In his field of vision, there was a mountain of exaggerated proportions.
It was a monolith formed by memory bubbles and fragments, squeezed and fused together into a dense, towering heap. Alan looked at this mountain within the mind space and realized that nearly all of Frank's memories, past and present, were piled here in a stagnant mass.
"How could this be?" Alan pondered, puzzled. He focused his attention on the peculiar scene, searching for clues.
He soon discovered something unique: something was hidden within the core of the memory mountain. If he observed quietly, he could see a faint green light flickering between the gaps of the memory bubbles. After a moment's thought, he decided to investigate further. He cautiously extended a mental tendril, gently brushing against the surface of the mountain.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent. Frank's dazed expression twisted into a mask of ferocity, and he began to struggle incessantly. Noticing the change, Alan quickly retracted his focus and ended the Legilimency session.
"What's wrong?"
Augusta, noticing the sudden shift, hurried over to check on her son. The moment Alan broke the connection, Frank slumped back into his usual catatonic state. Augusta searched for any physical signs of distress but found nothing unusual; however, having witnessed her son's brief, frantic outburst, she looked at Alan with a sharp, inquiring gaze.
Because Alan had been terrified of causing secondary damage, his exploration had been agonizingly slow and cautious. By the time he pulled away, he was sweating profusely from the mental exhaustion.
Taking a steadying breath, he met Augusta's eyes. "Frank's situation is... peculiar."
"Did you find the cause?" she asked quickly.
"I believe so, but the answer isn't simple," Alan said, choosing his words with care.
"What does that mean?" Augusta frowned, clearly losing patience with the ambiguity.
Alan hesitated before explaining. "Their memories—likely due to the repeated trauma of the Cruciatus Curse—have shrunk into a single mass and fused together abnormally. To restore them, we would have to find a way to unravel that fusion. Currently, I don't know of a method that can achieve that without destroying the memories themselves."
Augusta stood and paced the small ward for a moment. "So, if we find a way to undo this state, they can recover?"
"Theoretically, yes. But the operational difficulty is immense," Alan replied.
"Why?"
"Memories aren't like bricks that you can just pull from a wall," Alan sighed. "Fragments are fragile. Any careless manipulation could cause permanent, secondary damage."
Moreover, this state was exceptionally rare. Alan had scoured books on Memory Magic but had found no similar records. Without existing research, he would be starting from scratch, and he couldn't exactly use Frank or Alice as test subjects. If a localized collapse occurred within that 'mountain,' it could wipe their minds entirely.
Augusta sighed, the brief spark of hope fading. "I knew it wouldn't be that simple. Perhaps this is just their destiny. Thank you, Alan. I appreciate your kindness, but I have the strength to bear this. Even if they never recover, just being able to see them is enough."
"You don't have to be so pessimistic," Alan said, his brow furrowed. "We will find a way. We may not have a clue now, but identifying the cause is the first step toward a solution."
Augusta, assuming he was merely trying to comfort her, offered a weak smile and a nod. "Alright. Let's head back for today."
The two left St. Mungo's with heavy hearts.
A few days passed back at the Longbottom home. Alan spent his nights searching through every text he possessed, but he remained empty-handed. It was clear he wouldn't find a solution in standard textbooks.
"I need to expand my knowledge base," Alan thought. "And this might be the perfect opportunity to deal with a certain loose end."
The next morning, Alan told Augusta he was heading to Diagon Alley and would return later. He took Muggle transportation to the Leaky Cauldron.
When he stepped inside, he found Tom exactly where he had left him three years ago, wiping glasses behind the bar. However, the pub itself had changed; it was far busier than Alan remembered. As he walked past the tables, he noticed several patrons eating fried chicken. It seemed the recipes he had shared with Tom had become quite popular.
"A butterbeer, please."
Tom, focused on his work, looked up at the familiar voice and burst into a grin. "Haha! Alan! You finally remembered us, you heartless fellow! It's been three years, hasn't it?"
"Yes, I've been occupied. This is my first time back in the Alley in a long while. Business looks good, Tom."
"It's all thanks to you. That menu you gave me is a hit. You should think about opening your own place someday," Tom laughed, sliding a foaming mug of butterbeer across the counter.
The two fell into easy conversation. Alan listened as Tom caught him up on the news of the last two years. Immediately after Voldemort's disappearance, the Alley had been a non-stop celebration, and Tom's business had been overflowing.
However, that period was followed by a wave of violence from desperate Death Eaters who had gone to ground. Many were lunatics who acted recklessly while being hunted, leading to a period of martial law in Diagon Alley. Under Millicent Bagnold's leadership, the Ministry had conducted frequent raids and arrest operations. The unrest was eventually suppressed; the remaining Death Eaters had either fled the country, hidden themselves effectively, or used their connections to avoid prosecution. For the last six months, Diagon Alley had finally returned to a semblance of peace.