The night air in the Longbottom family courtyard was cool and crisp. Standing at the bottom of the stone steps, smiling up at him, was none other than Herbert Spring, the famous healer who wrote the health column for the Daily Prophet and one of the most respected names in wizarding medicine.
Behind him loomed one of those towering wizard statues you see at every old pure-blood manor, carved from weather-proof granite that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. The plinth at the base was engraved in tiny letters with the ancestor's deeds. This particular one honored an old Longbottom who'd once been a healer at St. Mungo's himself.
"Professor Levent," Spring said cheerfully, "not inside enjoying the fine wine? Out here getting a breath of fresh air instead?"
Melvin glanced up in mild surprise and caught the moonlight glinting off the healer's shiny bald spot. "Mr. Spring? I didn't expect to see you here."
The deputy head of St. Mungo's smoothed down the few strands of hair he had left, trying, and failing, to cover the bald patch. "The Longbottoms are wonderfully hospitable, but we at the hospital are only caretakers, really. At least in my opinion. We healers haven't been able to do much for Frank and Alice over the years. Nothing like what you've managed, Professor. We don't exactly deserve this kind of lavish gratitude."
"I disagree," Melvin said with a polite smile. "Thirteen years of dedicated care laid the groundwork for everything that followed."
Spring didn't argue. He fell into step beside Melvin as they strolled through the moonlit garden. "As a healer, you see all kinds of magical injuries every day. A wizard's own magic usually protects them, simple fixes and they're good as new. But cases like Frank and Alice's… their magic couldn't help them. And neither could we. All we could do was keep them comfortable and hope for a miracle."
"In the Muggle world," Melvin said casually, "doctors say the most common thing is for a disease to be incurable. The best physician, they joke, is the immune system."
They chatted idly. Melvin wasn't sure why the deputy head had sought him out, but he didn't mind picking the man's brain about how wizarding hospitals actually worked.
"Muggles have a few things worth learning," Spring admitted. "Still, healers and doctors both, our job is to ease suffering and save as many people as we can."
"Admirable," Melvin said, nodding. "It's why we all respect healers and St. Mungo's so much."
"That's actually why I wanted to talk," Spring said, suddenly solemn. "Ever since the hospital was founded, generous witches and wizards have kept us going. That Fountain of Magical Brethren in the Ministry atrium? Everyone sees it. Every year we get donations from all over Britain."
Melvin stopped walking. Suddenly it clicked.
Because of Frank and Alice, Lucius Malfoy had spent decades cultivating the Longbottoms and the entire Auror community. Every year he sent an enormous donation to St. Mungo's, partly to help the two patients in the Janus Thickey Ward, partly to fund research into Cruciatus Curse damage.
Melvin gave the older man a knowing look. "Mr. Spring… are you asking about Mr. Malfoy's donations?"
Spring looked a little sheepish. "The Prophet's been running stories. The Mirror Club, the Malfoys, the Notts… Everyone knows you're Lucius Malfoy's business partner, Professor."
"And?"
"St. Mungo's has spent over a decade researching with no results. Then you come along and cure Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom in a matter of weeks. You also happen to be the founder of the Mirror Club." Spring hesitated, then plunged ahead. "I just wanted to ask, on behalf of the hospital… will Mr. Malfoy be continuing his annual donations? We need to plan budgets and research priorities."
"That's between St. Mungo's and Mr. Malfoy," Melvin said mildly. "Though…"
Spring's face had already started to fall, but Melvin continued, "The Mirror Club itself will be making a substantial donation every year from now on, earmarked for research into magical injuries and curse damage."
Spring's hand went to his bald spot again, but this time he was grinning ear to ear, all the stern authority he usually carried in the closed ward completely gone. The old wizard looked a hundred years younger.
"Healers aren't exactly overpaid," he said eagerly, "and most of the budget goes to potions ingredients and research. Some projects are even funded out of the healers' own pockets. This kind of support… it'll change lives."
Melvin shrugged like it was no big deal. "Dark wizards and magical accidents aren't going away. Anyone could end up in St. Mungo's one day. Helping the hospital is just helping ourselves."
"Exactly!" Spring beamed. "You see things so clearly, Professor. Almost like Muggle science, straight to the heart of the matter."
Melvin hid a smile. "You know, Mr. Spring, this is only the second time we've ever talked… I think I prefer the version of you barking orders in the ward."
Spring's grin faltered for a second; clearly he was worried Melvin was about to demand some shady influence over the hospital in return for the money.
Melvin put him out of his misery. "Actually, there is one thing you can help me with."
Spring braced himself.
"I'd like an update on Gilderoy Lockhart's condition."
The relief on the healer's face was almost funny. "After Frank and Alice improved so dramatically, we immediately started him on the same regimen you prescribed. The brain damage from the Memory Charm is healing fast; he's regained speech, writing, even some basic magic. But the memories themselves… they're still mostly gone. Mentally, he's about the level of an eleven-year-old before their first Hogwarts letter. He knows who he is, sort of, but there's a huge identity block. He's still in the closed ward. My guess? Deep down he doesn't want to accept that the famous, beloved Gilderoy Lockhart was actually a lying, thieving fraud."
He glanced sideways at Melvin. After all, this was the man who'd brought back Frank's and Alice's memories. Fixing Lockhart should be child's play.
"Lockhart spent his whole life chasing applause," Melvin said quietly. "Stealing other people's stories was just another way to get it. Finding out the wizarding world hates him? Of course he's hiding from that truth."
Spring stayed quiet. He was a healer, not a judge. His job was to fix people, not decide their punishment.
"The Wizengamot already has all the evidence," Melvin went on. "They've got the laws lined up. They're just waiting until he's well enough to stand trial. But because of his condition…"
Spring nodded slowly. "You're saying life in Azkaban wouldn't even make up for what he did."
"Exactly. I'd rather he made real restitution to his victims. Problem is, the Ministry already seized all the money he made from those stolen stories."
Spring blinked. "You want Lockhart… discharged… so he can get a job?"
Melvin smiled. "As it happens, I've got the perfect position in mind for him."