"His heart is beating very fast, very, very fast... thump, thump, thump... it's so noisy."
This description was much more vivid—and much more terrifying—than a cold ink dot on the Marauder's Map.
It made Harry and Ron clearly perceive that Draco Malfoy wasn't just a simple symbol to be wary of, but a living person being gnawed at by fear and madness.
Hermione's gaze fell back to the blank space on the Seventh Floor of the map.
Monitoring was only the first step.
She looked up and said to Harry and Ron, "You can watch him. But remember, at no time should you act alone, especially do not go to that corridor on the Seventh Floor."
"Why? If he goes in..." Harry asked eagerly.
"Then let him go in," Hermione's voice became very serious. "Your task is only to 'watch' and 'record', not to 'do'. Do you understand? They are really, really dangerous."
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance; from Hermione's tone, they felt a web they didn't understand was quietly taking shape.
They finally nodded.
"We understand."
The prolonged high tension and information processing caused a wave of weariness to wash over Lia.
Her head nodded off bit by bit, and finally, she simply gave up on thinking.
While Harry and Ron were still digesting Hermione's instructions, Lia shifted her body and found a more comfortable position.
In front of the two boys, she unhesitatingly lay across Hermione's lap, even rubbing her cheek against Hermione's lower abdomen, letting out a satisfied, soft nasal sound.
A soft white light flashed.
In the next second, the graceful teenage girl disappeared.
A pure white, fluffy cat was now curled up lazily on Hermione's lap, stretching gracefully and letting out a satisfied yawn.
The hardness on Hermione's face instantly melted, her expression becoming incredibly soft.
She set down the map; the commander who had just been strategizing and issuing orders was but an illusion.
Her fingers sank into the soft, smooth white fur, rhythmically and gently grooming from the neck to the base of the tail.
The firelight from the fireplace danced, reflecting on her jade-white profile, gilding her with a warm, honey-colored halo.
That focused and cherished expression made the air in the entire common room become thick and sweet.
Harry and Ron were completely stunned.
They had just been discussing Death Eaters and death.
In the blink of an eye, the scene had suddenly transformed into a peaceful, classical oil painting of someone petting a cat.
This intense sense of disconnect caused their brains to stall for a moment, their mouths slightly agape, not knowing what to say.
They should go back to their dormitory right now, immediately!
Instead of standing here like two fools, being force-fed dog food they didn't want to eat at all!
The crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace became the only sound in the common room at that moment.
Hermione completely ignored her two friends' dazed and envious, jealous, and hateful gazes.
She carefully scooped the cat ball from her lap into her arms.
She stood up, lowered her head to press a light kiss on the white cat's fluffy forehead, and then looked up at the stunned pair, leaving behind a light remark:
"I'm taking her back to rest now. Once you've discussed it, give me the shift schedule."
Her voice, along with that long white tail swaying happily in the air, vanished into the corner of the stairs leading to the Girls Dormitory.
"..."
"..."
Harry and Ron silently exchanged a look.
Ron's Adam's apple bobbed up and down; he felt a bit of a sour twinge in his teeth.
He gave an exaggerated shudder, shaking off a layer of goosebumps.
He grabbed Harry's arm, his movement so large it was as if he were fleeing a disaster scene.
"Let's go, Harry!" he lowered his voice, his tone filled with indescribable grief and indignation. "We can't stay in this place!"
Harry was pulled into a stumble and asked blankly, "What's wrong?"
"Didn't you smell that?" Ron had a look of deep distress as he sniffed hard, as if he really could smell something.
"The air is sickeningly sweet!"
With that, he gave Harry no chance to react, pulling him along in a near "panic-stricken flight" toward the stairs to the Boys' Dormitory.
They needed to use Quidditch tactical discussions to purify their brains, which had been contaminated by 'dog food'.
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