After returning to the common room, Eda didn't go straight to her dormitory to rest. Instead, she sat quietly in an armchair by the fireplace with the twins.
The two brothers sat across from her, watching her closely, afraid she might do something impulsive that they'd all regret.
"You two don't need to stare at me like this. It's not like I'm going to slit my own throat or anything," Eda said. "Aren't you tired from staring without blinking?"
The twins shook their heads in unison. Fred said, "We know you wouldn't hurt yourself, but we'll only feel at ease once we see you've truly calmed down."
"If Professor McGonagall hadn't shown up just in time, Filch would probably be lying in the hospital wing right now," George added. "Eda, I know you might not want to hear this, but I still have to say it."
Eda leaned back in her chair and tilted her head up to look at the ceiling of the common room. She said, "Go ahead. I'm listening."
"It doesn't matter what Dumbledore thinks, or what anyone else thinks. What matters is what you think," George said earnestly, trying to reason with her. "As long as you've done what you need to do, that's enough. Other people's opinions won't cost you a limb."
Eda understood all of this, of course. She had never paid much attention to the rumors circulating around school.
But today, Dumbledore's words weren't just idle opinions.
To Eda, they felt like a warning: if she wanted to stay at Hogwarts, she had better start behaving—no more acting on impulse. She wasn't Harry, and she didn't have the privilege of everyone cleaning up her messes.
In Eda's eyes, everything Dumbledore had done for her up to this point had ultimately been for Harry.
Confirming that she no longer possessed the power of an Obscurial was to ensure she wouldn't become a ticking time bomb next to Harry.
Training her abilities was to better protect Harry, to provide him with a reliable fighter, and to raise a warrior for the future battle against Voldemort.
Both Eda and Harry were strong-willed individuals, but Harry was the core of the entire plan.
That meant Eda, merely a supporting piece, didn't need to have her own thoughts—she only needed to follow Dumbledore's or Harry's orders.
No one likes a tool with its own mind; such tools are hard to use. To make them useful, they must be constantly polished. And if, after all the polishing, they still don't work smoothly, then they're simply discarded.
This was a narrow-minded and deeply uncharitable view of Dumbledore—Eda's worst-case scenario. In this scenario, she would lose Dumbledore's mentorship and protection, and everyone she had ever offended would come for her one by one—Avery, Fowley, Flint, and maybe even Malfoy.
"I get it. I was just too upset today. Everything will be fine tomorrow," Eda said. She didn't voice her assumptions aloud—maybe things weren't as bad as she imagined. There was no need to say them and make the twins worry with her.
The twins were still watching her. They knew Eda was keeping things bottled up, and they also knew they probably wouldn't be able to get anything more out of her.
"It's really late. I want to get some rest," Eda said. With that, she turned and headed back to her dormitory.
It really was late. They had gone to the 3rd floor near midnight, made it past all the security, visited the headmaster's office, and were delayed by Filch. By now, it was already the early hours of the morning. Soon, the sun would rise.
The twins exchanged a helpless glance. Instead of returning to their dormitory to rest, they remained in the common room, sitting idly, not even sure what they were waiting for.
After returning to her dormitory, Eda didn't lie down to sleep either. She sat motionless at the edge of her bed, lost in thought.
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were all sound asleep. They had no idea when Eda had left, nor when she had returned.
Sometimes, Eda really envied her roommates.
Even though they didn't have any so-called enviable "talents," they lived happy lives, free from so many problems to worry about.
Life had to go on as usual. The world would keep spinning with or without anyone. Eda wouldn't wallow in self-pity just because she had lost Dumbledore's protection.
Even without Dumbledore, there was still a way for her to live.
Eda took out the glasses given to her by the system and put them on. They had been gathering dust in the corner of her drawer. Every time she wore them, it was only to hide the bloodshot veins in her eyes.
After getting herself together, Eda left the dormitory and came to the common room.
Fred and George were dozing off in the armchairs. They were sleeping lightly—just the sound of footsteps and a snap of the fingers was enough to wake them up instantly.
She said softly, "Go freshen up. We should go down for breakfast soon."
The twins had chosen to sit here rather than go back to their dormitory because, deep down, they were afraid she might run off. Eda had indeed considered doing just that—but she hadn't done it, at least not yet.
Seeing Eda sitting in the armchair with her eyes closed, the twins, still dazed and weary, finally dragged their tired bodies off to wash up. The two of them had really suffered through the night.
They washed up quickly, running there and back, and only when they saw Eda still sitting there did they finally slow their pace. They had truly been worried that Eda might just leave without a word.
Fred and George were not hothouse flowers—they knew the outside world, while exciting, was also full of storms and hardship. They were worried that Eda might lose herself in those storms.
Through corridors and staircases, the three of them walked without mentioning anything about the previous night.
What had happened had happened—nothing said or done now could change it. Eda no longer wanted to compromise or endure in silence. While sitting on her bed, she had thought about it for a long time and came to see it as a good thing.
It allowed her to see reality more clearly and abandon expectations she should never have held. She wouldn't need to keep learning how to knit wool socks anymore—great.
In the Great Hall, Eda quietly ate her breakfast, completely out of place among the chatter and laughter of the other students. Fred and George still greeted people they knew and occasionally cracked a joke, but they too had grown much quieter.
What had happened that night had a profound impact on all three of them.
The traps beneath the trapdoor—except for the Mirror of Erised—were all essentially useless. The twins had figured it out: Dumbledore had set them up for Harry.
They were meant to train him. And they also understood why Eda had reacted so strongly. The two brothers felt it was unfair to Eda. It turned out Snape wasn't the only one with a biased heart—Dumbledore's was even more so.
Ever since Eda entered the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall had been watching her every move.
Eda just sat quietly without making a fuss, and this kind of calm only made McGonagall more worried. Her heart grew heavier, and she found herself blaming Dumbledore even more.
And where was the "target of everyone's criticism" Dumbledore at that moment?
He was at the Shrieking Shack, standing in front of the wooden sign that read "Beware of the dog." Dumbledore could almost picture the joy Eda had felt when she put up that sign.
Pushing open the wooden door, the morning sunlight spilled across Dumbledore's face.
He hadn't been here in a long time, but he still remembered how gloomy the shack used to be. Now, it was completely different—bright windows and a clean interior.
By the sunny window sat a rocking chair and a small round table. It was clear the shack's current owner often sat there, basking in the warm sunshine and enjoying life at ease. On the table were a teapot with matching cups and a copy of The Quibbler, pressed underneath an open magazine.
Dumbledore walked over and sat in the rocking chair.
He picked up the open magazine—it had nothing to do with magic. It was all about knitting techniques. The page it was turned to taught how to knit a scarf; a folded page nearby showed how to knit socks.
He closed the magazine.
It was hard for him to picture Eda knitting socks. Both he and Eda understood what wool socks symbolized—family, companionship, warmth.
Yet Eda had truly gifted him a pair of wool socks for Christmas. And after he had offhandedly complained about them being itchy, she had gone and tried to learn how to knit properly.
Dumbledore knew that innocence had never been a word that described Eda. And yet, she had done something so purely innocent, simply because he had once cared for her, once looked upon her with favor.
The sunlight outside poured over him—warm, comfortable.
Dumbledore realized he had forgotten something. He had forgotten that Eda was a child who loved sunshine.
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