Harry stood silently, watching Neville talk to his parents as though they might suddenly wake and respond. Neville's voice was low, almost tender, "Mum, I got good marks in all subjects this term. Professor Sprout says I'm her best student. You'd… you'd be proud."
But Alice only blinked slowly, gaze unfocused, lips parting as though to form a sound, but nothing came. Frank shuffled past, muttering broken syllables, his shoulders hunched.
Harry's chest tightened. Merlin, Neville has been doing this his whole life, he thought. Coming here, speaking to them, loving them, and getting nothing back. How much strength must it take to keep doing this?
When Neville finally fell silent, shoulders slumping, Harry stepped closer. "Neville," he said gently, "do you want to be here when I try?"
Neville lifted his head sharply, eyes wide. "Of course I do. I—I've dreamed of this moment forever…"
Harry nodded. "Then listen. When I enter your mother's mind, I need absolute focus. I don't want anyone near me while I do it. You and your father will have to stay on the other side of the room."
Neville hesitated, then grabbed Frank by the arm and led him toward the far corner. Frank stumbled along, his empty gaze locked on nothing.
Harry lifted his hands. The Force flowed from him in a steady current. Invisible energy spread through the room, humming faintly, and an unseen barrier shimmered into existence between them. It was transparent, intangible to the eye—but Neville could feel it. He reached out, and his hand bounced off as though against glass.
Harry reinforced it with a powerful locking charm at the door, the wards glowing faintly before sinking into the wood. "No one comes in," he muttered.
Harry turned back to Alice Longbottom. She had paused mid-step, her face turned toward him though her eyes stared straight past. Her hands twitched faintly at her sides, her mouth slack.
"Mrs. Longbottom," Harry whispered, his voice quiet but steady. "I'm going to try to reach you. Just… hold on."
Her eyes didn't flicker.
Harry exhaled, drawing on the dark and the light within him, letting the Force wash through his body. He stepped closer, meeting her empty gaze, and placed his hand gently on her temple.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Harry's vision blurred, the world tilting, and he let himself fall inward—into her mind.
The room vanished.
Harry stood in a vast, endless gray mist. Cold, heavy silence pressed down on him. There was no light, no warmth, only fog stretching into nothing. His heart pounded. This is what's left of her mind, he realized. Broken. Hollowed.
"Mrs. Longbottom?" he called. His voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the fog.
No answer.
He pushed deeper, his boots crunching against an invisible ground. The Force guided him, threads of energy pulling him through the void.
A shape appeared ahead. A figure, curled into a ball, arms wrapped around herself. Alice. Her face pale, eyes closed tight as though hiding from monsters only she could see.
Harry stepped closer. "Mrs. Longbottom," he said softly. "Alice."
She flinched, her shoulders tightening, but she didn't raise her head.
"I'm Neville's friend," Harry continued. "Your son. He talks to you every time he comes here. He loves you."
At the word Neville, her body shuddered faintly.
Harry knelt down, his hand hovering near her shoulder. "He's here, right now. Just behind me. He misses you more than anything. He wants you back."
Alice's lips moved. Broken, jagged whispers escaped. "No… no more… make it stop…"
Harry's chest clenched. He felt it—the lingering shadow of the Cruciatus curse, a wound carved so deep into her mind it bled forever. Rage flared within him, dark and hot, but he forced it down. Not anger. Not here.
Instead, he reached with the Force, weaving threads of calm, of light. He extended his hand and gently touched her shoulder.
"Mrs. Longbottom," he whispered, pouring steady warmth into his voice, "it's over. They can't hurt you anymore. You're safe. Neville's safe. Frank's safe. No more torture."
Her eyes flickered open just slightly. Blue, but clouded with terror. "Safe…?"
"Yes." Harry leaned forward, willing her to believe. "You're safe. I swear it."
Alice's mindscape was a storm of fragments. Memories floated around like broken glass in fog—her first steps tangled with the memory of her wedding, the day she joined the Auror office overlapping with Neville's birth.
She clutched her head, staggering. "It's… it's all wrong… I can't… I don't remember…"
Harry steadied her by the shoulders. "It's not gone. None of it's gone. It's just scrambled."
She blinked at him, her expression confused and childlike. "Who… who are you?"
Harry hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Think of me as a guide. I'm here to help you remember. To put things back where they belong."
He raised his hand, channeling the Force into threads of clarity, and began pulling at the swirling fragments. Images of Alice as a toddler drifted away from the wedding day, sliding backward like beads on a string.
"You see?" Harry gestured. "Your childhood goes here. Your school days… here. You just need to put them in order."
Alice's brow furrowed. Her hands twitched uncertainly, then she reached toward a fragment—a young girl laughing as she received her first wand. She placed it gently beside another shard, where Frank clumsily kissed her in the Gryffindor common room.
A sob caught in her throat. "Frank…"
"Yes," Harry encouraged. "That's right. Piece by piece. You can do this."
Time lost all meaning. Harry walked beside Alice for what felt like years, guiding her through the wreckage of her own mind.
He helped her separate battle memories—duels with Death Eaters, missions for the Aurors—from gentle moments: holding baby Neville, baking with her mother, dancing with Frank at their wedding.
The Force was his compass, tugging each memory into alignment. And though it was draining, it felt right. This is what I'm meant to do, Harry thought. Heal what others broke.
Sometimes Alice grew so tired she collapsed in tears. Harry knelt beside her, steady, repeating her son's name. "Neville is waiting for you. He's grown now. He needs you."
Other times, the memories themselves lashed out. Shards of the Cruciatus curse slammed into them like knives, making Alice scream. Harry fought them off, burning them with his black lightning until the shadows crumbled.
As they worked, Harry stumbled across memories that weren't Alice's alone.
In the Gryffindor common room, James Potter threw an arm around Frank's shoulders, laughing, while Lily and Alice studied together. Sirius burst in, waving a contraband bottle of firewhisky, Remus trailing behind with an exasperated look.
Harry froze, his throat tight. Dad. Mum.
Alice glanced at him and frowned. "James? You're—James, you look so young…"
Harry swallowed hard. "I'm not James. But… thank you."
She shook her head, whispering, "You sound just like him…"
Tears burned Harry's eyes. In those fragments he saw his parents alive again, laughing, dancing, teasing their friends. Alice's memories gave him what no photo could: moments.
At last, the fog thinned. The fragments aligned into a continuous flow: childhood to Hogwarts, Hogwarts to marriage, marriage to Neville.
Alice stood straighter now, her eyes clear for the first time. She looked down at herself, then at Harry.
"It's… done?" she asked.
Harry nodded. "You're ready. When you wake up, you won't see a baby Neville anymore. He's nearly grown. He's been waiting for you."
Her lips trembled. "My boy… my sweet boy…"
Harry stepped back, letting the Force guide him out. "Go to him, Alice. It's time."
Neville had been holding his father's hand the whole time, watching anxiously. Harry's body was rigid, his eyes closed, sweat dripping down his forehead. Hours ticked by, though inside he had lived years.
Then Harry gasped, stumbling back, his hand falling from Alice's temple. The invisible barrier dissolved with a hiss.
Alice Longbottom blinked. Slowly, she turned her head toward Neville.
Neville froze, hardly daring to breathe. "Mum?"
Alice's lips curved into a trembling smile. "Neville… my boy."
Neville let out a sob that shook the room and ran to her, throwing his arms around her. This time—this time—she hugged him back.
Alice clung to Neville as though afraid he would vanish if she let go. She kissed his cheeks, his forehead, even his hands, whispering,
"My boy, my beautiful boy… how you've grown. Merlin, you're nearly as tall as Frank when he was your age!"
Neville sobbed and hugged her tighter. "Mum… I thought I'd never hear you say my name."
Her eyes overflowed with tears. "I will never forget it again. Never."
Then her gaze drifted past Neville and landed on Harry. She paused, blinking. Her brow furrowed as though piecing together a puzzle.
"You…" she whispered, tilting her head. "You look like James Potter."
Harry gave a faint smile. "Of course I do. Because I am his son."
Alice gasped softly. She took a shaky step closer, studying him, her lips trembling as the memories clicked into place.
"Harry…" she breathed. "I… I remember holding you. Lily and I—we were so close. Best friends. Even though Marlene McKinnon was named your godmother, Lily… she always said you were my little lion too."
Her hands fluttered as though she wanted to touch him, to confirm he was real.
Harry swallowed hard, emotion tightening his chest. "I don't remember that. But… thank you. For being there for her."
Alice wiped her tears quickly and turned, glancing at her husband who still wandered blank-eyed, muttering nonsense. "Now, let's try heal your father."
Alice gently kissed Neville's hair and guided him back toward the sofa. "Stay with me, love. We'll wait here while he works."
Harry nodded firmly. "I'll need complete focus. No interruptions."
He lifted his hand, and once again the Force rippled outward. An invisible barrier split the room, soundproof and unyielding. Neville and Alice, though only a few feet away, were sealed off.
Alice squeezed Neville's hand. "We'll wait. Your father will come back to us, you'll see."
Neville stared at Harry with wide eyes, a mixture of fear and hope.
Harry approached Frank Longbottom. The man's eyes were vacant, his gait jerky and unnatural, as though every step was guided by strings.
Harry placed his hand against Frank's temple. This will be harder, he thought grimly. But I have to try.
Closing his eyes, Harry let the Force surge through him. Darkness and static filled his vision until at last—he entered Frank's broken mindscape.
Frank's mind was worse than Alice's. Memories were not merely shuffled but torn, many burned with the lingering echo of the Cruciatus curse. A battlefield stretched endlessly, smoke and screams distorting everything.
Harry braced himself. "All right, Mr. Longbottom. Let's bring you home."
He stepped forward into the storm of broken fragments, ready to begin again—years of work compressed into mere hours outside.
The young healer who had first spotted Harry and Neville rushed down the corridor, skirts swishing, her voice carrying.
"I'm telling you! They're in there! Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom!"
At first, the other healers exchanged doubtful glances. One older wizard with greying hair frowned.
"Impossible. Both boys should be at Hogwarts. Classes don't stop just because they fancy a stroll."
But when the young healer added breathlessly, "They went into the Longbottom room!" the blood drained from the faces around her.
Within minutes, a half-dozen healers gathered at the door. Wands raised, they muttered unlocking charms in unison.
"Alohomora!"
"Finite Incantatem!"
"Specialis Revelio!"
Each spell fizzled against the invisible barrier. The door didn't so much as shiver.
Another healer, sweat beading on his forehead, tried a blasting curse. The blue light splashed harmlessly against the wood, leaving not a scratch.
"Merlin's beard…" one of them whispered. "That's no ordinary lock."
And then they all felt it—an oppressive pressure, as though the very air around the room was thick with raw magic.
The healers began whispering among themselves, panic evident.
"If those are the children… they're unleashing something dangerous."
"And if they're imposters?"
"Then who in Morgana's name are we dealing with?"
One healer wrung her hands. "It's the Longbottoms in there. If anything happens to them…"
Another finished grimly, "The wrath of their family will destroy this hospital."
With no options left, they sent for the Aurors. Within the hour, the ward filled with plum-cloaked figures. Among them was John Dawlish, face grim, and young Nymphadora Tonks, her hair flashing anxious shades of violet.
Dawlish barked orders. "On my mark—hit it with everything you've got!"
Spells bombarded the door for half an hour. Stunning bolts, curse-breakers, even a controlled fire spell. The barrier shimmered faintly, unbothered.
Tonks lowered her wand, panting. "It's like the wall ain't even there. Whoever cast that—honestly, Dawlish, it's way above our pay grade."
Dawlish scowled, but he couldn't deny it.
One Auror was dispatched to Hogwarts to confirm. Hours later, he returned, cloak singed and mud on his boots.
"Well?" Dawlish demanded.
The man shook his head. "It's Sunday. Students scattered everywhere. Potter and Longbottom weren't spotted at the castle. Could be there, could not. The professors wouldn't say much."
Tonks swore under her breath. "So we might be facing real students… or imposters."
"Either way," Dawlish growled, "we still can't get through this bloody door."
At last, someone muttered, "We'll have to call her."
The room went silent. No one wanted to say the name. But everyone knew who they meant.
Within the hour, Augusta Longbottom arrived, hat bristling with vulture feathers, eyes sharp as daggers. Behind her strode Cornilus Fudge, stiff and scared but still clinging to authority.
Augusta's gaze swept the gathered healers and Aurors. "Move aside," she snapped.
Dawlish stiffened. "Madam Longbottom, the situation is delicate—"
She cut him off. "Delicate? My son and daughter-in-law are in that room. And you lot are standing here wringing your hands."
One healer stammered, "The door won't open, Madam. We've tried every unlocking charm—"
"Then stop wasting time with the door," Augusta thundered. She turned toward the wall, her voice cold as ice. "If you want entrance, you break the wall."
Author's Note:
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Beuwulf