"Don't be naughty, Gilderoy…"
The healer gently guided Lockhart by the arm, settling him behind a chair with a fond, indulgent smile. "Signing autographs isn't dangerous, and it exercises his mind and hands. We hope this little hobby might help his brain recover."
Lockhart sat obediently, back straight, carefully writing his name in neat strokes.
Melvin stepped forward, glancing at the signed photos—clippings from old magazines and publications. In them, Lockhart grinned broadly, his teeth gleaming with charm.
The healer studied Melvin's face, hesitating before asking, "You're Professor Lupin, aren't you?"
"You know me?" Melvin asked, surprised.
"I'm a healer at St. Mungo's. I've heard about the new potions the Hogwarts headmaster and professors brought in. I've seen you coming and going a few times these past couple of days. I know Headmaster Dumbledore, and I've read about you in the papers."
The middle-aged witch paused, then introduced herself. "I'm Miriam Strout. I used to oversee the Janus Thickey Ward."
"Melvin Lupin," he replied, introducing himself before cutting to the chase. "You've read the reports in the Daily Prophet. You know what Lockhart did—how he's a ruthless conman who stopped at nothing. Why do you still care for him so diligently?"
"Well…" Miriam glanced down at Lockhart, smiling gently. "I'm just an average healer. I barely scraped by with 'Acceptable' on my N.E.W.T.s. I can't cure these patients, so I do my best to care for them and hope they'll improve on their own."
Becoming a resident healer at St. Mungo's was as grueling as training to be an Auror. It required passing at least five N.E.W.T.s—Charms, Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts—plus a hefty dose of patience and kindness.
Melvin studied the witch. Working at St. Mungo's and managing a closed ward, she had more patience than most.
Wearing a crown of silver and gold thread and a green robe with a wand-and-bone crest on her chest, Miriam exuded a nurturing, maternal warmth. She treated all patients equally, not just Lockhart. She'd also cared devotedly for the Longbottoms.
"Do you want to cure him?" Melvin asked after a moment.
"I… I'm not sure," Miriam admitted, hesitating. "If he regains his old memories, he'll become that fraud who stole others' memories again. He'd face Azkaban, which is what he deserves—adult wizards should atone for their crimes. But staying in a closed ward forever isn't a solution either."
"As a healer, what's your professional opinion? Is there a good chance he'll recover on his own?"
"Very slim," Miriam sighed. "His current state is already the result of treatment. Memory Charms affecting the brain and soul are tricky. When they go wrong, the damage is often severe—potentially permanent."
Melvin nodded thoughtfully. "Have you heard about today's consultation? Frank and Alice have similar symptoms. There's hope they could regain their memories—or at least their sanity."
Regaining memories meant a full recovery. Regaining sanity meant leaving the ward. Either was better than staying here.
"They're heroes who fought Death Eaters, with Hogwarts' special potions and donations from the Malfoys… so many experts working on their case. Gilderoy doesn't have that kind of support," Miriam said.
"I can't offer those other resources, but I can donate a batch of those special potions. Want to give it a try?" Melvin asked suddenly.
Miriam froze. "I… I don't know, Professor Lupin. I'm not an expert like Mr. Sprung. I'm not sure if I could cure him. His condition is a side effect of a misfired Memory Charm, not the Cruciatus Curse, so the treatment wouldn't be the same. And…"
"So, do you want to try?" Melvin asked again, his voice soft.
A criminal with no memory or sanity, facing punishment with little hope of recovery—it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If cured, he'd have to atone. If not, he'd stay addled forever. It was hard to say whether treatment was the right call.
The kind-hearted healer looked conflicted.
"I've heard Muggle doctors take an oath when they study medicine, putting their patients' health and lives first, no matter the outside influences," Miriam said.
"The Hippocratic Oath," Melvin noted, unsurprised. Thanks to his influence, British wizards were becoming less insular. "So, what's your answer?"
"I want to try," Miriam said, her expression firming. "Gilderoy should face his own life."
---
Saturday, 7:00 p.m.
Harry and Hermione arrived at Professor Lupin's office right on time for their tutoring session, but this time, they had a tagalong.
Neville was nervous. Harry had warned him that Professor Lupin might not be at school. But tonight, they got lucky. A calm "Come in" came quickly after their knock, easing their nerves. Harry and Hermione let out relieved breaths.
Melvin looked up at the trio, not surprised to see them. Noticing Neville's shy demeanor, he teased with a smile, "Isn't this the drama club's director? Your performance is airing on the Wizarding Wireless tonight. You can't stay this bashful—show some Gryffindor courage!"
Neville's face flushed, but he lifted his head, summoning his bravery. "Yes, Professor!" he said loudly.
His sudden volume startled the others. Harry and Hermione exchanged odd looks.
Melvin's eyes gleamed with understanding. "Looks like you've heard about St. Mungo's."
"You're right, Professor," Neville said, overcoming his shyness, his round face earnest. "My gran wrote to me. She said you brought those special potions, and the healers at St. Mungo's have a solid plan now…"
"Gran says it's looking good. Even if they don't fully recover, Mum and Dad will improve a lot and live normal lives outside the hospital." His courage faltered as he mentioned his parents, his voice breaking with emotion. "Thank you, Professor… thank you so much…"
Remembering Professor Lupin's advice, he fought back tears, wiping his face and swallowing his sobs.
Harry and Hermione stood awkwardly, wanting to comfort him but unsure if it was the right moment. They avoided looking at him, trying to stay composed.
Melvin sighed. "Grown-up matters should be left to grown-ups. I hate to say it, Neville, but St. Mungo's treatment takes time. Results won't come quickly. Your most important job right now is to study hard."
"Yes… Professor," Neville said, sniffling.
"Since you're here, join tonight's tutoring session," Melvin said, turning to the others. "Harry, Hermione, go over the basics of dueling tactics with Neville and practice with him."
"Got it," Harry and Hermione nodded obediently.
For the next two hours, Harry and Hermione each taught Neville for half the session, covering different dueling styles.
Harry didn't realize it, but Hermione noticed that explaining things to Neville deepened her own understanding of dueling. Teaching was like digesting knowledge, and Neville's occasional questions helped her revisit and refine her knowledge.
"So, teaching the first-years back then was the right call," Hermione thought, nodding to herself.
---
Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor.
The main building's lights were out. Lucius sat on a sofa by the fireplace, leaning back against the cushions, staring at the Wizarding Wireless mirror etched with the Malfoy crest. Behind him, faint sounds came from Narcissa removing her headpiece and letting her hair down.
They hadn't noticed how their habits had subtly shifted, growing closer to Muggle lifestyles.
"Unusual," Narcissa said without turning. "The Daily Prophet announced it in the evening news, and pub owners spread the word… What's on tonight?"
The mood was delicate. Professor Lupin's last message had urged them to fund a film to restore the Malfoy name and extend an invitation as Lestrange relatives. Their cautious nature led them to agree but drag their feet, stalling the project at the planning stage.
"It's a Hogwarts drama club performance," Lucius said. "The promotion's small-scale, nothing like the first-year lockdown event. The Daily Prophet and pub owners are hyping it up on their own."
Narcissa finished adjusting her hair and clothes, sitting beside Lucius to watch.
The mirror displayed a preview: Next, enjoy the dramatic performance, "Sir Cadogan, Knight of the Round Table."
The screen dimmed, silver mist swirled, and colored lines sketched the scene. It was the familiar Hogwarts Great Hall, with house tables and recognizable professors and students.
Viewers at their mirrors felt transported back to the thousand-year-old castle, reliving their school days.
The choir, clutching toads, exited, and drama club members took the stage. The perspective stayed fixed, with background chatter from students whispering to each other.
"It feels different from last time…" Lucius frowned.
"No immersive atmosphere—it's clearly a performance, a stage play," Narcissa said, voicing her thoughts.
Curious and skeptical, they watched the whole show. Narcissa's questions remained unanswered, but Lucius sensed something, frowning in thought.
Compared to the last film shown in pubs, this play was much rougher. The lines, acting, props, and music all screamed "performance."
If the lockdown film created immersion, hinting at being based on a true story to make viewers believe it was real, this play was upfront: it's a show, it's staged, it's fiction.
The plot wasn't gripping, relying on the kids' entertaining performances. Lucius had heard of Cadogan—a titled wizard, knighted by a king, something the Malfoys once dreamed of. But the play left him with one impression: Cadogan was a typical Gryffindor fool, fearless, reckless, and saved by dumb luck.
Lucius froze, eyes widening. "I get it!"
"What?" Narcissa asked.
"Professor Lupin's suggestion—this is it. Use films to shape impressions and guide opinions!"
---
For most British wizards, this Easter holiday was unremarkable.
The Wizarding Wireless aired a short stage play. Some found the young actors charming and funny, introducing them to a knight from centuries ago. Others thought it crude and unoriginal, merely fodder for bored pub-goers.
But everyone agreed the format was novel. With polish, it could produce truly spectacular shows.
The holiday passed quickly.
Monday morning, Muggle Studies office.
Melvin pushed aside the pile of papers on his desk, shooed away a lingering baby snake, and opened the morning's letters.
"Greetings, kind and generous Professor Lupin,
The Easter holiday has kept St. Mungo's bustling. As I write, I've just finished reporting to Mr. Sprung and have three more patient files to complete.
Gilderoy's treatment is showing early progress. The Memory Charm's lingering magic is slowly fading. He used to be unable to retain new memories, but now he can recall things from the last ten minutes—a promising sign…
Frank and Alice's conditions are more severe, with less obvious results, but Mr. Sprung is optimistic about their recovery.
This is all thanks to your generous potion donations.
Gratefully, Miriam."
Since receiving the donated potions, the kind healer had taken it as a mission, sending regular updates.
Melvin didn't dwell on it, shaking his head as he set the letter aside. The cup would eventually be destroyed. He'd only been trying his luck—success would be a blessing from Lady Luck and Hufflepuff; failure, just fate's cruel jest.
"My sincerest greetings, your loyal partner, Lucius Malfoy (twelve inches of pointless pleasantries omitted)…
Regarding the film project you mentioned, I've hired someone to write the script, aiming to shoot over the summer. I have many questions and hope to consult you, Professor."
Two months after the suggestion, Lucius was only now moving forward. Too cautious, always weighing pros and cons, lacking the boldness to go all in.
To make the Wizarding Wireless a success, it seemed other pure-blood wizards' help would be needed.
Melvin tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, his gaze settling on the nearby golden cup.