Wayne had long been curious whether the Cruciatus Curse affected the mind or the soul.
In the entire wizarding world, no living souls had endured more Cruciatus curses than the Longbottoms.
They truly were ideal subjects for study.
At his words, Dumbledore—mid-anecdote—paused momentarily before shaking his head.
"Wayne, the Longbottoms' condition is profoundly complex. Though Ho-Oh possesses great power—even capable of resurrecting the dead—it can only sustain their lives, not restore their minds."
"The situation is already this dreadful, so there's nothing to lose by trying, is there?" Wayne examined the Longbottoms, who showed no reaction to their conversation.
"This..." Dumbledore hesitated. "I can't make this decision. Could you wait a moment while I fetch someone who can?"
"Please do."
Dumbledore nodded and Apparated away.
He returned shortly, accompanied by an elderly woman in a long dress carrying a bright red shopping bag.
Most astonishing of all was the hat adorned with a stuffed vulture perched atop her head.
The old woman's stern expression reminded Wayne irresistibly of Professor McGonagall. As he studied her, she scrutinised him in return.
Their eyes met, and the woman gave a slight nod.
"Good day, Mr Lawrence. I am Augusta Longbottom."
"Good day, Madam." Wayne stood and greeted her politely.
He'd seen Neville's grandmother at King's Cross Station several times, though they'd never spoken.
"Neville speaks of you often. Thank you for looking after him at school."
Even when expressing gratitude, Mrs Longbottom's tone remained stiff, revealing her naturally domineering disposition.
Wayne shook his head without comment.
At school, he and Neville were merely ordinary friends—he'd offered no special treatment.
The most he'd done was treat Neville fairly, without prejudice over his slow reactions or poor memory.
Dispensing with further pleasantries, Mrs Longbottom cut to the chase: "Dumbledore mentioned you wish to attempt healing Alice and Frank?"
"Indeed, though I can't guarantee success. Truthfully, curiosity is my primary motivation—though a cure would be ideal."
Wayne concealed nothing. "You've seen the Cruciatus Curse's effects. They appear older than you. Without treatment..."
He left the implication hanging.
Silence filled the room. Since returning, Dumbledore had remained an observer, offering no opinion.
After two minutes, Mrs Longbottom's expression hardened with resolve.
"I consent, Mr Lawrence. Experiment as you will, so long as they live. But I have one condition."
Wayne gestured for her to continue.
"I understand you possess a remarkable Elixir of Life." Mrs Longbottom turned to her son and daughter-in-law, pain flashing in her eyes. "If treatment fails, might Alice and Frank receive a few drops?"
"At least... they shouldn't precede me in death."
Her voice trembled by the end.
Though knowledge of the Elixir circulated only among a few, secrets seldom stay buried.
However bullied Neville might be at school, the Longbottoms remained one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families, maintaining connections—even kinship—with numerous houses.
Mrs Longbottom's awareness came as no surprise.
Wayne agreed without hesitation.
With that, Mrs Longbottom took her leave without further ado.
She was afraid of seeing Wayne "experiment" on her son, worried she might relent and change her mind out of pity. So she simply left, trusting Dumbledore to oversee things—after all, nothing should go wrong with him present.
"What do you intend to do?" Dumbledore asked curiously once the others had gone.
Even now, he couldn't quite grasp Wayne's plan.
"There are two approaches. Let's try the simplest one first."
With a flick of his wrist, Wayne produced a vial of fiery-red potion.
"This is..." Dumbledore studied it, puzzled.
Despite his vast knowledge, he couldn't identify the potion inside.
"Professor Snape's magnum opus," Wayne murmured, uncorking the vial. A strange, fragrant aroma wafted out, invigorating the senses with just a whiff.
Dumbledore's expression shifted. "The Resurrection Draught?"
Originally, Snape had kept it deeply hidden. But after realising no potion could truly bring Lily back, he'd stopped concealing it from Dumbledore.
When Dumbledore learned Snape had created such a world-defying elixir, he'd been utterly astounded—not just by Snape's terrifying mastery of potions, but by the depth of his love for Lily, which had driven him to break even the most fundamental laws of the craft.
As he spoke, Wayne approached Frank. With a gentle wave of his hand, Frank slumped into unconsciousness.
He did the same to Alice, ensuring her eyes closed too.
"I want to test whether the effects of the Cruciatus Curse vanish if we kill someone... then bring them back."
Dumbledore's eyelid twitched violently. Before he could even voice an objection—crack!—Wayne had already snapped Frank's neck.
He passed on peacefully.
"Why are you so... practised at that?" Dumbledore blurted out.
The way he'd twisted the neck looked like the work of someone who'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times.
Wayne smiled sheepishly. "Before entering the wizarding world, I was afraid of being bullied, so I learned a few moves from a retired officer."
Dumbledore might be old, but he wasn't senile.
He distinctly remembered investigating Wayne's past.
Afraid of being bullied...
More like afraid one person couldn't bully an entire school.
"Wayne, hurry and give Frank the potion," Dumbledore urged anxiously, watching as the man had been dead for a while now.
"Wait a bit longer. Let him cool down completely," Wayne said, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Snape tested it—this potion can revive someone who's been dead half a day."
Despite the reassurance, Dumbledore's heart pounded uneasily.
What sane person would think of using such hellish methods to heal and save people?
After an agonising half-hour, once Wayne was certain Frank had gone completely cold, he finally poured the potion down his throat.
Soon, vital signs reappeared on his body as he opened his eyes blankly, still as vacant and lifeless as before.
"Seems it failed." Wayne shook his head regretfully.
"At least Frank's physical condition has improved considerably," Dumbledore noted the difference—the massive influx of life force had left Frank's complexion far rosier than before his death, forming a stark contrast with Alice beside him.
"But that wasn't my goal." Frowning, Wayne stepped around Frank's bed to Alice's side, rousing her with a Reviving Spell before staring directly into her eyes.
A sharp glint flashed through Wayne's eyes as he violently invaded Alice's mental world with Legilimency.
From his earlier observations, Alice's condition was slightly better than Frank's—at least she still reacted to Neville's name.
Facing an utterly defenceless mind, Wayne succeeded. His consciousness whirled dizzily as he saw the entire world distort, countless fragmented memories flashing past like meteors streaking across the sky.
The images moved too quickly to grasp—mere glimpses flashing by.
This was likely the root of Alice and Frank's near-total lack of response to external stimuli—their brains could no longer process information normally.
Among these memories were scenes of her fighting alongside Frank, recollections of their Hogwarts school days, and the agonising experiences of being tortured by Death Eaters.
But most frequent of all was an infant.
Wayne knew that was Neville as a baby.
Precisely because Neville appeared so often, Alice's instincts had firmly imprinted that name in her memory.
He intensified his mental efforts, attempting to excavate more information—even trying to piece together these chaotic, disordered memories into coherence.
If everything could be reorganised, Alice might just return to normal.
...
After a long while, Wayne withdrew from Alice's mental world and shook his head slightly.
Failure.
Consciousness and the mind were mysteries second only to the soul. Even someone as powerful as him dared not act too forcefully, fearing he might turn Alice completely into an imbecile.
"Wayne?" Dumbledore cast him an inquiring glance, tension evident in his expression.
"Tricky, but not the worst-case scenario."
Wayne smiled faintly: "At least it's not soul damage. Honestly, among all the Defence Against the Dark Arts professors, I feel Lockhart helped me the most."
"Without him, I wouldn't have gained such a profound understanding of memories."
Dumbledore: "I once attempted to erase their traumatic experiences using Confundus and Memory Charms, but failed. Could you do it?"
"Impossible." Wayne shook his head gently: "That's merely surface-level. Their memories and thought processes are completely disordered—what they need isn't deletion, but reconstruction."
Dumbledore fell into thoughtful silence.
Wayne said no more, having only formed a rough approach that required further refinement.
...
Leaving St Mungo's, Wayne and Dumbledore went their separate ways.
The old headmaster returned to school, while Wayne headed to Grace's home, planning to return tomorrow.
At five o'clock sharp, Grace clocked out without a second's delay and Apparated straight home.
The Auror office had been emptier than a rat's nest these days. Every full-time employee had been dispatched to catch Greyback, even the newly qualified Tonks was running ragged.
Meanwhile, Grace and the other Auror trainees found themselves with unexpected leisure. No training sessions, just a pot of tea each workday before leaving punctually at closing time.
Hearing steady breathing from the bedroom, Grace smiled.
Entering to find Wayne fast asleep, Grace transformed into Hermione's appearance and smothered him awake with a faceful of cleavage.
Wayne blinked blearily before immediately shutting his eyes again, mumbling:
"Stop messing around. Hermione's never had that kind of nourishment. Let me sleep more."
Grace's expression froze. She glanced down, unable to see her own toes.
So now her ample proportions were his fault?
"Sleep sleep sleep, that's all you do. You're such a pig." Huffily tucking the blanket around Wayne, Grace carefully closed the door to prepare dinner.
...
Excessive daytime sleep led to nighttime wakefulness.
After dozing for hours that afternoon, Wayne remained energetic despite thoroughly exhausting Grace that evening.
With nothing better to do, he took out Ravenclaw's notes to study.
"What are you reading?"
Grace had woken again unnoticed and now approached curiously upon seeing Wayne still awake.
But her gaze locked onto the ornate ladies' crown resting on Wayne's head.
"Is that..."
Noticing her stare, Wayne chuckled and removed the diadem, placing it in Grace's hands.
"Ravenclaw's Diadem. I stumbled upon it by chance."
Grace stared transfixed at the inscription on the diadem, remaining silent for a long while.
Puzzled, Wayne pinched her cheek. "What's wrong? It's just Ravenclaw's Diadem, hardly worth such shock."
The girl finally snapped out of her daze, though she still seemed distracted.
"Oh, I'd just heard that possessing Ravenclaw's Diadem grants her wisdom. So does that mean you've become as clever as Ravenclaw now?"
Wayne stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I believe I'm actually smarter than her. Though the diadem is certainly remarkable."
He placed the crown on Grace's head - the effect strikingly reminiscent of Ravenclaw herself.
"You really should've been in Ravenclaw house," Wayne joked.
Grace rolled her eyes and quickly removed the diadem, her own eyes sparkling.
"Wayne, could I borrow the diadem for a few days?"
"Of course. Though the effects only last about a week. I'll give you a vial of Felix Felicis to recharge it afterwards."
"Thank you, Wayne."
Grace leaned forward to kiss the boy's forehead.