Chapter 731: Unexpected Encounter with Longbottom
Watching the patient once again transform into a dazed, confused mess, Treatment Specialist Eliot hurried into the room, sighing with weary resignation.
"Professor Dumbledore," she said, casting a sympathetic glance at Slughorn, who was still muttering to himself, "visiting time must come to an end."
"His emotional fluctuations are too intense," she added quietly. "It's not helping his recovery."
Dumbledore gave a slow nod. Lowering his voice, he turned to Wade:
"Wade, may I ask you to leave behind one of your Magic Puppets?"
His eyes lingered on Slughorn, still clutching the leopard's arm.
"These little companions... they seem to have a calming effect far greater than any sedative."
With the Magic Puppet nearby, even in his disoriented state, Slughorn no longer panicked and hid himself away.
"Of course, Professor," Wade said, waving his hand. The other Magic Puppets leapt off the hospital bed one by one, slipping into the closet space. The cheetah, slow and deliberate, swayed its tail once, then settled back onto the bed, letting out a low, rumbling growl.
Wade walked over and gently stroked its chin.
"Good work, little one... take care of him."
The slender tail curled around his wrist—a silent promise.
Dumbledore watched in silence.
Harry sighed, a hint of envy in his voice. He too had a Magic Puppet pet—a sweet, affectionate lion that was obedient most of the time, though it occasionally left gray paw prints on his textbooks. He’d grown used to playing with it each night before bed.
But this Magic Puppet—Wade’s—was utterly different.
Both were intelligent and attentive, yes, but the lion was like a clever, well-behaved house cat. This one, however, was more like a silent companion—loyal, watchful, almost sentient in its presence.
They looked similar, but the difference was profound.
The Treatment Specialist looked torn. She glanced at the large size of the Magic Puppet, then at Slughorn’s clinging, dependent gestures, and finally relented.
"Alright... fine. Leave it. It’s against protocol, but... well, we’ll treat it as a special medical aid. But can we be certain this leopard won’t hurt anyone?"
She had seen the Tournament Live Broadcast. She knew this seemingly playful creature, with its affectionate demeanor, could rip a man apart in an instant.
Yet she also knew—deeply—that this was no ordinary beast. It was a Magic Puppet. A loyal soldier in Wade Gray’s hands. A warrior who had fought Voldemort.
Such a complex identity—part puppet, part beast, part legend—made her hesitate even to speak loudly in its presence.
"Of course," Wade said firmly.
Then, after a pause, he added:
"...Unless someone inside deliberately provokes it?"
The Treatment Specialist blinked.
"...I see."
As she stared at the cheetah, unsure whether she could convince the patient to let go, Dumbledore led the two of them swiftly out of the ward.
Stepping into the corridor, he tucked the crystal vial into the inner pocket of his robes. The silver light within it flowed slowly, glowing like soft pearls.
"Professor," Harry asked, unable to resist curiosity, "what is that?"
Dumbledore’s expression darkened.
"That... is a crucial piece of the puzzle. The key to everything. And the reason Voldemort took Horace and tortured him."
Harry stared, eyes wide with fascination, hoping for more secrets. But Dumbledore only exhaled deeply.
"Dear Horace... hiding for decades... and still, he couldn’t escape in the end..."
He murmured, his eyes shimmering with sorrow. After a moment, he changed the subject.
"Anyway, your mission is done for today. Would you like to come upstairs for a cup of tea?"
"Better not," Wade shook his head. "Tea’s fine, but I prefer a relaxed, casual setting."
The tea room, he knew, would be full of strange, suffering patients. The air would be thick with the scent of illness and pain. Even the sweetest black tea would taste bitter there.
Harry remembered the man who’d been blowing soap bubbles from his mouth and quickly nodded in agreement.
The three of them headed toward the elevator. Along the corridor walls hung portraits of famous Treatment Specialists. As long as they were awake, they were always eager to diagnose passersby.
As they passed one, an old man suddenly shot up from his seat, his goat-like beard bristling, and shouted,
"Stop! You, boy with the scar! You’ve got Scar Sympathy Syndrome!"
"Scar what?" Harry blurted out.
"Scar Sympathy Syndrome!" the old wizard bellowed. "It causes sensory distortion, hallucinations—severe cases can drive you mad!"
"Never mind him," Wade grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him forward. "That’s ancient folklore. A hundred years old."
"Child," the wizard called after them, "you must apply a Snake Egg Membrane to your forehead and soak it in Snail Mucus!"
"If you want my treatment," he added, "you’ll need at least two gold coins!"
Before the old man could say more, the door ahead swung open.
An old witch in a green robe stepped out, glancing back into the room as she left.
"Rest well," she said softly. "Next time, it’ll be me and Neville together..."
The familiar name made Wade and Harry both turn sharply. The witch had already turned to face them.
She carried a bag in dull, muddy brown tones, and perched atop her pointed hat was a lifelike vulture specimen. Her gray-white hair was coiled perfectly, untouched by wind.
Dumbledore smiled warmly.
"Good afternoon, Augusta. I didn’t expect to run into you today."
"Albus," Madam Longbottom nodded, standing tall. "Pleasure to see you—especially after everything you’ve done lately. Oh!"
Her gaze dropped, and for a moment, she seemed surprised to see Wade and Harry. Then she stepped forward, extending her hand.
"Hello, Wade Gray. Thank you—Neville told me everything. You gave him so much help at school. That necklace... you lent it to him, didn’t you? It was a tremendous help to us. I don’t know how to thank you properly..."
Wade took her hand, gently.
"You’re far too kind, Madam Longbottom. Neville has helped me more than I’ve helped him."
"Oh, he’s still a bit short... quite a bit short of his father’s brilliance," she said proudly. "But he’s a good boy, isn’t he?"
Her tone softened as she turned to Harry, offering her hand.
"Good to see you’re still in good health, child. I must say—you showed great courage facing him. Just like your father."
To Harry, that was the highest praise imaginable. He took her hand, voice thick with emotion.
"Thank you... for your kind words."
Madam Longbottom’s sharp eyes softened as she looked at them both.
Then, suddenly, she turned toward the ward and called out, her voice rising:
"Frank! Alice! Come out here—look at these two young men! They’ve done what you never managed in your time!"
Wade’s heart skipped a beat.
Harry, curious and confused, stared at the ward door.
Moments later, slow, dragging footsteps echoed from within. The ward door creaked open—
Two middle-aged figures, pale and frail, their hair white with illness, leaned on each other as they emerged, slowly, painfully, into the light.
(End of Chapter)
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