Mrs. Longbottom and Neville had waited there on purpose.
Ten minutes earlier, Neville had misunderstood Kyle’s instructions. Instead of going to find a Healer, he had rushed downstairs, shouting about a werewolf and trying to rally others to help on the second floor. But no one believed him, despite the commotion they had just heard above. After all, werewolves don’t typically appear during the day—a fact so basic it’s common knowledge in the wizarding world. And this was St. Mungo’s, filled with magical experts and unusual cases. Only twenty minutes prior, someone had claimed to have seen a dragon upstairs. A werewolf sighting was simply par for the course.
The Healers had also dismissed Neville, the chubby, round-faced boy. They only ended up on the second floor thanks to someone else entirely—the curly-haired trainee Healer who had shown Kyle the way. He had been in the same room as the werewolf and witnessed the transformation firsthand. Thankfully, he had escaped a bite; the werewolf, dazed from the transformation, had merely slammed him into a wall. Once he pulled himself together, the trainee used St. Mungo’s unique internal communication methods to alert his colleagues, leading to the swift response they’d seen.
When Mrs. Longbottom found Neville and heard his account, she immediately decided they should thank Kyle. However, by the time they tracked him down, he was already headed to the sixth floor with Director Sykes and Dumbledore. So, Mrs. Longbottom decided to wait with Neville at the stairwell until Kyle returned.
When they did meet, Mrs. Longbottom invited Kyle to visit a room on the fifth floor. Inside, Neville’s parents lay in their beds, their gazes vacant and unfocused as they looked toward Kyle.
“You saved Neville, and they would want to thank you, too,” Mrs. Longbottom said, her voice carrying a slight tremor. She turned to the beds and spoke gently, “Frank, Alice, the boy is here.”
But Frank and Alice showed no sign of understanding; their eyes remained blank, unresponsive to her words.
“Please don’t mind them, my dear,” Mrs. Longbottom explained softly. “I can feel that they would thank you if they could, but they simply can’t find the words.”
While she spoke, Neville stood nearby with his head down, staring at his shoes as though he found them fascinating. His posture, however, clearly irritated his grandmother.
“Look up, Neville!” she scolded firmly. “There’s no shame in what happened to your parents. You should be proud!”
“I’m not ashamed...” Neville mumbled in a small but steady voice.
Mrs. Longbottom then turned to Kyle, her posture straight and her voice filled with pride. “They were tortured by the Cruciatus Curse at the hands of Death Eaters. Those wretched cowards thought they could force Frank and Alice to betray their allies, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. The Longbottoms would never yield to the Dark Lord!”
“That’s truly admirable,” Kyle said, his voice filled with respect.
“You’re admirable too, young man,” Mrs. Longbottom replied. “There are few at your age who could face down a werewolf. I hope Neville will show the same courage one day and, after he graduates, become an Auror to restore the Longbottom family’s honor.”
She glanced over at Neville, who was still slouching, and frowned. “Stand up straight, Neville! How many times have I told you—keep your back straight!”
As Kyle left the ward, he could still hear Mrs. Longbottom’s voice echoing down the hallway, sternly instructing Neville to hold himself tall.
Kyle looked over at Director Sykes and asked, “Is there truly no cure for the damage caused by the Cruciatus Curse?”
“It’s difficult,” she replied. “Anything that affects the soul is incredibly hard to heal, whether it’s the Cruciatus Curse or Lycanthropy.”
She paused thoughtfully before adding, “The Cruciatus Curse doesn’t just inflict physical harm; it inflicts a pain that tears at the soul. Wizards' bodies are fragile—like trying to fix a broken mirror on a balloon that’s tightly inflated. If you’re not careful, the balloon will burst. Right now, all we can do is patch together a faint outline of that mirror and wait for a more effective solution—one that doesn’t risk bursting the balloon.”
“Like the Wolfsbane Potion?” Kyle wondered aloud.
“Precisely,” Director Sykes replied with a slight laugh. “We’re waiting for the ‘Wolfsbane Potion’ that will someday cure the damage caused by the Cruciatus Curse. Many of us have been working tirelessly toward that goal.”
Kyle fell silent, deep in thought as they walked. Mentioning fractured souls had sparked a memory of something dark and twisted: Horcruxes. Yes, Horcruxes—the most malevolent magical creation, devised by the sinister Herpo the Foul. Kyle recalled that to create a Horcrux, a wizard must first tear their soul by committing murder, then seal that fragment within an object.
But what if a soul was already shattered? Could that initial step—the deliberate act of splitting—be bypassed? Take the Longbottoms, for instance. Their souls had been torn by the relentless torment of the Cruciatus Curse. Didn’t that, in theory, fulfill the conditions for forming a Horcrux?
A troubling thought crept into Kyle’s mind: since it was impossible to repair the soul completely, as Director Sykes had described, would it be possible instead to simply stabilize the fragments by sealing them away?
A Horcrux was a peculiar creation, almost like an alternate body or a bridge, connecting broken parts of a soul. The interesting thing was that once this bridge existed, each soul fragment could function as if it were whole. That was why Voldemort, even after creating six Horcruxes, hadn’t descended into insanity. This feature of the Horcrux allowed him to maintain his own twisted form of immortality.
So, could something similar be done with the fractured souls of the Longbottoms? If they could be made into Horcruxes, might that spare them from the curse’s relentless grip on their shattered psyches?
Of course, this was just a speculative idea forming in Kyle’s mind. He hadn’t read any books on Horcruxes, and his knowledge on the subject was limited to vague recollections. He had no way of knowing whether this theory held any merit.
Kyle glanced over at Dumbledore, who stood not far away, his sharp gaze noticing the brief, thoughtful look. Dumbledore’s eyes met his with a hint of curiosity.
Quickly, Kyle averted his gaze. Ask Dumbledore? No, that would be a disaster. As soon as he so much as mentioned the word “Horcrux,” he was sure Dumbledore’s wand would come out and pin him to the nearest wall. And extracting himself from that situation would be beyond embarrassing.
If he couldn’t ask, he’d simply have to research it himself. Once the school year began, he planned to visit the Restricted Section in the Hogwarts library. If he couldn’t find the information there, he’d wait. After all, the diary would resurface next year.
As for the Ravenclaw's Diadem in the Room of Requirement… Kyle shuddered. He had no desire to go near it unless absolutely necessary. That Horcrux was dangerous, far beyond anything he could gain from it at this stage.