After returning from France, Lia was ruined.
A ball of yarn rolled to her feet, but she didn't move.
She ignored the rustling sound of Mr. Granger turning the newspaper.
Most of the time, she curled up into a ball, a lifeless white mass,
nestled in Hermione's bookish embrace. Even in her sleep, her claws gripped Hermione's clothes like a drowning person clutching the only piece of wood.
The fainting spell at the Louvre was an alarm bell, screaming day and night in her soul.
Lia started to fear the dark and closing her eyes.
Her dreams were completely colonized by the shadow of a black-haired boy.
He constantly whispered in Lia's mind, using the most elegant phrasing to analyze the art of soul-devouring and explain the "truth" of power right into her ear.
Dropping dirty things called "Desire" into her soul drop by drop.
That voice belonged to Tom Riddle.
The sun was bright that afternoon.
Mrs. Granger was worrying about her award-winning roses in the garden; a slimy slug was eating the leaves.
Hermione sat on one side of the sofa, meticulously grooming Lia's long, furry tail with a small wooden comb.
Lia took up a large area of the sofa, her legs resting on Hermione, listlessly watching the garden.
When an especially plump slug wriggled over, preparing to bite its mucous-covered mouth onto the most vibrant pink bloom, the "Queen Elizabeth," an unknown fury suddenly flared up from the bottom of Lia's heart.
Violence, irritation, and the disgust of being contaminated by something.
"Eyesore," her lips moved silently.
In her mind, the magnificent and cold male voice immediately sounded, carrying a hint of approving laughter and irresistible temptation.
"See, even this lowly creature is polluting beauty. Your feeling is correct, Lia. Purify it, just as I've taught you countless times in your dreams. It's simple; it doesn't even qualify as practice."
Lia felt an inexplicable irritation.
She wanted to cover her ears, to scream, to shake that voice out of her head!
But the malicious spell that had been forcibly instilled countless times in her dreams surfaced from the depths of her memory against her will, clear as instinct.
A cry for help was stuck in her throat, but a vicious syllable rolled out instead.
Silently.
Her body hijacked by instinct, she raised her index finger toward the slug outside the window.
No incantation.
No magic fluctuation.
A black line, thinner than a strand of hair, flashed past her fingertip.
In the garden, the slug froze.
The next second, it seemed to ignite from within, instantly shriveling and carbonizing, disintegrating into a clump of black ash with a "poof" under the sunlight.
A gust of wind blew it away.
The rose leaf the slug had been resting on instantly developed charred veins, then withered and crumbled into powder.
The entire process was astonishingly fast, so fast that even Mrs. Granger, who was nearby, didn't notice.
But Hermione saw it.
The movement of the wooden comb in her hand stopped.
The unhurried motion of grooming the tail paused without warning, causing the air in the entire room to solidify.
A cold magical residue carrying the scent of grave decay sharply stung her senses, even through the window.
Dark Arts.
Pure, efficient, undisguised death magic.
Hermione slowly walked to the window, her brown eyes locked onto the scorched leaf.
For a second, her mind went blank.
"Lia." Hermione's voice was soft, yet it struck the silent room like a chunk of ice.
Lia's gaze flickered; she spun around abruptly like a caught thief.
Her azure eyes were instantly flooded with terror and tears, misty and looking utterly pitiful.
"Did you do that?" Hermione asked. There was no trace of gentleness, only the sharpness of dissecting a fact.
"I... I don't know..." Lia avoided her gaze and shook her head, tears starting to fall. "It wasn't me... it was him..."
"Who is 'him'?" Hermione pressed, her presence so strong it took Lia's breath away.
"Tom Riddle... He talks in my head..." Lia's psychological defense completely collapsed under Hermione's icy gaze. She lunged into Hermione's arms, grabbing the last piece of driftwood. "He taught me this, he told me to devour the souls at the Louvre... Hermione, am I going to turn into a monster too? I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to lose my nose."
Listening to Lia's helpless crying in her arms, Hermione felt no disgust.
Quite the opposite.
A fierce possessiveness, mixed with towering rage and bone-chilling pity, grew wildly in her heart.
Harm her?
Turn into a monster?
A wraith without a body, a thief hiding in a little girl's soul—how dare he covet what belongs to her?
Hermione suddenly tightened her arms, pressing the trembling Lia fiercely against her chest with enough force to almost knead her into her very flesh and blood.
She didn't offer useless comfort, but instead declared in Lia's ear with a decisive tone, like a volcano being suppressed:
"Listen, Lia. You will not turn into a monster, and you will absolutely never harm me."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried absolute will.
"That thing called Tom Riddle is a parasite. A filthy, damned thief." Hermione lifted Lia's tear-stained face, forcing her to meet her eyes, which burned with a nearly obsessive flame. "I will find a way. I will search through every book in the Hogwarts library, every single word in the Restricted Section, even if I have to use the most vicious curses. I will dig him out of your soul, inch by inch, and grind him to dust. I promise."
A declaration of war made by a top Witch, pledging her wisdom, will, and soul against another soul.
Lia was stunned by this powerful aura, staring blankly at her, forgetting to cry.
Hermione stared at her, using a commanding tone: "So, answer me. That thief, or me—who do you obey?"
Lia was completely subdued by this power, stammering instinctively: "I... I obey you..."
"Good."
Hermione replied with satisfaction, cupped her still-tear-stained face, and pressed a solemn, oath-like kiss onto Lia's smooth forehead.
The kiss was light, but it carried a calming power, instantly smoothing the turmoil deep within her soul.
From that day on, Hermione developed a brand new "treatment plan."
Every night, she would hold Lia close, close her eyes, and sink her mental power deep into Lia's soul.
In Lia's Eye of Truth, Hermione's spiritual world was a magnificent and warm library, sunlight streaming from the dome, filled with the scent of book ink. And Hermione's will was the sole and supreme Curator of this library.
When the treatment began, the phantom image of the library descended into the depths of Lia's soul.
Lia could "see" countless black tendrils wildly growing on the "black crystal" representing Riddle, attempting to contaminate every inch of her soul.
Meanwhile, Hermione's golden warm current transformed into glowing, weighty tomes, flying off the endless shelves and becoming golden chains imbued with the power of rules and order, tightly binding and suppressing the black tendrils, forcing them into temporary silence.
Lia squinted comfortably, a contented purr rumbling in her throat.
This tranquility, protected jointly by knowledge and affection, made her feel far safer than any mere power.
As the black crystal was suppressed, the color of her gray-black ear tips also faded slightly.
"Hermione..." Lia rubbed against her chin, her voice soft and sticky, with the instinctive craving of a small animal. "More."
Hermione chuckled and rubbed her head. "Greedy girl."
She didn't refuse. Instead, she lowered her head and bit the tip of the slightly gray-black cat ear, neither too hard nor too soft.
Lia froze all over, as if electrocuted.
Hermione didn't use force, but only the tips of her teeth, slowly and firmly grinding over the sensitive cartilage that was trembling slightly.
Like a queen branding her own territory with the most arrogant and unreasonable mark.
Only Lia's suppressed whimpers remained in the room, mixed with a strange shiver.
"Wait... Hermione... I feel strange! Stop it!"
Hermione's breath was hot, scorching her ear, and every word she uttered carried an irresistible possessiveness.
"Don't be afraid. Your soul can only have my scent."
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