piratefiction Chapter 317 Long-Term Ward
Chapter 317 Long-Term Ward
Chapter 317 Long-Term Ward (5K) (2/2) (Seeking monthly votes at the end of the month)
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp as he looked at Sirius: "What we need to do now is not to deny this image, but to strengthen the consensus in people's minds about you. This is also very beneficial for you personally, and for Harry, whom you want to protect."
Sirius frowned, his grey-blue eyes filled with impatience and resistance: "Beneficial? To let me be pointed at and discussed like an exhibit, with them debating how 'miserable' I am?"
"It's influence, Black," Lynch calmly corrected. "When everyone sees you, all they'll remember is your twelve years of wrongful imprisonment and unwavering loyalty, everything you did for Harry. Then you'll only have two choices: reject that attention, or accept it."
He explained meticulously, "If you want to reject it, you'll have to live a very quiet, almost isolated life for a long time. Only after time has passed will people gradually forget these things. But I think," Lynch's gaze swept over Sirius's face, which, even in its weakness, couldn't hide its arrogance, "that kind of life away from the eye of the storm, living in obscurity, probably doesn't suit your character."
Sirius seemed to have been touched on a sore spot. He forced himself to sit up straighter, though the movement caused cold sweat to bead on his forehead. He still stubbornly retorted, "You don't understand me, Lynch! Maybe I just need some rest? After Azkaban and all this, shouldn't I have some quiet time to heal?"
Upon hearing this, Lin Qi made a fleeting, obviously feigned expression of thought, then nodded, his tone completely calm: "Given the physical and mental torment you've suffered, announcing to the outside world that you need to rest for a while is a very reasonable and logical choice. Public opinion will sympathize with and support this."
His tone abruptly shifted, like an icicle piercing a calm lake: "But unfortunately, time won't wait for you, Blake."
Sirius's heart sank. He stared at Lin Qi, his voice unconsciously lowered, tinged with tension: "What do you mean? Explain yourself."
Lin Qi leaned forward slightly, the soft light in the ward casting a faint shadow on his sharply defined face, making his expression appear particularly solemn.
He lowered his voice further, making sure only the two of them could hear: "Because the war twelve years ago has never truly ended. The dark cloud hanging over our world has only temporarily receded, not dissipated. The enemy you know, Voldemort, is still lurking in the shadows, gathering strength. The centaurs in the Forbidden Forest often look up at the stars, and they say that what we are in now is merely a brief, fragile peace between two wars."
He paused, his dark eyes fixed on Sirius's suddenly constricted pupils, and said, word by word, "I think they're right."
Sirius's breath hitched slightly.
Lynch's words were like a cold key, suddenly unlocking the floodgates of memories he had deliberately ignored, or rather, tried to cover up with anger and impulse.
The Dementors of Azkaban sucked away many happy memories, but those cruel fragments of war, like a chilling wound, never truly left.
He fell silent, the arrogance and impatience on his face receding like the tide, leaving only solemnity.
His grey eyes were fixed sharply on Lynch, his voice low and hoarse: "Evidence," he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I need evidence, Lynch. Not your baseless speculation."
Lynch seemed to have anticipated his reaction. His face showed no surprise; he simply leaned back and said in an almost indifferent tone, "Go ask Headmaster Dumbledore. You may not believe me, you may suspect I'm exaggerating, or that I have ulterior motives. But you should believe that old man, shouldn't you? Go ask him if that dark cloud has truly dissipated."
Sirius Black pursed his lips and did not answer immediately.
His taut jawline revealed his inner gravity, but the doubt in his gray eyes did indeed lessen slightly.
Dumbledore's name acted as a barrier, temporarily shielding him from his surging doubts.
He couldn't, and would never, easily doubt Dumbledore. He had already made up his mind to see Dumbledore as soon as possible and get to the bottom of things himself.
Lynch continued, "In our first war against Voldemort, both I and your Order of the Phoenix certainly caused him considerable trouble. But we were never, and never were, the main force against him. The real main force at that time was the Ministry of Magic, which possessed the resources and legitimate military power of the entire wizarding world."
This is true.
Sirius subconsciously pursed his pale lips, a dark glint flashing in his gray eyes—a fact he had to admit.
Despite his long-standing contempt for the Ministry of Magic's bureaucratic practices and his youthful pride in rebelling against his family and the system, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix who had personally experienced that darkest period, he could not deny the truth of Lynch's account.
Fragments of memories flashed through his mind: scenes he had witnessed on the battlefield years ago; the rain of spells as organized Auror units clashed head-on with Death Eater groups; the protective barriers erected by the Ministry of Magic's joint patrols in wizarding villages; and the chillingly long official casualty lists published in the Daily Prophet.
The Order of the Phoenix is indeed like a dagger, delivering a fatal blow to the enemy from the shadows.
But the real force bearing the brunt of Voldemort's main attacks was indeed the massive, orthodox Ministry of Magic.
The sacrifices of James and Lily, as well as the deaths of many others, all occurred against the backdrop of a full-scale war between the Ministry of Magic and Voldemort's forces.
This is a point he cannot deny, no matter how much he personally dislikes the system.
"But that was the Ministry of Magic back then," Lynch said. "Despite various problems, it was still relatively reliable."
He paused slightly: "But now, after twelve years of peace—or rather, twelve years of numbness and slackness—can you imagine that some Aurors in the Ministry of Magic can't even reliably cast a decent Armor Charm? Bureaucracy has eroded its efficiency, and the facade of peace has dulled its claws. It is no longer the machine that could face the Dark Lord head-on."
Sirius's facial muscles twitched. He wanted to say something sarcastic, to retort that the Ministry of Magic had never been reliable, but he found himself unable to speak.
Because he knew that what Lynch said was true.
The fact that even someone like Peter Pettigrew could receive the Order of Merlin from the Ministry of Magic is the biggest irony of the entire system.
The faces of some young Aurors flashed through his mind. They looked glamorous in the newspapers, but how good were they in actual combat?
His heart was ice-cold.
"So," Lynch's voice pulled him back to reality, "I anticipate that in the wars to come, we will need someone outside the Ministry of Magic to step forward, unite our forces, and lead the resistance. We need a banner."
"Isn't there Dumbledore?" Sirius almost instinctively retorted, a reaction of the weak seeking refuge. Then, with a complex emotion, he added, "And what about you? 'The Mist-Hanger,' your name in the dark circles is probably more effective at stopping children's night crying than many spells."
Lynch shook his head slightly, his face devoid of any smugness, but rather unusually clear-headed: "Dumbledore is our anchor, but he's getting old, and his strength lies more in strategy and confronting the darkest corners of the universe. He can't do everything himself. As for me," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips, "the 'Hanger' is a blade in the shadows, an enforcer on the edge of the law. I'm good at creating fear, eliminating targets, but I'm not good at, nor can I be, the light that unites people. Those who have no connection with me may fear me, but rarely will they gather around me, filled with hope."
His gaze returned to Sirius Black: "At this time, we need more heroes, role models at different levels. And you, Sirius Black, a 'wrongfully imprisoned hero' who came out of Azkaban alive, avenged his best friend, and vowed to protect his only bloodline—your image is exactly what this dull, fear-ridden era needs most, and what can move people the most."
Sirius fell into a long silence.
He stopped looking at Lynch and instead turned his gaze to the window, as if trying to penetrate the bright glass and see the darkness that was recombinating in the distance.
Only his slightly heavy breathing could be heard in the ward.
He hated being told what to do and being bound, but Lynch laid everything bare before him: the enemy had not yet been eliminated, a new crisis was about to arrive, and their own strength was declining.
Protecting Harry and fighting Voldemort—this was far more important than his personal likes and dislikes.
After a long while, he finally turned back and spoke again, his voice hoarse from suppressed emotion, asking a question that touched a deeper part of his heart: "So what about Harry? You said at the beginning that this would also be very beneficial for Harry. What are the benefits? I don't want him to be pushed into a more dangerous situation because of me."
A tiny, knowing smile flashed across Lynch's lips, so fleeting it seemed like an illusion.
He knew that Sirius had already agreed.
“You missed twelve years of his growth, Blake, so you don’t really know him.” Lynch’s voice softened. “The boy’s personality, deep down, is like his father James—unvain, even somewhat disgusted by the ostentatious attention that comes purely from the title of ‘savior.’ But deep down, he also craves to be the center of attention, to receive genuine recognition based on his own abilities, efforts, and character.”
He paused, observing the subtle changes in Sirius's face, noticing a flicker of nostalgia for his old friend and tenderness for his godson in his eyes, before continuing, "Think about it, when he saw you—his godfather, a man once misunderstood by the world and imprisoned—not choose to succumb or run away, but bravely stand up and earn people's respect and admiration through your experiences and actions, becoming a true symbol of resistance against darkness. What did that mean to him?"
Lynch leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming more forceful: "This means he can learn from you how to stay true to himself amidst criticism and hardship; it means he can see that a person's worth is not defined by gossip, but by their own choices and actions. You can be the most vivid and powerful role model on his path to growth, far more powerful than any textbook or other person's preaching. Your image, your story, if guided in a positive direction, will be a spiritual shield for Harry against all the storms of the future. He will be proud of you, and he will yearn to earn his own true glory through his own abilities, just like you."
These words were like a ray of light, piercing through the fog and resistance in Sirius's heart.
He seemed to see Harry's eyes, just like his father's, full of longing and vitality.
Yes, he missed out on so much, and now he has the opportunity to stand beside Harry in a stronger, more positive light, not just as a protector, but as a guide, a godfather Harry can be proud of.
This possibility was more convincing to him than any grand theories about war or influence.
The most tender string in his heart was precisely plucked by Lin Qi.
He remained silent, but the light in his grey-blue eyes had gradually shifted from initial resistance and struggle to unwavering resolve. He looked at Lynch: "Then tell me, what exactly do you mean by 'strengthening the impression of consensus'?"
Lynch stood up and buttoned up his gray suit.
"Heal your injury as soon as possible, Blake," he instructed calmly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "We don't have much time to prepare behind the scenes."
After saying that, he didn't linger and turned to walk straight out of the ward.
Lynch smiled and waved to the Aurors at the door of the ward. Then he walked into Harry's ward.
He pushed open the door, and the scene inside was more lively than when he left.
Besides Harry, who was still lying in bed, and Hermione, who was standing by his side, there were two more people: Ron Weasley with red hair, and his father, Arthur Weasley, who looked a little tired but was still kind.
"Mr. Lynch." Arthur Weasley stood up immediately upon seeing him, a smile spreading across his face.
"Arthur." Lynch nodded slightly in return, his gaze sweeping over Ron, who was looking at Harry with concern. "It seems there are more visitors now, which is a good thing."
“Yes,” Arthur sighed and explained, “After the Ministry of Magic inquired, Molly and I originally planned to send the children directly back to Hogwarts. But Ron—” He looked at his youngest son with a helpless yet affectionate gaze, “insisted on coming to see Harry to put his mind at ease. So, Molly took Ginny and the others back first, and I brought Ron over.”
Lynch nodded, then turned to Hermione beside him and said to Arthur, "That's perfect. I have some business to attend to in London. Arthur, could you please escort Miss Granger safely back to Hogwarts later as well?"
"Of course, no problem!" Mr. Weasley readily agreed, "It's on my way."
After a brief exchange, mainly Lynch inquired about the internal situation of the Ministry of Magic, which drew a barrage of complaints and accusations from Mr. Weasley against the Ministry.
At the bedside, Ron and Hermione whispered to Harry about what had happened the night before, expressing their shock and lingering fear.
After a while, Mr. Weasley checked the time and then called Ron and Hermione to prepare to leave.
Ron followed obediently beside his father, head down, his face looking rather unwell.
"Harry, get some rest. We'll come see you again this weekend!" Hermione glanced back at Harry one last time, then politely said goodbye to Lynch and followed the Weasleys out of the ward.
The ward fell silent again, leaving only Lynch and Harry on the hospital bed.
Harry's eyes were half-open, and he looked somewhat confused and weak.
Lin Qi walked to the bedside and sat down.
"How are you feeling, Harry?"
"Thank goodness—Uncle Lynch." Harry's voice was a little hoarse as he tried to concentrate. "I heard from Ron—Peter Pettigrew ran away?"
"Don't worry, it's only temporary. He'll eventually pay for what he's done," Lynch replied, noticing Harry's heavy eyelids and obvious struggle to stay awake.
"Don't worry about him, just focus on getting better yourself."
Harry seemed to want to ask something more, but a heavy sense of fatigue washed over him again, and the effects of the medication continued to take hold.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and his eyelids slowly closed uncontrollably. Under Lin Qi's calm gaze, his head tilted, and he fell into a deep sleep once again.
Lin Qi stood up, bent down to take off his glasses and put them on the bedside table, then covered him with a blanket.
After glancing once more at Harry's peaceful face in his sleep, Lynch left without a word, turning and leaving the ward completely peaceful for the savior boy who needed time to heal.
Lynch walked unhurriedly along the fifth-floor corridor of St. Mungo's, his leather shoes making a barely audible sound on the polished floor.
His thoughts were still on the arrangements for Sirius and the person he would soon meet, his gaze habitually sweeping over the surrounding environment.
Just then, an old woman wearing a green robe, a worm-eaten fox fur coat, and a hat decorated with a vulture specimen walked steadily past him.
Her gray hair was tied into a tight bun, and her profile was strong, exuding a resilience that had endured many storms without ever bending.
Lin Qi felt that she looked familiar, but he couldn't immediately recall where he had seen her before.
He paused slightly, watching the old lady walk straight to the end of the corridor, push open the door of a ward, and disappear into it.
That area wasn't a temporary ward; it was more like a long-term care ward.
With a thought in mind, Lin Qi changed direction and walked towards the end of the corridor.
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