Harry stood in the doorway, momentarily taken aback by the transformation of Daphne's spare bedroom. The furniture had been pushed against the walls, leaving the center of the room clear except for a complex series of runes drawn in what appeared to be silver paint across the hardwood floor. A modified Pensieve—smaller than the one in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, but unmistakable with its shimmering surface—sat on a low table near the center of the runic circle. Beside it, carefully arranged in a wooden rack, were a dozen empty crystal vials alongside various magical instruments Harry didn't recognize.
Daphne knelt at the edge of the circle, adding final touches to a particularly intricate rune. She had traded her Healer's robes for simpler attire—dark trousers and a loose-fitting blue tunic that allowed for easier movement. Her blonde hair was tied back in a practical braid that hung between her shoulder blades.
Harry noticed how different she looked from their school days—more confident, more focused, with none of the haughty reserve that had characterized the Slytherin students he'd known. The years since Hogwarts had changed them all, but he was still adjusting to the idea of working alongside Daphne Greengrass, of all people.
"I wasn't expecting a full ritual space," Harry said, stepping carefully into the room.
Daphne glanced up, a small smile touching her lips. "Memory magic requires precision, Potter. Especially when dealing with fragments this damaged." She made a final stroke with her wand and stood, brushing invisible dust from her knees. "Did you bring it?"
Harry found himself caught off guard by that slight smile. During their Hogwarts years, he couldn't recall ever seeing Daphne Greengrass smile—not genuinely, at least. She had always maintained a certain distance, neither participating in Malfoy's bullying nor opposing it, existing in her own careful bubble of neutrality. This new side of her—competent, direct, and occasionally even warm—was something he was still adjusting to.
"Potter?" Daphne prompted, raising an eyebrow. "The memory?"
"Right, sorry," Harry said, shaking himself from his thoughts. He reached into his pocket, removing a small, heavily-warded container. Inside was a single vial containing swirling, silver-blue strands—memory fragments collected from Travers's murder scene, smuggled out of evidence storage through channels he'd rather not think about too carefully.
"It wasn't easy," he admitted, handing the container to Daphne. "Ron had to call in several favors. If Robards finds out..."
"He won't," Daphne said confidently, accepting the container with careful hands. "The evidence inventory won't show any discrepancies. I assume Granger handled that part?"
Harry nodded. "She found a precedent in regulations allowing for 'sample collection for specialized analysis' without formal removal from evidence. It's technically legal, if stretched to its breaking point."
"Typical Granger ingenuity," Daphne murmured, though without the derisive tone such a comment might have carried during their school days. She placed the container on a small side table and turned her attention fully to Harry.
A hint of respect showed in her expression as she added, "You've built quite the network of loyal allies over the years. It's... impressive."
Harry shifted, never comfortable with acknowledgments of his influence. "They're friends, not allies. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Daphne asked, her head tilting slightly as she studied him. "In my experience, true friends are the most valuable allies one can have. Something many Slytherins learned too late." A shadow crossed her face briefly before she composed herself. "Before we begin, we need to discuss exactly what we're attempting here."
Harry moved further into the room, careful not to disturb any of the runes as he found a place to sit on a cushion near the edge of the circle. "You mentioned therapeutic Legilimency?"
"Yes." Daphne joined him, sitting cross-legged on a cushion opposite his. "Traditional memory viewing in a Pensieve works for intact memories willingly given. But what we have here are forcibly extracted fragments, damaged in the process and deteriorating further with each passing hour."
"Can they even be salvaged?" Harry asked, eyeing the swirling contents of the vial dubiously.
"Not in the conventional sense," Daphne admitted. "But there's a specialized branch of Healing that deals with traumatic memory recovery. It involves a modified form of Legilimency, used therapeutically rather than invasively."
Harry stiffened involuntarily. His experiences with Legilimency were universally unpleasant, recalling the brutal mental invasions during Snape's so-called "lessons" that had left him with migraines and nightmares.
Daphne noticed his reaction immediately her eyes narrowing with perception. "You've had negative experiences with Legilimency," she stated rather than asked, her voice softening unexpectedly.
"That's putting it mildly," Harry said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "Fifth year, Snape was supposed to teach me Occlumency to block the connection with Voldemort. His method consisted mainly of attacking my mind without warning and criticizing me for being unable to defend against it."
Something flashed in Daphne's eyes—anger, but not directed at him. "That's not teaching. That's mental assault." She shook her head. "Professor Snape was brilliant in many ways, but his teaching methods were... deeply flawed. Especially with something as delicate as mind magic."
"You sound like you actually respected him," Harry observed, curious despite himself.
Daphne considered this for a moment before responding. "As a potions master and as Head of Slytherin, yes. He protected us during a time when the school was increasingly hostile to anyone wearing green and silver." She paused, her gaze growing distant with memory. "But respect doesn't mean blindness to flaws. His approach to teaching was often cruel, and his personal biases affected his judgment in ways that harmed students—including those in his own house, at times."
Harry hadn't expected such a nuanced assessment. In his experience, people either vilified Snape entirely or defended him unconditionally. This middle ground, acknowledging both the man's virtues and failings, reminded Harry that his own views had evolved similarly over the years.
"I never developed any meaningful protection," Harry admitted. "The lessons were discontinued after... an incident."
Daphne studied him thoughtfully. "Yet you survived direct mental contact with the Dark Lord. That suggests natural resilience, at minimum." She hesitated, then added, "Before we attempt to examine these memory fragments, I should teach you proper mental shielding techniques. Not only for your protection but because I'll need your help as an anchor."
"An anchor?"
"Memory exploration of this nature requires a stable reference point," she explained. "Someone to prevent the Legilimens from becoming lost or trapped in fragmented memories. Typically, it would be another trained Legilimens, but with proper preparation, you could serve that function."
Harry considered this. Working with memories wasn't new to him—he'd navigated Pensieve memories many times. But actively participating in Legilimency? That was different. Still, if it meant uncovering what had happened at Halcyon House...
"What would I need to do?"
"First," Daphne said, shifting slightly closer to him, her voice gentle, "we need to establish your current mental defenses. May I?"
Harry tensed again. "You want to use Legilimency on me?"
"Not exactly," she clarified. "I want to assess your natural barriers—gently, without invasion. Think of it as... knocking on a door rather than breaking it down. I promise you'll barely feel my presence."
Harry hesitated, memories of Snape's brutal mental intrusions still fresh even after all these years. But Daphne wasn't Snape, and they needed this information if they were going to understand what had happened at Halcyon House.
"Alright," he said finally. "But stop immediately if I ask."
"Of course," she agreed readily. "I'd suggest we sit more comfortably. Face to face, if possible."
They adjusted their positions, sitting cross-legged with knees almost touching. Daphne lifted her hands, palms upward in the space between them.
"Place your hands on mine," she instructed. "Physical contact helps establish the initial connection, especially for beginners."
Harry complied, resting his palms lightly against hers. Her skin was cool and smooth, her fingers slender and her palms soft. He felt a slight tingle where their skin met—whether magical or simply nervous awareness, he couldn't tell.
"Now, look into my eyes," she said softly. "Try to relax your mind but don't actively resist. I'm not going to search for memories or secrets. I'm simply going to assess your natural defenses."
Harry met her gaze. Her eyes were a deeper blue than he'd realized, very similar to the color of the lake at Hogwarts on a clear autumn day. He drew a steady breath and gave a slight nod.
"Legilimens," Daphne whispered, her voice barely audible.
The sensation was nothing like what Harry had experienced with Snape. Rather than the painful, jarring intrusion he expected, this felt like a gentle ripple across the surface of his consciousness—like someone trailing fingers through still water. He could sense Daphne's presence, distinct and careful, moving around the edges of his mind without attempting to penetrate deeper.
After perhaps thirty seconds, the sensation receded. Daphne blinked and withdrew her hands slowly, but not before Harry felt a brief, reassuring squeeze of her fingers against his.
"Interesting," she said, looking at him with newfound respect. "You have significant natural barriers, likely developed in response to your connection with the Dark Lord. They're unstructured but impressively strong."
"So I wasn't completely hopeless at Occlumency after all?" Harry asked with a wry smile.
"Far from it," Daphne replied. "What you lack is technique and conscious control. Your mind protects itself instinctively, but you never learned to direct that protection." She paused, considering something. She paused, considering something, her fingers tapping thoughtfully against her knee. "In fact, I suspect Snape's approach was particularly ill-suited to your natural defenses. You don't have the temperament for the rigid, cold construction of traditional Occlumency shields."
Harry had never considered this possibility—that his failure might have been partly due to an incompatible teaching method rather than personal inadequacy. It was a surprisingly liberating thought.
"We can work with this. It won't be perfect, not without months of practice, but I can help you establish enough structure to serve as an anchor."
"How long will that take?"
"A few hours, at minimum," Daphne said. "Memory exploration isn't something to rush into unprepared."
Harry glanced at his watch. It was barely eight in the morning. They had arrived in Daphne's apartment late the previous night, sleeping in shifts while taking turns reviewing the scattered evidence they'd accumulated. The hours spent in close proximity had gradually eroded some of the awkwardness between them.
"We have time," he said. "Robards isn't expecting me until tomorrow morning, and thanks to Ron's warning, no one knows where to find us."
"Good." Daphne rose gracefully to her feet. "I'll prepare some tea. Mental work is surprisingly taxing, and you'll need the energy."
While she disappeared to the kitchen, Harry examined the ritual space more carefully. The runes formed concentric circles, with specialized groupings at cardinal points. He recognized some from his limited study of Ancient Runes, but many were unfamiliar—likely specialized symbols used in Healing magic.
Daphne returned with a tray bearing a steaming pot and two cups. "Fortified with mental clarity potion," she explained, pouring the amber liquid. "Perfectly safe and Ministry-approved for Healers working with memory patients."
"Not your first time doing this, then?" Harry asked, accepting a cup.
"I've used therapeutic Legilimency with trauma patients," she confirmed, settling back onto her cushion. "Never with forcibly extracted memory fragments, though. That's... experimental."
Harry sipped the tea, noting the unusual but not unpleasant taste—hints of ginger and something more exotic. "When did you learn Legilimency? It's not exactly common magic."
A shadow passed briefly across Daphne's face. "During the war. My father insisted. He said a Greengrass should never be vulnerable to mental intrusion, especially with both sides employing Legilimens."
She paused, tracing the rim of her cup with one finger. "My family tried to remain neutral during both wars, which in practice meant constant vigilance against both sides. Voldemort distrusted those who wouldn't openly declare for him, and the Ministry was increasingly paranoid about pure-blood families with Slytherin connections."
Harry hadn't considered how difficult that middle position might have been. His world had been so sharply divided between those who fought Voldemort and those who supported him that he'd given little thought to families who had tried to simply survive without choosing sides.
"My instructor was more... ethical than your experience with Professor Snape. She emphasized defense first, then controlled exploration."
"She?"
"Madam Kelley. An Irish witch who specialized in memory Healing. She worked with victims of the first war before retiring to the continent." Daphne's expression softened slightly. "She was strict but never cruel. She understood that mind magic requires trust and respect between teacher and student."
"She sounds remarkable," Harry said sincerely.
Daphne nodded, her eyes distant. "She was. She taught me that Healing isn't just about repairing physical damage—it's about understanding how magic, mind, and body interact." She refocused on Harry, something vulnerable briefly visible in her usually composed expression. "When everyone was choosing sides during our final year at Hogwarts, her teachings helped me see that there was another path—that I could use what I'd learned to heal rather than harm."
Harry realized this was perhaps the most personal thing Daphne had ever shared with him. It made him curious about her journey from the reserved Slytherin student to the confident Healer before him, but he sensed now wasn't the time to press for more details.
"So, what now?" he asked, finishing his tea.
"Now we build upon your natural defenses," Daphne said, her professional demeanor back in place. "The goal isn't perfect Occlumency—that takes years of practice. We need to establish conscious control over your existing barriers and create a stable anchor point that I can connect to during the memory exploration."
She resumed her previous position, gesturing for Harry to do the same. This time when their hands met, Harry felt a curious warmth spreading from the point of contact—not uncomfortable, definitely not, but it felt magical.
"Mental visualization is key," Daphne explained. "Different traditions use different metaphors—walls, shields, fog. What matters is finding something that resonates with your natural thought patterns." She paused. "When you feel threatened or invaded, what does your mind instinctively do?"
Harry considered this carefully. "It's not so much a barrier as... redirection. Like walking through the woods and suddenly realizing you've been going in circles."
Daphne nodded. "A labyrinth defense. Uncommon but effective. Instead of blocking intrusion, it misleads." Her thumbs traced small circles against his palms. "Let's work with that natural tendency. Close your eyes and imagine your mind as a series of pathways."
Harry obeyed, surprised at how easily the visualization came to him. In his mind's eye, he saw a complex network of paths through dense forest, reminiscent of the Forbidden Forest but without its menacing quality.
"Good," Daphne murmured, and he realized she was following his visualization. Her presence was again light, respectful—nothing like the battering ram of Snape's Legilimency. "Now, consciously alter some of the paths. Create deliberate loops, false trails."
Harry found he could shape the mental landscape with surprising ease, crafting dead ends and circular routes that would confuse any intruder.
"Excellent," Daphne's voice reached him, both audibly and somehow within the mental construct itself. "Now create one true path—hidden but direct—that leads to a secure clearing. This will be our anchor point."
Harry imagined a narrow trail, almost invisible among the ferns and underbrush, that wound its way through the densest part of the forest before emerging into a perfect circular clearing. In the clearing, he visualized a simple stone bench beside a small, clear pool—a place of calm and clarity where thoughts could be examined without distortion.
"Perfect," Daphne whispered, her mental presence joining his in the imagined clearing. "This is an exceptional anchor point. Strong but not rigid, hidden but accessible if you know the way."
The work continued for what felt like hours, with Daphne guiding Harry through increasingly complex mental exercises. She taught him how to recognize intrusion, how to differentiate between types of mental contact, and most importantly, how to maintain the anchor point that would serve as their safety tether during memory exploration.
As they worked, they both became increasingly aware of the natural rapport developing between them. Despite their very different backgrounds and the lingering shadows of school rivalries, there was an unexpected compatibility in how their minds interfaced. Daphne's calm precision complemented Harry's more intuitive approach, creating a balanced dynamic that made the mental work flow more easily than either had anticipated.
The sun had risen high overhead when they finally took a substantial break. Harry's head ached dully from the sustained concentration, but it was nothing like the splitting migraines that had followed Snape's lessons.
"You're a natural at this," Daphne said, stretching her arms overhead to relieve tension in her shoulders. "Far better than you give yourself credit for."
"I had a better teacher this time," Harry replied, meaning it sincerely.
A hint of color touched Daphne's cheeks before she rose briskly. "We should eat something substantial before attempting the memory exploration. It's going to demand significant magical energy from both of us."
They shared a simple meal of soup and sandwiches in Daphne's small kitchen, discussing their strategy for approaching the damaged memory fragments.
"The key is to maintain emotional distance," Daphne explained, pushing her empty bowl aside and leaning forward on her elbows. "Memory fragments carry emotional resonance. If we allow ourselves to become too caught up in the feelings attached to them, we risk losing objectivity—or worse, becoming trapped in the emotional state of the memory."
"Like a corrupted Pensieve experience?" Harry suggested.
"Similar, but more dangerous," she confirmed. "In a Pensieve, you're an observer. With this technique, we're actively engaging with the memory's magical essence. The lines between observer and participant become blurred."
Harry frowned. "That sounds risky."
"It is," Daphne acknowledged candidly. "Which is why the anchor is essential. If I become too immersed, you'll need to pull me back using the connection we've established." She reached across the table, briefly touching his hand to emphasize her point. "I won't lie to you, Harry. This is experimental magic. There are legitimate reasons why it's rarely attempted."
"But you think it's our best chance of understanding what these murders are about?" he asked, unconsciously rubbing the spot on his hand where her fingers had rested.
"I think it may be our only chance," she replied quietly. "The Ministry is actively suppressing information. The killer is eliminating witnesses. These memory fragments might contain the only unfiltered truth we can access."
Harry nodded slowly. He was no stranger to risk, especially when balanced against the need to prevent further deaths.
"Alright," he said. "What do we do first?"
Back in the prepared room, Daphne carefully removed the vial of memory fragments from its protective container. Unlike the intact, silvery strands Harry was familiar with from Pensieve memories, these had an unstable quality—shifting between silver and an unnatural blue as they swirled restlessly within the glass.
"These were extracted violently," Daphne observed, holding the vial up to the light. "See how they don't maintain a consistent color or texture? That indicates severe trauma during the extraction process."
"Can they still be read?" Harry asked.
"Not conventionally," Daphne replied, acutely aware of Harry's proximity but maintaining her focus. "A Pensieve would reject them as too damaged. That's why we need to use Legilimency to interpret them directly."
She placed the vial in a specially designed holder at the center of the runic circle. With precise movements of her wand, she activated the runes, which began to glow with a soft silver light. The modified Pensieve beside the vial remained empty for now.
"The runes will help stabilize the memory fragments and provide a controlled environment for the exploration," she explained. "Once we begin, we cannot interrupt the process until we either complete the examination or trigger the emergency termination sequence."
She gestured to a large rune near where Harry would sit. "If something goes wrong—if I become unresponsive or show signs of mental distress—place your wand here and say 'Finite Memoriae.' It will safely collapse the connection."
Harry nodded grimly, understanding the seriousness of what they were about to attempt.
"Take your position," Daphne instructed, indicating a cushion directly across from her with the vial and Pensieve between them. "We'll establish the anchor connection first, then I'll initiate contact with the memory fragments."
They settled into place, the glowing runes casting strange shadows across their faces. Daphne extended her hands, and Harry placed his own atop them, palms down this time. The contact felt more natural now.
"Remember your forest paths," she said softly. "Focus on the anchor point we created. I'll maintain primary contact with you there while exploring the memories."
Harry closed his eyes, calling up the mental visualization they had practiced. He found the secure clearing easily now, establishing it as a solid presence in his mind.
"Ready," he murmured.
Daphne's hands turned beneath his, their fingers interlacing. The gesture felt oddly personal, despite its purpose. "Legilimens Ancoram," she whispered.
The connection formed immediately—stronger than before but still gentle. Harry could sense Daphne's presence in the mental clearing, a cool blue light that somehow carried her essence.
"Good," her voice reached him, both aloud and within the mental space. "Maintain this state. I'm going to unseal the memory vial now."
With her free hand, Daphne tapped her wand against the vial. The stopper dissolved, and the swirling contents rose into the air—not flowing into the Pensieve as normal memories would, but hovering uncertainly between the two of them.
"Legilimens Memoriae," Daphne intoned, her grip on Harry's hands tightening slightly.
The memory fragments reacted to her spell, swirling more rapidly before moving toward her. Unlike the usual method of memory viewing, they didn't enter the Pensieve but instead formed a shimmering cloud that enveloped Daphne's head like a strange, glowing crown.
Through their mental connection, Harry felt the moment she made contact with the fragments. A shudder ran through their linked hands, and in the mental clearing, Daphne's presence flickered momentarily.
"I'm alright," she said, her voice strained. "The memories are... resistant. Deliberately corrupted, perhaps."
Harry maintained his focus on the anchor point, providing steady support as Daphne pushed deeper into the chaotic memories. Through their connection, flashes began to appear in the mental clearing—disjointed images and sensations that Daphne was encountering and relaying back to him.
A long corridor lined with identical doors...
Children's voices, whispering in fear...
Walls covered in tiny, precisely-carved runes that seemed to pulse with their own rhythm...
"These are definitely from Halcyon House," Daphne's voice came, strained but determined. "I'm seeing... a dormitory setting. Children's beds. But the windows are warded with containment spells typically used for magical creatures, not people."
Harry felt a surge of anger at this revelation but carefully kept it from disrupting their connection. Through their joined hands, he sent a deliberate pulse of calm support, and was rewarded with a brief squeeze of acknowledgment from Daphne's fingers.
"Can you tell when this was?"
"Hard to say," Daphne replied. "Time references are fragmented. But based on certain magical items visible, I'd estimate 1998 to 1999. Immediately post-war."
The images shifted, becoming more coherent as Daphne oriented herself within the memories.
"There's a room," she narrated. "The children call it 'The Quiet Room.' I'm seeing... children being led inside, looking terrified. When they come out, they're... vacant. Subdued."
Harry saw it through their connection—a simple door labeled only with a rune he didn't recognize. Children entering in tears or fits of magical outbursts. The same children emerging with blank expressions and docile behavior.
"Memory modification," Daphne concluded grimly. "But crude, aggressive. Not the careful obliviation used by the Ministry. This is... raw manipulation of memory structures."
The fragments shifted again, becoming more chaotic. Harry could feel Daphne struggling to maintain her interpretation of them.
"The memories are degrading," she said tensely. "Whoever extracted them damaged their coherence."
"Should we stop?" Harry asked, concerned by the strain evident in her voice.
"Not yet," she insisted. "I'm getting closer to something important."
Harry nodded, though she couldn't see it with her eyes closed. In the three years since becoming an Auror, he'd worked with many specialists, but few showed this level of commitment—particularly for an unofficial investigation that could potentially damage their career.
The next series of images came in rapid, disjointed flashes:
A garden filled with specialized magical plants—Harry recognized aconite and valerian, common in memory and dream potions.
A laboratory where a witch in Healer's robes carefully extracted silvery threads from a sobbing child's temple.
A wall covered in photographs of children, each labeled with odd symbols and designation numbers.
And then, something different—a figure glimpsed in shadows. Tall and thin, face obscured by what appeared to be a crude mask.
"The Shadow Boy," Daphne whispered, a tremor in her voice. "The children were terrified of him."
"Who is he?" Harry asked.
"I can't tell," Daphne replied. "But I'm sensing... the emotional core of these memories is focused on him. Fear, certainly, but also something else. Recognition? Betrayal?"
The memory fragments began swirling more erratically, their color shifting toward an unnatural purple hue.
"They're destabilizing," Daphne said urgently. "I need to push deeper before they collapse completely."
Harry felt her presence in their mental clearing grow fainter as she immersed herself more fully in the memories. He strengthened the anchor point, providing a solid tether for her to find her way back.
"I see something," she said after a tense moment. "A child's drawing. Hidden under a mattress. It shows five runes arranged in a specific pattern. They've labeled it 'The Lock.'"
Through their connection, Harry glimpsed the crude drawing—five interconnected symbols forming a star-like pattern. Something about it felt fundamentally wrong, as though the very arrangement violated natural magical principles.
Suddenly, the memory fragments began to writhe violently, their color darkening to an ominous indigo.
"Daphne," Harry warned, reaching out to grasp her wrist, feeling her pulse racing beneath his fingers.
"Just a moment more," she insisted. "I'm seeing—"
Without warning, the memory fragments imploded with a sound like shattering glass. The force of it broke their mental connection instantly, the backlash sending a spike of pain through Harry's skull. Wincing sharply, Harry opened his eyes to see Daphne's head snap backward, her body going rigid before collapsing.
He lunged forward, catching her before she hit the ground. The runes around them flickered and dimmed as the magical working collapsed, sending shadows dancing across the walls of her apartment. For a moment, with her pale blonde hair spilling over his arm and her face so still, Harry was reminded uncomfortably of another memory—holding Dobby as his life slipped away. The unexpected parallel sent a jolt of fear through him.
"Daphne!" Harry cradled her against him, alarmed by her pallor and the blue tinge to her lips. "Rennervate," he cast urgently, directing his wand at her chest. The desperation in his voice surprised even him—when had Daphne Greengrass become someone whose safety mattered so deeply?
There was a moment of terrifying stillness, but then Daphne gasped, her eyes flying open. She clutched at Harry's shirt as if her life depended on it, disoriented, her normally composed demeanor shattered. The vulnerability in her expression struck Harry deeply—this was a side of her he'd never seen, never expected to see.
"Easy," he soothed, supporting her in his arms as she struggled to sit up. "The memory fragments collapsed. You need to catch your breath."
She nodded weakly against his chest, her breathing gradually steadying as she remained in his arms. Despite the circumstance, Harry couldn't help but notice how naturally she fit there, her head tucked just beneath his chin. It was a strange moment of connection with someone who had always been on the periphery of his life—present but never close.
Harry conjured a glass of water and helped her drink it, noting with relief as color returned to her face.
"That was... more difficult than anticipated," she admitted after a moment, her voice hoarse. The understatement was so perfectly in character that Harry almost smiled despite the seriousness of the situation.
"You pushed too far," Harry said, unable to keep the concern from his voice. "When they started destabilizing, you should have withdrawn." He was aware of the irony—how many times had Hermione said something similar to him over the years?
"I needed to see the full pattern," Daphne replied, still making no move to leave the embrace, drawing relief and support from him as she remained in his arms. "The runes in that drawing... I recognized them."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. "From where?"
"From my advanced studies in memory Healing," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's a configuration called the Quintessence Bind. A forbidden memory-binding ritual that was theoretically banned centuries ago."
"Theoretically?" Harry echoed, gazing down at her in concern. Their faces were closer than they'd ever been, and he could see flecks of darker blue in her pale eyes—something he'd never noticed before.
"It was supposed to have been stricken from magical records altogether," Daphne explained, finally straightening though she remained in his arms. "The ritual doesn't just modify memories—it binds them at the level of the magical core itself. It can completely restructure how a witch or wizard processes memories and magical energy."
"Why would anyone develop such a thing?" Harry asked, horrified.
"It was originally created as a cure for certain types of magical insanity," Daphne said grimly. "A way to reset a damaged magical core. But the side effects were catastrophic. The ritual often created more problems than it solved—unpredictable magical outbursts, personality changes, even complete loss of identity. A step up from what we discussed previously."
She rubbed her temples, clearly still suffering the aftereffects of the mental strain. "If they were using this on children at Halcyon House..." She didn't finish the thought, but the horror in her eyes completed it for her.
"It explains the killings," Harry concluded. "Someone is taking revenge for having this done to them—or to others they care about."
"Not just revenge," Daphne corrected. "Look at the method. The killer is using a perverted version of the same technique, extracting specialized memories related to the project. It's symbolic—making the perpetrators experience a fraction of what was done to those children."
Harry helped Daphne to her feet, steadying her when she swayed slightly. His hand lingered at the small of her back, providing support that was as much about reassurance as physical stability. In that moment, both he and Daphne were acutely aware of how their professional relationship had shifted into something more personal through this shared memory experience.
"We need to find out which children were subjected to this ritual." Harry said, forcing himself to focus on the investigation rather than the unexpected connection forming between them. "Cillian Rosier seems to be central somehow, but Belby's notes mentioned multiple subjects."
"The list," Daphne remembered. "In Belby's notes—he compiled a list of all the children who went through the program." She moved unsteadily to the small desk where they'd organized their evidence, flipping through papers until she found what she was looking for.
"Twenty-three children in total," she read. "Ages ranging from six to fourteen at the time of admission. All categorized as 'war traumatized' with various designations following their names." Her finger traced down the list. "HC-1 through HC-5. Different classification levels, perhaps?"
Harry joined her, looking over her shoulder at the list. The closeness felt natural now, where just days ago it might have seemed intrusive. "What about Rosier? What was his designation?"
"Cillian Rosier," Daphne read. "Age 10 at admission. Classification HC-5—the highest level." She frowned. "Status unknown, presumed in containment."
"In containment?" Harry repeated, leaning closer to see the notation for himself. "After all this time? That would make him, what, twenty now?"
"Just twenty one," Daphne confirmed. "Born in 1989, according to this."
"If he's still in 'containment,' that suggests some kind of long-term facility," Harry mused. "But where? And under whose authority?"
Daphne turned to face him, her expression deadly serious despite her evident exhaustion. This close, he could see the toll the memory work had taken on her.
"Harry, if they used the Quintessence Bind on these children, particularly those with the highest classifications, they'd need specialized containment. The ritual can create unpredictable magical abilities—powers that defy conventional understanding."
"Like what?"
"Historical accounts are vague, deliberately so," she replied. "But they mention capabilities like wandless manipulation of memories, remote viewing through others' minds, even the ability to imprint false memories onto objects."
Harry's mind raced. "If someone with those abilities escaped containment..."
"They'd have both motive and unique means to carry out these murders," Daphne finished, her mind clearly following the same path as his. It struck Harry how easily they'd fallen into this rhythm of shared thought—something he'd previously experienced only with Ron and Hermione after years of friendship. "And they'd know exactly who was involved in the project and what role each person played."
"We need to find out where these children were taken after Halcyon House closed," Harry said decisively. "Belby's notes mentioned transfer orders signed by someone with the initial 'R.'"
"Robards?" Daphne suggested, raising an eyebrow.
"Or someone else in Ministry leadership at that time," Harry said, unwilling to jump to conclusions despite his growing distrust of the man. "The records might tell us, but they're sealed under Ministry order."
"Maybe not all of them," Daphne said thoughtfully. "St. Mungo's would have received medical transfer documentation if any of the children were moved to long-term care facilities. As Acting Chief of Magical Trauma, I could access those archives without raising immediate alarms."
Harry nodded slowly. "We need to move carefully, though. If Robards has people watching St. Mungo's..."
"I have legitimate reasons to access the archives," Daphne pointed out. "And unlike you, I haven't been officially removed from any investigation."
"Still, you shouldn't go alone," Harry insisted, surprising them both by the intensity of his concern. "Not after what we've learned. If our theory is correct, anyone connected to Halcyon House could be a target."
Daphne studied him for a moment, then she nodded. "Tomorrow morning. I'll access the archives while you meet with Robards. It will divide their attention at minimum."
"And if they're watching both of us?"
A small, grim smile touched her lips. "Then we'll know we're on the right track."
Harry found himself returning that smile, despite the seriousness of their situation. There was something unexpectedly reassuring about Daphne's pragmatic approach to danger—so different from the reckless bravery he was accustomed to from his Gryffindor friends, yet equally determined.
"You should rest," he said, noting the lingering shadows beneath her eyes. "That memory exploration took a serious toll."
"I'm fine," she started to protest, but swayed slightly as she turned toward the desk. The stubborn insistence on her own resilience reminded Harry of himself—how many times had he dismissed his own injuries or exhaustion in pursuit of a goal?
Harry caught her arms, steadying her. His hands were gentle but firm on her shoulders, and he found himself looking directly into her eyes. "You're exhausted, Daphne, and we both know it. Mental magic drains your core in ways physical exertion doesn't."
This time, she didn't pull away from his support. "A few hours of sleep would be prudent," she conceded reluctantly. "My barriers are compromised when I'm this tired."
"I'll keep watch," Harry offered. "Review the evidence we have while you recover."
Daphne hesitated, but she nodded. "Wake me in four hours. We should discuss our strategy for tomorrow before finalizing it."
As she moved toward the bedroom, she paused in the doorway. "Harry," she said without turning. "What we saw in those memories... what was done to those children..."
"We'll find the truth," Harry promised quietly. "And we'll make sure those responsible face consequences. Whatever it takes."
Daphne glanced back at him, her expression a complex mixture of determination, exhaustion, and something else—perhaps respect. "Whatever it takes," she agreed softly before disappearing into the bedroom.
Left alone in the room, Harry moved to the desk where their evidence was arranged. He stared at the hastily-compiled list of children, each name representing a young life irrevocably altered by whatever had happened at Halcyon House. He thought of the fragmentary images they'd glimpsed—the dormitory with its warded windows, the terrified whispers, and the vacant expressions of children emerging from "The Quiet Room."
Finally, he thought of the drawing they'd seen—five runes arranged in a forbidden pattern, labeled simply as "The Lock."
What had been done to these children in the name of post-war rehabilitation? And who was now methodically hunting down everyone involved?
The memory fragments hadn't provided clear answers, but they had confirmed Harry's worst suspicions. This wasn't just about covering up past mistakes. This was about systematic magical experimentation on vulnerable children—experiments that violated the most fundamental principles of both magical ethics and basic humanity.
As the afternoon sun cast long shadows across Daphne's apartment, Harry Potter made a silent vow. Whatever forces were at work—Ministry officials, former Death Eaters, or something else entirely—he would uncover the truth about Halcyon House. Not just for the victims already claimed, but for those children whose lives had been forever altered by what had been done to them in the supposed safety of Ministry care.
And when he found those responsible, they would face justice—Ministry protection be damned.
TBC.
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