To her friends' annoyance, the ley line Hermione made was not, in fact, back to the covenhouse, but to the receiving lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital. She spilled out of the air into the lobby onto her knees, trying not to puke, her four friends spilling out of the air a moment later. Harry fell to the ground and threw up, which caused a chain reaction as Luna, Hermione, and Blaise threw up as well. Susan gagged, heaving, but she had nothing left to vomit herself but acid. Hermione heard a nurse exclaim in alarm from nearby, but Hermione waved her off, forcing her roiling stomach to settle.
Once the nausea had passed, Hermione Vanished everyone's sick and weakly approached the front desk, where the worker was watching with wide eyes.
"Hello," she said. "We've all just been exposed to a very dangerous curse and poisoned." She attempted a smile. "Is there a room where we can all be seen and checked out to make sure we're okay?"
"Janus Thickley ward treats spell damage," the receptionist replied automatically. "Fourth floor. Though—" she glanced down at the others, who were still moaning on the ground "—I'll summon an escort to take you all up."
The Janus Thickley Ward for the Treatment of Spell Damage and Unliftable Jinxes, Hexes, Curses, and Charms had a long hallway with a few different large rooms with beds. The coven was taken to an isolated room at the end for triage while healers were found. Everyone sat down heavily, a few of them still feeling queasy.
"Tom," Susan said finally. She turned her head, looking at Hermione with tired eyes. "Is he okay?"
Hermione couldn't hold back. "Do you really care?"
Susan flinched. "I suppose I deserve that."
"It's not like you were particularly caring either," Blaise pointed out. "You just sat down next to him and pointed out no one wanted to die."
"I at least tried," Hermione said flatly. "I like—I didn't want to validate his worry of actually dying by acting like he was dying, but I didn't want him to be alone either—"
"I felt different," Harry said abruptly. Hermione looked at him, but Harry was nodding with certainty. "It wasn't just the poison air, either. I felt... angry?" He paused. "Not quite angry. But like... I didn't care. I knew he might be dying, but I didn't care. But like... I care now."
There was a pause.
"We were just poisoned, with a horcrux in the room," Luna said quietly. "That's very, very Dark magic. Maybe there were more effects than we thought."
"Like it corrupted us?" Blaise asked. "Can Dark magic do that?"
They paused, considering.
"This horcrux is the one with a quarter of Voldemort's soul, isn't it?" Susan said. "So it's one of the more powerful ones..."
"The diary doesn't corrupt Hermione," Harry pointed out. "And that one's half a soul."
"The diary did corrupt, but it was more directly," Blaise objected. "Do you not remember the whole Heir of Slytherin mess?"
There was quiet, and Hermione rummaged through her bag, pulling out the diary and a self-inking quill.
Tom? she wrote. Are you okay?
The ink absorbed into the diary, familiar slanted handwriting oozing back out, and Hermione felt herself go weak with relief.
I'm still here, Tom wrote back. You were right. I guess a manifestation of horcrux can't be killed without killing the actual horcrux.
The diary is your body, Hermione agreed. And that was kept safe.
I suppose I should thank you for that, Tom wrote. I never want to experience that again.
Hermione couldn't resist. Do you still want a body, then? If you integrate with all the horcruxes and get a body, you will die some day.
Hopefully not via terrible necrosis. Hermione could almost hear Tom's dry voice in her head. And there are other methods of extending ones life that aren't terrible Dark magic. I can probably figure something out.
So you want to try and integrate with the ring?
There was a hesitation. Give me some time. I know I'm just a diary, but that shook me, and I feel weak. Maybe in a couple weeks after you drain more magic into the diary. But I feel like me trying to take on a horcrux now, when I'm this shaken and weak... it might end in me losing to the will of the other one.
Then you'll have time, Hermione assured him. I hope you feel better soon.
Thanks.
Hermione closed the diary, tucking it away. The others were discussing horcruxes and their influence.
"—was completely different," Blaise was saying. "Everyone who had Quirrell before that year, he was completely different. And that shade of Voldemort was a fraction of this one."
"We'll have to try and figure it out," Susan said. "When we get the one from Hogwarts, maybe we'll be able to feel the corrupting influence if we're aware of it. That one should be weaker, correct?"
Harry noticed Hermione was paying attention again. "Is Tom okay?"
"He's okay," Hermione confirmed. "He wants to wait a while to recover before trying to reintegrate with the new horcrux, though."
"I think we're all entirely fine with that," said Luna, shuddering. "I think we all need a break from directly experiencing the horcruxes for a while."
It took a while, but St. Mungo's finally found a couple specialists to come examine them, who hurried into the room with such alarm they left the door open behind them, immediately casting spell after spell. Hermione recognized a few as diagnostic charms, but most of them she had no idea what they were.
"You've definitely all had exposure to Dark magic," one healer confirmed. "It's dissipating, though. It doesn't seem to be affecting you any longer...?"
"None of us picked up the cursed object," Susan said. "That might be why."
The healer glanced around. "Which one of you did pick it up?"
"He turned black and dissolved," Harry said darkly. "He didn't come back with us."
The healers exchanged a wide-eyed glance but continued their diagnostics. Hermione shot Harry a dark look — the last thing they needed was someone investigating an alleged death — but luckily the healers seemed to be ignoring Harry's comment, hopefully dismissing it as a teenager overexaggerating for dramatic effect.
"You all seem to be suffering from some symptoms of oxygen deprivation," the other healer said, musing. "This poison you said – you said it was via the air?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "It wasn't an aerosol or anything – we think it was carbon monoxide. There was a fire, and the chimney was closed—"
"Oh, brilliant," the healer snorted. "Well. None of you were exposed too badly or for too long. You're not likely to have any longstanding mental damage. But you should all try not to cast any spells for the next day or so while your bodies recover."
"Really?" Hermione was curious. "Why not?"
"There's some evidence that magic helps regenerate and heal the body," the healer told her. "In order to maximize your healing, saving your magic to help your body offers the path of highest success."
"Not that you're supposed to be casting magic anyway," the other healer said pointedly, raising an accusing eyebrow. "Given you're all underage and out of school."
"Cut us a break," Harry snapped. "We just almost died from Dark magic."
The healer's lip curled, and he looked about to retort when a voice floated in from the hallway.
"Harry? Harry, is that you?"
They all turned to look. Neville Longbottom stood in the open doorway, peeking his head in. His eyes were very wide.
"You almost died?" he said, alarmed. "Harry—!"
Harry winced, and Hermione offered Neville an apologetic smile.
"We're alright," she reassured him. "We had a bit of a scare, but we're all okay now."
"Speak for yourself," Susan muttered. "I'm going to have heartburn for days."
Hermione shot her a look, then turned back to Neville.
"Are you okay?" she asked him. "What are you here for?"
Neville froze.
"I—err—I—" he faltered. "I'm fine. I was just here—I was visiting someone—I'm not cursed—"
Neville seemed so uncomfortable, Hermione realized who Neville must have come to see.
"Your parents?" she asked kindly, giving him a gentle smile. She gave the coven all sharp, pointed looks before turning back to Neville. "Well, we're all okay here, now. We'll come with you."
"Oh, that's not necessary," Neville said hastily, backing away. "They can't—they won't—"
"We know," Hermione said. "But that doesn't mean that they're any less important to you"
Neville's eyes looked wet, but he nodded and led the way. Hermione looked at the healers. One of them was staring at Harry in shock, apparently just now recognizing him as the Boy Who Lived, but the other gestured for them to leave, rolling his eyes. Satisfied, Hermione followed Neville, and the others followed her down the corridor to a large ward.
This ward had multiple beds and curtains. About half the beds were full, with people suffering from various maladies. Neville led them to the beds on the end near the windows. A few flower arrangements sat on the large window sill, attempting to brighten the dreary room. At the very end, there was a man lying in a bed, staring at nothing. A woman was wandering around nearby in a nightgown, her eyes vacant.
"Hi Mum," Neville said quietly. "Meet my friends."
The witch didn't move to look over at the newcomers, but Hermione took the opportunity to look at her.
Alice Longbottom was short. She had a thin, worn face, and her hair was white, wispy, and dead-looking. She couldn't have been that old, Hermione mused. Could her hair have turned white from being tortured into insanity?
Alice didn't react when Susan went over to introduce everyone to her, and she didn't react when Susan guided her to sit back down in a chair. She didn't react to Luna braiding small flowers into her hair either, or to Neville — she just handed him a candy wrapper, and Neville looked heartbroken as he murmured his thanks and tucked it away.
For that matter – did torture generally result in insanity? Was that a legitimate thing? Hermione knew it caused PTSD and nightmares, and she knew it could cause other psychological issues, but Alice Longbottom seemed much further gone than that – it was as if she wasn't there at all.
Maybe her mind had fractured, Hermione theorized. Maybe her mind has splintered to protect the real Alice from the mental trauma of the torture, and the connection had been lost. Like multiple personality disorder, but with one of the personalities just being an empty shell.
She wondered what kind of treatment plan the hospital had Neville's parents on, if any. They weren't cursed, really – there was no active or lasting magic on the Longbottoms, so there wasn't anything to curse break. And Hermione doubted the hospital had many psychologists around.
Harry and Blaise were talking quietly with Neville, being cagey about where they had been and what they had been doing, Neville's eyes wide. Hermione approached them, excusing herself as she interrupted, laying a hand on Neville's arm.
"Neville," she said. "Have your parents ever seen a muggle doctor?"
Neville blinked.
"I don't think so," he said, puzzled. "Why would they?"
"To have tests run," Hermione explained. "Muggles can do an MRI – that's where they use giant magnets to map your brain – and see if there's any areas of damage. Maybe even a PET scan. They're used for muggles who have memory disorders and to look for brain changes following injury. They might be able to help your parents."
For a moment, Neville's eyes lit up, but then his shoulders slumped.
"My parents aren't going to remember me, Hermione," he said. "If magic can't help, I doubt the muggles can help."
Hermione bit her lip.
"I'm not going to say 'it wouldn't hurt to try', because I know hope can be a torturous thing," Hermione said. "But Neville – would you let me try to help?"
Neville paused.
Hermione imagined he was thinking about it. Neville felt like his parents were hopeless – and for good reason – but he'd also experienced Hermione helping with 'hopeless' things before. His new wand had helped with his 'hopeless' magic, boosting his grades immensely. She'd gotten rid of the monster terrorizing the school. And Neville knew she had a coven – one that had helped two women conceive a baby.
Neville gave his mother a sad look before he sighed and called over a healer.
"Who's in charge of my parents' treatment?" he asked the healer.
The healer blinked.
"No one's really actively treating them right now," he said cautiously. "We just keep them comfortable and safe."
"If I wanted to sign my parents out and take them on a day trip," Neville said impatiently, "who would I talk to?"
"I wouldn't recommend that," the healer said. "They're not exactly mentally stable for society—"
"I didn't ask what you'd recommend," Neville said, his voice flat. "Can I check them out for the day if I want to?"
The healer gave him a pitying look. "You could—"
"Good." Neville turned to Hermione with a flat look. "Schedule your muggle tests. I'll sign the paperwork so you can take them, but I—I don't want to go with you."
Hermione gave him a hug.
"That's okay, Neville," she murmured. "I'll take it from there."
