The two walls of fire that had been closing in on each other froze in place; the flames dimmed, then vanished into nothing.
Hermione, who had been covering Amanda's eyes, exhaled in secret relief. Thank goodness—thank goodness Amanda hadn't killed anyone. She didn't dare imagine the uproar it would cause at Hogwarts.
Headmaster Dumbledore would certainly investigate personally; by then Amanda might well be found out.
She couldn't bear the thought of Amanda being locked away in Azkaban. "All right, let's get out of here."
Hermione leaned to Amanda's ear and whispered the words in the barest breath. Then she released the hand over Amanda's eyes, caught her hand, and hurried them both down the corridor.
At first in the Great Hall she'd watched Amanda leave, assuming she'd simply finished supper and was heading back to the Dormitory or to the Library.
But when she turned back to her own dinner, her mind flickered like a zoetrope, replaying the image of Amanda walking out.
The memory now looping in Hermione's head clearly showed that just before Amanda had left the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy had stepped out as well.
In that instant Hermione connected it to Malfoy's insults earlier that day. Without a second thought she jumped up, ignored Harry and Ron's questions, and dashed out.
If her suspicion was right, she had to catch up with Amanda—fast.
She couldn't let Amanda kill because of her, especially when it would be so easy to trace.
Hermione would not let Amanda be sent to Azkaban because of her.
Thank Merlin she'd arrived in time. Glancing at the silent girl beside her, head bowed as they walked, Hermione felt nothing but gratitude.
Behind them, the walls, floor, and ceiling—blackened by fire—slowly reverted to pristine stone.
The stray magic in the air was drawn into the surrounding walls, as though the Castle itself were breathing it in.
If, earlier in the Great Hall, one could still identify the spell Amanda had used to blow up the Slytherin table—only failing to pinpoint the caster—
then here in this corridor even the spell itself was untraceable, let alone the person who had cast it.
And still the Castle was not finished. Beneath the unconscious bodies of Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe, a wide hole suddenly yawned.
All three dropped through together; three muffled thuds later they lay neatly sprawled inside the Slytherin common room.
The hole sealed overhead, floorboards sliding back into place. Apart from the burns on Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe, no shred of evidence remained.
Everything had been swallowed by the Castle's own instinct for concealment.
Hermione led her all the way back to the Dormitory before Amanda finally looked up, fixing her gaze on Hermione.
Was she about to scold her? Punish her for failing to protect her properly?
She ought to have followed the inequality's result to the letter—yet she had fallen short.
But instead of rebuke—or even a slap—Amanda found herself pulled into a warm, fierce hug.
"Were you angry? Because Malfoy called me names, so you got angry and wanted to kill them?"
Hermione studied the side of Amanda's face, hoping to hear yes—because that would mean Amanda had learned how to be angry.
Amanda shook her head, expression unchanged. "No. I don't get angry."
"He posed a threat to Hermione; therefore the threat had to be removed."
Hermione pressed her lips together, refusing to feel disappointed. Ice three feet thick is not frozen in a day; coaxing Amanda back to humanity would take time.
But that was all right—she had patience in abundance where Amanda was concerned.
"What about you?" Hermione let go, gently stroking Amanda's cheek. "Did you consider that killing Malfoy at Hogwarts would likely be discovered by the Professors—or even Headmaster Dumbledore?"
"Then you could end up in Azkaban."
Amanda met her eyes: desolate, depthless, calmly mechanical.
"According to the inequality, the value of Hermione's life exceeds the value of my life."
"Therefore Hermione's life takes priority over mine."
"If my life or freedom can remove a danger to Hermione, the exchange is cost-effective; it satisfies the inequality's conclusion."
Hermione's head rang after that recitation.
Had she heard right? What inequality? When had their two lives been entered into an equation?
And her own life judged the greater, given precedence, so that Amanda deemed it "worthwhile" to sacrifice herself to eliminate a threat against Hermione?
Once the shock passed, Hermione gripped Amanda's shoulders, mouth working soundlessly.
"May I ask what—what wretched—sorry—what inequality is comparing our lives?"
Amanda nodded matter-of-factly. "By the equation: Hermione's life is valued by Aunt and Uncle."
"If harm comes to Hermione, Aunt and Uncle will worry; worry feels bad."
"Under identical conditions, if I come to harm, Mum and Dad will not worry, so no one feels bad."
"Hence, placing Hermione and me on opposite sides of the inequality: Hermione > me."
The world tilted; Hermione had never before heard lives weighed like arithmetic.
She wanted simultaneously to laugh and to cry—cry because Amanda so dismissed her own existence,
laugh because this girl, who scarcely understood emotion, had tasted worry once, found it unbearable, and spared her parents the same.
So stupid—so kind.
"Amanda, listen," Hermione cupped the girl's face. "Lives can't be compared, understand? Their weight makes them impossible to balance on scales."
"Every life is precious; the one each of us must cherish most is our own."
"In dire emergencies, for something larger—some greater good—we may choose to give ours up."
"But only when no other option exists. As long as there's an alternative, even one that costs you more, as long as it doesn't cost your life, you take it."
"So remember: you come first—promise me."
Though the answer contradicted her own calculated cost–benefit logic, Amanda nodded.
"Good." Hermione rose on tiptoe to brush a kiss across Amanda's forehead, quick and light, then raised an eyebrow at her.
And who says no one would worry if something happened to you? I would. Senior Cho Chang would. Senior Marietta would. Senior Penelopa would. Harry and Ron would. All of Ravenclaw would. You've been in many people's hearts for a long time.
Held in Hermione's hands, Amanda's eyes stared at her, glass-like. In many people's hearts… Her own heart pounded, as though something were forcing its way through the soil.
So if anyone ever threatens your life, don't hold back. Hit them as hard as you can. As I said, your life comes first—always.
The Little Lion of Gryffindor curled her lips, showing her claws and fangs.
'All right.' Amanda nodded blankly, her mind automatically recording that sprouting feeling.
'Don't tell anyone what happened tonight,' Hermione said, leading her to the bed and sitting her down. 'No matter who asks, don't admit you did it.'
'Pretend it never happened. Understood?'
'Understood.' Amanda answered in a flat tone.
Hermione smoothed Amanda's hair, delighting in the silky strands that slipped through her fingers.
'All right, I'm heading back to the dorm. Get some rest, okay?'
'Mm.'
'Good night, Amanda.' Hermione rubbed the top of her head.
'Good night, Hermione.' Amanda felt the soft warmth of her hand.
Watching Hermione leave the Dormitory, Amanda returned to her desk, lowered her head, and stared at her hands with lifeless eyes.
Hermione said lives can't be weighed against each other; she had to value her own, not trade it to protect her.
Her mind raced, rapidly revising her conclusions.
Her brain insisted: she still wanted to protect Hermione.
Yes, whenever Hermione crossed her mind, the word protect surfaced automatically.
So she would still protect Hermione—only not with her life. She would keep Hermione safe while absolutely keeping herself alive.
Final decision reached, Amanda stopped reviewing the matter and began tallying how many school rules she'd broken and what punishments she deserved.
Failing to remove the threat to Hermione in time was one. Using magic illegally in the corridor was another.
The fire that damaged the Castle walls, floor, and ceiling counted; injuring classmates did too.
But Malfoy and his two cronies hadn't died, so the penalty should be reduced.
She drew her wand, walked to the bed, sat down, kicked off her shoes, and climbed in.
The moment she settled, she used magic to pull the bed-curtains shut.
Beneath her robe and skirt, faint bruises and a nearly healed pale scar marked the inside of her left thigh.
In Amanda's eyes, her left leg turned 'transparent,' veins and muscle tissue fully visible.
Studies came first; punishment mustn't interfere. So she chose a spot away from major vessels and muscles, ensuring normal leg function and minimal impact.
If blood loss made her dizzy while studying, efficiency would drop.
Target chosen, she held her wand just above her thigh.
Slowly moving the wand, she opened a gash on the pale skin, lengthening it with deliberate precision.
The wound wasn't deep, but not shallow either; red tissue showed through.
Within seconds, severed capillaries bled; when the cut reached ten centimetres, she stopped.
Intense pain beaded her forehead with sweat, yet her expression never changed.
After experiencing Crucio once, this pain felt bearable; the Cruciatus Curse remained the benchmark for 'unbearable'.
Watching blood flow, she tapped the wound and cast a simple Hemostasis spell.
Wizarding magic was convenient: healing spells could close wounds, while A single hemostatic spell stopped bleeding without healing.
The standalone charm existed to lower the learning curve.
Healing spells were difficult; stopping blood was far easier.
Most Wizards used it for emergency self-treatment to avoid bleeding out.
For Amanda, it offered the perfect solution: keep the wound and pain as punishment, yet prevent blood loss from hampering her studies—two gains at once.
She rearranged her skirt and robe, pulled the curtain aside, and stood; her left leg twitched.
After two steps she adjusted, and the leg moved normally again.
Nothing was affected except the pain.
She sat at her desk and took from her bag a Library book, reading attentively.
The cover was clean now, but it had been dusty; she'd used a cleaning charm before starting.
Given the topic, few ever checked it out.
A history of the Wizarding World's Sacred Twenty-Eight families—who would bother?
The families themselves didn't need it; they intermarried or nursed feuds—everyone knew everyone.
Muggle-borns or half-bloods rarely cared about magical nobility beyond knowing the name.
Reading it for fun? They weren't that idle.
Only someone like Amanda, who read everything, or a handful seeking to ally with a pure-blood house, would open it.
The edition was recent; she memorised as she read.
The Malfoy entry listed Draco Malfoy, so the book was at most twelve years old.
Some Wizarding titles lack publication dates; this was one, so she judged by content.
She turned a page and the next family appeared: Gaunt House.
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