Green flames roared in the fireplace; a swirling black cloak stepped out of them. The old man in star-spangled pyjamas lifted his head, bright eyes appraising the visitor with shrewd insight.
"Ravenclaw, Lynn," Professor Snape said curtly.
Headmaster Dumbledore blinked. "Miss Lynn? Minerva and Filius both speak highly of her."
"She's using Occlumency," Professor Snape drawled with absolute certainty.
"Occlumency?" Headmaster Dumbledore leaned forward, fingers steepled on the desk. "A child that young, already mastering Occlumency?"
"Only explanation. Her gaze is vacant, emotionless; her face shows nothing. Her Occlumency is... impressive."
Dumbledore rose and began to pace slowly across the office.
"Very well, Severus. Keep an eye on the girl."
Snape's lip twitched. "I rather thought you'd want me watching... Potter."
"Harry's safety is my concern. We must also watch those who might prove... dangerous, mustn't we?"
Dumbledore halted, looking over his spectacles at Snape. "You know why, Severus: to protect Harry, and to honour Lily's sacrifice."
A flicker crossed Snape's eyes before they returned to their customary emptiness.
He gave a curt nod, tossed a pinch of floo powder into the flames, and stepped in.
"I'll watch her," he said just before the fire swallowed him.
Once Snape had gone, Dumbledore sank alone into the chair behind his desk.
"Occlumency..." he murmured, head bowed. Top marks, remarkable talent, beloved by every Professor—and now Occlumency.
Could she be another Tom? A weary sharpness flashed in the Headmaster's eyes.
The girl suspected of becoming another Tom Riddle was, at that moment, reading the three books Professor McGonagall had recommended.
Transfiguration is indeed trickier than Charms, Lynn concluded calmly.
She finished the last book only at bedtime, having memorised every page; true mastery would take longer.
After adding three fresh bruises to her left arm, she lay down fully clothed.
Over the next few days she continued to excel, earning house points in every lesson.
With so few first-year classes, she spent most of her time in the Hogwarts Library.
Even Professor Snape, observing her in passing, soon grew bored.
The little Troll—though he admitted she might not be a Troll—devoted every free moment to the Library.
And she showed no selectivity: she began at the first shelf, first row, first book, and read straight on.
Every page of every volume was scrutinised; even so, she read faster than anyone Snape had ever seen.
He began to doubt she was truly reading at all.
Yet after several days he resolved to abandon the surveillance.
Pointless. He might as well brew two extra cauldrons of Potions in his office.
With that, he swept away, black cloak billowing round the corner outside the Library.
Close to curfew she closed her book, checked out the unfinished volume with Madam Pince, and hurried to her Dormitory.
Inside, Maranhao and Marietta Edgecombe were chatting happily over their homework.
They paused to greet her politely, then resumed their conversation.
By now they knew that while Lynn studied, no sound could distract her.
Unless you tapped her shoulder or addressed her by name, she would ignore everything.
So Maranhao and Marietta could talk freely once more.
Lynn sat at her desk and reopened the book she'd left earlier.
She remained there while Maranhao and Marietta bathed and went to bed.
With a shared sigh they drew their bed-curtains.
They now realised Lynn didn't merely love learning—she treated it as life itself, perhaps more precious.
Tomorrow was Friday; the weekend might bring rest, Maranhao thought as she pulled up her blanket.
She had no idea Lynn intended to devour an entire shelf of the Library that weekend.
After breakfast she reached the greenhouse for Herbology, tugged the door twice—it would not open.
Expressionless, she closed her bag, pulled out the textbook, and began to review.
Later-arriving Little Eagles and Little Badgers, seeing her read, flushed with shame.
If the best of them studied so hard, what excuse had they? Every student produced a textbook and read.
The sight of a whole class reading outside a greenhouse startled the Gryffindor Little Lions and Slytherin Little Snakes having Flying lessons on the lawn nearby.
"Merlin's Library... Ravenclaws reading is one thing, but Hufflepuff too?" Ron gaped.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Perhaps only a very few people dislike studying."
Ron winced. "Well, I know you're not one of them."
Harry, crouched over his broom, felt a strange, familiar tug of attraction and paid them no heed.
After trading barbs, Hermione and Ron lapsed into silence; Hermione's gaze skimmed past the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and settled on Lynn at the very front of the crowd.
Watching the girl with her head bowed over a book like a pool of still water, Hermione felt sure that the one who had inspired so many to study had to be Lynn.
Her thoughts didn't last long—Madam Hooch had already arrived on the lawn.
Because nearly every Young Wizard was eager for Flying Class, the entire group was assembled long before the lesson began.
Madam Hooch, seeing them all raring to go, whipped out her whistle and blew a sharp blast. She decided to start the flying broomstick lesson early rather than risk some impatient child taking off on their own.
"Everyone, stand beside a flying broomstick, place your hand above it, and say 'Up.'"
Following instructions, Hermione positioned herself beside a broom, hand poised above it, and pronounced in perfect diction: "Up."
The broom stayed put. Hermione drew a deep breath, tried every tone she knew, and—perhaps sensing her mounting irritation—the broom finally leapt obligingly into her hand.
Examining it, Hermione lifted a knowing brow. "Well, looks like I've no gift for flying."
She wasn't the least disappointed; she'd already decided from the books that she disliked the whole idea.
Pictures of witches and wizards soaring on broomsticks had convinced her she preferred keeping her feet on solid ground.
"On the count of three, wait for my whistle, then take off."
Madam Hooch began counting, but before she could blow the whistle Neville wobbled into the air, face paper-white.
Hands clamped tight to the broom, he shook with terror as he rose higher and higher; Madam Hooch's shouts to calm down and descend were useless.
Every Young Wizard watched in horror, Madam Hooch's yells and Neville's shrieks ringing in their ears.
The commotion drew the attention of the Little Eagles and Little Badgers by the greenhouse door.
They snapped their books shut and stared, mouths agape—except Lynn, who kept reading as if nothing had happened.
"Merlin! He'll fall!"
"Madam Hooch is right there—she'll save him…"
"Hardly. She never carries her wand to flying lessons. Look—she's just standing there."
The Little Eagles and Little Badgers paled, frantic yet helpless, as Neville soared higher and smashed into the wall of Hogwarts Castle, gasps growing louder.
Amid the chaos someone slammed into Lynn, knocking her Herbology textbook to the ground.
She bent to retrieve it, turned, and saw Neville slip from the broom.
Without hesitation she whipped out her wand, tracked his fall, and aimed with machine-like precision.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
A mechanical voice rang out; the Levitation Charm streaked across the distance from greenhouse to lawn, stopping Neville mid-air.
With a slow downward motion of her wand, Lynn lowered him gently to the grass.
Every Little Eagle and Little Badger stared as though she were some fantastic beast.
Neville was no classroom feather—he was a solid, heavy boy, far away and plummeting fast—yet she had cast the charm perfectly.
For a first-year Young Wizard, that was simply astonishing.
Face blank, Lynn holstered her wand and returned to her book.
She spared no worry for Neville's fright or injuries from the wall.
Helping when someone was in danger was simply instinct.
As for why she hadn't helped students dragged away for "disposal," the answer was simple: rules demanded it, and rules overrode instinct.
Just as Mother and Father decreed that missed study time or imperfect marks meant she must punish herself, even when every instinct rebelled.
The Little Eagles and Little Badgers, ready to cheer, found their voices stuck at the sight of her calm return to reading.
They glanced at one another, reopened their books in unison, and resumed studying—what else could they do?
Meanwhile, Gryffindor and Slytherin were in an uproar.
Madam Hooch hurried over, lifted Neville—now safely on the ground—and after a stern warning escorted the shaken boy to the Hospital Wing.
Hermione, along with many Little Lions and Little Snakes, gaped at the distant, still-reading Lynn.
Her magic… that strong? Hermione pressed her lips tight, a knot of anxiety tightening inside.
Compared with Lynn, was she simply inadequate? When a perfect benchmark appeared, comparison was inevitable.
Hermione did just that. Drawing a resolute breath, she gripped her broom and vowed to study harder—first to discover Lynn's methods, then to surpass them.
No—she would outwork her!
While these thoughts swirled, Harry and Malfoy were already airborne, and Lynn entered the greenhouse as Professor Sprout arrived.
Hermione watched Lynn disappear inside, then turned her eyes to Harry and Malfoy circling above.
Inside, Lynn stood in the front row of the Herbology classroom, gazing calmly at Professor Sprout on the podium.