The Hospital — Neville's True Gift
The chill of winter still clung to the stone walls of St. Mungo's as Daniel walked down the long, sterile corridor, his steps unnaturally silent, his presence bending the air itself. Shadows recoiled from him, the whispers of the damned retreating like mist at dawn.
Harry walked beside him, cautious, eyes sharp for his age — no longer the lost child everyone expected, but the weapon Daniel had forged, still young, still fragile, but deadly.
Neville trailed behind, hands trembling at his sides, not from fear of Daniel — that ship had long sailed — but from the storm of emotions twisting inside him. St. Mungo's wasn't just a hospital to him. It was a tomb with breathing corpses. His parents — living ghosts — lost in their own shattered minds.
They stopped outside the ward. The sign above the door read:
"Janus Thickey Ward — Long-Term Spell Damage."
The name hit like ice in Neville's chest.
Daniel placed a hand on his shoulder — firm, grounding.
"This is your moment, Longbottom," Daniel said, voice low, the echo of ancient death in every syllable. "I owe you two gifts. Let's make this one count for both."
Neville swallowed hard, glancing at Harry, who nodded with quiet support — steel behind the green eyes.
Daniel pushed open the door.
Inside, Alice and Frank Longbottom sat in their chairs, vacant expressions, their bodies present but their souls trapped elsewhere — casualties of war, broken by cruelty beyond imagination.
Neville's throat tightened, years of silent hope warring with bitter reality.
Daniel stepped forward, shadows peeling off his form like smoke. His eyes glowed faintly, ancient power radiating from every pore. The room darkened — not in threat, but inevitability.
"They've wandered long enough," Daniel murmured, raising his hand. "Time to return what was stolen."
Magic rippled out — cold, precise, void of flamboyance. This wasn't a spell from Hogwarts textbooks — this was Death itself rearranging the rules.
The air thickened, the walls groaned, and for a heartbeat, the hospital ward felt suspended outside of time.
Light bled from Daniel's fingertips, weaving into Alice and Frank — not showy, but surgical — cutting through the fog in their minds, knitting shattered fragments of memory back together.
Neville barely dared breathe.
Alice's fingers twitched.
Frank's eyes — once dull, unfocused — sharpened, pupils constricting as awareness crashed back into them like a tidal wave.
They gasped, blinking, the weight of years lost reflected in their faces.
Alice's gaze found Neville — hesitation, recognition, then love cracking through the uncertainty.
"Neville…?"
Neville collapsed to his knees, emotion ripping through him, raw, uncontrolled.
Frank struggled to his feet, unsteady, protective instincts reigniting.
Daniel stepped back, letting them have their moment.
"There," Daniel stated simply, eyes cold but not unkind. "Two gifts in one. Birthday and Christmas. You'll forgive the delay."
Harry placed a hand on Neville's shoulder, grounding him as tears streaked down the boy's face — not weakness, but the release of years held in.
Neville's voice broke.
"Thank you… I… I don't… I—"
Daniel waved it off, eyes like frozen steel.
"Gratitude's wasted on inevitability. They were never meant to rot like that. You have them now… don't waste it."
Alice embraced her son, trembling, both parents overwhelmed by lost time reclaimed.
Daniel turned to Harry.
"Let them heal. Let him heal. War's not done… but hope's a weapon too."
Harry nodded, understanding etched deep beyond his years.
As they left the ward, Daniel's shadows coiled around him, fading into the corners of the hospital, always watching.
His words lingered in the air like prophecy.
"There's always a price, Neville… But today, Death paid it for you."
The Aftermath — Whispers in the Wizarding World
It didn't take long for the news to spread.
The Longbottoms — cured.
The impossible — undone.
No St. Mungo's healer, no Ministry department, no ancient potion had achieved what one man accomplished in a matter of minutes. And not just any man — him.
Daniel.
The whispers began as quiet rumors, but like wildfire, they consumed the Wizarding World.
"Death walks these halls…"
"He brought them back… the Longbottoms… completely sane…"
"You-know-who couldn't break him… the Ministry couldn't control him… now he's rewriting life and death…"
In the cozy homes of Hogsmeade, behind the reinforced walls of Gringotts, across every bustling alley and dark corner of Knockturn, the story twisted, grew, mutated.
The Daily Prophet tried to downplay it — headlines carefully crafted, Ministry-approved narratives littering every page.
"Ministry Expresses Concerns Over Unauthorized Magic"
"Longbottom Family Restored: An Investigation into Methods Used"
But truth — real, raw truth — never cared for headlines.
Mothers whispered over tea, clutching their wands tighter.
Aurors gathered in back rooms, debating whether to fear him or follow him.
And the old pure-blood families? Fear bled into their gilded halls.
"If he can bring them back… he can destroy legacies with equal ease…"
Lucius Malfoy tightened security at the Manor, paranoia eating at his pride.
At Hogwarts, the atmosphere turned electric — uncertainty cloaked every corridor.
Students exchanged wide-eyed glances, rumors flying faster than broomsticks.
"Neville's parents… completely healed…"
"If Daniel can do that, what else is he hiding?"
Some called him a savior.
Others, a tyrant in disguise.
In the Ministry of Magic, the higher-ups scrambled.
Meetings behind closed doors.
Plans whispered under protective charms.
"He's too dangerous…"
"We can't antagonize him… not yet…"
Dolores Umbridge's name was conspicuously absent — vanished after her last failed attempt to confront Daniel. No one asked. No one dared.
Alastor Moody, scarred and grizzled, chuckled darkly in a smoky tavern.
"They're finally scared… good. About bloody time."
Dumbledore remained silent, eyes heavy with calculation, watching the tides shift.
He knew the truth behind Daniel's actions — not just power, but precision. Not reckless magic, but absolute, calculated control.
And beneath it all… fear.
Not just of Daniel's strength — but his unpredictability.
Because Death had taken a side.
The side of children.
Of warriors.
Of those broken by wars they never chose.
Neville became a symbol — the boy who witnessed the impossible. He walked the castle halls differently now, taller, stronger. Not because of arrogance, but because hope no longer felt like a cruel joke.
And Harry?
Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, now the apprentice of Death himself… his legend was only beginning to burn.
The Wizarding World watched with bated breath.
Waiting.
Wondering.
Terrified.
"He can fix minds… can he break them just as easily?"
"He saved the Longbottoms… what price will he demand?"
"What happens when Death himself grows tired of playing human?"
But Daniel didn't answer.
Not yet.
He let the tension simmer.
The world wasn't ready for his next move.
But it was coming.
And they all knew…
Nothing would ever be the same again.