Hermione lowered her head, pressing her forehead to Amanda's. "You heard everything Professor McGonagall just told you, didn't you?"
Amanda, her forehead still against Hermione's, felt her mind remain as still as a frozen lake. She gave a quiet nod.
"I heard."
She always listened carefully to her teachers and did her best to follow their instructions.
"From now on, you're not allowed to hurt yourself again, no matter the reason."
Hermione hugged her tighter, eyes closed, whispering.
"Mm." Amanda answered just as softly.
Hermione opened her eyes again and, seeing Amanda's expressionless face, couldn't help smiling.
Amanda studied her, unable to work out why she was smiling.
"Why are you smiling, Hermione?"
"Because I'm happy," Hermione said, cupping Amanda's cheek and slowly stroking the smooth skin. "Happy you came into this world."
"Came to us, so we could meet you—and save you."
"Thank you." Amanda instinctively voiced her gratitude; Hermione immediately covered her mouth.
"We don't want your thanks. We want you safe."
Mouth covered, Amanda nodded slowly.
Hermione released her hand and pulled her down onto the bed.
Rolling over, she hugged Amanda even closer, eyes sparkling as something occurred to her.
"Right now, besides Hogwarts, you don't have a permanent place to stay, do you?"
After all, Amanda's real home was in another world.
Amanda nodded in agreement. "That's right."
"Then spend every holiday at my house from now on."
Hermione looked at her hopefully. "What do you think? Mum and Dad already adore you, and you'd keep me company. Please?"
She nuzzled Amanda's neck, trying every trick to win her consent.
"All right."
Amanda agreed without hesitation. "I hope I won't be any trouble," she added politely.
"You could never be trouble," Hermione murmured, taking a deep breath as she held her, eyes closing in contentment. "You don't even realise how happy it makes people just having you near."
Having me nearby makes people… happy? Amanda's thoughts stuttered—could that really happen?
Whenever she'd stood in front of her parents, they'd always frowned.
She was the stupid child, not the prodigy they'd wanted.
Even after surgery sent her grades soaring, she was only an "artificial" genius.
They feared any examination might expose her flaws, so they preferred her out of sight.
As for her teachers—though her marks earned them extra resources—
her lack of emotion meant she was courteous and obedient, yet
she couldn't flatter, fawn, or even string together pretty words.
To them she was merely an exam-scoring machine that secured benefits; why would they want her around?
On the contrary, they enjoyed punishing her—she was obedient enough to carry out any penalty.
No matter how wretched it left her, she'd reflect afterwards,
and study even harder next time—so why wouldn't teachers relish it?
It amused them, satisfied their egos, and still pushed her to produce the rising material rewards they desired.
Killing two birds with one stone.
Classmates were no different: rivals fighting for survival, who could possibly like whom?
Dragging one another down was closer to the truth.
Yet Hermione, Professor McGonagall and the others truly wanted to see her… Amanda's mind produced the conclusion only with great difficulty, as though it defied logic.
She glanced at Hermione, eyes closed in rest, and—though her heart remained calm—an abrupt thought surfaced:
How wonderful to have met Hermione, the Hogwarts students, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick—real mentors.
Outside the Dormitory, in the Ravenclaw Common Room, Penelope had finished recounting Amanda's story to the Little Eagles.
"I require everyone to keep Amanda's background secret," she said, eyes sweeping the circle. "If word spreads, someone might develop an unhealthy interest in her."
"None of us wants our Ravenclaw darling hurt, right?"
Every Little Eagle shook their head in unison. Senior Platt yanked a sheet of parchment from a nearby table and tapped it with her wand.
Complex alchemical syllables spilled from her lips; intricate transmutation runes blossomed across the once-blank parchment,
until it had become a binding contract.
She lifted it and passed it to a seventh-year boy, who held his wand to the sheet and began chanting Ancient Runes.
As his voice rose, flames flickered over the parchment—yet gave off no heat.
When he finished, he nodded to Platt; she laid the burning contract on the table.
"Anyone who signs this and tries to reveal Amanda's identity to non-Ravenclaws will be detected at once and lose the power of speech,"
"while suffering the agony of fire coursing through the body for three full days."
The boy beside Platt added with a cheerful smile.
Penelope's lips curved in approval—Senior Platt had read her mind.
Typical Ravenclaw brilliance.
Every Little Eagle thought the same: of course a contract was necessary—exactly what they would have done.
Truly, they were all Ravenclaws!
One by one they signed; the parchment remained on the common-room table.
When other Eagles returned from classes, those present explained and had them add their names.
By lunchtime, every Ravenclaw knew.
Students of the other three Houses then witnessed an astonishing sight:
the entire Ravenclaw Table eagerly heaping food onto Amanda's plate; if a dish wasn't within reach, it was swiftly swapped in.
She tasted nearly every dish on the table.
Harry and Ron, sitting at the Gryffindor Table, stared slack-jawed at the scene.
They knew Amanda was popular inside Ravenclaw—everyone adored her.
But wasn't this a bit… over the top?
It looked as though they were one step away from spoon-feeding her.
"What's gotten into them?" Ron asked, glancing across at Hermione. "And didn't you sit with The Ravenclaws yesterday?"
"You skipped class this morning too—what happened?"
Harry's face was equally hungry for answers; even boys get curious about these things.
Hermione glanced left and right, then beckoned Harry and Ron to lean closer.
They obediently stretched their torsos over the table.
Hermione wet her lips and, in a whisper only the three of them could hear, recounted Amanda's background and everything she'd been through.
"By Merlin," Ron breathed, eyes bulging in horror, "bad grades mean death?!"
"That's terrifying—I wouldn't last two years in that world."
"Me neither," Harry said, wincing. "Sounds suffocating."
Hermione nodded gravely. "Extremely. Honestly, I dread to think what the suicide rate must be."
Harry and Ron fell silent; no imagination was needed—the rate had to be sky-high.
"No wonder Amanda studies like her life depends on it," Harry sighed. "Her own parents messed her up that badly."
Ron nodded in agreement; he used to think his mum was strict—sometimes even neglectful.
But now he realized how dearly she loved him.
And it was a love that asked for nothing; what more could he want?
Hermione looked back at Amanda, surrounded by attentive Ravenclaws. If her former family hadn't loved her, so be it—she didn't need them.
Right now, Amanda clearly had more than enough people who did.
At the Staff Table, Professor Flitwick—her Dean—had also heard the story from Professor McGonagall.
The former dueling champion felt his blood surge; his face flushed crimson.
"How dare her parents! She's their child—Merlin's beard!"
Professor Flitwick rapped the table with his knife for emphasis.
Beside him, Professor Sprout gazed at Amanda with sorrow; the girl had suffered so much.
Thank goodness Hogwarts was here now—it would be a home for every young Witch or wizard who walked through its doors.
When her gaze drifted to Hufflepuff, she felt a surge of gratitude that her Little Badgers were gentle and kind.
They stood with Amanda too, and as their Head she trusted they would give the girl the same warmth The Ravenclaws offered.
To keep the discussion private, the Professors had tactfully sent Lockhart away beforehand.
So only reliable staff remained at the table—including Professor Snape.
Those bottomless black eyes rested on the Ravenclaw Table, as though Snape were watching his own childhood through Amanda.
No… perhaps his own early years had been easier by comparison.
Look at the world she came from and the parents she had—a pair of Trolls if ever there were.
Yet… Snape remembered docking points from her and the petty reasons he'd done so.
Was he turning into the very sort of adult he had once despised?
After all, he was a Professor. He bit slowly into a sausage.
Dark eyes swept across the four House tables; perhaps he should try treating Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff with equal, quiet fairness.
As for Gryffindor… sorry, he'd need more time to prepare himself.
He lowered his head again. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had not missed the small drama.
Dumbledore set down his cutlery and looked at Snape with quiet pride.
If Severus could take this step, it would be a very good thing indeed.
All these years Severus had taught at Hogwarts.
As his once-Professor, Albus could sense the change in him:
from the boy who had cared only for power, with no reverence for life, to the man he was now.
It was hard not to attribute that to the generations of students he had taught.
Watching new life grow strong before his eyes must have softened something inside him.
McGonagall's eyes shone with delight; if Severus could truly open his heart and stop locking himself away, she would be overjoyed.
After lunch, none of the five young witches—including Amanda and Hermione—skipped that afternoon's classes as McGonagall had offered.
Even though she had excused them, they still attended.
After all, if Amanda herself went without hesitation, the rest could hardly do less.
They were all diligent students; none wanted to fall behind, even if they had already studied the material.
Amanda's afternoon class was History of Magic, widely regarded as Hogwarts' most soporific subject.
Seated in the classroom, she scribbled notes at lightning speed while Professor Binns' droning voice worked like a sleeping potion.
The Little Eagles beside her, who usually napped through this period, now forced themselves to stay alert and listen.
Knowing her past, they refused to leave her to face the lecture alone; they would keep her company.
That way, if exhaustion suddenly hit her, she could doze off without worry—
because they were taking proper notes and could lend them to her later.
The Little Badgers sharing the lesson blinked in sleepy bewilderment at the wide-awake eagles.
What's going on? they thought, yawning. Why aren't The Ravenclaws sleeping today?
Oh well… more swots in class meant easier note-borrowing later.
As for themselves? Badger can't take it; badger's out. Badger's going to sleep.
Abandoning all resistance, they drooped forward and slumped into blissful slumber.
Meanwhile, high above the castle, world consciousness absorbed every pang of anger and tenderness Hogwarts felt for Amanda.
That love and protectiveness became the cornerstone, with Hogwarts—and Hermione—as anchors, of a vast design now slowly taking shape.
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