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After the meeting, Harry pulled Neville aside. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head.
"Not something you can help with," he told her. She gave a smile and a nod, and then he and Neville were as alone as they could get. Dad and the Avengers had remained in the conference room, and Agents Tony and Gibbs had gone down to the training facility.
No one else was likely to be coming down this corridor anytime soon, so Harry wouldn't have a better chance to talk with Neville.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Neville asked, and Harry ducked his head as the question that had seemed eminently reasonable now felt intrusive.
"I - well, I don't want to be rude," he began. "But…were your parents killed in the war like mine? I mean, you were using your father's wand, and you don't talk about your mother…."
Neville's eyes widened briefly, but he answered readily enough. "I sometimes wish they had. It would be easier…" He blew out a breath and straightened his shoulders before meeting Harry's gaze and continuing, "They're in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's. They were held under the Cruciatus Curse so long it drove them insane."
Neville's voice cracked on the last word, and Harry reached out, wanting to comfort his friend but not knowing how. He settled for resting a hand on Neville's shoulder.
"That sucks," he said. "And blows at the same time, thus violating the laws of physics."
Neville gave him a quizzical look, and Harry shook his head and let his hand drop. "Sorry - I forget you're not up on non-magical knowledge."
"It hurts," Neville said quietly. "To have them here, but not here, if that makes any sense."
"It does," Harry said, equally quietly. "Dad found a portrait of my parents - James and Lily. I like talking to them, but it's not really them." He offered an apologetic smile. "Not that I'm comparing the situations, just - I kind of understand where you're coming from."
"Thanks, Harry. It helps to have someone who-" Neville looked away. "Gran's not the sentimental type."
"And her situation is completely different from yours." That was Sirius' voice, and Harry started, surprised to see him and Dad standing in the doorway of the conference room, the rest of the Avengers behind them.
Dad took a step back with a nod that summoned Harry and Neville back into the conference room. "I take it there's nothing magic can do for them?"
"No, sir," Neville answered. "At least, the healers at St. Mungo's have been trying for years."
"Any neurosurgeons evaluated them?" Dad asked.
Neville frowned. "I - don't think so. What's a nooro-whatsit?"
"Neurosurgeon," Bruce Banner replied. "A surgeon specializing in problems with the nervous system, both central and peripheral."
Dad looked at Banner. "In your wheelhouse?"
Banner shook his head. "No. But - I can get you the equipment you'll need for an EEG and other tests, so you can offer those for a consult."
"I'm not sure Gran would approve," Neville said. "She's…"
"Difficult," Sirius offered. Neville nodded, his expression ashamed.
"Meh." Dad waved that away. "I can handle difficult. You willing to go to the magical hospital, Brucie-Bear? Having a professional take the readings would be good."
Banner looked surprised to be asked, and took a moment to respond. "Uh - yeah. I'll need an escort, though."
"I'll take you," Sirius said. "I haven't been to see them since I was exonerated, and I should. They were - they are friends, good friends. I want to be a better friend than I have been."
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Neville knew the way to the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's by heart. He'd made the same trip with his grandmother many times per year until he started Hogwarts - his birthday, Christmas, his parents' birthdays, the day Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured them to insanity. Since he'd started Hogwarts, the visits had dwindled to twice a year - his birthday and Christmas - because he was away so much of the year.
Now, though, on a day that wasn't special to anyone in his family, he made the trip with Sirius Black and Bruce Banner, and he couldn't help but be struck by the differences between St. Mungo's and the medical facility at Avengers Compound.
Where the Avengers Compound was bright with both overhead lighting and natural light through generous windows, St. Mungo's was dark and, if he were honest, a bit dingy. Neville didn't know enough about Muggle medicine to compare the two, but he knew which facility he'd rather be in if he had to. Still…
"I can't believe Gran agreed to this," Neville said as they approached the door to the Janus Thickey Ward.
"She didn't want to," Sirius told him, and Neville frowned up at him. Sirius gave him a shrug. "You're old enough to be told the truth."
"Why didn't she want to?" Neville asked as they turned down the corridor that would take them to his parents' room.
"Hope is a terrible thing," Sirius observed. "Wonderful and terrible at the same time. I think she's resigned herself to their condition and doesn't want to hope for it to get better in case it doesn't. Having that hope dashed would hurt more than it does just knowing how they are."
"I talk to them," Neville said quietly. "Gran doesn't like it, but it seems rude not to."
"It's a good thing," Banner said. "Lots of research has shown that people who aren't fully conscious and awake, like those in comas, can sometimes hear and understand what's said around and to them."
"Really?" Neville hated how hopeful he sounded, and then grimaced at the difference between him and his Gran. He still hoped for his parents to improve, no matter how long they remained like they were.
"Really," Banner assured him.
Then they were in his parents' room - or, more accurately, the room where his parents stayed. They occupied two of the eight beds in the room, the farthest two from the door.
Sirius paused to speak to the medi-wizard on duty, but Neville only waved as he continued toward his parents who, this afternoon, were sitting in armchairs positioned between their beds.
"You look a lot like your dad," Banner murmured. "At least from a distance."
Neville nodded absently, reviewing what he wanted to tell them about the tournament and his participation. When he was in comfortable speaking distance, he opened his mouth to greet them.
Banner's hand on his shoulder made him pause. He looked up at the older man reproachfully.
"Let me get the leads attached before you talk to them," he said. "It'll give us a baseline reading, plus any changes that occur while you're talking."
Neville didn't understand what leads were, nor a baseline reading, but this was the main point of the visit now, so he nodded tightly and allowed Banner - Doctor Banner, he remembered suddenly, not quite a healer, but the Muggle equivalent - to approach his parents without him.
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom," Banner began, his tone calm and soothing. "My name's Bruce Banner, and I'm a doctor. Augusta Longbottom gave permission for me to take a few readings for analysis. I'll need to attach a couple of things to your heads, nothing scary, just a couple of adhesive patches."
Neville looked up as Sirius joined them. "How'd you get Gran to agree to this?"
Sirius smiled, but it was grimmer than it was amused. "Tony did. Asked her if there was a possible treatment and she denied it, keeping them suffering longer, didn't that make her as bad as the people who did this to them in the first place?"
Neville's mouth had opened as Sirius explained. "Really? And she didn't hex him silly?"
"I think she wanted to," Sirius admitted. "But Weezie was with him, and Banner. She finally said she'd try anything as long as it didn't hurt them. So, today, Bruce is taking readings that we'll submit to neurosurgeons - specialists in this kind of damage - and see what they have to say. If they think they can help…" he shrugged. "We'll deal with that then."
Neville nodded, but any reply he might have made was cut off when Banner turned to him. "Neville? You can talk to them now."
Neville closed the distance between him and his parents, noting that each of them had several white squares positioned on their foreheads and behind their ears. Those must be the leads Dr. Banner had mentioned. "Hi, Mum and Dad. I know it's not Christmas yet, but I have some news."
He talked on, telling them of how he'd been entered in the Triwizard Tournament, how he'd left Hogwarts to train with Harry, and ultimately that he'd won the first task of the tournament. It was hard, talking to people who didn't outwardly respond, but he still did, because those were the kinds of things he'd tell his parents if they were at home where they belonged.
Neville lost track of how long he'd talked, only stopping when his mouth went dry and his throat started to hurt. If he could use magic outside of school, he'd conjure some water.
Just as he was about to ask for some, a hand holding a glass of water appeared in his line of sight. He looked up to see Sirius holding it.
"Figure you need it," was all the man said, and Neville took the glass and drank deeply.
Sirius took the empty glass and moved away, obviously prepared to let Neville have as much time with his parents as he wanted.
Neville smiled a thanks, then turned back to his parents, this time speaking of funny things that happened during his training, and the sights he'd seen in America.
He spoke long enough to need a second glass of water, and when he'd drained it like he had the first, he took a breath.
"I could stay here all day, talking to you," he said, "but I don't want to presume on Mr. Black and Dr. Banner's time." He glanced over his shoulder at Banner. "If you have what you need?"
"I do, thanks," Banner said absently, studying a device in his hand.
"Then I'll say goodbye for now, Mum and Dad," Neville finished. "I'll see you at Christmas."
He stepped forward to hug first his father, then his mother, both awkwardly thanks to them being seated and him being standing.
Neville turned away. "Can we go now, please?"
Just as Neville turned to go, his mother raised a hand. He paused, waiting, and she offered him something. He held out a hand, and she dropped a rose petal into it.
"Thanks, Mum," Neville murmured and turned away so she wouldn't see him cry. Not that she'd know what it meant, but he figured parents didn't like to see their children cry regardless of the reason.
"Does she often give you things?" Banner asked quietly, respectfully even, as they left the room.
"Every time I visit," Neville managed. "Usually it's a candy wrapper. Sometimes a flower petal. Once an empty potion vial. Gran tells me to throw them away, but-"
"I understand," Banner said, and Neville thought he actually did. "And it's a good sign, if she gives things only to you. It means she has some recognition of you."
Neville found himself smiling all the way out of St. Mungo's.
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Tony lounged on a stool in his workshop, looking at the images on the screen on the far wall. Brucie-Bear paced back and forth between him and the screen.
The images were of three jagged lines running horizontally across the screen. Two of them looked markedly different than the third, but Tony had no idea what the differences might mean, except…
"Guessing the top two are Neville's parents? They look different than the bottom one," he added, though Bruce was one of a handful of people who routinely kept up with him.
"Right."
"Different enough to justify a consult?"
Bruce paused in his pacing, his expression thoughtful. After a long moment, he said, "I think so."
"Great. JOCASTA, what've you found?" It still felt strange addressing JOCASTA rather than JARVIS, but in his gut, Tony felt it was the right thing to do, keeping JARVIS away from the Avengers. Or maybe that was the other way around, given how Fury had overridden JARVIS to tell Tony about the Avengers Initiative.
"There are two neurosurgeons who may be a fit," JOCASTA replied, and Tony had never been more glad that he'd programmed a no-nonsense voice for her.
"Show us," Bruce said. It was telling that JOCASTA didn't inspire human courtesy the way JARVIS did.
Two images appeared on the screen, both male. The one on the left had a bright smile and somewhat unkempt dark hair. The one on the right had darker hair and a goatee resembling Tony's own.
"On your left," JOCASTA began, "Dr. Buckaroo Banzai, polymath. He is a skilled neurosurgeon who also designs and drives high-powered automobiles, has studied particle physics, and is fluent enough in a dozen languages to write songs in all of them."
"Man after my own heart," Tony murmured. "And the other?"
"Dr. Stephen Strange," JOCASTA answered. "M.D. and Ph.D., quite skilled neurosurgeon, who only takes cases that look interesting or challenging to him."
"What do you think?" Tony asked Bruce. He knew who he'd choose, but this was far more Bruce's area of expertise than his own.
"I think we send them to both," Bruce replied immediately. "Because I haven't seen anything like this. Granted, neurology isn't my specialty, but I do know what a normal scan should look like, and the Longbottoms' aren't normal."
"Right." Decision made, Tony sat up straighter. "JOCASTA, ask Weezie to write an introductory letter to both of them. I'll look it over, and we'll get the scans out to them today."
"Right away, sir," JOCASTA confirmed, and not for the first time, Tony realized her sir didn't have the warmth underneath it that JARVIS' did.
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"Sir." The inflection made him think it wasn't the first time JARVIS had tried to get his attention.
"What's up, J?" he asked, stretching his arms over his head and bending backward on his stool.
"There is a video call for you," JARVIS answered. "A Doctor Stephen Strange."
It took a moment for the name to register, mostly because it took a moment to bring his mind back to the here and now from the theoretical models he'd been building.
"Put him through." Tony reached for his cup and took a sip. He grimaced when he realized it had gone cold while he worked, then drained it anyway. Wasn't cold coffee a thing these days?
The monitor before him flickered to life, and the face of a man perhaps ten years younger than he appeared on the screen. He had wavy brown hair, blue-green eyes, and…
"Awesome facial hair, bro," Tony said without thinking. The man had a neatly trimmed goatee that almost matched Tony's own.
"I'm so pleased that you approve of my personal grooming choices." Sarcasm flooded the man's - Stephen Strange's - answer. Tony suspected they'd either get along famously or be at each other's throats forever. He hoped for the former. "I'm calling about those most interesting test results you sent."
Strange had cut to the chase, so Tony would, too. "Think you can help them?"
"I think," Strange replied, "it would be a violation of my ethics and oaths to suggest a treatment without a diagnosis, which I won't offer without examining them myself. When can that happen?"
"They're in a private clinic in England," Tony said. "I'll contact their next of kin and get back to you."
"I'll look forward to it." The screen went dark.
"It appears you have met your match, Sir," JARVIS said.
Tony shook his head. "I have not yet begun to snark."