The Acolytes' healer was an elderly male wizard. His silver-gray hair was neatly combed, and fine lines covered the corners of his eyes.
He did not use a Wand. Instead, he extended a finger and touched the baby's forehead, cheeks, heart, and tiny wrists with utmost gentleness. Closing his eyes, he seemed to be sensing something.
The baby had eaten and drunk his fill and had stopped crying. Now, beneath those cloud-soft touches, he let out a string of giggles, waving his little arms and legs in an utterly adorable manner.
Hawthorne sat beside him, his hands clasped beneath his chin as he watched in silence. Though he was exhausted, he refused to leave baby Hughes behind and rest alone.
Antoine stood by the door with his arms folded, leaning against the wall. Beside him was Wilan, scribbling on parchment as he sent messages to Wade—the Streaming Mirror monitoring the scene, the whereabouts of Hawthorne and the others, and the Magical Congress's movements had all been supplied to Grindelwald by him.
Naturally, all of this had Wade's permission.
After a long while, the healer withdrew his hand. Frowning, he said softly:
"The situation is complicated and dangerous. Forcibly reversing or stripping away the Time Magic could produce unpredictable consequences—and I do not mean merely death."
He looked directly into Hawthorne's eyes and said without concealment, "If you want him to be more comfortable and live a few more years, the best course is to do nothing and let him grow naturally."
"Then," Hawthorne asked, "does that mean Ezra has essentially lived his life over again in full? Other than not having his previous memories..."
The healer looked at him silently, his gaze filled with wordless pity and apology.
That look was like a cold, blunt knife, slowly and heavily cutting