When Augusta finished preparing dinner and saw the two of them getting along so harmoniously, a relieved smile touched her face as she called them over to eat. After the meal, Alan played with Neville until the boy grew tired, then personally carried him to bed before retiring to his own room.
In the following days, Alan lived peacefully, helping Augusta with the household chores and keeping Neville entertained. Life was comfortable, a rare reprieve from his usual intensity. However, a few days later, Augusta approached him with a solemn expression.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to see Frank and Alice. You should come with me. You haven't seen them for a long time," she said.
"I will." Ever since Alan had arrived, he had wanted to suggest a visit, but he had remained hesitant out of respect for her grief. Now that she had brought it up, he agreed immediately. Then, recalling their usual routine, he asked, "What about Neville? Should we bring him? Or will it be..."
Augusta understood his concern. "My nephew, Algie, is coming over. He's Frank's cousin. He'll look after Neville for us. It's too early for the boy to see them like this."
The next day, after packing a few essentials, Augusta and Alan arrived at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The Longbottoms were housed in the Janus Thickey Ward on the fifth floor. The ward was named in memory of a wizard who had faked his own death in 1973; now, it served as a permanent residence for patients with incurable spell damage to the brain.
The ward was a secure unit, and the heavy main door was locked. Augusta, familiar with the procedure, found Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of the floor.
"Frank and Alice have been very stable and well-behaved recently," Healer Strout said as she turned the key.
*Well-behaved?* Alan looked at the kindly Healer, finding the choice of words peculiar. It wasn't until he stepped inside that he understood.
Frank and Alice looked like ghosts of their former selves. Strands of white had appeared in their hair, and their eyes were dull, emptied of the fire they once held.
"Candy. I want candy," Frank said, reaching out a hand the moment they entered.
"All right, dear. Today I've got some Fizzing Whizbees for you," Healer Strout said skillfully, pulling a few sweets from her pocket to coax him. Nearby, Alice tilted her head to glance at the visitors before turning back to the window, silently counting the people passing in the street below.
Once Frank was settled with his sweets, the Healer nodded to Augusta and Alan and left the ward. Augusta stepped forward, taking Frank's hand and speaking to him with a mother's tenderness, fussing over his clothes and checking the sheets. Even though the hospital care was professional, she habitually checked every detail herself.
Alan approached them as well, but neither Frank nor Alice responded to his presence. One functioned like a toddler, driven by the desire for sugar; the other was lost in a private world behind the glass.
"Mrs. Longbottom, there's something I'd like to ask your permission for," Alan said, his voice hesitant.
"There's no need for such politeness with me, Alan. Just say it."
"I want to examine their minds. I know it's a long shot, but I want to see if there is any path to a cure."
Augusta sighed, a heavy, weary sound. "I know your heart is in the right place, but Dumbledore examined them himself when it first happened. Even he could do nothing. I don't want you wasting your years on a lost cause."
"I know my limits right now, but I'm still young. What is impossible today might not be in the future," Alan paused, his gaze softening. "Besides, I promised Neville I would bring them back."
Augusta fell into a long silence. Finally, she nodded. Perhaps this young man saw something the others didn't; perhaps she was simply desperate enough to hold onto a sliver of hope.
With her consent, Alan walked up to Frank. "Frank, it's Alan. This might feel a bit intrusive, but stay with me."
He cupped Frank's face and initiated Legilimency. He was incredibly cautious; he didn't crash through the mental barriers but allowed his consciousness to drift gently into Frank's thoughts. In his unique magical perspective, memories usually appeared as vibrant bubbles or cohesive streams. Frank's mind, however, looked like a shattered ruin. Fragmented shards floated in the void, but none would unfold into a complete narrative.
As Alan delved deeper, his expression grew increasingly grim. The problem wasn't just that the memories were chaotic. The terrifying reality was that there were almost no memories at all. A normal mind is like a village—there are houses, streets, and structures. Even if a village is razed, the ruins remain. In Frank's mind, there was mostly empty space.
*Is the damage deeper than the surface?* Alan wondered.
He pushed his magical vision further into the darkness of Frank's psyche. As he descended into the core of the mental space, the frequency of shards finally increased. He saw memory fragments glowing like distant lighthouses and steered his consciousness toward them.
Finally, Alan found the source of the devastation. The sight that greeted his magical vision was nothing short of horrific.