The castle had gone quiet again. Not the peaceful kind of silence that came with snowfall or candlelight, but the kind that wraps around your throat, refusing to let go. It was a haunting stillness—expectant, foreboding—broken only by the distant echoes of footsteps or the creak of ancient stone shifting under centuries of pressure.
Another student had been Petrified. But this time, it wasn't just any student.
It was Hermione.
The brightest witch of her age. The planner. The protector. The one who always had a backup plan to the backup plan. Now frozen in place, her wide eyes stared out at nothing, her hand clutching a small shard of mirror as though she had seen something, known something—too late to stop it.
Lennon couldn't sleep. She had sat in her bed for hours, staring at the canopy above her, feeling the weight of the world pressing against her chest. The cold of the night seeped into her like winter air through a cracked window. Eventually, unable to bear it any longer, she pulled on her cloak and slipped through the halls of Hogwarts, silent as a shadow under the cloak of curfew.
When she entered the Hospital Wing, she already knew who would be there.
Mattheo sat hunched beside Hermione's bed, his face a mask of exhaustion and worry. The sheets were too white. Too still. His hand absently tugged at the edge of her blanket, an unconscious attempt to smooth out something that could not be undone.
He didn't notice Lennon at first.
"She's strong," Lennon whispered softly, her voice barely more than a breath.
Mattheo startled slightly, then lifted his eyes to meet hers. His gaze was heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts, dark circles under his eyes, and something fragile in the way he held himself.
"She has to be," he muttered. "They all do."
Lennon quietly slipped into the chair across from him, her gaze lingering on Hermione. "She's going to come back," she said, though there was doubt in her voice.
"You sound sure," Mattheo replied, his voice rough, as though he had lost faith in something he once believed.
"I'm not," Lennon admitted. "But I need to believe it."
Mattheo nodded slowly. "Me too."
There was a long silence, but it was not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that existed between people who understood the gravity of the moment, the weight of what they were facing.
"You know," Mattheo spoke after a long pause, his voice softer now, "for all the times she corrected me, or argued with me… I think she might be one of the best people I've ever met."
Lennon gave a faint smile. "She is."
Mattheo's eyes didn't leave Hermione. "The three of them—Harry, Ron, Hermione—they're all kind of a mess. But somehow, when they're around you… they're steadier. Like you're the center holding them together."
Lennon blinked, unsure of how to respond to this unexpected vulnerability. "I—" she began, but Mattheo cut her off gently.
"I mean it," he said, his voice growing more intense. "You've been watching out for them since they stepped foot in this castle. You've protected them, supported them, even scolded them like…" He trailed off for a moment, then added quietly, "Like you're their mother."
Lennon's breath caught in her throat.
Mattheo finally looked at her, his eyes serious. "And they don't even realize it. Not fully. But they trust you in that way. It's in the way they look at you."
"I don't… I don't know if I'm worthy of that," Lennon whispered, her eyes searching the floor.
"You are," Mattheo said firmly, his voice unwavering. "You're more than they could ever ask for."
A pause. Then Lennon spoke, her voice low, barely audible. "My mum… she wasn't that kind of person," she said, her gaze dropping to the floor as the memories rose. "Not after my father died."
Mattheo stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. He had always known Lennon carried a weight that no one could understand—he only hoped that, tonight, she would let him in.
"She used to be warm," Lennon whispered, her voice trembling. "She'd braid my hair before school. Sing lullabies in this soft, off-key hum. But after the attack… after they killed him… something inside her broke. Instead of grieving, she turned that pain on me."
Mattheo's face hardened with understanding, but he didn't speak. He just let her talk.
"She started blaming me. For living. For being the reason he died. Said it should've been me. That I was just like him, and that's why the Death Eaters came."
Tears welled in Lennon's eyes, but she fought them back. "It got worse. She hit me sometimes. Not hard at first, just enough. And then came the silencing spells, the locked doors, the days without food if I talked back. Magic doesn't leave bruises unless you want it to."
Mattheo swallowed thickly, his jaw tight.
"I thought it was normal for a while," Lennon whispered. "Until Sirius found out. And Remus. They took me in, made sure she couldn't touch me again. But by then… I didn't know how to trust kindness. I still struggle with it sometimes."
Mattheo reached across the bed and took her hand, his touch warm and steady. "You deserved so much better," he said quietly. "And now… now you're giving others what you never had."
Lennon glanced down at their clasped hands, feeling the weight of the truth in his words. "That's why I protect them," she said softly. "Because no one protected me when I needed it."
Mattheo nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "That's what makes you powerful. Not magic. You."
They sat in the quiet, the weight of the night wrapping around them like a blanket.
Finally, Mattheo spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't think they'd survive this place without you."
Lennon's heart twisted painfully, but she didn't pull away. "Neither would I."
Mattheo's gaze was unwavering. "I meant what I said earlier. You're a mother to them. Not by blood. But by heart."
Lennon's heart clenched, the words ringing in her chest long after they were spoken.
She tightened her grip on his hand.
"Then I'll keep fighting," she said firmly. "For them. For her."
They stayed there, the hospital wing silent but full of something unspoken between them. And as the candles burned low and the moon dipped beneath the towers, they knew the fight was just beginning.