The morning sun spilled through the branches of the Forbidden Forest, scattering golden light across the mossy floor. The birds were chirping cheerfully, but Neville Longbottom didn't feel cheerful at all. His wand clutched in his sweaty hand, he followed Harry Potter into the forest, every step filled with nerves.
"Harry," Neville complained, his voice low though the forest was alive with nothing more than rustling leaves and distant birdsong, "with so many secret passages out of the castle, why did you have to pick this one? It's broad daylight—we could've just taken the Honeydukes cellar route to Hogsmeade!"
Harry, walking ahead with casual confidence, glanced back with a small smirk. "Because, Neville, the forest is the last place anyone expects us to travel on a Sunday morning. Everyone else is busy with breakfast or reparing for the third task. This way, no one notices us leaving."
Neville grumbled, "Yeah, except for the part where we get eaten." He jumped as a branch snapped under his own foot.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Relax. Nothing will touch us."
But Neville's eyes kept darting around. His gaze landed on a cluster of pale mushrooms glowing faintly at the base of an old tree. His face lit up despite his fear. "Mooncap fungi! Those are rare… even Professor Sprout only mentioned them once. If I could just—"
"Not now," Harry cut in firmly. "We're on a mission. Plants later."
Neville sighed but obeyed, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the fungi. Yet as they walked, the sight of a unicorn herd grazing peacefully in a sunlit clearing left him breathless. Their coats shimmered silver against the green grass.
"They're beautiful," Neville whispered, his fear momentarily forgotten.
Harry slowed slightly, watching the creatures. "Yeah. They don't let just anyone see them. Consider it a gift."
The peaceful moment didn't last long. A rhythmic sound of hooves soon echoed across the clearing. Out of the trees stepped several centaurs, bows slung across their backs, their sharp golden eyes fixed on the two intruders.
Neville froze, his heart racing. "Oh no, oh no, Harry—what do we do?"
But Harry strode forward as though he owned the forest, his steps steady, his chin lifted. He gave the centaurs a short nod, calm and commanding. To Neville's shock, the centaurs moved aside without a word, letting them pass.
Neville hurried after him, whispering fiercely, "Why didn't they stop us?"
Harry's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Because they know better. The creatures here… they sense power. They can tell who rules these woods today. And it isn't them."
Neville shivered. He had always thought the Forbidden Forest was dangerous because of the monsters within it. But as sunlight slanted through the trees and Harry walked ahead like nothing in the world could touch him, Neville realized something far more unsettling: perhaps the most dangerous creature in the Forbidden Forest wasn't a monster at all—it was Harry Potter himself.
When they reached Hogsmeade proper, Harry stopped short. The village was strangely silent. Usually weekends brought bustling crowds of Hogwarts students, all eager for sweets, butterbeer, or prank supplies from Zonko's. Today, the cobbled streets were almost empty. Only a few shopkeepers lingered near their storefronts, sweeping stoops or rearranging displays.
"It feels… weird," Neville whispered, pulling his hood tighter.
"Good for us," Harry replied. "No one to recognize us."
The two boys walked quickly, their cloaks whispering against the cobblestones. A witch carrying a basket of eggs glanced at them suspiciously but said nothing. They kept their heads down, avoiding eye contact.
Soon, the crooked sign of the Hog's Head swung into view. The dingy little pub looked as uninviting as ever, its windows clouded with grime. A faint smell of goats and stale ale drifted from inside.
"You're sure about this?" Neville asked nervously. "We could have gone through the Three Broomsticks—"
"And be recognized instantly?" Harry cut in. "No. Aberforth doesn't ask questions. That's why we use the Hog's Head."
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and dust. The pub was nearly empty, only one wizard dozing in the corner with his hat over his face. Behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore glowered at them, a rag in one hand and a glass in the other. His goat bleated softly from somewhere in the back room.
Harry approached the bar, placing a couple of silver sickles on the scarred wood. "We need the fireplace."
Aberforth's eyes flicked to Harry, narrowed, then dropped to the coins. With a grunt, he scooped them up and jerked his head toward the hearth.
"Don't make a mess," he muttered.
Neville leaned close to Harry as they walked. "He knew it was you."
Harry smirked. "Of course he did. He won't say a word."
The fire roared green as Harry tossed in the Floo powder. "Leaky Cauldron!" he called, stepping in. In a swirl of emerald flame, he vanished.
Neville followed, less gracefully, tumbling out into the crowded fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron in a heap. Harry reached down and helped him up, dusting soot from his shoulders.
The Leaky Cauldron was as busy as ever, patrons chatting over their breakfasts, owls hooting from rafters. But Harry wasted no time. He pulled Neville toward the door, ignoring Tom the barkeep's curious glance.
The moment they stepped into Muggle London, the noise and smell hit them at once—honking cars, chatter of pedestrians, the sharp tang of city air. Neville blinked at the sight of traffic lights and neon signs.
"It feels… strange," Neville murmured. "Like another world."
Harry gave him a quick look. "Remember, keep your hood up. We're not here to sightsee."
Neville nodded quickly, following Harry as he led the way to the side street where the Knight Bus could be summoned.
With a sharp thrust of his wand hand, Harry raised his arm. A loud BANG! shattered the air as a violently purple, triple-decker bus screeched to a halt before them. Its brass lamps flickered, and the doors clattered open.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus!" cried a young conductor with spiky hair and a crooked smile. "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Where to, gents?"
Harry stepped up first, tossing a coin. "St. Mungo's."
The conductor blinked. "What about school? You two look a bit young to be skipping classes, eh?"
Harry's green eyes flashed dangerously. He leaned close, his voice calm but layered with subtle force. "Mind your own business."
The conductor froze, his smile faltering, then nodded jerkily. "Right you are. Mind my own business."
Neville shivered, whispering under his breath as they boarded, "You're getting scarier every day."
Harry didn't reply. He led Neville to one of the lurching beds as the bus jerked into motion with another deafening BANG!
The ride was as chaotic as ever—lamps sliding, beds crashing against the walls, the scenery outside flickering past in disjointed bursts. Neville clung to the bedpost, groaning.
"Merlin's beard, how do people survive this thing?" he muttered.
Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, perfectly calm, eyes half-closed. The violent swaying didn't seem to bother him at all. In fact, he almost seemed to enjoy the chaos.
Passengers whispered as they glanced at the hooded boys. A witch in a green shawl leaned toward her neighbor. "They look familiar…"
Harry snapped his gaze toward her, letting a subtle wave of his will ripple outward. Her face went blank, and she turned away, muttering to herself.
"Stop it," Neville hissed. "You'll get caught."
Harry's voice was low. "I'm making sure we're not caught."
The bus lurched to another sudden stop, sending Neville sprawling. At last, the conductor called out: "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!"
They stumbled off the Knight Bus into the busy London street, directly in front of what looked to be an abandoned department store. Its grimy mannequins stood awkwardly behind cracked glass, clothed in faded, outdated dresses. A peeling sign read: Purge and Dowse, Ltd.
Neville straightened his cloak nervously. "So this is it…"
Harry nodded, striding forward. He placed a hand on the glass, whispering a phrase only wizards knew. The glass rippled like water, and an opening appeared.
"Come on," Harry said, pulling Neville through.
For Neville, the journey had been terrifying. From the eerily quiet Hogsmeade to the lurching chaos of the Knight Bus, every step had filled him with dread. But for Harry, it was simply another mission. Every look, every movement, every obstacle—he handled them with cold efficiency.
Harry walked beside him, eyes sharp, hood still drawn. He had no intention of letting anyone—or anything—stand in their way.
Harry and Neville slipped their hoods off the moment they crossed the lime-green tiled hall of St. Mungo's. The hospital smelled of potion fumes, antiseptics, and the faintest hint of burning sage. Healers in bright green robes hurried past, some carrying clipboards charmed to float beside them, others escorting patients with bandaged limbs or potion-induced rashes.
Neville's face had gone pale, but his steps were steady. "This way," he murmured, tugging at Harry's sleeve. His voice carried both familiarity and dread, as though every step closer to his parents was both a comfort and a wound reopening.
They turned down a corridor, and almost immediately, a stern-looking nurse stepped into their path. Her wand tucked into her belt, arms crossed. "And where do you think you two are going?" she asked sharply.
Neville swallowed hard. "I—I'm Neville Longbottom. I've come to see my parents." His voice cracked, betraying both his nerves and his sincerity.
The nurse blinked at him, her sharp features softening slightly. "Visiting hours aren't open for students sneaking off from school—"
But then her eyes landed on Harry. Recognition flashed across her face, followed by awe. "You're—Harry Potter." Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper, as though even saying his name too loudly might break the moment.
Harry gave her a polite, faint smile, though inwardly he felt the usual twist of irritation. He hated the way people looked at him, like some sort of miracle wrapped in skin. "We won't be long," Harry said quietly. His words carried a calm insistence, and perhaps just a touch of the Force.
The nurse hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding quickly. "Go on. Just… just be quick."
Neville shot Harry a look of pure panic as they moved past her. "If Gran finds out I came here without her…" he muttered under his breath. "She'll kill me. She'll absolutely—"
Harry cut him off gently. "We'll make sure she doesn't find out. You need to see them, Neville. That's what matters."
Neville stopped at a familiar wooden door, his hands trembling as he pushed it open. Harry stepped in beside him—and froze.
Inside, the room was neat but eerily lifeless. Sunlight filtered through enchanted glass, casting pale light on two figures moving stiffly around the space.
Frank and Alice Longbottom.
Harry's first thought was how wrong they looked. Their movements were jerky, mechanical, like wind-up toys close to breaking. Their eyes were vacant, unfocused, staring past walls and furniture as though nothing truly existed for them. They shuffled from one end of the room to the other, turning at odd angles, stopping only when they bumped into obstacles.
Neville let out a choked sound. His legs carried him forward before Harry could stop him. "Mum!" His arms wrapped around Alice Longbottom, holding her tightly. But she did not embrace him back. She simply stopped moving, her body stiff, head tilted slightly as though she had walked into a wall. Her glassy eyes didn't even flicker in recognition.
Harry's throat clenched.
Alice didn't see her son. Neither did Frank, who shuffled past with the same hollow expression, lips muttering incoherent syllables.
Neville buried his face in his mother's shoulder, whispering, "It's me. It's Neville. I'm here, Mum…" His voice cracked, raw with years of disappointment and pain.
But Alice didn't react.
Harry stood frozen for a long moment, watching the heartbreaking scene. This was different from reading about what Bellatrix and the Lestranges had done. This was real. The devastation wasn't scars or burns or lost limbs—it was stolen minds, broken beyond repair.
Something twisted inside him.
Neville's voice broke through the silence. "They don't… they don't even know me," he whispered hoarsely, pulling back slightly. His mother's vacant gaze drifted past him like he wasn't even there. His face was pale and wet with tears.
Harry stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. "They may not know you now," he said, his eyes narrowing with determination, "but that doesn't mean they never will."
Neville looked at him in disbelief. "You think—you think you can fix them?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He looked at Alice, then Frank, then back at Neville. Inside, he felt the tug of the Force, a whisper urging him to try. He remembered Salazar's teachings, the ancient holocron, the exercises in manipulating the mind and bending it to his will.
"I don't know," Harry admitted finally. "But I'm going to try. If there's even the smallest chance—I'll take it."
Neville blinked rapidly, hope sparking in his eyes despite years of disappointment. "Harry… if you could—if you could give them back to me, even for a moment…" His voice cracked again. "You don't know what that would mean."
Harry placed a hand on Neville's shoulder. "I do, Neville. I do. And I swear to you—I'll try."