We were just passing the outer recovery wing of St. Mungo's when I saw him. A boy about my age—maybe ten, eleven tops—stood in a pale sweater and corduroy trousers, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes downcast as he looked over two hospital beds.
A man and a woman lay there both still eyes open but not here. I stopped. Aster glanced back. "Callum?" "Wait," I said, already walking toward the boy. "Just a minute." The closer I got, the more certain I became. It was Neville Longbottom.
His posture was slightly more closed than I remembered from the films. Thinner, too. But the round face, sad eyes, and nervous energy gave him away. He looked up as I approached. "Hi," I said gently, keeping my voice light. "I'm Callum. Callum Dawn."
He hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Neville. Neville Longbottom." His voice was soft. Worn. I glanced to the beds. "Your parents I asked?" He nodded again. "Yeah… they're…" He didn't finish the sentence but he didn't have to I knew.
Frank and Alice Longbottom. Tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange with the Cruciatus Curse. Left in this place to be remembered by their stillness. I saw him try to hold his father's hand but Frank jolted violently, arms flaring. Nurses rushed in—but I moved first I raised my palm, white flame blooming from my hand in soft ripples of warmth and calm.
Neville gasped "Don't burn him!" But as the flame touched Frank's chest, the trembling stopped and the tension ebbed and he slept peacefully. Like something in him had finally unclenched. The room went silent and a nurse blinked, stunned.
Aster stepped closer. "Callum… what did you do?" I exhaled slowly, not withdrawing the flame yet. "I didn't heal him. I just… calmed the pain. He's sleeping. That's all." One nurse touched Frank's wrist, checking his pulse. "He's right," she whispered. "Stable. Deep sleep."
Neville looked at me with wide, glassy eyes "You… you can do that?" "I think I can do more." I turned to him fully. "I think I might be able to help your parents." Neville just stared. Hope sparked across his face like a flint catching flame. "…Are you sure?"
His voice cracked—quiet and desperate and full of everything no child should have to carry alone.
Before I could answer, an older voice cut through the moment like a cold wind. "You had better not be lying to my grandson."
I turned.
A tall woman stood behind us—wearing a high-collared emerald cloak, with sharp cheekbones and hawk-like eyes. Elegant, regal, proud. Augusta Longbottom. She looked at me like I was a riddle she didn't like the sound of.
"You offer him hope too easily, boy." Aster stepped beside me now, her voice cool and clear. "Callum. This is not like soothing pain or fixing a fractured spirit. This is mind damage—deep and cruel. Your flame might help… or it could make it worse."
I looked up at her. My voice didn't shake. "Trust me." She stared at me—longer than a moment. Then… she gave a slow nod. The head nurse approached. She had soft, kind features despite her age. Long red hair pinned up, and emerald-green eyes that sparkled with a lifetime of seeing pain.
"I'm Head Healer Meredith Vance," she said, eyes narrowing slightly. "And you are…?" "Callum Dawn." She raised an eyebrow. "Now I'm curious how a boy as young as you look thinks he can heal what other experts can't."
Then her tone sobered. "You say you can help these patients." "I want to try. But I need privacy. No distractions. Just me." Augusta folded her arms. "You'll have it but if you do anything to hurt them you will take responsibility." I nodded.
Aster said nothing—but placed a hand on my shoulder. Firm. Trusting. Healer Vance gave a tight nod. "Then we'll clear the room. But make no mistake, young man these are my patient and I care about them." I nodded again. "I understand."
And as they cleared the room, I stood alone between two beds and the White Flame glowing softly in my hand. The room had gone quiet. The curtains drawn, the beds cleaned, the wards sealed. Everyone was gone except me and the two people the world forgot.
Alice and Frank Longbottom. They laid there—still, quiet, eyes open but lifeless. Like glass dolls waiting for someone to wind the soul back into them. I approached Alice first. Her face was softer than Frank's. Tired, worn… but delicate. Like something once bright had been dulled by time and pain.
I reached out and summoned the White Flame in my hand. It pulsed gently—but something in my instincts said it's not enough so I dug deeper. I Summoned the Gold Flame—the empowering essence create a beautiful fire that felt warm and peaceful. Then slowly I called forth the Black Flame like last time it was controlled and steady. Like a void wrapped in silk.
As I held them together, the three began to spiral, merging slowly. First light, then weight and then focus. A new flame was born—tricolor and alive. Black formed the outer edges like armor, pulsing with silent power. White formed the middle ring, glowing with radiant calm. Gold sat at the core, steady and warm like a sun encased in shadow It felt right like I'd touched something primordial.
"Let's do this," I whispered I placed the flame against Alice's chest. It didn't burn It melted into her as I fed it my mana and focus. Then I reached out with Legilimency, letting it ride the flame—piercing into her mind with a whisper instead of a knock.
I found myself in darkness floating until I hit the ground with a quiet thud. Alice's mindscape was shattered. Cracks in the air. Ground made of broken memories—like shattered mirrors frozen mid-fall. Images flickered across the surfaces: baby Neville, a young Frank, wedding days, dancing under enchanted lights… each moment glitching or cracked in half.
Then I saw her a glowing white figure, curled into a fetal position near a mountain of fractured memories. Her form was cracked—as if light were leaking through the wounds. The longer I stared, the more I realized…
This wasn't a ghost It was her Ego, her consciousness crumpled and buried under trauma and time. I stepped closer and summoned the Tri-Flame into my hand again—its warmth humming through the void like a heartbeat.
I placed it on the nearest pile of memories. The Black Flame burned away the sharp edge of torment—devouring fear, pain, guilt, and loss like a shadow eating fog. The White Flame filled the gap—mending cracks, knitting emotion back into order. The Gold Flame settled the structure—binding, reinforcing. Piece by piece, I stitched her memories back together.
One scene after another reassembled like puzzle pieces—Neville's birth, late-night lullabies, laughter in the kitchen. Some shards stayed broken. But more and more returned and as the memory-space healed, the white figure uncurled slowly. Stood.
Hair formed first then a chest, hips, face. Still incomplete, still fragile but feminine features were showing. She looked at me—no eyes, just light—and gave a small nod. I pulled back, withdrawing gently. The Tri-Flame faded from her chest.
And when I opened my eyes, Alice was still… but different. Her breath was even. Her skin… less pale. No healing spells had been cast—yet something inside her had shifted.
I turned to Frank Longbottom. His body was more tense, his mind… heavier. I could feel the weight of trauma pulsing off him like heat from broken stone. I pressed the Tri-Flame into his chest and let Legilimency pull me under again. What I saw was worse much worse.
Frank's mind was a storm of shattered silence where Alice's was fragmented, his was ruined. The ground wasn't just cracked—it was caved in. Whole sections of memory floated in a slow, disjointed fall through an endless abyss. The air shimmered with invisible screaming. Pieces of broken time spun wildly, some too jagged to even approach.
I stepped in carefully, heart heavy. In the center of it all laid his Ego or what was left of it. The white figure was twisted, fractured worse than Alice's. One arm had broken clean off and lay beside him like forgotten debris. His torso looked split at the ribs. His head was bowed low into the ground like he was waiting to die.
My breath caught poor Frank... You got the worst of it, didn't you? I closed my eyes, calling everything I had left into my center. My remaining mana and the flame. The Tri-Flame burst to life in my hand one last time—brighter than before. I slammed it into the core of Frank's broken self—and the pulse that exploded from it shook the mindscape like a divine heartbeat.
Memory shards lifted and images reformed cracks sealed. Not all at once—but faster than I had with Alice like Frank's soul wanted to be put back together still, the strain hit hard. My vision blurred my limbs felt like lead I could only hold on for a few more seconds and then it all went black.
I woke up sweating, gasping for air and my fingers trembled and the world around me was spinning. The System pinged rapidly in my mind—at least half a dozen messages—but the words blurred too much to focus on.
Aster was at my side in seconds, her hand pressing to my forehead. "Callum?!"
I tried to speak. "I… I didn't finish… but I think…" "You don't have to do everything alone, little one." Her arms caught me as my body gave out, collapsing into her lap. Her voice was calm—but her embrace was iron.
Across the room, Neville stared at the beds. His parents were still. Breathing. But still. He reached out slowly, uncertain, and took his father's hand then his mother's. Their hands didn't twitch Neville's shoulders began to fall.
He lowered his head. His forehead rested on the bedsheet. His shoulders trembled once—then stilled.
A warm, weathered hand rested on his back. The head nurse.
Then—
A sound.
A word.
So quiet it almost wasn't there.
"…Neville…" His eyes snapped open and his head shot up. Frank Longbottom stirred—his chest rising sharply.
"…Neville…" he said again, slower this time. Each syllable like dragging stone through mud. "M-my… boy… Look at you…"
Neville froze. Then shook. Then broke. Tears streamed down his face as he gasped. "Dad?!" "…Yes…" Frank rasped. "Yes, son…"
Then another voice—softer, clearer. "My baby…" Neville turned. Alice was staring at him, her eyes wet, her mouth trembling.
"I see you…"
"Mum…"
The boy jumped up to them both, arms out, and collapsed into their embrace. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't perfect. But they were holding him back. Struggling to sit, arms weak—but wrapping around him like they'd done a hundred times in the memories I'd seen.
Neville sobbed between them. "I missed you—I missed you so much—" Frank placed a trembling hand on his son's head.
"I know, my boy… I know…"
Across the room, the head nurse whispered, hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes.
Aster stared at me.
Still in her lap, pale and unconscious. Mana almost drained. "…Who is this boy?" the nurse asked softly.
Aster looked at her. Proudly"…My nephew."
She turned back to me. "The next Head of the Great House of Tesfaye."