As they left St Mungo's Hospital, dusk had already enveloped London. On the way back to Hogwarts, Harry remained silent, and the streetlights lit up one by one, casting mottled shadows on his downcast face.
Dumbledore deliberately slowed his pace but never looked back, while Vid walked alongside Harry, maintaining a considerate distance without disturbing him.
They all understood what he was thinking at this moment—the Longbottoms surely reminded him of his own parents.
Frank and Alice had endured terrible torment... and had been lost for fourteen years...
But they were still alive in the end, supporting each other and gradually emerging from the painful past.
And his parents? They were dead... completely dead... never to return...
For a moment, Harry fantasized... fantasized that it was his parents walking out of the ward—in spite of their haggardness, able to make him feel the warmth of reality, rather than a few cold photos.
But immediately, Harry felt ashamed of his thought. He blinked hard to hold back the tears while suppressing the almost painful longing in his heart.
He was startled from his thoughts and then realized he had unknowingly fallen a few steps behind.
The shadows at his feet were illuminated by the light, splitting into several varying shades of light and dark, stretching and shortening as he advanced, swaying in his vision.
Harry quickened his pace to catch up, and when he reached the two, he inexplicably felt a sense of relief.
—As if loneliness and darkness were ever-murmuring devils, magnifying the monsters in his heart.
Vid glanced at him, and perhaps seeing something, he suddenly waved his magic wand.
The streetlamps suddenly made a "zzzzz" sound, and the light orb above them popped out and turned into a teacup-sized stag before it hit the ground.
The silver-white light stag ran on air, leaping to Harry's side, just as the boy stretched out his hand, watching it land warm and bright in his palm.
He carefully cupped the light stag, unable to resist smiling—though weak, this glow was warm enough to dispel the chilly shadows in his heart.
"Why is it a stag?"
Harry recalled the small deer that had vanished into the light a few days earlier, surprised yet feeling it was quite the coincidence.
"Hmm?" Vid murmured, confused: "Isn't your Patronus a stag?"
"Oh... right!"
Harry displayed a silly expression.
"Not bad." Dumbledore observed the light stag, approvingly saying: "Vid, have you already become adept at using this magic?"
"Not on the scale as before, I tried many times and couldn't replicate the power back then; currently, I can only manifest small tricks like this," Vid sighed.
Dumbledore chuckled: "Take your time, child. Magic is like a tree you plant; it needs time to quietly grow roots in the darkness."
Vid nodded, lightly shaking the magic wand in his hand.
Dumbledore looked at the light stag, sensing its warm and bright power, nodded quietly, swallowing back certain warnings he had planned to give.
Just wait a little more...
He told himself: Wait and see...
"Ah!"
Harry suddenly shouted, looking at Vid: "Wait, aren't underage wizards not allowed to use magic outside school?"
"I'm around Professor Dumbledore!" Vid nonchalantly replied: "If the Ministry of Magic wants to investigate, I'll say it was the professor who performed the magic."
Harry was shocked: Was this really okay? Saying something like "framing him" right in front of Dumbledore… is it really appropriate?
When he looked at Dumbledore, he saw the headmaster happily stroking his long, silvery beard, nodding earnestly, saying:
"Indeed, absolutely, that was the magic I performed—oh dear, did I just conjure a Patronus? Getting old means becoming forgetful…"
That expression was like a typical old man with a scatterbrained memory.
Harry couldn't help but hold his forehead, while beside him, Vid struggled to suppress his laughter to the point his shoulders shook.
"Oh, let's stop here."
As if nothing had happened, Dumbledore looked around.
It was a dark alley covered with ivy on the mottled walls, and a collapsed trash can lay nearby, with beer bottles and cigarette butts scattered around.
Dumbledore, however, was quite satisfied, saying, "It's a good place, right? Very quiet… grab my arm."
As soon as they reached out to grab his arm, they felt a spinning sensation—
"Bang!"
With a loud crack, Harry stumbled, looking up to see the castle lights not far away.
The three walked through the twilight toward Hogwarts. The iron rings on the oak door in the distance suddenly swayed with the sound of hinges creaking, and the door slowly opened as Hagrid's face appeared from behind the gap.
"Finally back!" Hagrid joyously exclaimed: "Dumbledore, was the trip smooth?"
"Of course," Dumbledore smiled: "Vid and Harry were really helpful."
"I knew you guys could do it!"
Though he didn't understand what had happened, Hagrid still gave a thumbs up to the two boys: "Surely another remarkable deed, right?"
Harry and Vid exchanged smiles.
"We saw the Longbottoms... Neville's parents, that is," Vid said: "They seem to be recovering well."
"Yeah," Harry added: "Mr. Frank even said once they recovered, they could continue fighting!"
Hagrid's eyes instantly gained a watery gleam: "Oh, Frank and Alice… Merlin bless, that's really wonderful… they're good people and shouldn't be tormented like that… damn Death Eaters! Damn Lestrange!"
He closed the door again, cursing the detestable Death Eaters, then planning to buy some gifts to visit the Longbottoms in the hospital.
"Give me some suggestions, Harry, Vid," Hagrid gruffly said: "I never know what patients need… I've hardly ever been ill."
"As long as it's not rock cakes, I think it'll be fine," Harry honestly said.
"Speaking of which, you both must be hungry, go to the Great Hall and eat," Dumbledore said: "You can have a good rest tomorrow."
Hagrid, touching his stomach, couldn't help but say with anticipation: "The kitchen must have left some stew and Yorkshire pudding; I wonder if there are any syrup tarts left..."
Harry and Dumbledore nodded goodbye. Vid glanced back, wanting to say something, but ultimately swallowed his words. They walked toward the brightly lit castle with Hagrid, and their laughter gradually faded away.
Dumbledore stood motionless on the steps, placing his hand in his pocket, taking out the slightly warm crystal bottle, the silvery glow of memory reflecting in his half-moon spectacles.
At this moment, none of his previous warmth and smile was visible; every line on his face was taut, his expression solemn like ancient stone walls.