Tears streamed down her cheeks, splashing onto her hands, warm and wet, only to lose their heat quickly in the cold winter night air, leaving a cool, prickling sensation.
Alice touched her face; her hospital robes were soaked.
Why was she crying?
It was as if she'd had a very long dream, the contents of which were right on the edge of her mind, yet always separated by a hazy, grey mist. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't grasp them. A voice whispered in her head, urging her not to remember—that the memories held unbearable sorrow.
"Are you finally going to tell us now?"
In the dim, shadowy room, the witch's shrill voice relentlessly pressed them.
Frank wiped his stinging nose, a sudden surge of irritation bubbling up. "We've told you already! We don't know who the Dark Lord is, and we certainly don't know where he is!"
"Well, that is truly unfortunate. I really didn't intend to involve poor Neville and Augusta in this…" the witch murmured. From the shadows behind her came a rustling, a sound of low voices.
Frank and Alice suddenly felt a pang of distress. The names she mentioned—Neville and Augusta—felt intimately familiar, recalling blurry, indistinct figures deep in their minds. Instinctively, they didn't want them to suffer any torment.
"How many times do we have to say it! We don't know who the Dark Lord is! Go ask somewhere else if you're looking for someone! Neville and Augusta have nothing to do with this—don't drag them into it!"
Frank and Alice rose to their feet.
They stood rigidly in the candlelight, wearing striped black-and-white hospital clothes. They noticed several other wizards in the room, their faces obscured as they bowed their heads. Clustered around them were an old woman and a young boy. The fearful boy gripped the elder's hand, his lips pressed tight, uttering not a word.
"They're Neville and Augusta, aren't they? We've met them before," Frank said, slightly dazed. Alice stared at them, and that strange, powerful sense of familiarity rushed over her again.
Naturally, the couple stepped forward, reaching out to shield the grandmother and grandson behind them.
The boy and the old woman looked up, their eyes flashing with a complicated mix of emotions: alarm, grief, joy, anticipation... Frank and Alice had never imagined that human eyes could betray so much feeling.
Quite naturally, Frank gently ruffled the boy's hair and whispered, "This woman is a lunatic, but don't be afraid, Neville. Augusta."
Alice, too, wanted to offer some comfort, perhaps a kiss on his forehead or a pat on his shoulder. This surge of deep affection welled up inside her, accompanied by a terror that something was about to break through its confines.
"You shouldn't be here. You ought to be hiding in a safe place."
"I'm not scared. Anywhere is safe if I'm with you... Dad, Mum, I don't want our family to be separated again." The timid boy bravely whispered, his voice trembling.
Dad and Mum?
Frank and Alice exchanged puzzled looks:
"Is he talking to us?"
"How could he be? Our baby is only one year old…"
Frank's entire body gave a violent start. He lifted his head, a strange light flashing in his eyes before they clouded over with confusion, as if he was wondering if he truly had a child, and if so, where their child had gone.
"This is hardly the time for a family reunion…" Bellatrix Lestrange walked forward with a wicked smile, ordering her colleagues to separate them. "You have three seconds to tell me the Dark Lord's location. The countdown begins now!"
"We already told you, we don't know!" Frank tried to break free, but the faceless figures held him in an unbreakable grip.
"Three… two… one…"
"Let them go!"
The candlelight flickered in the house in Hogsmeade. The sneering witch leveled her wand at the grandmother and grandson, a scarlet light gathering at its tip: Crucio!
The moment the red light burst forth, the two instantly collapsed to the floor, convulsing and writhing uncontrollably. The old witch's face was horribly contorted, her teeth clenched tight, and foam bubbled at the corners of her mouth.
The boy's eyes, once bright, were now bloodshot, his pupils shrunk to pinpricks, and he let out a restrained but unbearable wail.
Frank and Alice's gaze glazed over for a moment. A grey mist seemed to pass through their eyes and spread to the depths of their souls. The room before them seemed to merge with some derelict tunnel, the light beneath the ground just as murky. The red glow of the Cruciatus Curse reflected on the walls, like the grasping claws of monstrous demons.
"No… Don't!"
Though standing outside the red light, they felt the agony as if their own skin were being branded with hot iron and flayed by a thousand knives.
They watched as the bodies of the grandmother and grandson grew weaker under the torture, their muscles slackening yet sporadically seizing up, their expressions shifting from contorted pain to a blank emptiness, their minds becoming confused and idiotic.
"Neville! Augusta!" They screamed the names with all their might, their voices raw, tears streaming down their faces.
Magic is a truly wondrous power. When a soul is subjected to unbearable agony, the magic coursing through the body often protects it by voluntarily shielding and wiping clean all past memories. A person then needs only to eat, drink, and sleep, and they feel no more pain.
But some agony is not physical; it originates from the very depths of the soul and heart, beyond the control of will or magic. Like a volcanic eruption or the collapse of the world, when the pain cuts to the bone, it can shatter even the protective barriers that were meant to safeguard the mind.
Frank and Alice were overwhelmed by a torrent of memories. Unknowingly, their fingernails tore into their palms. Tears and blood mingled and dropped. A tidal wave of pain threatened to swallow the reason they had just begun to regain.
"Dad, Mum, are you going to leave Grandma and me this time, too?" someone asked timidly.
"N-Neville?"
Alice looked up, tears blurring everything before her, as if she were still dreaming. The outing after receiving the warning letter, the torture, the thirteen years of treatment at St Mungo's, and the recent experience—all of it felt like a dream.
Torches were lit in the room. In a single glance, she saw that the windows were clean and bright. There was no abandoned tunnel, no Death Eaters, and no Cruciatus Curse. In the spacious room stood over a dozen black trunks. Several wizards were lined up against the wall, and she immediately recognized the tabby cat on the bedpost and the silver-bearded old wizard.
"Because your condition was unique, we had to employ a… special treatment plan," Dumbledore stood in the corner, swinging a kerosene lamp that cast dancing shadows across the room.
He paused, then pointed at a handsome, young wizard. "It was primarily Professor Lawent's suggestion."
Frank stared at him blankly for a while. Thirteen years of memories rushed back. The experiences of being treated while addled seemed not to belong to him, yet they were undeniably his own. He then looked at Neville, now a young man, and Augusta, whose face showed the burden of old age, and for a moment, he felt completely disoriented.
Alice was still weeping, but a faint smile shone in her eyes.
"Neville, Neville, my son…" Wiping her tears, drying the bloody streaks on her hospital robes, Alice lowered her head, gazing intently at Neville's face, as if trying to imprint every feature onto her soul.
Neville stood dumbfounded before his mother, then could no longer hold back and burst into tears.
Since he had been old enough to understand, this was the first time he had ever cried so freely and without shame. He hadn't cried when neighbors and relatives disparaged his supposed lack of magical talent, nor when peers mocked him for being clumsy and fat.
He hadn't cried even when Uncle Algie dropped him out of a third-story window, realizing he wasn't a Squib. And even the night Professor Lawent guided him and he learned the Summoning Charm, he had only shed quiet tears in private.
Now, he could finally cry out loud without any reservation.
At first, it was just the mother and son sobbing in an embrace. Gradually, another, older mother and son joined them in their tears.
Dumbledore and the other professors watched the scene in silence. All the customary words of greeting, the congratulations, and the expressions of good wishes were stuck in their throats. They exchanged knowing glances, holding their tongues, and eventually withdrew quietly from the room, not wishing to interrupt the family's reunion.
Healer Miriam looked at the professors' retreating backs, tempted to follow, but her commitment as a healer wouldn't allow her to leave.
Patients who have been treated by non-professionals absolutely must be thoroughly examined!
"…"
Watching the weeping knot of the Longbottom family, the Healer edged further into the corner, trying her best to make herself invisible.
Melvin looked at his shadow cast on the street, his mind replaying the recent memories. He wasn't sure of the principle behind the grey mist he had somehow acquired from the Obscurus, but it seemed extraordinarily sensitive to painful emotions, breaking through the Longbottoms' memory shields much easier than it had with the memories in the Horcruxes.
"Why is everyone staring at their shadows and saying nothing?" Flitwick was the first to speak, the half-goblin's small stature feeling particularly acute.
Kettleburn sighed. "I was just wondering where I'm going to stay tonight. The Leaky Cauldron, the Three Broomsticks, or the Hog's Head? It's my house, but now I can't go home."
"Don't say that, Filius," Flitwick chuckled. "Frank and Alice have their memories back, and the Longbottom family is whole again. We can't possibly interrupt them now and tell them to go home to catch up, can we? If you like, you can stay a night at Hogwarts. Hagrid lives down by the Forest, and your old bedroom is still there."
"I think I'll go chat with old Tom instead," Kettleburn shook his head.
"The treatment we witnessed tonight, and the news that Frank and Alice have recovered their memories, should certainly earn you a free night's tab with old Tom!" Flitwick said as he passed the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, where the windows glowed with warm light.
Lupin nodded with admiration. "The sheer audacity to use Occlumency to deceive a Boggart, provoking it to draw out their deepest fears, and then pushing for an even more profound terror—the thought process and magical technique are simply mind-boggling."
"Your portrait will be hung in St Mungo's Hospital, Melvin," Sprout seconded.
"It was a team effort. I couldn't have done any of this alone," Melvin said with a smile.
His colleagues ignored his modesty, their praise continuing non-stop on the walk back to the castle.
"If Melvin ever takes over as Headmaster of Hogwarts, he'll be like Madam Derwent, with his portrait traveling between the Hospital and the School."
"If the Aurors hear you cured Frank and Alice, they'll definitely support you going into politics. Your portrait might even hang in the Ministry of Magic!"
"Even Ilvermorny might need a portrait of you, ha ha ha…"
Listening to his colleagues chat and laugh, Dumbledore seemed unusually quiet tonight. Melvin turned to look at the Headmaster in the corner but noticed a much more interesting figure.
Looking past the Headmaster's shoulder, he caught sight of the Shrieking Shack not far away. In the deep darkness, a large, black dog vanished behind the shack.
"What are you looking at?" Dumbledore asked.
Melvin withdrew his gaze, letting out a soft laugh. "The prelude to a good show."
The dog's coat was sleek and glossy, and the lean animal had clearly put on a few pounds. It looked like Sirius Black was adjusting well to life in Hogsmeade. Now that he had a stable refuge, he would soon be plotting his revenge on his old friend.
Infiltrating Hogwarts, a night raid on the Gryffindor tower… Melvin looked forward to his next move.
"I'll have to find a way to keep tabs on him at all times."
Hogwarts has a fixed curfew. Ghosts and portraits need their rest, and students are forbidden to wander the castle at night without permission.
Gryffindor students, in particular, are the subject of special surveillance.
Filch and Mrs. Norris conduct regular patrols every night. If a student is caught out of bed by the caretaker, the worst penalty is losing House points and a scolding from the Prefect Percy. Detention, however, means scrubbing toilets and cleaning all the faculty's lavatories.
Aside from a very few students who are keen on exploring the castle at night, most students return to their dormitories on time.
Late at night, in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory.
The noise gradually died down. Harry and Ron climbed the stairs, holding the glass Gobstones they had won, whispering, "Neville should be back by now. I really need to ask him what he and the professors were up to…"
A slight smile crossed Harry's face.
Neville was always the most punctual in the boys' dormitory. For the first two years, he sometimes forgot the Fat Lady's password, occasionally losing the list he carried. A few times, he came back too late and was locked out of the portrait hole, but since no one was out wandering on those nights, nobody could let him in.
After bumping into Professor Lawent one night while searching for his list, he learned the Summoning Charm and never lost the password again. He had also formed the habit of coming back to the dormitory early.
After two years, they were used to seeing Neville already washed and ready for bed when they returned to the room each night.
But this time, when they pushed the door open, the familiar figure was absent. All five beds were empty. Ron couldn't help but wonder aloud, "It's normal for Seamus and Dean to be late, but Neville isn't back either…"
"Maybe he was held up by something important," Harry suggested.
"No way, I have to find out what they were doing tonight!" Ron grumbled.
"…"
Harry didn't reply, a faint light glimmering in his eyes as he took off his cloak and boots, deep in thought.
The Headmaster and all the core subject professors were out—it had to be something terribly important. Neville might not be back until very late, or perhaps not at all tonight. However, Harry didn't want to discourage Ron's curiosity. Hermione always said that curiosity was the most important element of learning.
Harry made up his mind, changed into his pajamas, and started his washing routine.
At the door of the room, Ron kept peeking around the corner into the hallway. He didn't bother changing his shoes. Instead, he simply pulled up a chair and waited eagerly by the dormitory door for Neville's return.
"Da-dum…"
Footsteps sounded.
Ron quickly stood up to look, only to see Seamus and Dean, and his expression dropped with disappointment.
"Da-dum…"
This time it was George and Fred. Ron watched the twins walk past with a strange look; their room was further down the corridor.
"Da-dum…"