Chapter 1046
Delusion of Persecution
Chapter 1046 Delusion of Persecution
Fred snatched the letter back and quickly shoved it back into the envelope, as if the parchment itself were covered in the pus of the Babo tuber.
"Alright, forget about it now that you've seen it."
He said gruffly, "Don't take a single word of Percy's nonsense to heart. Right now, all he probably has on his mind is the Ministry of Magic's official seal."
George leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the slowly rotating crystal bubbles on the ceiling of the lounge area, his voice surprisingly calm:
"I have always believed that our inventions are fantastic, and so are our friends'."
"Honestly, my only regret in this life—so far—is..."
He paused, forcing a mocking smile: "It's just unfortunate that I've become brothers with Director Percy Ignatius Weasley."
“This letter,” Fred said coldly, “is only valuable because it shows us what happens when a person’s mind is filled with power.”
Ginny said softly, "It's like someone took his real soul out and stuffed in a bunch of scrap paper that can write official documents and shiny badges."
Harry felt a heavy weight in his heart.
He thought of Dudley's fists, of the Dursleys' rejection of him... It was disgusting, but at least it was naked loathing.
They've never liked him, and he knows it, so there's nothing to be sad about.
But Percy... Percy is different.
The Weasley family was so warm and fun, while his severing of ties with them seemed so cold, and the reasons were so absurd, making it more chilling than simple abuse or disgust.
For the rest of the time, no one was interested in speaking. The sandwiches tasted bland, and the tea lost its flavor.
They finished their meal in silence, and guessing that Molly Weasley's emotions might have calmed down a bit, they cleaned up the trash and quietly got up and went downstairs.
The hospital corridors seemed very deep and secluded. They walked through a series of heavy double wooden doors, with the names of various departments printed on the frosted glass of the doors.
The air was thick with the oppressive scent of potions, disinfectants, and disease. On the walls hung portraits of healers, each with a stern expression, scrutinizing passersby and sometimes declaring that they suffered from all sorts of strange ailments.
For example, a medieval wizard chased after Ron, claiming he had a severe case of smallpox and made him stick a toad's liver to his throat, then stand naked in a tub of eel eyes during the full moon for treatment, which infuriated Ron.
This little incident finally eased the dull atmosphere that everyone had been feeling along the way. The twins even pretended to be very surprised as they observed Ron's freckles, and insisted on writing down his "serious illness" to tell their mother.
An enraged Ron immediately elbowed each of the two men, before his taller brothers, laughing, carried him up the stairs.
Wade smiled and followed behind.
He loved this about the Weasley twins—as long as the brothers were together, it seemed that no gloom could linger over them for long, and even those around them couldn't help but laugh.
As Harry walked down the corridor marked "Charms Injury Department (Long-Term Care)," he glanced casually at a small window in a double door and suddenly stopped in his tracks.
The next moment, he almost pressed himself against the glass to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
"What's wrong, Harry?"
Ginny, who was walking behind him, almost bumped into Harry's back. She stopped abruptly, blushing and asking in surprise.
"The person inside looks like... Mr. Slughorn."
Harry lowered his voice, sounding uncertain, and said, "Horace Slughorn. Professor Dumbledore brought me and Wade to visit him last year. He was...not well."
"That old man who was captured and tortured by the mysterious man?" Ron remembered: "I remember you said that he used to be the mysterious man's teacher."
“Yes, it’s him,” Harry said. “He also taught my mom and dad.”
Wade also moved closer to the window, frowning, and said, "He's still in the hospital? I thought he had recovered and been discharged long ago."
Through that small pane of glass, he saw the scene inside the ward—
Compared to his emaciated, skeletal appearance when we last met, Slughorn has gained a lot of weight, and his cheeks look rounder.
But this didn't make him look healthy; instead, it highlighted an unnatural superficiality.
His skin was deathly pale, as if it hadn't seen the sun in a long time, and he looked like a mushroom growing in a cellar—gloomy, damp, and shivering.
Through the window, you could see Slughorn curled up on the hospital bed like a large baby, his arms tightly wrapped around a sleek, bright-eyed cheetah.
That was left for him by Vader during his last visit, to offer some comfort and companionship.
But at this moment, the cheetah seemed to have lost all will to live. It silently gazed at the scenery outside the window, its tail occasionally swaying as it patted Slughorn's plump back in a comforting manner.
Slughorn rested his head on the cheetah puppet, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the empty wall. Suddenly, large tears rolled down his pale, swollen cheeks without warning.
“Merlin!” Ron whispered, “he looks terrible.”
“Poor man,” Fred said seriously. “He’s definitely still haunted by the memory of being captured and tortured by the mysterious man.”
George also said, "It's hard to imagine what he's been through."
Harry felt a pang of anxiety.
Although he didn't know the old man well, the way the man talked about his mother left a deep impression on Harry, and also made him feel a vague sense of closeness to Slughorn.
The sight of the old man before him, overwhelmed by fear, pierced Harry's heart like a needle. A surge of intense sympathy mixed with helpless anxiety welled up within him, making him almost want to do something immediately.
"Is...is there really no other way?" He lowered his voice, as if afraid of disturbing something. "St. Mungo's has the best healers in the world, even they..."
“Healing magic isn’t a panacea, and besides, some illnesses can’t be relieved even by the best potions,” Vader said. “Let’s find his healer and ask about the situation first.”
His gaze shifted from Slughorn to the other end of the corridor.
A healer in a pale green robe approached, leading a crystal bubble that constantly changed colors. She recognized Wade and Harry and exclaimed in surprise:
"Ah, it's you! Mr. Gray, Mr. Potter, have you come to visit poor Horace?"
Wade said, "Hello, Elliott healer."
"Oh, you still remember my name!" The therapist seemed delighted, and the bubble in her hand suddenly turned bright orange.
"Of course, I am very impressed with your seriousness and responsibility."
Wade glanced out the window and said, "It seems... Mr. Slughorn's recovery isn't going very well."
The therapist sighed, and the bubble he was holding turned a hazy gray color.
"To be honest, it's far from ideal. His physical injuries have long since healed, but here..."
She gently tapped her heart and said, "The trauma from that experience ran too deep. He's lived in constant fear, convinced that the person whose name he can't even speak will come back for him." "But..." Ginny said doubtfully, "The mysterious man isn't already... already..."
She wanted to say—that person is dead.
But for some reason, Ginny couldn't quite bring herself to say it.
Harry glanced at her but didn't say anything.
"Yes!"
The therapist nodded, sighed, and said, "That's what I told him too, that the mysterious man would no longer pose a threat to him. But the patient refused to believe it, and he was very resistant to hearing anything about that man."
She said sympathetically, “This is severe paranoia, post-traumatic stress disorder… We’ve tried all sorts of palliatives, euphoria drugs, and emotional support, but nothing has worked.”
"Today is Christmas, and I made a bubble to add some festive atmosphere, hoping it could bring a little warmth to this poor soul..."
She looked at the bubble that was trying so hard to turn red but always failed, and shook her head.
Wade asked, "I wonder if his current condition allows for visits? Perhaps seeing familiar faces would make him feel a little better."
The therapist's eyes lit up, and he said happily:
“Of course! Of course! I remember that after you and Mr. Dumbledore came last time, his mood did stabilize for a few days, and he even asked for Pudding. That’s quite rare.”
As she spoke, she gently pushed open the heavy wooden door, a smile spreading across her face, and said in a deliberately light tone:
"Good afternoon, dear Horace! It's Christmas today, can you hear the celebrations outside? Would you like to go for a walk? By the way, see who's come to visit you?"
Slughorn's body trembled, and he turned his head sharply, looking at the doorway in horror, his eyes wide open, revealing the whites of his eyes.
Seeing that the person behind the therapist wasn't the one he feared most, he relaxed a little, then quickly switched to a slightly stiff but warm smile, completely unaware of the tears streaming down his face.
"Oh! Oh yes, happy holidays, dear Elliott! To be honest, I feel much better now!"
He spoke in a hoarse voice, his gaze falling on Wade and Harry at the doorway, and on the Weasleys peering curiously behind them.
"My God! It's you guys!"
Slughorn's voice suddenly rose, unusually joyful. He immediately sat up straight, but his back remained pressed tightly against the wall.
“Wade! Harry! And… oh, and these lovely young people! What an unexpected surprise! Come in, come in and sit down!”
“Ah, I knew you’d be happy to see them!” said Elliott the healer, pouring a glass of water for the patient in bed. “Have some water, Horace, I know you must be thirsty.”
"Haha, Elliott, I knew you were the most considerate girl."
Slughorn took the glass of water with slightly trembling hands, spilling a few drops. He hurriedly wiped the slightly damp glass with his other hand, and said with a dry laugh:
"Oh dear, look at me... I'm so excited."
As he spoke, his eyes quickly swept across the doorway and windows before returning to the visitor, occasionally stealing a glance at Elliott, watching his therapist with suspicion and wariness.
Deep in his eyes, the lingering fear was like a man-eating monster lurking underwater, occasionally revealing a glimpse before quickly disappearing.
"Mr. Slughorn, how are you feeling now?"
Harry asked in a voice gentler than ever before, afraid that a louder voice would frighten him.
“Me? I’m perfectly normal! Really!” Slughorn said in a high-pitched voice, “Of course I know that person… that person is dead, I can distinguish between fantasy and reality!”
Wade's gaze swept over the uneven nails on his ten fingers, marks of repeated biting. Then he looked at the red scratches on his arm, mostly hidden by his sleeve.
Just then, a crisp "pop" came from outside the window, as if someone had set off a firework.
The sound didn't get very loud in the room, but Slughorn jumped for a second. He then forced himself to act as if nothing had happened, as if he had just suddenly felt an itch on his back.
The cheetah puppet was still tightly held by his side, its gaze fixed on its master, its eyes clearly conveying a message—when are you taking me back? If I stay any longer, I'll become depressed.
Wade reached out and stroked the cheetah's head, stared at it for a moment, then turned to the therapist and said:
"Excuse me, could I speak to him alone for a while? I promise I won't upset him."
The therapist hesitated for a moment... On the one hand, she was worried that Wade and his group were young and impetuous and might say something they shouldn't have, which might upset the patient;
On the other hand, there are concerns that the emotionally unstable Slughorn might hurt these kind young people.
But recalling the last time, she finally nodded and said, "Okay... but don't do it for too long. If he has any... extreme reaction, call me immediately."
The therapist's footsteps faded into the corridor, and the hollow, enthusiastic smile on Slughorn's face receded like the tide, replaced by a deep, barely concealed wariness.
His gaze shifted from the doorway, locking onto Wade like a startled animal. He unconsciously shrank back, tightening his grip on the cheetah puppet until his knuckles turned white.
However, instead of speaking to him immediately, Wade looked at Harry.
Harry asked blankly, "...Wade, what are you trying to tell me?"
Wade sighed and said bluntly, "What I want to say is... I want to speak with Mr. Slughorn 'alone'."
He deliberately emphasized the word "alone".
In truth, Wade didn't mind Harry's presence, because Harry already knew enough. But simply sending the Weasleys away would undoubtedly make them feel like outsiders, creating an unnecessary barrier between them.
Harry then realized that he wasn't upset about being excluded; he simply assumed that Wade's conversation had touched on Slughorn's privacy. So he nodded and said:
“Of course, we’ll head back to Mr. Weasley’s place first.”
He looked at Slughorn, trying to make his voice sound warm and sincere: "Then you should rest well, Mr. Slughorn. We'll come to visit you again next time."
Slughorn's lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to keep them there, but no sound came out.
Ron and the others said their goodbyes and left the ward with Harry, while George, who was at the very back, quietly closed the door.
With a soft click, the door lock closed.
The ward fell completely silent, and Slughorn's breathing suddenly became heavy.
He seemed even more nervous than before, his eyes darting around as if he dared not look at Wade. He only licked his dry lips and whispered:
“Thank you… thank you, Mr. Gray. Thank you for saving me last time… and…”
He glanced down at the cheetah puppet in his arms, his fingers nervously stroking its ear, and said, "Thank you for leaving Gardner with me... It... It's fine..."
Vidra pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. He looked directly into the other man's evasive eyes and said in a steady voice:
“Mr. Slughorn, I know what you’re afraid of. What I need to tell you is—”
"you are right."
"He is still alive."
(End of this chapter)