnostic spell sweeping over Hermione.
"It's petrification, just like the previous victims; her soul is imprisoned," she breathed a sigh of relief. "As soon as the Mandrakes are mature, she can be cured."
Her magic wand then pointed at Lia, and everyone's hearts leaped into their throats.
The light swept over Lia, but it was like a stone sinking into the ocean, with no reaction at all.
Madam Pomfrey's face turned pale; she reached out to check Lia's breath, then tremblingly felt for her carotid artery.
No breath, no heartbeat. Her body was like a piece of marble just hauled from the polar ice seas, cold and hard without a trace of life's warmth.
"She's dead, Albus."
Madam Pomfrey withdrew her hand with regret and shook her head at Dumbledore, who had hurried over, her voice full of sorrow.
This wasn't petrification; this was absolute death, life completely stripped away by magic.
Dumbledore walked to the bedside. Behind his half-moon spectacles, those all-seeing blue eyes were filled with an unprecedented gravity.
He looked at Lia's lifeless "statue," her pale little face still bearing the vigilance and determination of her final moment facing danger.
He thought again of that other body, equally cold after being struck by the Killing Curse.
"Wait and see, Poppy," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but carrying an unyielding insistence. "Put her... right next to Miss Granger. They shouldn't be separated."
Although Madam Pomfrey was utterly confused, she did as instructed.
Thus, in a corner of the Hospital Wing, a sight appeared that would break the heart of any visitor: a petrified girl's statue and a Cat-girl's cold corpse lying side by side on white hospital beds, like a sorrowful farewell.
Time passed.
Hermione's consciousness was imprisoned in a thick, immobile darkness.
She knew she was alive, but her body didn't belong to her; she couldn't even blink. She felt as though she had fallen into a nightmare from which she couldn't wake, only able to vaguely "feel" Lia through that unique bond deep within her soul.
She felt a massive, evil magic strike, and then she felt Lia like a wall, standing before her soul, bearing the vast majority of that devastating impact for her. She felt Lia's presence... vanish.
"No! Lia!"
She screamed silently within the prison of her soul, but could make no sound.
Just then, upon the hospital bed, Lia's long-cold "statue" suddenly began to emit a soft, milky-white glow.
"Dumbledore! Look!" Professor McGonagall whispered in an excited gasp, her fingers tightly clutching her robes.
Under the shocked gazes of Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, the stony grey color symbolizing death began to recede from Lia's fingertips, like snow melting in the sun. Life energy gathered within her body once more like a trickling stream.
Inch by inch, her body regained its softness and warmth. A flush of life returned to her pale cheeks.
That heart, which had stopped beating, seemed to respond to a distant call after its long silence; within her quiet chest, it gave a soft, tentative quiver.
Then, with a "thump," it began to pulse powerfully once more!
"Thump!"
The cold memories of death receded like the tide. Lia's eyelashes fluttered violently, and she snapped her eyes open.
"Hermione!"
Without a second thought, the instinct deep in her soul made Lia spring from the bed the moment she woke, not even pausing to feel the changes in her own body as she threw herself desperately toward the adjacent bed!
What her hands touched was Hermione's arm, cold and stiff as stone.
Lia's movements froze. She stared blankly at the lifeless Hermione, who still held her mirror-wielding pose. Those azure eyes, which had just regained their luster, were instantly filled with immense fear and panic.
But in the next second, her new eyes—baptized by death—allowed her to see something different.
Although Hermione's body was cold, in Lia's vision, Hermione's soul was like a stubbornly burning flame wrapped in layers of grey crystals! Those grey crystals were the Basilisk's petrification curse, constantly compressing that flame of life.
She's alive! She's just trapped!
This realization allowed Lia's heart, which had been on the verge of bursting, to steady slightly. Thank goodness... thank goodness... She let out a long, shaky breath. She had a way to save Hermione.
Ignoring the shocked stares of the three Professors beside her, Lia leaned down, revealing her graceful and fragile neck. She opened her mouth without hesitation and, with her small canines, gently bit down.
"Hiss—"
Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey gasped, about to step in and stop her.
"Wait!" Dumbledore raised a hand to stop them, his eyes gleaming with an unprecedented light.
In Lia's eyes, she saw a stream of pure golden life energy flow from the tips of her teeth into Hermione's body. This energy was like the most potent de-icer, instantly smashing through the grey crystals surrounding Hermione's soul!
Those crystals of the petrification curse let out a silent wail under the impact of the golden life force, shattering inch by inch into nothingness.
Visibly, Hermione's grey and stiff skin, starting from the neck where Lia bit her, began to lose its deathly pallor and regain a healthy flush and softness, as if spring had returned to the earth.
Within seconds, the girl's stiff body softened completely, and her chest began to rise and fall steadily, as if she had merely fallen into a deep sleep.
The three Professors looked at each other, all seeing the unbelievable shock in one another's eyes. This was nothing short of a miracle!
Only then did Lia release her grip, belatedly noticing the change in her eyes. After a slight sting, the entire world was completely reconstructed in her vision.
What floated in the air was no longer dust, but shimmering particles of magic. Within the patterns of the ancient stone bricks on the walls, the magical traces left by time were deposited.
She looked up.
In her eyes, Dumbledore was no longer an old man in robes, but a warm, massive, yet restrained miniature sun; that majestic torrent of magic made her instinctively want to draw close while also feeling awe.
Professor McGonagall's magic was like countless precise silver threads, woven into a rigorous and magnificent Scottish tartan.
Just then, the door to the Hospital Wing was burst open.
"Oh, you poor children! I heard the terrible news!"
Gilderoy Lockhart walked in, wearing a set of ostentatious lavender robes, followed by a reporter from The Daily Prophet holding a camera. A formulaic expression of grief was plastered on his face, but his eyes sparkled with irrepressible excitement.
"Another victim! This will undoubtedly be front-page news! Quick, take a photo of me comforting them!" he whispered to the reporter, thinking no one could hear.
Lockhart strode to the bedside, preparing to strike a sorrowful yet handsome pose.
Lia slowly looked up, those azure eyes that had just experienced death looking coldly at him.
In her eyes, Lockhart himself was a ridiculous, clumsy piece of theater.
He was covered in a multicolored, false halo woven from stolen courage and countless Memory Charms. That halo was even entwined with blurred resentments belonging to other Wizards. But this halo was laughably thin in Lia's eyes, like a layer of low-quality, mottled oil paint that would peel off with a gentle poke, revealing the truest, filthiest base underneath.
And beneath that layer of fake oil paint, his own magic was weak and murky, like a candle about to go out in a damp Dungeon—it couldn't even compare to the magical fluctuations in a cup of water Madam Pomfrey had forgotten on the side table.
He was a complete, nauseating fraud.
A talentless hack who had risen to power by stealing others' achievements and modifying their memories.
For the first time, with these brand-new eyes, Lia saw through the essence of a person's soul so clearly and thoroughly.
Holding the newly warm Hermione, she tilted her head, her sky-clear azure eyes showing unabashed disdain.
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