The rumors spread quickly through the Wizarding world. Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts. The Dark Lord gathered his army with plans to attack. It’s all anyone could talk about. Not loudly, of course. One never knew who was listening. No, they spoke in whispers and with looks out of the corners of their eyes. Around them, the patients continued on as they always had. Some bedridden, some sitting quietly, others wandering around. Gilderoy Lockhart flashed his award winning smile at everyone as he made his way around the locked ward, offering autographs to anyone who would give him the time of day.
In chairs by the large picture window sat a man and woman who were thin and mousey. Quietly sitting side by side, looking out but seeing very little. The couple had been on the unit far longer than the oldest employee. Never had they spoken, only the odd sigh when their son and his grandmother visited on holidays and birthdays. Looking at the couple, you’d never know they were once well known Aurors. They appeared small and inconspicuous. How could they have been part of the Order of the Phoenix during the first Wizarding War? What was so special about them that Death Eaters would hunt them down and torture them until they were vacant and broken? The Longbottoms did as they always did, despite the excitement surrounding them. They sat quietly watching everything and nothing.
As the evening wore on, the staff’s excitement only grew. There was no new information, only speculation and wild accusations, but that didn’t stop anyone from sharing what very little information they had or thought they knew. Staff from other units came and went, spending more time gossiping than caring for their patients. Not that most of the patients cared very much. The patients in this particular unit were different, after all. Magically damaged. Dangerous to themselves or others, thus locked away for the rest of their lives. You see, no one recovered in this unit. Oh, upon admission there were attempts made. Treatments performed, antidotes given. But time moves on and resources must be redistributed where they can actually be of help. These long term residents of St. Mungos were mostly forgotten by the wizarding world. Other than the families who occasionally visited, like the Longbottom’s, these residents had no one who could, or would, advocate for new treatments. So the staff felt comfortable in their inattention despite the time that was passing.
No one noticed the deep breath Alice Longbottom drew in or the hand that went to her forehead. No one saw the look of absolute terror that sat on Frank Longbottom’s face as he gripped the arms of the chair. But they certainly heard two loud voices exclaim their son’s name. The unit became eerily quiet as all attention turned to the couple in front of the window. For the first time in sixteen years, Frank and Alice had spoken. Something had happened. Something had changed. But what?
In the Great Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
“NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH” Shouted Molly Weasley, engaging in battle with the Dark Lord’s right hand woman. Bellatrix cackled, the sound chilling, causing a few who watched the battle to shiver. Molly never faltered, flinging hex after curse after spell at the evil woman who had caused so much pain in her lifetime. The duel was fierce, neither woman backing down or showing signs of weakness; each believing they were right and justified and that they alone would prevail. Then Molly’s curse hit Bellatrix and the crowd that had gathered watched as she fell for the last time.