Ordered to rest for the day by Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, Lynn had no wish to study.
So when Harry and Ron, fresh from setting off magical firecrackers and laden with gifts, arrived at the table for lunch,
they saw Lynn calmly eating, pausing now and then for a sip of pumpkin juice.
"Merlin's napkin…" Ron gaped at the unhurried scene; the presents in his arms slipped to the floor unnoticed.
Lynn eating slowly was, to him, as improbable as Professor Snape awarding points to Gryffindor.
Yet here was that impossible thing, happening before his eyes.
Harry, standing beside him, stared in equal disbelief.
He'd assumed that by the time they finished with the crackers, Lynn would have finished lunch and gone to the Library.
They'd even planned to bolt their meal and chase after her—who could have guessed that when the fireworks ended
they would find not an empty seat but Lynn herself, composedly finishing her lunch.
In silent accord Harry and Ron sat down beside her: Harry next to Lynn, Ron next to Harry.
"Lynn… after lunch, are you still going to the Library?" Harry asked quietly, tilting his head.
Lynn swallowed a bite of bacon; odd—she must have tasted it before, yet she had never noticed this flavour.
Was it because she was eating slowly today? She turned to Harry and answered in a flat tone,
"After lunch I'm not going to the Library; Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall told me to rest today and not think about studying."
"All right." Harry nodded, glancing in surprise at Professor McGonagall; he had never imagined her telling a student to stop studying.
"Well? Library after this?" Ron prodded, tapping Harry's shoulder when no reply came.
"Nope." Harry shook his head, keeping his voice low.
"Brilliant…" Ron exhaled; whatever else happened, he did not fancy studying on Christmas Day.
With her study plan vetoed, Lynn had nothing to do once lunch ended.
Left to herself, she could think of no pastime besides studying.
Even if that long-ago operation had left her memories intact, her life before it had been nothing but study.
To keep her scores safely above the threshold for disposal, she had used every minute not spent sleeping or eating.
Her meal and sleep times had still been normal then, yet even that had failed to satisfy her parents.
Hence the later operation; as for outings, television, or computers, she had only ever seen her parents enjoy them—she herself had never been allowed a glance.
Going out to play had been out of the question; every child stayed home to study, so whom could one ask?
But now, with Harry and Ron to guide her, it didn't matter that she had no idea how to relax.
They would show her a wonderful time—so the two boys assured themselves.
Until—"Merlin's queen!" Ron clutched his red hair in despair.
His knight had just been smashed by Lynn's piece—his tenth straight defeat.
He and Harry had brought her back to the Gryffindor Common Room to help her unwind.
Ron had eagerly challenged her to wizard chess, little knowing
that among Lynn's vast reading in the Hogwarts Library were several volumes on the game.
Add to that her lack of emotion: no moves clouded by feeling, her thoughts several beats faster than an ordinary mind.
Ron never stood a chance; however he played, Lynn answered in seconds.
Where he began confidently, halfway through each game he was reduced to agonised hesitation.
Every move cost him minutes, leaving Harry dumbfounded.
He knew Ron's skill—he and Hermione never beat him,
and almost no one in Gryffindor House could.
Now, against Lynn, eleven losses in a row; Harry pitied his friend yet could barely stifle a grin.
After the eleventh defeat Ron slumped across the table.
Raising a limp hand he croaked, "No more… I surrender, I really do."
Lynn nodded, rose without expression, and stretched her legs.
Harry, unable to hold back, clapped Ron's shoulder while muffling a laugh.
"Ron, you all right?"
"Not remotely…" Ron lifted his head, grey-faced; spotting Harry's twitching smile he turned a murderous glare on him.
Drawing a deep breath, Ron launched his counter-attack: "Harry—your turn. I've done my bit; now you entertain her."
Harry's grin froze; entertaining Lynn was a mystery to him as well.
Ron at least had wizard chess; what could he offer?
Quidditch in the snow? A few laps up there would freeze them solid,
and if Lynn caught cold, Hermione would murder him when she returned.
Harry shuddered and abandoned the idea completely.
After much thought he remembered something he had received that morning—something said to be very rare.
"Lynn, wait—let me fetch something for you."
He sprinted upstairs to his dormitory and pulled out the invisibility cloak he had found on his bed that morning.
She could play with it, study it—anything.
So curious, surely she would find the cloak intriguing.
He dashed back down and pressed the silvery fabric into her hands.
"Here—play with it or take a look, whichever you like."
Lynn accepted the cloak with cool detachment; the instant it touched her fingers she sensed something unusual.
She recognised an invisibility cloak, yet its texture did not match the materials books described as standard.
A cloak, yes—but no ordinary one. Still devoid of feeling, she held it up and examined it.
Calmly she scanned its length until her gaze fell upon ancient, intricate patterns woven into the hem.
Carefully folding the invisibility cloak in her hands, Lynn looked at Harry.
"Your invisibility cloak is very special."
"Huh?" Harry stared at her, puzzled. "What makes it special?"
"It's not like the cloaks you can buy nowadays," Lynn said, her tone perfectly flat.
"It wasn't made from the materials commonly used for invisibility cloaks, so its effect isn't time-limited. It should be permanently effective."
Harry swallowed and nodded. "I see..."
"It was left to you by your father," Lynn said, watching as Harry's mind raced.
"How do you know?!" Harry exclaimed. Only this morning, when he'd received the cloak, had he learned from the accompanying note that it had once belonged to his father.
If he hadn't already seen Lynn's handwriting—and knew it looked nothing like the note—he might have thought she'd sent it herself.
"Because your father really should have inherited an invisibility cloak passed down through the family."
Lynn stated the fact in the same calm voice. "In Wizarding World fairy tales, the three Peverell brothers wagered with Death and won gifts from him."
"The youngest brother, the third Peverell, received the invisibility cloak."
Ron, who had been standing nearby listening, suddenly clapped his hands.
"I've heard that story—the Tale of the Deathly Hallows!"
"But isn't that just a legend?" Ron asked Lynn, bewildered. Could it be true?
"Not entirely." Lynn shook her head, expressionless, speaking mechanically. "The Peverell family really existed and intermarried with the Potter family."
"The Potters are, in effect, descendants of the third Peverell."
"So it's no surprise Harry's father inherited the cloak."
"Merlin... then your cloak is a Deathly Hallow, Harry!"
Ron gazed in awe at the neatly folded invisibility cloak in Lynn's hands.
"Deathly Hallows?" Harry frowned. "What do they do?"
"The resurrection stone can bring back the dead, the cloak lets you hide from Death so even he can't find you, and the Elder wand makes you unbeatable. Whoever unites all three can conquer death and become master of Death."
Ron relayed what he remembered from the fairy tale.
"Seriously? It's just a bedtime story, right?" Harry gave a half-laugh; becoming master of Death sounded exactly like a children's tale.
"Probably just a fairy tale," Lynn said slowly, her emotionless eyes on Harry and Ron.
"The three Peverell brothers were most likely powerful alchemists, and the Deathly Hallows were simply their alchemical creations."
"As for the rumor that possessing all three lets you conquer death, I suspect it's because their powers are so extraordinary they exceed common understanding."
"Makes sense," Harry murmured, nodding thoughtfully.
After eleven games of wizard chess, Lynn, Harry, and Ron continued discussing the cloak's legends.
By the time they stopped talking, it was already dinner.
They left the Gryffindor Common Room together and headed for the Great Hall.
Inside, the Professors were seated at the round table, and the few students who'd stayed for the holiday had taken their places. The three of them arrived last.
They hurried to sit. Once everyone was present, Headmaster Dumbledore lifted his goblet.
"Everyone, a very Merry Christmas to you all."
"Merry Christmas!" the hall echoed, raising their goblets. Lynn expressionlessly lifted hers and mechanically repeated the greeting.
The sudden flutter in her chest she dismissed as a minor arrhythmia.
The students' goblets held pumpkin juice; the Professors' held wine.
Because it was Christmas, the Professors had set aside their usual reserve and allowed themselves to grow pleasantly tipsy.
Watching them, Lynn was struck by a random thought: perhaps the teachers in this world really were different from those she had known before.
She shook her head, dismissing the notion, and began methodically cutting the large slice of turkey on her plate.
Normally she would never use knife and fork on poultry.
She'd simply grab it and devour it as fast as possible so she could return to studying; if she could chew the bones, she'd swallow them too for speed.
But today—and only today—she would follow Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall's advice to slow down.
She placed a piece of turkey in her mouth; an unfamiliar flavor blossomed across her tongue.
Her taste buds informed her the turkey was delicious; she ought to feel... what should she feel?
She took a second bite. The food was good—what emotion should accompany that?
Her brain offered no answer, so she simply kept eating.
Without any change in mood, she repeated internally: This turkey tastes nice.
When Christmas pudding and ice-cream arrived, the thought became: This pudding, this ice-cream tastes nice.
Yet no matter how the dishes changed, her expression remained blank and her heart a still pond.
Her vacant eyes noticed others around her: mouths curving, eyes crinkling as they tasted their food.
Her mind supplied: They are smiling. Why? Because they are happy. Why happy? Because the food tastes good.
So... she too found the food good; should she therefore be happy?
But she felt no happiness, no emotion at all. She blinked, calmly reaching for another piece of pudding.
She failed to notice that, though her mind and heart registered nothing, physiological tears had begun to gather in her eyes.