The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 351: Successful Healing and the Mention of the Wand

Chapter 351: The mention of the wand in the successful healing (4.5K) (2/2)

They walked through the quiet corridor and eventually arrived at an even quieter corner of the hospital.

The environment here is noticeably different; the corridors are wider, and there are fewer rooms.

They were led into a spacious, private ward. Intricate protective and monitoring runes were faintly visible flowing across the walls, and a subtle herbal incense scented the air, used for purification and stabilization. In the center of the room stood a specially reinforced hospital bed, surrounded by ample space, clearly intended for complex magical manipulations.

"This is it," the serious-looking female healer said in a flat voice. "The room has been prepared according to Professor Dumbledore and Mrs. Longbottom's requirements. All standard protective spells have been activated, and additional confidentiality and soundproofing spells are in effect. According to the agreement, during the treatment trial, no one may enter or leave without the consent of Professor Dumbledore, Professor Lynch, and a very small number of designated core personnel. Daily care will be provided by me or a healer I designate."

Mrs. Longbottom carefully examined every corner of the room, finally fixing her gaze on the hospital bed and nodding slightly.

"Can."

Alice was settled into her new bed, and once everything was in place, Dumbledore turned to Mrs. Longbottom and Neville, his tone gentle but firm: "Then, the rest of the treatment will be handled by Professor Lynch and me. The process may take some time and will require absolute quiet and focus."

Mrs. Longbottom took a deep breath and patted Neville's tense shoulder.

"Let's go outside and wait," she said simply, without any hesitation.

She knew that leaving the space to the professionals was the best option at this moment.

Neville took one last look at his mother, who was lying quietly, and then at the two figures who had walked to the bedside and were beginning to discuss something in hushed tones—Principal Dumbledore was calm and composed, and Professor Lynch was focused and attentive.

He mustered his courage and whispered in a voice only he could hear, "Come on, Mom." Then, he quietly left the room with his grandmother and the two therapists from St. Mungo's.

The closed wooden door shut out the outside world.

Inside the ward, Alice, who was fast asleep, was breathing steadily.

Dumbledore and Lynch exchanged a nod, said nothing more, and immediately got to work.

Dumbledore moved to the bedside, his expression solemn. He took out the Elder Wand and gently touched the slender end of it to Alice's forehead. It did not directly touch her skin, but it was as if an invisible door leading to the depths of her soul had been opened there.

Lynch stood above the headboard, facing Alice's head. He stretched out his hands, fingers slightly apart, palms facing each other, hovering them on either side of Alice's temples. He closed his eyes, concentrating intently, and a steady, pure, milky-white light gradually emanated from his fingertips. The light was not dazzling, like warm moonlight, or concentrated starlight, pulsating slightly with his breath. The light subtly connected with the aura emanating from Dumbledore's Elder Wand, forming a soft cocoon of light around Alice's head.

Treatment has begun.

Dumbledore chanted softly, the incantation ancient and strange, the syllables carrying a soothing rhythm. The halo at the tip of the Elder Wand rippled outwards in almost invisible circles, slowly seeping into Alice's forehead.

At the same time, the white light at Lynch's fingertips also underwent a subtle change. It was no longer evenly distributed, but rather, like the finest probe or guide line, it precisely injected gentle yet firm magical fluctuations into the depths of Alice's temples in rhythm with Dumbledore's incantation.

His role is to synchronize and calibrate, ensuring that Dumbledore's deep guidance with the Elder Wand resonates precisely with the remaining, emotion-based instinctual "channels" in Alice's consciousness, and to provide real-time support and buffer for her fragile soul framework with his own stable magic.

Throughout the process, the two were like engaged in a silent and precise duet. Dumbledore's incantation was the main melody, guiding the direction and depth; the light at Lynch's fingertips was the most sensitive accompaniment and harmony, constantly fine-tuning to ensure that every "note" landed in the right place, neither exceeding the limits that Alice could bear, nor failing to reach the "echoes" that might exist deep within that chaotic consciousness to the greatest extent possible.

Alice's sleeping face occasionally showed extremely subtle changes—her eyelashes trembled, her brow furrowed and relaxed almost imperceptibly. One of her fingers, placed at her side, briefly bent. The cocoon of light surrounding her head, as the treatment progressed, sometimes brightened, sometimes softened, as if engaging in a silent dialogue with some unseen world within.

About half an hour later, Dumbledore's chanting subsided, and the Elder Wand's light slowly faded. The white light at Lynch's fingertip also dimmed steadily until it disappeared completely.

Outside the ward, the corridor was silent.

Every second felt like an eternity, stretching out to the length of a whole day.

Neville stood with his back against the cold wall, almost like a statue.

His eyes were fixed on the tightly closed wooden door, his ears strained, trying to catch any sound from inside, but he heard nothing. His hands were clenched tightly together, his knuckles white from the force, his palms cold and sweaty. Professor Lynch's words, "The probability is very high," echoed repeatedly in his mind, mixed with the fear brought on by years of disappointment.

He dared not sit down, as if he would miss something if he relaxed.

Mrs. Longbottom stood a few steps away from him, her posture still as straight as a pine tree, her eagle-headed cane firmly resting in front of her, her hands folded and pressed on the top of the cane.

Her face was expressionless, like a taut leather mask etched with the marks of time and hardship. Only every now and then, she would subtly adjust her posture, or loosen and tighten her grip on the cane. These minute movements, along with her occasional sharp, almost piercing gaze sweeping towards the door, betrayed the anxiety and anticipation she felt for her grandson, a feeling no less intense than his.

She didn't speak; the silence itself was like a heavy pressure, permeating the corridor.

When the wooden door was finally pulled open from the inside, Neville almost jumped up.

Mrs. Longbottom's hand tightened instantly.

Dumbledore was the first to step out, his face showing a gentle but slightly tired expression.

Lin Qi followed behind him, his expression as calm as ever, revealing no sign of success or failure.

"How is it?" Mrs. Longbottom's voice beat everyone else to it, quick and direct, with an undeniable force.

Neville held his breath, his eyes scanning back and forth between the two professors' faces.

Dumbledore stopped in his tracks. Facing Mrs. Longbottom's burning gaze and Neville's almost frozen anticipation, the weariness on his face was replaced by a clearly visible, gentle excitement, even more so than usual, a hint of genuine joy.

"Mrs. Longbottom, Neville," he began, his voice low but carrying a chilling certainty, "I must say that the results of this attempt have far exceeded our most optimistic expectations."

Neville took a deep breath, his body involuntarily leaning forward.

Mrs. Longbottom's knuckles turned white instantly as she gripped her cane, but she remained standing firmly, her eyes suddenly becoming sharp and piercing.

Dumbledore looked at Neville and continued calmly, "We successfully used the strong emotional connection Neville left behind to establish and solidify a clear 'anchor' in the deepest chaos of Alice's consciousness—an anchor point rooted in blood and memory. That anchor point is you, Neville."

Neville's eyes widened, as if he hadn't understood, or as if he was overwhelmed by the meaning behind those words.

"This means," Lynch added with a smile, his dark eyes fixed on Neville, "that indistinct sea of ​​memories your mother created has lit a lighthouse with you as its coordinate. From now on, those broken, drifting fragments of memory will no longer wander aimlessly; they will instinctively begin to slowly gather, converge, and attempt to reassemble themselves towards this most familiar, most stable center"—that is, everything about you.

Dumbledore nodded and explained further, "This is not an immediate cure, but a fundamental shift. Her path to recovery will revolve around this, like a puzzle with a border and a starting pattern. The return of memories will be a long process, and there may still be gaps, but the direction has been pointed out, and the core focal point has been established."

He paused, then said frankly, "As for how long it will take, how many fragments we can recover, and to what extent her consciousness can be restored—we cannot give definite answers yet. Magic's effects on the realm of the soul and consciousness are fraught with uncertainty. But the solidity of this first step we've taken gives us immense confidence."

These words were like a thunderclap, exploding in the corridor, yet bringing with them the dawn that dispelled the gloom.

Neville stood frozen, his lips trembling slightly, tears welling up unexpectedly and rolling down his cheeks in large drops. This time, however, he didn't lower his head or wipe them away; he simply let the tears flow freely, his eyes growing brighter and brighter, filled with unbelievable, immense joy and an overwhelming emotion.

He tried to say something, but could only utter a few broken syllables.

Mom—in Mom's chaotic world, there was a lighthouse named after him—this realization almost overwhelmed his little heart.

Mrs. Longbottom was as if struck by a silent bolt of lightning.

Her upright, pine-like body swayed almost imperceptibly, and her eyes, which were always sharp, wary, and filled with suppressed pain, widened in an instant and quickly became covered with a layer of intense tears.

She snapped her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, her eyes were already wet. But she quickly raised her head, took a deep breath, and forcefully suppressed the surging emotions deep in her chest. Only her slightly trembling lips and her hand gripping the cane, her knuckles already white, betrayed the turmoil within her at that moment.

More than a decade has passed — finally — finally, it's no longer that cold, impersonal statement, "The situation is stable and cannot be improved!"

The expressions on the faces of the two St. Mungo's healers standing slightly behind were even more fascinating.

The stern female therapist's mouth agape slightly, her usual expressionless face replaced by utter shock. She understood better than anyone what the possibility of recovery from a case of total consciousness collapse caused by a long-term Crucifixion spell meant—a crucial breakthrough that existed almost theoretically but had never been proven feasible!

This goes beyond the scope of conventional healing magic.

The wizard who appeared to be the administrative manager looked utterly incredulous, his gaze shifting back and forth between Dumbledore, Lynch, and the hospital room door, clearly digesting this initial achievement that was enough to shake the entire magical medical community.

"So—so Mom—her—start—started to come back?" Neville finally found his voice, his voice thick with sobs, yet filled with longing for confirmation.

“Yes, Neville.” Dumbledore knelt down to Neville's eye level, his deep blue eyes filled with gentle affirmation. “Because she never truly forgot you. And now, we help her, and herself, to see you again. The road is long, but you are already the most important and brightest light on this road.”

Mrs. Longbottom finally found her voice. She cleared her throat; it was hoarser than usual, yet unusually clear and firm, even carrying a rare, deeply hidden excitement: "The Longbottom family—will remember this kindness. (To be continued—)"

How do you need our cooperation?

Dumbledore stood up. "Alice needs to rest and be observed here for a few days to allow this newly established anchor point to fully stabilize. Afterwards, she can be transferred back to a regular ward. The next guided intervention will be spaced out for a while; we will notify you in advance. Perhaps what she and Frank need most is your continued companionship, especially Neville. Talk to her often, let her 'hear' the voice of the lighthouse."

Neville nodded vigorously, tears still streaming down his face, but for the first time, a smile—somewhat awkward yet incredibly genuine—blew across his face, a smile that was a mixture of immense sorrow and boundless hope.

He clutched the candy wrapper in his pocket tightly, feeling it had never felt so warm.

After bidding farewell to the still emotionally charged Longbottom family, and politely declining the invitations from the two St. Mungo's healers, whose eyes were burning with curiosity and who clearly had countless questions to discuss, Lynch and Dumbledore headed toward St. Mungo's side hall, which was used for the Floo Network and was furnished with multiple fireplaces.

Their light footsteps echoed down the corridor, contrasting with the faint, indistinct noise characteristic of the hospital in the distance.

Just as he was about to step into the side hall and see the fireplaces with leaping flames, Dumbledore, who was walking ahead, suddenly stopped.

He didn't turn around, but kept looking ahead, his voice calm as he said, "Professor Lynch, it's still early, and it's rare to have this free time. Would you be willing to accompany this old man for a walk around the neighborhood?"

Lynch stopped in his tracks.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze lingering for a moment on Dumbledore's straight back, as if quickly assessing the implications behind this abrupt suggestion.

"Of course, Headmaster," he replied calmly. "It's nice to stroll around the streets of London once in a while."

Instead of using the fireplace, they turned into another passage and left St. Mungo's Hospital of Magical Injuries through an inconspicuous side door.

In an instant, the tranquility of the magical world and the smell of disinfectant were replaced by the bustling worldly noise of a busy London afternoon. The sounds of car horns, the noisy conversations of pedestrians, and the faint music of street performers mingled with the city's unique dust and faint exhaust fumes.

The two of them walked into the crowd of Muggles, one after the other.

Dumbledore's magnificent purple robe, silver beard, and pointed hat, combined with Lynch's impeccably tailored dark suit, created a bizarre and striking combination in the eyes of Muggles. Passersby cast surprised, curious, or amused glances, and whispers occasionally drifted over.

But the two parties involved seemed completely unaware, or rather, completely indifferent.

Dumbledore walked steadily, his gaze sweeping leisurely over the shops and hurried passersby, even glancing twice at the window of a dessert shop. Lynch walked half a step behind him, relaxed yet not slacking, observing his surroundings with the same calmness, only his observation was more detached and insightful.

They walked through the street and turned into a quieter street lined with old brick and stone buildings, where sunlight filtered through sparse trees, casting dappled patterns of light.

Just then, Dumbledore's voice rang out again, not loud, but clear enough to reach Lynch's ears amidst the city's background noise: "There's something I've been thinking about for a long time, Professor Lynch." He kept his eyes fixed ahead, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather, "I've decided that, soon, I will officially return your wand to you."

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