parentshiftbook Chapter 350 Inside the Ward
Chapter 350 Inside the Ward
Chapter 350 Inside the Ward (6K) (1/2)
Then, as countless times before, the fingers of that hand, with a slow, unconscious motion, groped across the sheets, until they touched a small, shiny candy wrapper on the side of the bed.
Alice's fingers pinched the corner of the candy wrapper. Her movements were clumsy and slow, as if this simple instruction required traversing a long and fragmented neural pathway. Then, she raised her hand slightly and handed the crumpled, yet still iridescent, candy wrapper towards where Neville was standing.
Her face remained turned toward the ceiling, her eyes vacant and unfocused, her lips tightly closed.
Neville's heart felt as if it had been gently squeezed by a familiar hand, not violently, but with a dull ache.
He silently stepped forward, skillfully and gently taking the candy wrapper from his mother's stiff fingers. The wrapper was cold and carried the distinctive smell of the hospital ward.
"Thank you, Mom." Neville's voice was so low it was almost inaudible, with a heavy nasal tone. He clutched the crumpled candy wrapper tightly in his hand, as if it were the most precious gift in the world.
After he took the candy wrapper, Alice's hand fell limply back onto the sheets, returning to stillness, as if all the energy from this "interaction" had been exhausted.
Mrs. Longbottom watched all this silently, her jawline taut, her hand gripping the eagle-headed cane as steady as a rock. Only the indelible pain deep in her eyes deepened with each passing of candy wrappers. She didn't speak, but simply shifted her gaze from her daughter-in-law to the window, as if enduring something.
"It's time to go, Neville," she reminded him after a moment, her voice calm and unwavering.
Just as she finished speaking, a gentle yet clear voice came from the doorway of the ward: "It seems we've arrived just in time."
Neville and Mrs. Longbottom turned to look at the same time.
Dumbledore stood in the doorway, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles carrying his usual gentleness, but today they seemed to hold an unusual solemnity.
Standing beside him was a young male wizard dressed in a well-tailored suit, with a calm expression; it was Lynch.
Dumbledore walked slowly into the ward, smiled and nodded at Neville, then turned his gaze to Mrs. Augusta Longbottom and gave a slight bow.
"Good day, Mrs. Longbottom. Please allow me to introduce you. This is Professor Jim Lynch, currently a professor of Magical Studies at Hogwarts." Dumbledore's voice was calm, his expression gentle, like a kind old man, but his presence drew all eyes to them in the ward.
Mrs. Longbottom's sharp gaze swept quickly over Lynch before returning to Dumbledore's face, her fingers tightening slightly as she gripped the eagle-headed cane.
Headmaster Dumbledore personally brought a professor to this special ward in St. Mungo's—this was by no means an ordinary courtesy visit.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Mrs. Longbottom nodded in return, her voice retaining its characteristically distant and composed tone, "and Professor Lynch. And the reason for your presence—?"
Dumbledore and Lynch exchanged a brief glance. Then, Dumbledore stepped forward, his tone becoming exceptionally clear and cautious, each word seemingly carefully chosen: "Mrs. Longbottom, we have very important, but extremely cautious, news that we must convey to you personally. Professor Lynch and I, based on our in-depth research and collaboration in some areas of unconventional magic, have proposed and preliminarily explored a possible treatment plan. It targets mental blockade symptoms caused by prolonged exposure to extreme dark magic such as the Cruciatus Curse in people like Frank and Alice."
He paused slightly, allowing the weight of his words to fully sink into the other person's heart.
"We believe that there are theories and methods that can cure, or at least significantly improve, their condition."
The ward was so quiet that Neville's breathing suddenly became heavier, and the faint rustling sound of the candy wrapper in his hand being unconsciously clenched.
Mrs. Longbottom's straight back stiffened almost imperceptibly.
The distinctive lines of her resolute face seemed to freeze for a moment, or perhaps trembled slightly. Her eyes, always sharp as an eagle's, were fixed on Dumbledore, churning with a turbulent storm—a storm of disbelief, a surge of hope, and a deeper fear of being disappointed again, stirred up by a boulder thrown into her despair after more than a decade of despair.
She almost blurted out a question, wanting to grasp every detail, wanting to know immediately how "possible" it was, but she forcibly suppressed all impulses, only her jaw tightened further, and the knuckles of her fingers gripping the cane turned white. Her reason screamed "This is impossible," but a part of her heart that had never truly died was burning wildly at this moment. She had to maintain her dignity, especially in front of strangers, even in this matter concerning the last hope of the Longbottom family.
"We are fully aware of the weight and risks involved in this proposal," Dumbledore continued, his voice gentle yet powerful. "Therefore, before considering any attempt, we must first seek your consent as their closest relative. This will be a long, arduous, and uncertain journey, and we need your trust and support."
"I agree."
Mrs. Longbottom's reply was so quick it almost interrupted Dumbledore.
The voice wasn't loud, but it was resolute and unwavering, without any hesitation. It was as if if they hesitated even for a second, that sliver of light would slip through their fingers.
She didn't need any more assurances, nor did she need to weigh the pros and cons. She was willing to gamble everything on any glimmer of hope brought by Dumbledore himself, even if it was only a theoretical possibility. For her son, for her daughter-in-law, and for the Longbottom family not to be treated so cruelly.
Just then, a trembling, incredulous voice sounded from the side: "Really? Professor? My dad and mom—they—can get better?"
Neville looked up at Dumbledore, then at Lynch, and finally at his grandmother.
His eyes quickly reddened, brimming with an overwhelming mix of emotions: a long-suppressed, unreleased anticipation; the fear that this was yet another false hope; and the sudden, desperate grasping at a straw in his profound helplessness. The candy wrapper in his hand was soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to his palm.
Dumbledore turned and knelt down, bringing his own light to Neville's eye level. He reached out and gently patted Neville's shoulder, his deep blue eyes filled with a reassuring warmth and a rare, solemn promise: "Neville, I cannot guarantee you success; the magical world is far more complex than we can imagine. But I can assure you that Professor Lynch and I will do everything in our power to try and awaken them. Will you trust us and wait patiently?"
Neville's tears finally rolled down his cheeks. He nodded vigorously, choking back sobs and unable to speak. He could only clutch the candy wrapper in his hand even tighter, as if it were the only token connecting him to that "possible" future.
As Mrs. Longbottom watched this scene, her straight posture relaxed slightly. Beneath that hard armor, something long frozen seemed to have quietly cracked open amidst Dumbledore's words and her grandson's tears, revealing a faint but real light.
Hope, however faint, has finally returned to the Longbottom family.
After a brief period of shock and excitement, the atmosphere in the ward quickly shifted to a pragmatic and efficient rhythm.
Dumbledore nodded slightly to Mrs. Longbottom. "Then, without further ado, Madam, perhaps we should contact the head healer at St. Mungo's immediately, as well as the Dean's office. The treatment requires absolute confidentiality and the highest level of coordination and resource support within the institution."
Mrs. Longbottom immediately understood. She straightened her back and her face regained its usual sharp, aloof, and resolute expression.
"Of course. Dean Anslom and I are somewhat acquainted," she said succinctly, then turned to Neville, "Neville, you stay here with your parents and Professor Lynch."
"We should act quickly," she said to Dumbledore, then strode out of the ward with firm, rapid steps, the sound of her eagle-headed cane striking the ground echoing crisply in the corridor, just like her decisive and efficient style.
Dumbledore nodded to Lynch, giving him a "this is your responsibility" look, and then followed him out, his robes swaying gently behind him. To ensure that the St. Mungo's leadership wouldn't hinder this unprecedented endeavor due to procedures or doubts, it was clear that Dumbledore's unparalleled influence would be needed.
Only Lynch, Neville, Frank, and Alice remained in the ward for the time being.
Neville stood there somewhat bewildered, glancing at his parents and then stealing a glance at Lynch.
Lynch calmly walked to Alice's bedside, his face devoid of any superfluous expression—neither pity nor excitement, only a focused scrutiny.
Judging from the interaction between mother and son that I just witnessed outside the door, Alice Longbottom's condition is clearly much better than her husband's. Therefore, it's more reasonable to start treatment with her first.
“Mr. Longbottom,” Lynch began, his voice steady, his gaze never leaving Alice, “I need to conduct some initial assessments of your mother’s condition. The process will be painless, but absolute silence is required. You can stand there and observe, but please try not to make any noise or touch anything.”
"Yes, yes, Professor," Neville quickly replied in a low voice, taking two steps back and leaning against the cold wall, his eyes fixed on it.
Lynch leaned down slightly, carefully observing Alice's face, especially her empty eyes. His gaze was extremely focused, as if he were reading a very complex and obscure book. Then, he extended his right hand, his palm hovering about an inch above Alice's forehead, without touching her.
Neville held his breath. He saw an extremely faint, almost invisible silver halo flowing from Professor Lynch's fingertips, like mercury or cold starlight.
Lin Qi closed his eyes, his brows furrowed slightly, as if he were sensing something extremely subtle.
The ward was eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of the city outside the window. Neville could even hear his own heart pounding.
About a minute later, Lin Qi withdrew his hand and opened his eyes.
This time, his outstretched hand hovered near Alice's temple, and a steady, soft, pearly-white light shone from his fingertips. The light was not dazzling, but it had a peculiar penetrating quality.
Neville noticed that when the light came on, his mother, Alice, began to wriggle uncomfortably.
Lin Qi clearly noticed this change in his body as well, and a knowing glint flashed in his dark eyes.
He maintained the stability of the enchanted light, chanting in a low voice a spell that Neville couldn't understand at all, the syllables ancient and strange, as if they had some kind of rhythm.
As he chanted, the pearly white light, like living water, slowly seeped into Alice's temples, and her resistance gradually subsided and disappeared.
The whole process lasted about five minutes.
After Lynch finished, he used a similar method to examine Frank, but in a shorter amount of time.
After completing the initial examination, Lynch turned around and saw Neville, who was pale with nervousness.
"Your mother," Lynch suddenly spoke, her calm voice breaking the silence of the ward and startling Neville, who was focused on the floor, "has a more pronounced residual reaction to the outside world."
Neville nodded subconsciously and whispered, "Yes—yes, Professor. Mom—sometimes she recognizes me." He glanced at the daisies that had been arranged on the bedside table and the candy wrapper in his palm.
Lynch nodded slightly, as if Neville's words confirmed his observation.
"This is no coincidence." He stood by Alice's bedside and gestured for Neville to come closer. Neville nervously took two steps forward.
"Understand their state of consciousness as a kind of sinking." Lynch used a metaphor, "Your father Frank is like someone who has sunk to the deepest, darkest seabed, almost completely still, his self-preservation instinct causing him to cut off almost all outward channels, with very little contact with the outside world."
He paused, then looked at Alice: "As for your mother, Alice, her sinking was relatively shallower. Or more precisely, certain specific, strong connections in her consciousness—especially those related to you—were not completely severed, but rather utterly distorted and scattered, falling into extreme chaos." He pointed to the hand Alice had used to hand out the candy wrapper. "In this chaos, occasionally a fragmented, instinctive action would flash through her mind, such as offering something that might subconsciously be associated with giving to a child. While this is far from being lucid, it proves that she still retains an extremely weak and unstable connection with the outside world."
Neville seemed to understand only a little, but Professor Lynch's confident and calm tone ignited a faint spark of hope in his heart.
He looked at his parents lying quietly on the bed, and a question that had been suppressed for too long finally burst out of his throat, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly: "Professor—my father and mother—is it really possible for them—to get better?"
After asking the question, Neville immediately lowered his head, as if afraid to see the familiar look of pity and helplessness on the other person's face.
He gripped the candy wrapper tightly in his hand.
Lynch looked at Neville in silence.
He saw the deep, almost untouchable longing hidden in the boy's eyes, and he also saw the thick, heavy...
A fragile barrier built from repeated disappointments. As someone accustomed to acting based on facts and logic, he knew all too well that in magical healing, especially in such a cutting-edge and unknown field, giving definitive assurances was dangerous and irresponsible. He should have given a more rigorous, more reserved answer.
But at this moment, facing this child who had been immersed in despair for too long, facing those eyes filled with humble pleading, Lynch realized that Neville needed more than just a cold probability analysis or a lengthy explanation.
He needed an anchor, something to hold onto temporarily in this turbulent ocean called "possibility".
As for Lynch himself, based on months of studying Lockhart's notes, in-depth discussions with Dumbledore, and his initial perception that Alice's condition met expectations, he was indeed confident—at least, confident in embarking on this path, and in Alice-Longbottom.
After a brief but solemn silence, Lynch bent down slightly, making sure his own light was level with Neville's.
His dark eyes held no exaggerated encouragement, only a clear and certain conviction based on understanding.
"Neville," his voice was slightly slower than usual, each word clear and forceful, "based on all the current analysis and preparations, I believe the possibility of helping your mother, Alice, regain some consciousness and find herself again is very high."
He saw Neville's eyes suddenly widen, and the light that burst forth from them was almost painful.
"As for your father, Frank," Lynch continued, his tone still steady, but also candid about the reality, "his situation is deeper and the challenges are greater. Success will largely depend on how much we can learn from your mother's treatment, how much effective experience and methods we can develop. It's not impossible, but it requires more patience, and—"
The "key" you received from your mother.
He didn't offer vague pronouncements like "everything will be alright," nor did he indulge in unrealistic fantasies. He gave Neville a tiered, pragmatic assessment: the mother's future was bright, while the father's path depended on the former's exploration. This was both a solemn promise and an honest division of responsibility.
Neville's breathing quickened. He looked at Lynch, then at his mother on the hospital bed, tears welling up uncontrollably, but he bit his lip hard to keep them from falling. Professor Lynch didn't comfort him, didn't say anything lighthearted, but it was precisely this serious and affirmative attitude that was more powerful than any comfort. The phrase "very likely" was like a seed that suddenly fell into his heart, which had been parched for too long. Although it was still unknown whether it would sprout, the solid feeling was real.
"I—I understand, Professor." Neville nodded vigorously, his voice choked but trying to be clear. "Thank you—I will—I will wait patiently. I will help."
Just then, the ward door was gently pushed open, and Dumbledore and Mrs. Longbottom returned, followed by a serious-looking witch in the robes of a senior healer at St. Mungo's, and a wizard who appeared to be the administrator.
Their faces wore a complex mix of shock, doubt, and resignation.
Mrs. Longbottom's sharp eyes instantly caught the tear stains on her grandson's face and his still-excited expression. She frowned, and tapped her cane lightly on the floor, making a crisp sound.
"Neville Longbottom!" Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a unique, undeniable authority. "Stop your tears and straighten your back! What we need to do now is help your parents, not show weakness. Remember your name, and don't bring shame to the Longbottom family."
Neville flinched, as if doused with ice water. He sniffed hard, quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, and tried to straighten his chest, though his eyes were still red. He knew his grandmother wasn't humiliating him, but rather using the only method she knew to keep him calm and dignified under the weight of this immense hope. He pursed his lips and nodded to his grandmother, indicating that he understood.
Mrs. Longbottom's stern gaze swept over his reddened eyes, and her jawline twitched almost imperceptibly for a moment. She said nothing more, but lightly tapped her cane on the ground, and then her hand, adorned with the family ring, pressed down on Neville's tense shoulder with a seemingly casual yet extremely brief touch—so light it was almost an illusion—before withdrawing it.
Accompanying this action was a silent support: "Be strong, we'll face this together."
This little incident led the female therapist and the administrative manager to exchange a more complicated look, but neither of them said anything.
"Professor Lynch," Dumbledore began gently, his gaze sweeping across the room, "St. Mungo's side has a preliminary understanding of the situation and has indicated that they will provide the necessary support under the premise of absolute confidentiality. The Dean has agreed to vacate a private ward as a dedicated space for our subsequent attempts."
Lynch nodded, his gaze sweeping over the two new St. Mungo's officials before finally settling on Alice.
"Yes. The transfer process needs to be smooth, and it's best to do it while the patient is asleep," he requested clearly.
Upon hearing this, the stern-faced female healer immediately stepped forward. She said nothing more, clearly extremely familiar with this procedure. She drew her wand—a straight, smooth cherry wood wand—and pointed the tip steadily at Alice Longbottom on the hospital bed.
"Sleep peacefully." She uttered the spell clearly and steadily, and a soft, golden stream of magic flowed from the tip of her wand, like a warm veil, gently enveloping Alice's head.
The spell works swiftly and gently.
Alice's previously empty, gray eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling, slowly and naturally closed. The subtle tension unconsciously maintained on her face relaxed, her breathing became deeper and more regular, and she entered a magically guided, dreamless sleep. This would minimize any potential stress or discomfort she might experience due to environmental changes during the transfer.
The subsequent transfer process was efficient and quiet.
With Dumbledore's coordination and Mrs. Longbottom's watchful eye, St. Mungo's staff used a specially designed suspension stretcher to gently move Alice Longbottom out of the ward where she had lived for many years. Neville stayed close to his grandmother, watching his mother being carefully moved, feeling both unfamiliar and nervous.