Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 203 St. Mungo's Medical Consultation

"Has Nave been having trouble sleeping these past few days?"

“Yes, Hermione, you don’t know, he thinks about Professor Levent’s potion all the time. Several times I got up to go to the bathroom at night and saw him leaning against the headboard with his eyes open. Sigh…”

"He's listless when he doesn't sleep well, and he's absent-minded all day. Professor Sprout asked him to help out in the greenhouse yesterday, and he almost fell into the manure pile. Plus, there are those annoying relatives of the Longbottom family who write to him every day to advise him on course selection."

"Speaking of his relatives, Harry, I suddenly remembered something strange. Neville's grandmother doesn't seem to have written to nag me these past few days. The last letter was sent three days ago."

"Now that you mention it, I remember now."

"why?"

Harry and Ron fell into thought and unconsciously slowed down their movements. Just as they were thinking, they suddenly heard the sound of a wide sleeve whistling through the air behind them.

"Boom..."

Two sharp cracks rang out from their heads. Before the two could gasp or cry out in pain, Snape's calm voice sounded from the side:
"Potter, Weasley, you were distracted and chatting during your detention. Your detention will be extended by two hours."

Harry, wearing protective gloves, looked up at Snape, trying to convey his anger with his eyes, but found it useless; Snape's gaze lingered briefly before shifting away.

"We're not just chatting! We're talking serious business."

"Oh?"

“We’re going to see Headmaster Dumbledore later; Professor Levent’s potion might be helpful for Neville’s parents.”

Snape's tone became even more sarcastic: "If you were smarter than salamanders, you would have noticed that Dumbledore isn't at school either; he hasn't been to the Great Hall for two days."

The three of them stood there, stunned, recalling their meals over the past few days. It seemed that neither the principal nor Professor Levent had attended; according to the timeline, they had been missing for several days.

“Hufflepuff is the founder of Hogwarts, a great healer from a thousand years ago. Do you think you’re the only ones who valued her potions, the only ones who could think of using them to cure the Crucifixion Curse?” Snape scoffed. “Presumption is the greatest folly.”

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise: "You mean, they've already started treatment?"

Snape didn't answer, but snorted and turned away: "Stay in solitary confinement. You're not allowed to leave until you've dealt with all these salamanders!"

The three exchanged glances, winked, and smiled. They weren't annoyed by the extra time spent in confinement; in fact, they found Snape much more agreeable.

……

St. Mungo's Hospital, London.

Simple armchairs surrounded the hospital bed.

The two patients on the bed slept peacefully. The witch was thin and haggard, with dry and white hair like autumn grass, while the male witch was swollen and pale.

The people sitting in the armchairs are all senior therapists.

The vast majority of these healers were graduates of Hogwarts, whose achievements were occasionally published in the newspapers. Each of them wore an elegant green robe with a badge of crossed wands and bones on their chest.

A few non-professionals could only sit on the periphery and listen in. Nearly thirty wizards were crammed into the closed ward of the spell damage department, making it packed to the brim.

Named after the 17th-century wizard Janus Sitch, this ward is located on the fifth floor of the hospital. It has a high ceiling of nearly seven meters and a spacious interior. There is a window in the wall with a heavy iron frame around the glass. A green plant is placed on the wall, and sunlight pours in from outside, adding a touch of life to the room.

The term "non-professionals" specifically refers to figures like Dumbledore and Melvin. They chose to sit in the corner themselves. Although they were potion providers and their magical skills far surpassed those of the healers, they fully respected professionals and did not have the idea of ​​laymen instructing experts in the field of healing spell damage.

The two did not participate in the consultation; they simply sat in a corner and chatted in a voice only the two of them could hear.

“The attending physician, Herbert Spring, I’ve seen that name in the newspaper.”

"Yes, a health advice columnist for The Daily Prophet."

“Jenus Sitch…I think I’ve heard that name before.” Melvin, not participating in the discussion of treatment methods, lowered his voice to chat with Dumbledore. “He sounds familiar. Is he some outstanding healer? Or perhaps the headmaster of St. Mungo’s?”

"You might have seen it while flipping through the Ministry of Magic's case files, or perhaps a tavern owner mentioned it to you," Dumbledore replied calmly. "He once faked his own death, making his wife and daughters believe he was dead. In reality, he had an affair, absconded with the family fortune, and was with the female owner of the Green Dragon Tavern."

"That wizard is a scumbag... then why is this hospital room named after him?"

"Because he is very rich, he is very generous with his donations."

"Another lousy guy who trades Galonnaise for fame."

Melvin was quite moved. The entire St. Mungo's Hospital had six floors. Apart from the shops and tea room on the top floor, each floor had at least a dozen wards, almost all of which were built by these lousy guys using Galleons. It was a worthwhile subject of study in the sociology of wizards.

Dumbledore glanced at him sideways; the young professor seemed to be implying something.

"Quiet." Herbert Spring's voice echoed in the closed ward.

The principal and professors stopped their idle chatter, the other therapists looked solemn, and there was an elderly witch by the bedside, her wrinkled face resolute and hard, her neck stiff as she held onto her last bit of pride, only occasionally glancing at the two patients on the bed with a hint of sadness and pity in her eyes.

"Now, to summarize the consultation results, Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom are heroes of the wizarding world, who unfortunately fell victim to the Death Eaters and lost their minds. For over a decade, St. Mungo's Hospital has never given up, and I believe no healer would abandon hope of saving them." Spring paused briefly, "There are also some generous and kind wizards who have provided us with financial support."

Spring is the vice-principal of St. Mungo's and a newspaper columnist. He has his own unique understanding of managing interpersonal relationships.

Although Mr. Malfoy wasn't present today, he is a major donor, and his Galleons always arrive on time every year. Having received money from others, the treatment and research haven't made much progress. Saying a few good words for him to the Longbottom family is a form of assistance, and it will give him more confidence when fundraising in the future.

"The patients' current symptoms are mainly the aftereffects of the multiple Cruciatus Curses. Led by Bellatrix Lestrange, a dozen Death Eaters repeatedly tortured them. This unbearable pain has distorted their minds and left their souls scarred..."

The two patients lay peacefully in bed, their faces pale and their bodies swollen—symptoms of prolonged confinement in a closed ward. Suffering a major physical or mental shock in a short period, which the body and mind cannot withstand, can lead to amnesia or mental instability. There are many related cases in the Muggle world, even leading to specialized research. Muggles refer to this as acute stress reaction or stress-related mental disorders.

In most cases, however, the symptoms of Muggles can subside within weeks or years. Even if they cannot regain their memories, as long as they recuperate in a stable environment, they can regain their sanity and return to a normal life.

The Longbottoms have been recuperating in St. Mungo for thirteen years, but there has been no sign of improvement. One reason for this is that there is residual foreign magic in their bodies.

The Unforgivable Curse is a spell that touches the soul. The repeated use of the Cruciatus Curse by a dozen Death Eaters was like a slow, agonizing torture of the soul. After the spell was stopped, these foreign magical powers remained hidden in the body like a bone-corroding poison, attaching themselves to the soul and preventing the wounds from healing.

Memory is the foundation of thought. The Longbottoms' past memories were obscured by pain, new memories could not linger, reason was shrouded in a fog, and only instinct occasionally peeked out of their bodies.

Such a deep and complex wound to the soul could not be healed by the tears of the phoenix, nor even by Dumbledore. The appearance of Hufflepuff potions brought a glimmer of hope.

"The potions provided by Hogwarts are very effective, but Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom's conditions are complicated..." Spring concluded. "We can undo the effects of the Crucifixion Curse and allow their minds to store new memories."

“In other words… past memories may not be able to be retrieved,” Augusta Longbottom said in a low voice.

Silence fell over the closed ward. All the wizards present understood that memory is the marker of consciousness. If they could not retrieve their past memories, did not recognize their relatives and family members, and lost their knowledge of the past, would the Longbottoms still be the same Longbottoms?

Hope briefly flashed before Old Lady Longbottom's eyes, but the shadows once again overwhelmed the light of hope, weighing heavily on the old witch.

"No matter how well I recover, it's better than being stuck in a closed ward all day."

Old Lady Longbottom closed her eyes, took a deep breath, the vulture specimen on her pointed wizard hat swayed slightly, and said softly, "Let's devise a detailed treatment plan."

Spring nodded: "First, we need to deal with the residual foreign magic in the two warriors' bodies. This is the most important and difficult step, but with the potions provided by Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Levent, this difficulty has been resolved. Then, we need to soothe the wounds in their souls, dispel the shadows and fog, and get their chaotic minds back to functioning... Finally, we need to deal with the memory problems. The therapists cannot intervene; we can only leave it to you relatives. Talk to the patients more and take them to places they were once familiar with."

Lady Longbottom stood silently to the side, taking notes of the detailed plan. After watching the therapists leave, she came to Dumbledore and Melvin.

It was only then that Melvin got a good look at the old witch's face. She was wearing a green velvet robe, the fabric of which was expensive and the style exquisite, but there were several obvious signs of insect damage on the velvet surface.

This ancient pure-blood family is no longer as glorious as it was a hundred years ago. There are hardly any people left in this old witch's family. Her son and daughter-in-law are seriously ill in bed, and her grandson is young and needs time to grow up. The huge reputation of Longbottom weighs on her alone, making her teeter on the brink of collapse, but she dares not bend over.

"Thank you again, Principal, Professor." Old Mrs. Longbottom stood before us, her face gaunt but sincere.

Melvin nodded in acknowledgment but did not speak.

“What we should have done…” Dumbledore sighed, “Things happened so suddenly back then, no one was prepared. If I had informed Frank and Alice sooner, they…”

"It's not your fault, it's all those damned Death Eaters' fault!"

"I still can't get over it," said Mrs. Longbottom sternly. Twelve years later, she still couldn't let it go.

Melvin saw the vulture specimen on her hat swaying constantly, and a deep-seated hatred emanated from the old witch's trembling brim. He sighed as well.

Frank and Alice were not captured by the Death Eaters at the same time. Instead, the Death Eaters first raided Frank, who was on a mission, and found that they could not extract any information from him. Then they managed to capture Alice.

Bellatrix knew of their love and tried to exploit it. No punishment is more cruel than watching your beloved suffer, but they underestimated the Auror couple. Even as they both went insane, neither revealed any information nor begged for mercy.

The ward fell silent. Melvin heard a commotion in the hallway outside, and one of the voices sounded somewhat familiar. A thought struck him:
"Headmaster, Mrs. Longbottom, you two talk, I'll go outside and take a look..."

This closed ward was located on the fifth floor. There were originally several other patients there, all of whom had suffered mental breakdowns due to the curse. After Dumbledore communicated with the hospital, the consultation was confirmed, and the other patients were temporarily transferred to other wards, but remained on the same floor.

Melvin turned left as he left the house and, sure enough, saw that familiar figure. He was still wearing his magnificent crimson robe, still smiling, with blond hair, blue eyes, and dazzling white teeth, only now his hair and robes were slightly disheveled.

"Gilderoy Lockhart."

"you know me?"

The man's face drew closer, his smile widening. "You've come to ask for my autograph, haven't you?"

Before Melvin could answer, he immediately pulled a quill from his pocket, pinched the broken end, and wrote his name on the scraps of paper. His handwriting was crooked and messy, like that of a child who had never been to school.

Melvin observed his eyes; the cunning of the past was gone, replaced only by an almost childlike naiveté.

"Gidero, you're running around again!"

A healer witch rushed over and, seeing a stranger nearby, quickly apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t keep an eye on him. He’s more mischievous than a two-year-old now. He ran out while I turned around to prepare the medicine.”

“I didn’t run around!” Lockhart muttered in dissatisfaction. “I was signing autographs for him.”

"A signature?" The therapist looked at him suspiciously. "Sir, do you know each other?"

Melvin nodded and smiled: "We worked together for a period of time."

“That’s wonderful! No one has ever visited him before! Come in quickly, his room is this way…” The therapist warmly led him into the room.

Melvin did not refuse, and during his conversation with the witch, he learned about Lockhart's recent situation.

The Ministry of Magic did not publicly try Lockhart's memory theft case, but a series of reports in the Daily Prophet revealed the verdict. Lockhart was unmarried and had few immediate family members. Faced with hefty fines and compensation, his other relatives were unwilling to take on the trouble.

Because Lockhart was unable to care for himself, he could not be detained by Azkaban and thus remained at St. Mungo's Hospital.

The dementia caused by the Forgetfulness Curse was not as severe as that of the Longbottoms. Although Lockhart had little memory left in his head, he retained some basic cognitive abilities.

Fearing that external information would exacerbate his condition, the therapist screened the incoming letters, temporarily withholding those containing insults and criticisms, and only forwarding letters from some brainless die-hard fans. It was these letters that made Gilderoy believe he was a popular star and went around giving out autographs.

(End of this chapter)