Neville felt like a feather, drifting lightly into a strange world.
He stood inside a classroom split down the middle, the floor was jagged and broken, yet a dozen figures who looked like students seemed not to notice and were busily brewing potions.
They appeared strange as well. Most of their faces were blurred, as if they had no features at all. A few who did have faces looked oddly mismatched, their features seemingly patched together without harmony.
Above his head was not a classroom ceiling, but a desolate expanse of darkness. Just as his grandmother had told him, broken fragments of memory glittered within the void like scattered stars.
In the upper left, Neville saw the wedding of the young Longbottom couple; to the right, a scene of Frank Longbottom learning to walk with his mother's support; when Neville stepped to the classroom's edge, he looked down to see his younger parents in the middle of a heated quarrel.
Tears welled in his eyes before he realized it.
"Alice, after stirring three times clockwise, you should stir twice counterclockwise!"
A man's gentle voice said, "You've stirred two extra times—see how your potion's color has gone a little too dark?"
"Sorry, Professor."
The girl with braided pigtails stuck out her tongue and quickly apologized.
Neville was startled to notice her face wasn't very clear either—he could only vaguely make out her expressions.
Hearing their voices, a boy standing at the front turned his head and smiled warmly at the girl.
He wasn't particularly handsome—just decent features, a calm demeanor, and deep brown eyes that brimmed with laughter and gentleness.
And yet, he seemed to glow, and in an instant the whole classroom brightened around him.
Neville suddenly understood. This was his mother's memory—even if she had forgotten her own face, she had not forgotten the smile his father wore at that moment.
His heart ached with sadness, but at the same time, a wave of warmth and happiness spread through him. He couldn't bear to disturb the memory. He simply stood there and silently watched.
Then suddenly, the students in the classroom vanished.
A pale-skinned woman with a cascade of black hair strode inside, and her eyes rolled wildly as she brandished her wand viciously:
"Crucio! Crucio!"
The curse struck Frank. The young teenage boy instantly twisted into the form of a man in his twenties. He fell to the floor, screaming in agony.
"No—let him go—let him go—!"
Alice grew older in a flash as well. She threw herself forward to protect her husband, only to be hit by a Cruciatus Curse herself!
The warm, bright classroom turned dark and icy in an instant. Among the shattered fragments of memory, the woman's venomous voice rang out with cutting clarity—
"You should have died! Why are you still alive?"
"Why has the Dark Lord vanished? What trick did you use?"
"Where is my master?"
"Answer me!"
Bellatrix tortured them over and over again—sometimes shrieking in rage, sometimes cackling with manic delight at their pain.
"Stop! Stop! Leave them alone!"
Neville hurled himself at the phantom of Bellatrix and his thin frame erupted with surprising strength as he stood like a wall before his parents.
"Get away!"
Neville roared with fury, his voice echoing through the darkness.
But the curse's glow passed straight through his body, and continued to torment Frank and Alice behind him. Neville flailed his arms uselessly, casting spells in a desperate attempt to drive away the loathsome Death Eater, but nothing worked.
A crushing realization struck him—this was only a memory, already sealed in the past, impossible to change.
Rage surged through his veins like molten lava.
Hearing his parents' screams, Neville's hands began trembling uncontrollably. His mind went blank, and only a single thought rang clear.
He raised his wand, his voice choked with hatred: "Crucio!"
Just like the earlier Disarming Charm, his feeble Cruciatus Curse passed harmlessly through Bellatrix's body.
But at that moment, the woman suddenly turned her head. Those wild, frenzied eyes locked directly onto Neville's, as if piercing through time itself to truly see him.
Neville froze with terror. Gasping for breath, he forced himself to stand his ground without retreating.
He didn't notice that Alice, still collapsed on the floor, suddenly lifted her head. Her vacant eyes turned toward where Neville stood, though they seemed unfocused, as if she couldn't truly see.
Bellatrix sneered. "Not willing to talk? Then if I torture this little brat, will you still say nothing?"
Her wand swung toward Neville.
At that instant, a sharp, piercing cry rang out. Neville flinched and turned to see a baby lying in a cradle, kicking the air furiously and wailing with heart-wrenching cries.
"Leave him alone!" Frank bellowed madly. "We don't know anything! The Dark Lord has never been here!"
Neville realized then—Bellatrix hadn't actually seen him at all. Her gaze was fixed on him as a baby.
Just as the woman prepared to cast her curse, the swaddled infant suddenly erupted with a surge of raw magic—
The entire space quaked violently. The baby's cries seemed to transform into tangible shockwaves, blasting the Death Eaters backwards and slamming them into the walls. Dust and old bricks showered down and cracks spidered across the stone.
The infant who had unleashed such power fell unconscious the next second, face pale as paper, his breathing so faint it was almost gone.
The Longbottoms let out a beast-like wail and dragged their broken, curse-ravaged bodies as they desperately crawled toward their child.
Just as they scooped him into their arms, the bloodied Death Eaters staggered back to their feet, snarling with rage:
"I'll kill you! Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"
Multiple Cruciatus Curses struck the couple. This time, they didn't even scream—the light in their eyes shattered silently into emptiness.
No one knew how much time passed before the door was blasted apart in a burst of red light. Figures stormed into the room like thunder, instantly subduing the exhausted Death Eaters.
"Frank! Alice! Wake up! You're safe now, it's over… Frank! Alice…"
The voice, once a shout of excitement, gradually turned into a sob.
"Are they still alive?"
"They're alive, but…"
Frank's back had already been scorched black by the power of the curses. He lay on the ground staring at the ceiling, and his once-gentle eyes were now like glass marbles that no longer moved.
Alice, meanwhile, stood up with a vacant gaze. She reached out as though stroking the air, murmuring: "It's all right… it's all right… baby… be good… nothing will happen to you…"
"They… they seem to already be…"
One of the rescuers dropped to his knees and slammed a fist into the ground as tears dripped down his scarred face.
"Thank goodness the child is still alive. That must be what Frank and Alice wanted most."
Another carefully lifted the unconscious Neville and frowned with worry: "But… he may have seen his parents being tortured…"
"We can't just leave it like this. Such a memory could crush the child. It would be best if he forgot."
"But… to use a Memory Charm on one so young…"
"The Longbottoms would want nothing more than for their son to grow up happy. Nothing else matters."
"Let Augusta Longbottom decide… she's the only one qualified to make that choice for them…"
The discussion faded into a blur, but Neville, standing off to the side, was already sobbing uncontrollably.
Only he knew—his mother wasn't stroking empty air just now. She was stroking his face.
At that moment, he couldn't tell if this was memory or illusion. Was it mere coincidence that his mother's hand in the past happened to line up with his current position? Or had Alice Longbottom, in her fractured spirit, finally broken through for an instant of clarity—just long enough to see him?
Neville couldn't tell the truth from falsehood. He wept wretchedly, clutching that frail hand in both of his, feeling the faint warmth at her fingertips as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Crying again, like this?"
Alice's voice carried both helplessness and tenderness. "Is it because you're hungry? Or did you fall?"
Neville shook his head, choking on words he couldn't speak.
"I see… it's because Gran wouldn't let you play with the sparkler, isn't it? She only does it for your own good. That thing is a little too dangerous for you…"
But the boy just wept harder, unable to answer. He opened his mouth, wanting to comfort her, but all that came out was a heart-wrenching cry as his body trembled uncontrollably.
Alice panicked, circling around him anxiously: "Then is it your body? Does your stomach hurt? Somewhere else? No fever…"
She tiptoed, pressing her forehead against Neville's to check his temperature.
Suddenly, her words stopped.
She leaned back slightly and stared at Neville in confusion. Her expression was still dazed, but in her clouded eyes flickered a trace of puzzlement.
"You… you…"
Her gaze wandered restlessly over Neville's face—hesitant, uncertain, almost fearful.
"You're Neville?" Alice murmured. "How… How did you grow so tall?"
…
The day before the new semester began, Wade saw Neville again—the Longbottom boy had just returned to Hogwarts, and came straight to find Wade to thank him.
"My mum can recognize me now! She can talk to me for several sentences at a time, and she even knows I'm in Gryffindor, already in my fourth year!"
Neville said excitedly: "With her around, my dad has also started slowly recovering. Just yesterday, he told me he was sorry he couldn't come with me to school."
"They've forgotten so many things… even how to use most spells. But they haven't forgotten me…"
His expression was caught between laughter and tears—joy and sorrow mingling together, too complex to describe.
"As long as their minds have begun to wake, full recovery is just a matter of time." Wade patted his shoulder and said, "Your parents are both very strong. They'll definitely overcome the pain of the past."
Neville wiped at the corners of his eyes and nodded firmly: "I believe they can! Actually, I wanted to stay at St. Mungo's to help, but Gran insisted I come back to school. My mum and dad said the same."
He had never imagined there would come a day when he could say the words "Mum and Dad" so openly.
"Isn't that a good thing?" Wade smiled.
"Because you'll have plenty of time with them from now on, you don't need to rush it at the moment. And if you study magic well, you'll be able to become the support your parents and grandmother can rely on in the future."
"Support, huh… I don't know if I can do that…"
Neville rubbed his head uncertainly, then hesitated before asking: "Wade, do you know about Bellatrix? For criminals like her, sentenced to life in Azkaban, there shouldn't be any chance of them ever getting out, right?"
Wade replied cautiously: "Normally, no."
A sudden thought flashed through Neville's mind, and he pressed: "But what if it's not normal?"
"For example… if someone tried to break them out." Wade jokingly said, "For some people, prisons are like treasure houses—they see every inmate as a talent.
Even if they were locked at the bottom of the sea, someone would try to bring them out and turn them into allies, regardless of whether it would throw the world into chaos."
Neville was never good at telling the difference between jokes and serious words. If it had been someone else, they'd probably think Wade was joking. But Neville, worried, asked: "So… people might actually want to break someone like Lestrange out of prison?"
Wade gave him a long, deep look. "Rather than worry about that, you'd better focus on making yourself stronger. That way, if the day really comes, you won't be the one who needs to be afraid… they will."
Neville's body jolted, his eyes widening slightly.
Because of his parents' tragedy, and his own clumsiness and weakness, Neville had long been shrouded in pessimism. He was sad, self-pitying, always lamenting that misfortune followed him. Even when mocked and bullied by Slytherins, he endured it in silence.
Becoming friends with Wade and the others had changed him a lot, but Neville knew that deep down, he was still that little boy shackled by fear and weakness, unable to be as "cool" as his friends.
He had never imagined… that he could take the power of vengeance into his own hands!
That thought struck him like lightning, splitting apart the heavy clouds that had long pressed on his heart. Slowly, he lowered his head and stared at his scarred palms.
"I'm always clumsy, forgetful, easy to get hurt. I can't do anything right. I don't even dare speak loudly to people…"
Neville's voice was quiet. "But even so… even so…"
In his mind, Bellatrix's face appeared—twisted with malice, madness, and hatred.
And in his ears, his parents' screams of unbearable agony still echoed.
The others had been right… such memories could truly change him forever.
"Even so…" Neville said slowly, with a newfound determination in his voice, "I will do it! Bellatrix… she's the one who should tremble, the one who should feel fear!"
"And Barty Crouch Jr., Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange…"
"If one day they escape Azkaban, I hope… I can be the one to end it, with my own hands!"
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