Dawn broke in the eastern horizon, and the gentle spring breeze gradually awakened the sleeping metropolis that was London.

The exact founding date of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries had been lost to the passage of time. Wizarding historians could only say with certainty that it was established by the legendary healer Mungo Bonham sometime between the early sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Initially, it was nothing more than a small hospital composed of several old brick buildings. However, due to Mungo Bonham’s exceptional healing abilities, the reputation of this initially modest magical hospital began to spread. Word of mouth traveled through the wizarding communities scattered across Britain, carried by grateful patients whose lives had been saved by Bonham’s treatments and care.

More and more like-minded wizards, drawn by tales of remarkable recoveries and inspired by Bonham’s approach to magical healing, gradually joined his expanding team of healers and researchers.

After gaining considerable fame and recognition throughout the magical community, the hospital began attracting desperate patients from even distant locations.

Witches and wizards traveled for days, sometimes weeks, crossing harsh terrain and risking exposure to hostile Muggles, all seeking treatment for injuries and ailments caused by the countless varieties of magical accident.

With vigorous promotion and enthusiastic endorsements from these recovered patients, who returned to their home communities with tales of miraculous healing, Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies gradually became renowned throughout the entire British wizarding world.

The hospital’s scale expanded rapidly, with specialized departments being established for different types of magical injuries every few years and a staff that grew to include some of the most brilliant minds in magical medicine.

Eventually, this expansion and reputation earned official recognition from the Ministry of Magic itself, and the institution was honored with the prestigious title “St.”.

However, in his enthusiasm and perhaps shortsighted planning, Bonham had made one critical mistake when initially establishing the hospital’s location.

To avoid detection and interference from the muggles, Bonham had initially chosen what seemed like the perfect location: a secluded area on the quiet outskirts of London, far from the bustling city center and surrounded by countryside, oak groves, and streams.

At the time of the hospital’s founding, this location had everything the early healers could desire—fresh air, natural tranquility, ample space for expansion, and most importantly, complete isolation from Muggle eyes and influence.

But Muggle expansion and urban development progressed far more rapidly than even the most perceptive wizard could have imagined.

By the time the wizards fully realized what was happening around them, by the time they looked up from their medical research and patient care to survey their surroundings, their hospital was completely surrounded by Muggle buildings, busy commercial districts, and crowded residential neighborhoods.

This unfortunate development resulted in St. Mungo’s being completely unable to find even the smallest patch of available land where they could build a proper garden or courtyard with fresh air, healing herbs, and natural tranquility for patients who needed a peaceful, restorative environment for their recovery.

Instead, all patients, regardless of the severity or nature of their conditions, had to stay within the cramped and oppressive indoor wards.

Perhaps in a desperate attempt to completely isolate the daily activities and intrusions of the surrounding Muggle population from interfering with the healing processes of recovering wizards, while also ensuring that patients could still receive some benefit from natural sunlight the hospital’s architects had made the decision to place all ward windows high up on the walls, near the ceiling.

So, when the morning sunlight, filtering through these scarce windows with their obstructive size and awkward positioning, finally completed its slow journey across the room to illuminate Neville’s sleeping face with its golden glow, daylight had already fully established itself outside, and the world beyond the hospital walls was bustling with the activities of a new day.

In the gentle, warm glow of the morning light, Neville’s eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheeks. His breathing, which had been deep and steady throughout the night, began to quicken slightly, and he made several unclear, mumbling sounds.

Sleeping hunched over on a low, uncomfortable wooden stool with his cheek pressed against the hospital bed throughout the entire night was definitely not a comfortable experience for anyone, much less a growing teenager whose body required proper rest and support.

The experience was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the luxurious comfort of the four-poster beds at Hogwarts, with their soft mattresses, warm quilts, and pillows.

So, when Neville first tried to lift his heavy head and stand up from his makeshift sleeping place, the sharp pain that immediately exploded through his neck and shoulders, combined with the deep aching that had settled into his back and legs from hours of maintaining an unnatural position, pinned him firmly to the bench making him unable to move.

After several unsuccessful struggles, the drowsy and disoriented Neville finally managed to force himself to stand up unsteadily. However, the terrible sleeping position he had endured throughout the long night had left his mind foggy and confused, his vision blurred and unfocused, and his stomach churning with waves of nausea.

However, thanks to the physical conditioning and improved fitness he had gained from the PE classes that had become part of his routine, once he regained full consciousness and his mind began to clear, the immediate physical discomfort gradually withdrew, leaving him more aware of his surroundings.

Finally, as the fog of sleep and physical discomfort lifted from his mind, Neville became aware that the ward around him was eerily, unnaturally quiet.

Neville blinked hard and repeatedly to clear the haze and blurriness from his tired eyes. His heart was already beginning to race with a growing sense of unease. When his vision finally cleared enough for him to focus properly on his surroundings, and he discovered the empty bed in front of him, he couldn’t control or suppress his cry of alarm and panic:

“Mum!” The word came off from his throat with raw desperation.

Then Neville spun around with sudden, frantic urgency to examine the bed behind him, his father’s bed only to discover that it was equally and empty.

Not only were his parents mysteriously absent, but aside from his grandmother, Professor Black who had insisted on coming to watch over them knowing his parents were about to receive treatment, the young and energetic Auror called Tonks, and Hermione, all of these important people were now absent.

Clang—

After a few seconds of complete stupefaction, Neville seemed to suddenly realize what must have happened during his sleep. His violent, panicked movement as this realization hit him knocked over the stool. Without hesitation, he jumped directly over his mother’s empty bed, his face draining of all color until it was stony pale, and rushed toward the door.

But when his trembling palm finally made contact with the slightly cool metal of the door handle, Neville suddenly flinched as if he had been burned by fire.

‘It’s already begun.’

Staring at the closed door, Neville’s pale lips moved quietly, but no sound came. The ward around him was filled only with the rapid sound of his own breathing, and the violent pounding of his heart.

‘Will it succeed?’

Uncontrollably, Neville’s arms hanging at his sides, began to tremble.

Even if the treatment failed completely, he tried to tell himself with desperate logic, there was really nothing to fear from that outcome. His parents could still stay with him, could still be part of his life in the way they had been for so many years.

Even if their consciousness wasn’t clear, he could still see infinite, unconditional love shining in their clouded eyes whenever they looked at him. He had never, not once in all these years, felt that his parents’ tragic condition was a burden to him. In his heart, he still had a complete family, even though it wasn’t perfect.

But what if…. what if the outcome of this treatment was somehow even worse than their current condition?

No one knew, not even his grandmother, that he had been privately and secretly seeking out papers, medical journals, and research documents on curing the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, staying up late in the Hogwarts library to study materials.

Every single article he had managed to find on this subject was obscure, academic, and almost impossibly difficult to understand, filled with complex professional terminology, advanced magical theory, and medical jargon that he had never heard of.

But the very complexity and difficulty of these academic articles, combined with the repeatedly mentioned fact that for literally centuries, generation after generation of the most excellent, and brilliant healers in the wizarding world had thrown themselves at this worldwide problem of treating and reversing Cruciatus Curse damage, yet none had ever achieved any significant breakthrough—this reality filled him with panic and made him deeply, bitterly regret his decision to encourage this treatment.

It had been after consulting his opinion that his grandmother had decided to allow Professor Dumbledore and the Professor Watson to attempt their treatment on his parents.

If something went wrong, he would never, ever be able to forgive his own “selfishness”.

In the warm, Neville felt a deep chill spreading through his entire body, a cold that was more intense than the worst winter nights at Hogwarts, before and after the Christmas holidays. It felt as if even his soul had been frozen solid.

Neville retreated step by unsteady step, stumbling backward as his legs seemed to lose their strength, until he collapsed onto his mother’s empty bed. He buried his face completely in his hands.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog of his self-blame and terror like a beam of light through darkness, a warm fragrance rushed into Neville’s nostrils, rescuing him briefly from the boundless regret and panic.

On the small cabinet beside his mother’s bed sat a tray. On the porcelain dishes were sizzling sausages and fried bacon, golden fried potato chunks sprinkled with fine salt, crispy golden Danish rolls… some other foods, and a cup of steaming baked beans in tomato sauce.

The meal looked very hearty and large featuring some dishes that never even appeared on the tables at Hogwarts.

Neville stared blankly at the tray, his mind struggling to process this unexpected discovery, and only now fully realizing that this unusually fragrant breakfast had been sitting there beside his mother’s bed all along.

But in his panic and distress upon waking, he had completely ignored it. Now that he was close enough to the bedside cabinet, he finally noticed the meal and its incredible, mouth-watering aroma.

A trace of confusion flashed through his dejected and overwhelmed mind as he tried to puzzle out the origin of this unexpected breakfast.

He guessed that this meal might have come from his grandmother. But more likely, it was the work of thoughtful Hermione, who had probably brought this breakfast back for him when she had gone to St. Mungo’s cafeteria earlier in the morning to get food for herself and the others.

But this conclusion was exactly what puzzled and confused him. He had been staying at St. Mungo’s for more than just the past two or three days. During his stay, he had become unfortunately familiar with the hospital’s standard food service.

The cafeteria’s meals always prioritized patients’ specific nutritional needs and ease of eating and digestion for people with various medical conditions, taste, and flavor were never part of their consideration or concern.

Yet this breakfast in front of him was clearly something entirely different.

Neville slowly withdrew his gaze from the tempting meal. He was genuinely moved by what he assumed was Hermione’s thoughtful care and consideration, but honestly, despite the appealing aroma and obvious quality of the food, he had absolutely no appetite at all.

One second passed, then two seconds, then three seconds, as Neville sat motionless on the edge of his mother’s bed, staring at the food tray and grappling with his conflicting emotions and thoughts.

Definitely not driven by hunger but as if he were possessed by some force beyond his control, Neville rubbed his reddened and swollen eye sockets with the backs of his hands and reached for the tray, carefully lifting it and placing it gently on his knees.

After hesitating for a few seconds, Neville finally picked up a single fried potato chunk and placed it tentatively in his mouth, beginning to chew slowly.

The crispy outside of the potato immediately burst with rich, complex flavor under the grinding pressure of his teeth, releasing flavors that were far more intense and satisfying than anything he had tasted in recent memory.

The sensation caused the dejected and despairing Neville to open his eyes slightly wider, his expression transforming into one of complete disbelief and wonder.

He had never, in his entire life, eaten anything so absolutely, incredibly delicious!

Just like the detestable Crabbe and Goyle from Slytherin house had somehow possessed his body and taken control of his actions, Neville completely lost all conscious control over his behavior. His hands began to fly rapidly and almost frantically between the various foods arranged on the tray and his lips.

His cheeks which had already slimmed down from the regular exercise and physical training he’d been doing throughout the school year began to bulge amusingly with the various wonderful foods he was cramming into his mouth as quickly as he could chew and swallow.

He looked almost like a chipmunk storing nuts for winter.

His reddened and swollen eyes, already irritated from lack of sleep and emotional stress, gradually became wet and soon large drops of tears began to fall steadily from his eyes onto the tray below.

The tray was quickly emptied, but Neville didn’t stop. He even used his fingers to pick up food crumbs and put them in his mouth. His tears continued to flow continuously, and he began to sob softly,

The deliciousness of the food wasn’t because the maker was skilled at cooking, but because when preparing this breakfast, the person who made it was filled with immeasurable guilt and love….

Click.

The door opened gently, and a shadow fell across the doorway.

Neville didn’t raise his head from his position—he didn’t dare to raise his head and face whatever news was waiting for him in that doorway. Instead, he mechanically repeated the motion of picking up invisible crumbs with his trembling fingers, only his body began to tremble more noticeably with the intensity of his anticipation and fear.

Hermione at the door covered her mouth and began to cry. Madam Longbottom, the old woman who had been strong all her life and never admitted defeat or shown weakness in the face of any challenge was also in tears. Tonks was blowing her nose hard into a handkerchief. Sirius stood slightly behind the others, his reddened eye showing traces of melancholy and loss.

And Headmaster Dumbledore had also removed his half-moon spectacles and was sadly but gently wiping the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief.

“Dad, Mum!” Neville’s voice broke on the words, cracking with emotion and disbelief.

When two warm arms encircled his shoulders, Neville finally couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions that had been building inside him any longer. He dropped the tray and threw his arms around the two people in front of him.

He hugged them both tightly, more tightly than he had ever dared to hug anyone, and cried out in anguish.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep