The Hog's Head Inn hadn't changed much in the years since Harry had first gathered rebellious students there to form Dumbledore's Army. The same grimy windows filtered the afternoon light into dusty beams that illuminated floating particles in the air. The same pervasive smell of goats and stale ale hung in the atmosphere. And behind the bar, wiping a perpetually dirty glass with an equally dirty rag, stood Aberforth Dumbledore, looking as if he'd aged perhaps a day since the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Potter," the old barman grunted as Harry entered, Daphne close behind. "Back room's ready. Though I still think you're asking for trouble."
"Appreciate it, Aberforth," Harry said, sliding a small pouch across the counter. The coins clinked softly against the worn wood. "For your trouble."
Aberforth made the pouch disappear with surprising dexterity for a man his age. "Not about the money," he grumbled. "It's about keeping unwanted attention away from my establishment."
"We'll be discreet," Daphne promised, speaking for the first time.
Aberforth studied her with narrowed eyes. "Greengrass, isn't it? Don't usually see your sort in here."
"My sort?" Daphne raised an eyebrow.
"St. Mungo's types. Too clean for the Hog's Head," he clarified with a snort that might have been amusement. "The back room's through there. Added the privacy wards you asked for, Potter. "
Harry nodded gratefully. "She'll be coming through the Floo directly?"
"Aye. Set to accept only her specific magical signature for the next hour. Anyone else tries to come through, they'll find themselves redirected to the Leaky Cauldron with a nasty case of boils." A grim smile creased Aberforth's weathered face. "Old trick from the war."
Harry and Daphne made their way to the back room—a small chamber dominated by a scarred wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs. A fire burned in the grate, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Despite its humble appearance, Harry could feel the power of the privacy wards humming in the air—Aberforth might prefer the simple life of a barman, but his magical abilities had never been in question.
"You're sure she'll come?" Daphne asked, setting down her healer's bag on the table and beginning to remove several items: a small pensieve, vials of various potions, and what looked like specialized diagnostic instruments.
"She agreed. Whether she'll follow through..." Harry shrugged, taking a position where he could see both the door and the fireplace. Old habits die hard. "Malcolm said she was the most stable of the survivors he's in contact with."
"Stable is relative when we're talking about victims of experimental mental binding," Daphne replied, her voice clinical but tinged with genuine concern. "I've reviewed everything we know about the Quintessence Bind. It's... barbaric."
Harry was about to respond when the fire in the grate suddenly flared green. They both tensed, watching as a slender figure spun into view and stepped gracefully from the flames.
Eliza Avery was not what Harry had expected. From Malcolm Baddock's description of a "tough one" who had "fought the binding tooth and nail," he had imagined someone more physically imposing. Instead, Eliza was slight, with delicate features and light brown hair pulled back in a simple plait. She couldn't have been more than twenty-two, but her eyes—a pale, almost colorless blue—held the wary wisdom of someone much older.
"Auror Potter," she acknowledged softly, her gaze flicking between him and Daphne. "And Healer Greengrass, I presume?"
"Thank you for coming, Miss Avery," Harry said, deliberately keeping his distance and posture non-threatening. "I understand this can't be easy."
"Nothing about living with what they did to us is easy," Eliza replied matter-of-factly. She removed her traveling cloak to reveal simple robes of dark blue. Unlike Isla Carrow, she made no attempt to hide the scars on her forearms—similar raised, silvery runes carved into her skin. "Malcolm says you're investigating the deaths. Says you want to help the survivors."
"That's right," Daphne confirmed, stepping forward. "I've been developing methods to treat magical trauma, particularly involving memory and binding spells. When Harry approached me about the murders, I realized there might be a connection to my research."
Eliza studied Daphne with a penetrating gaze. "Greengrass... your family stayed neutral in both wars, if I recall correctly."
"They did," Daphne confirmed.
"And yet here you are, involving yourself in something that could easily become political dynamite." There was no accusation in Eliza's tone—merely curiosity.
"Some things transcend politics," Daphne said simply. "What was done to you and the others was wrong. Medically, ethically, morally wrong."
Eliza seemed to accept this, turning her attention to Harry. "Malcolm mentioned you were removed from the official investigation. That the Ministry is watching you."
"They are," Harry confirmed. "Someone doesn't want us looking too closely at these deaths—or at Halcyon House."
"Not surprising," Eliza said, taking a seat at the table. Her movements were precise, almost graceful, but with an underlying tension that suggested constant vigilance. "The program had high-level Ministry approval. If the public knew what they authorized..." She shrugged. "Political suicide for anyone involved."
"We're not interested in politics," Harry assured her. "We're interested in stopping more deaths and helping the survivors."
Eliza's pale eyes fixed on him with unexpected intensity. "Are you? Because those two goals might not be compatible, Auror Potter."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Have you considered that some of us might not want these deaths stopped?" Eliza asked bluntly. "That some of us might consider them long-overdue justice?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Harry exchanged a glance with Daphne before responding carefully.
"Justice and vengeance are different things," he said. "And regardless of how justified these killings might seem, they're putting all the survivors at risk. Isla Carrow explained about the binding—how it connects all of you, how the deaths are weakening the overall structure."
"Isla," Eliza repeated softly, something like affection crossing her features. "How is she?"
"Isolated. Afraid," Daphne answered. "And concerned about what happens when the binding completely breaks down."
Eliza nodded slowly. "She would be. She was always the most sensitive to the resonance." She tapped her temple. "The rest of us feel it too, of course. Each death sends ripples through the binding network. But for some, it's more... acute."
"And for you?" Harry asked.
A small, enigmatic smile curved Eliza's lips. "I experience it differently. The binding never took properly with me. That was my 'problem,' according to the administrators. My mind kept... rejecting portions of the procedure."
Daphne leaned forward, her professional interest piqued. "How so?"
"I remember things I shouldn't," Eliza said simply. "Details that should have been bound away. Faces. Names. Procedures." She tapped one of the runes on her forearm. "Do you know what this specific configuration is designed to do, Healer Greengrass?"
Daphne studied the rune. "It looks like a variation on a memory suppression sigil, but modified to target specific types of memories rather than temporal periods."
"Precisely," Eliza confirmed, sounding impressed. "It's designed to bind away memories associated with strong negative emotions—anger, hatred, resentment. The theory was that by removing the emotional fuel, they could prevent 'dark tendencies' from developing." Her expression hardened. "What they didn't account for was that memory and emotion aren't so easily separated. Pull one thread, and the entire tapestry begins to unravel."
"Is that why you agreed to meet us?" Harry asked. "Because you remember more than the others?"
"Partly," Eliza admitted. "But mostly because Malcolm said you have a Healer who might be able to help recover more of what was taken from us." Her gaze shifted to Daphne. "Is that true?"
Daphne hesitated, clearly weighing her professional responsibility against offering false hope. "I've been developing a technique that combines Pensieve technology with controlled Legilimency," she finally said. "It's still experimental, but the preliminary results with trauma patients have been promising. With the right approach, it might be possible to access memories that have been suppressed but not completely erased."
"Even memories bound by the Quintessence ritual?"
"That's... less certain," Daphne acknowledged. "The binding you experienced is far more complex than standard memory charms. But the principle is similar—the memories aren't destroyed, just rendered inaccessible." She reached for her bag, extracting a small vial of silvery-blue potion. "This is a modified Pensieve preparation. It helps create a... buffer, I suppose you could call it, between the conscious mind and the bound memories."
Eliza studied the vial with open curiosity. "And this would allow me to access memories without triggering the binding's defenses?"
"In theory," Daphne cautioned. "I should be clear—this is untested with your specific condition. There are risks. The binding might still activate defensive measures if we push too far."
"What kind of defensive measures?" Harry asked sharply.
"Similar to what we saw with Baddock," Daphne explained. "Physical symptoms—pain, nosebleeds, potentially seizures in severe cases."
"Or death," Eliza added matter-of-factly. When Harry and Daphne looked at her in surprise, she elaborated, "The binding includes failsafes. Push too hard against certain barriers, and it triggers a cascade failure in the neural pathways." Her clinical detachment faltered slightly. "We lost William Nott that way. He kept trying to remember... something. Something important. Eventually, the binding just... shut him down."
Harry felt a chill at this casual mention of death. "William Nott? He was part of the program?"
Eliza nodded. "HC-4. Found him in his flat two years ago. Official cause of death was 'spell damage of unknown origin.' But those of us who were bound knew. We felt it when he pushed too far."
"All the more reason to proceed with extreme caution," Daphne said firmly. "If you're willing to try, Miss Avery, I'll need to establish safety protocols first."
"I'm willing," Eliza said without hesitation. "If there's even a chance of recovering what they took from me..."
"Then let's begin with a basic assessment," Daphne suggested, falling smoothly into her professional role. She drew her wand and looked to Eliza for permission. "May I?"
At Eliza's nod, Daphne cast a series of diagnostic spells—complex patterns of light that surrounded Eliza's head briefly before coalescing into glowing symbols that hovered in the air. Harry recognized some of them from his Auror training—indicators of mental status and magical stability—but others were clearly specialized Healer diagnostics he wasn't familiar with.
"Interesting," Daphne murmured, studying the results. "You weren't exaggerating about the binding's instability. I can see where it's fragmented in several places."
"Is that good or bad?" Harry asked.
"Both," Daphne answered, still focused on the diagnostic symbols. "The fragmentation means there are potential access points to suppressed memories, but it also means the overall structure is less stable, which increases the risk of triggering defensive measures." She canceled the diagnostic spells with a wave of her wand. "We'll need to move very cautiously."
"What do you need me to do?" Harry asked.
"Act as an anchor," Daphne replied, looking up at him. "If we're using modified Pensieve techniques, we'll need someone to remain fully present to monitor for physical symptoms and pull us out if necessary."
Harry nodded. He'd had enough experience with Pensieves to understand the risks of becoming too immersed in memories.
Daphne turned back to Eliza. "Before we begin, I need to understand more about how the binding was implemented. Malcolm and Isla have provided some information, but anything you can tell us about the procedures would help."
Eliza tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the table. "The program evolved over time. The earliest treatments were crude—essentially modified Obliviation spells combined with behavior modification potions. Those were the HC-1 and HC-2 protocols." She spoke with remarkable precision, as if reciting from a textbook. "When those proved insufficient for 'higher risk' subjects, they developed more invasive techniques."
"What kind of potions?" Daphne asked, retrieving a notepad and quill from her bag.
"Primarily derivatives of Jobberknoll feathers," Eliza replied. "Modified to target specific memory categories rather than producing total recall. They called it 'selective memory engineering'—removing 'dark influences' while leaving neutral and positive memories intact."
"That shouldn't be possible," Daphne said, frowning as she took notes. "Memory doesn't work in such discrete categories."
"Hence the problems," Eliza agreed with a grim smile. "The early subjects experienced significant cognitive side effects. Personality changes. Identity confusion. Magical instability." She paused. "That's when they brought in the specialist team. The ones who developed the binding ritual."
"Project Halcyon?" Harry suggested.
Eliza's eyes widened slightly. "Yes. How did you—"
"We've seen some extracted memory fragments," Harry explained. "Not enough to piece together the full picture, but enough to identify some key elements."
"Project Halcyon was the elite team," Eliza confirmed. "They handled the HC-3, HC-4 and HC-5 cases—those of us deemed too 'contaminated' for standard procedures." Her voice remained steady, but Harry noticed her hands had begun to tremble slightly. "They developed the Quintessence Bind specifically to address what they called 'hereditary dark proclivities.'"
"Meaning children from families with Death Eater connections," Harry clarified.
Eliza nodded. "Or those who displayed particular magical talents that were classified as 'high-risk'—natural legilimency, affinity for blood-based magic. Anything they deemed too likely to lead to 'dark development.'"
"And the actual binding ritual?" Daphne prompted gently, clearly noting Eliza's increasing discomfort but pressing ahead.
"Three-day process," Eliza replied, unconsciously echoing what Isla had told them. "Specialized potions administered at six-hour intervals. Runic inscriptions on major magical meridian points." She gestured to her scarred forearms. "Linked inscription sequences to create a magical circuit throughout the body, culminating in a final binding spell that connected the physical runes to mental constructs."
"Do you remember who performed these rituals?" Harry asked.
Eliza's expression clouded. "Some. The Seven, we called them. Or they called themselves. I remember Travers. Belby. Pucey." She listed the names they already knew. "There was a woman—some Broadmoor, I think. And Shafiq. Pucey... he was the healer and potions specialist." She frowned, concentrating. "Pierce handled the runic inscriptions. And then... the Director."
"Can you remember anything about the Director?" Harry asked, careful to keep his tone casual despite his intense interest.
Pain flashed across Eliza's features. "Not... directly. The binding is strongest around those memories." She pressed her fingers to her temple. "I remember... grey stubble. A calm voice. Clinical detachment." She shook her head in frustration. "Nothing concrete. Nothing useful."
"That's already more than we had," Harry assured her. "And maybe with Daphne's technique, we can recover more without triggering the binding's defenses."
"Shall we try?" Eliza asked, looking to Daphne with determination in her pale eyes.
Daphne nodded, arranging the small Pensieve and several vials on the table. "I'll need to explain the process first. This isn't like a standard Pensieve experience. I won't be extracting your memories—that would be too dangerous with the binding in place. Instead, I'll be guiding you through a form of directed meditation while using a mild form of Legilimency to help navigate around the binding's barriers."
"And my role?" Harry asked.
"Monitor both of us for physical signs of distress," Daphne instructed. "If you see any indication the binding is activating—the silver glow under the skin that we saw with Baddock, bleeding, uncontrolled tremors—you'll need to break the connection immediately."
"How?"
"Physical contact should be sufficient," Daphne explained. "A firm grip on the shoulder, speaking our names clearly. If that doesn't work..." She hesitated. "A mild Revulsio spell should break the mental connection without causing harm."
Harry nodded, taking a position where he could clearly observe both women. Daphne handed the vial of silvery-blue potion to Eliza.
"This will make you somewhat drowsy," she warned. "But try to remain conscious. I need you engaged with the process, not simply passively experiencing it."
Eliza accepted the vial without hesitation, examining it briefly before downing its contents in a single swallow. She grimaced slightly at the taste. "Valerian root. Essence of Murtlap. And something else... Jobberknoll feather?"
"Very good," Daphne said, looking impressed. "Most people can't identify the components so precisely."
"Side effect of the binding," Eliza explained, her speech already slowing slightly as the potion took effect. "Enhanced sensitivity to magical substances. It's how our bodies were taught to respond to the control potions."
Daphne's expression darkened momentarily at this casual mention of what had clearly been a form of conditioning, but she quickly refocused on the task at hand. "I'm going to establish a light mental connection now. You'll feel a gentle pressure—like someone touching your mind with a feather. Try not to resist it."
"I'm ready," Eliza said, her eyes already taking on the slightly unfocused look common to those under mild sedation.
Daphne raised her wand, meeting Eliza's gaze directly. "Legilimens," she whispered, the incantation barely audible.
For several long moments, nothing seemed to happen. Both women sat motionless at the table, their eyes locked in a steady gaze that somehow seemed to be looking both at and through each other. Harry remained vigilant, watching for any signs of distress.
"Can you describe what you see, Eliza?" Daphne asked, her voice soft but clear.
"Corridors," Eliza replied, her voice distant. "White corridors with numbered doors. St. Mungo's, but... not the public areas. The research floors." She paused. "Children. Groups of children being led down the corridors. Classified by colored wristbands."
"What colors do you see?" Daphne prompted.
"Green for HC-1. Blue for HC-2. Yellow for HC-3. Orange for HC-4." Eliza's breathing had quickened slightly. "Red for HC-5. They kept us separate. Said it was for 'treatment cohesion.' Really it was because they didn't want us comparing notes."
"Can you see any specific children?" Daphne asked. "Anyone you knew?"
"Malcolm," Eliza said immediately. "Always looking like he wanted to disappear. Isla—she was so angry at first. Kept trying to fight the attendants." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "William. So analytical about everything. Kept a secret journal of observations until they found it and took it away." Her expression suddenly shifted to one of concentration. "And... him. The boy they were all afraid of."
Harry and Daphne exchanged quick glances.
"Can you tell us about him?" Daphne asked carefully.
Eliza's brow furrowed. "Hard to see clearly. The binding... it blurs him. Like looking through frosted glass." She took a deep breath. "Dark hair. Slight build. Didn't talk much. But when he looked at you... it felt like he was seeing straight through to your core."
"Do you remember his name?" Harry asked, unable to contain his curiosity despite knowing it might be too direct a question.
Immediately, Eliza winced, a thin line of blood appearing at her nostril. Daphne shot Harry a warning look.
"Too direct," she murmured to him before turning back to Eliza. "Let's approach this indirectly. Can you recall any treatment sessions? Perhaps one where this boy was present?"
Eliza's breathing steadied as the more oblique approach seemed to bypass the binding's immediate defenses. "Yes... yes, I can see the treatment room. Central chamber on the fifth floor. Restricted access."
"Describe it for me," Daphne encouraged.
"Circular room. Stone floor inscribed with complex runic arrays—concentric circles that could be activated independently to customize the binding process based on the subject's classification." Eliza's voice had taken on that clinical detachment again, as if reciting medical notes. "Observation gallery above. The Seven would watch from there when they weren't directly involved in the procedures."
"And the children? Where were they during these procedures?"
"Central platform, within the innermost runic circle." Eliza's voice faltered slightly. "They—we—would be led in one at a time. Made to drink the preparatory potion. Then the ritual would begin."
"Can you see a specific session?" Daphne prompted. "Any particular day that stands out in your memory?"
Eliza was silent for several moments, her expression one of deep concentration. When she spoke again, her voice had changed—younger, frightened, yet determined.
"It's the third day of full moon cycle. Important for the potency of certain ingredients. We're lined up in the antechamber. HC-5s today. Five of us." Her breathing quickened. "I'm scared but trying not to show it. Isla is next to me. She squeezes my hand when the attendants aren't looking."
The vividness of her recollection suggested she was no longer simply remembering, but re-experiencing. Harry tensed, ready to intervene if necessary, but Daphne gave him a small shake of her head, indicating they should let the memory unfold.
"They call his name first," Eliza continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. "He goes in. We hear... chanting. Strange harmonics. Not like the usual procedure." Her face contorted with remembered confusion and fear. "Then shouting. Flashes of light under the door. The attendants running in. More shouting."
"What happened?" Daphne asked gently.
"They said he fought back. That he somehow... redirected the binding. It wasn't supposed to be possible." A look of wonder crossed Eliza's face. "They brought him out. He looked different. His eyes... there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Like he'd discovered something about himself, about the magic they were using."
She fell silent again, her breathing becoming more labored. Harry noticed a faint silvery shimmer beginning to appear beneath the skin of her forearms, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. He caught Daphne's eye, nodding toward the worrying sign.
"I see it," Daphne murmured. "We'll redirect." She turned back to Eliza. "Let's move away from that specific memory for now. Can you tell me about the staff? The people who ran the daily operations of the program?"
The silvery glow receded slightly as Eliza latched onto the new, less provocative line of questioning. "Different types. Regular St. Mungo's staff who didn't know the full extent of what was happening—they handled basic care, meals, routine health checks. Then the research team—mostly junior Healers working under the Seven. They managed the treatment protocols, monitored our responses."
"And Project Halcyon?" Daphne prompted. "You mentioned they were a specialized team."
"Separate from the main program," Eliza confirmed, her voice steadier now. "They had their own facilities within the complex. Only worked with HC-3s, HC-4s and HC-5s selected for the Quintessence procedure. Very secretive. Very... methodical." She shivered visibly. "They referred to us by numbers, not names. Discussed us as if we were potions ingredients, not children."
"Do you remember seeing them work with the boy—the one who redirected the binding?" Harry asked, careful to phrase the question indirectly.
Eliza nodded slowly. "After the incident in the ritual chamber, they took him to their secure wing. Called it 'specialized containment.' I saw him once more, being escorted down a corridor." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He looked at me as they passed. Just for a moment. And I heard—" She broke off suddenly, gasping as the silvery glow flared brightly under her skin.
"Eliza?" Daphne said sharply, starting to rise from her chair.
"I heard his voice," Eliza continued, seemingly unable to stop despite the binding's increasing resistance. "Not out loud. In my head." Blood began to trickle from her nose, but she kept speaking, her words tumbling out faster now. "He said they couldn't hold what they couldn't understand. That he'd found the flaw in their magic. That someday he'd—"
She cut off with a choked cry, her body suddenly going rigid. The silver glow beneath her skin intensified to an alarming brightness, spreading from her arms to her neck and face. Blood now flowed freely from her nose, and her eyes rolled back slightly.
"She's seizing!" Daphne exclaimed, immediately breaking the Legilimency connection and rushing to Eliza's side. "Harry, help me lay her flat!"
Harry moved quickly, helping Daphne ease Eliza from the chair to the floor. The young woman's body had begun to convulse, her limbs jerking in uncontrolled spasms.
"What's happening to her?" Harry demanded, holding Eliza's shoulders to prevent her from injuring herself.
"The binding is activating its defensive measures," Daphne explained tersely, already pulling various vials from her bag. "We pushed too close to restricted memories." She selected a potion with amber liquid and looked at Harry. "I need you to help me get this into her system. Can you perform a direct absorption charm?"
Harry nodded, drawing his wand. The spell wasn't part of standard Auror training, but he'd learned it during his time working with healers in the field—a way to administer emergency potions to unconscious or resistant patients.
"On my count," Daphne instructed, positioning the uncorked vial near Eliza's arm. "One, two, three—"
"Absorbus Potentia," Harry cast, directing his wand at the vial. The amber liquid rose from the container and formed a glowing haze that sank directly into Eliza's skin, bypassing traditional ingestion.
For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Eliza continued to convulse, the silver glow pulsing erratically beneath her skin. Then, gradually, the spasms began to subside. The glow dimmed, retreating from her face and neck back toward her arms.
"It's working," Daphne said, relief evident in her voice. She cast a quick diagnostic charm, nodding at what she saw. "Her magical core is stabilizing. Heart rate returning to normal."
"Will she be alright?" Harry asked, still supporting Eliza's shoulders.
"I think so," Daphne replied, conjuring a cloth and gently wiping the blood from Eliza's face. "The binding triggered a defensive response, but we caught it before it could escalate to dangerous levels." She glanced at Harry. "Good work with that absorption charm. It's not easy to cast under pressure."
"I had a good teacher," Harry replied with a brief smile, thinking of the field healer who had drilled him and other Aurors on emergency medical procedures.
Eliza's eyes fluttered open, consciousness returning slowly. "What..." she murmured, her voice weak and confused.
"You had a seizure," Daphne explained gently. "The binding activated when we approached certain memories. How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been trampled by hippogriffs," Eliza managed, attempting to sit up. Harry helped support her as she rose to a sitting position, leaning back against the wall. "Did... did we learn anything useful?"
Harry and Daphne exchanged glances, both impressed by Eliza's resilience and focus even after such a traumatic episode.
"We learned quite a bit," Daphne confirmed. "About the program structure, the treatment procedures, and some information about the boy who seems to be at the center of this."
"Corvus," Eliza whispered, then looked startled, as if the name had slipped out without her conscious intent. "That's what Isla called him. I just remembered."
"Does the name mean anything specific to you?" Harry asked carefully.
Eliza closed her eyes, concentrating. "Not... exactly. It wasn't his real name. More like a code name they used among themselves. The staff called him Subject HC-5-Prime." She opened her eyes, looking troubled. "There's something else. Something important about him. It's right at the edge of my awareness, but the binding..." She shook her head in frustration.
"Don't push," Daphne warned, casting another quick diagnostic charm over Eliza. "Your mind has been through enough trauma for one day. The binding is still agitated; any more pressure could trigger a more severe reaction."
"But we're close," Eliza insisted, a note of desperation entering her voice. "I can feel it. The key to understanding what's happening now is right there, just beyond my reach."
"And it will still be there after you've had time to recover," Daphne said firmly, her healer's authority evident in her tone. "I can give you a stabilizing potion to take with you. It should help keep the binding calm while your mind processes what we've uncovered today."
Eliza didn't look satisfied but nodded reluctantly. "What happens now?"
"Now we find somewhere safe for you to recover," Harry said, standing and offering Eliza a hand up. "Somewhere the Ministry won't think to look for you."
"I have friends," Eliza said, accepting his help to rise unsteadily to her feet. "War survivors who've created a support network. Places we can hide when... when things get difficult."
"Will you be able to contact us if you remember anything else?" Daphne asked, packing away her equipment.
"Yes," Eliza confirmed. "Malcolm gave me the communication method." She glanced at Harry. "Clever, using the fake galleons like that. The Ministry would never think to monitor such an outdated method."
Harry smiled slightly. "Sometimes the simple ways are the best."
As they prepared to leave, Eliza paused, her hand on Daphne's arm. "Thank you," she said simply. "For not treating me like I'm broken. For believing there's something worth recovering in our minds."
Daphne covered Eliza's hand with her own. "What was done to you was unforgivable," she said, her voice soft but intense. "But you're not defined by their magic. Your mind is still yours, no matter what they tried to take from you."
The moment was brief but powerful—a healer's compassion meeting a survivor's resilience. Harry watched, struck by the simple humanity of the exchange amidst the complex web of magical manipulation they were untangling.
Eliza departed first, using the Floo to connect to a safehouse location she refused to name. Harry and Daphne left soon after,.
-Break-
Daphne's flat provided a much-needed sanctuary after the intensity of the memory session. Warm lamplight cast a gentle glow across the modest living space, filled with bookshelves and dotted with potted herbs—both decorative and medicinal. Harry had settled into a comfortable armchair while Daphne prepared drinks in the small adjacent kitchen.
She returned with two steaming mugs, handing one to Harry before sinking into the sofa beside him, looking exhausted.
"Chamomile with a touch of honey," she said. "Better than gillywater after what we've been through today."
"Thanks," Harry said, taking a grateful sip. The warmth spread through him, soothing his frayed nerves. "That stabilizing potion you administered—impressive work under pressure."
"Standard healer training," Daphne replied with a small shrug, though he could tell she appreciated the acknowledgment. "Though nothing about treating the after-effects of illegal binding rituals was covered in my formal education."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, both processing the information they'd gained from the session.
"What she described," Harry finally said, keeping his voice low despite their privacy, "about the boy redirecting the binding... is that even possible?"
Daphne frowned thoughtfully. "Theoretically, no. The Quintessence Bind works by creating specific magical constraints within the victim's core. The subject shouldn't be able to manipulate the bind at all, let alone redirect it." Daphne took another sip of her tea, her usual poise still in place despite her obvious fatigue. "The binding ritual uses the subject's own magical signature against them—creating a sort of... magical feedback loop that prevents certain abilities from expressing."
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But we saw it happen in Eliza's memory. That boy—he did something. The runes actually reversed direction."
"I know," Daphne admitted, rubbing her temples. "And that's what worries me. If someone managed to resist or manipulate the Quintessence Bind..." She trailed off, her expression turning distant. "Harry, do you realize what that would mean?"
Harry nodded slowly. The implications were staggering. "Someone with that kind of innate control over their magical core—"
"Would be exactly the kind of person the Ministry might consider dangerous," Daphne finished. "Especially if they couldn't be controlled through standard procedures."
"That's why they took him away," Harry murmured. "What did Eliza call it? 'Specialized containment'?"
"Project Halcyon," Daphne said, her voice barely above a whisper. "They were handling the 'difficult cases.' Children who couldn't be properly... adjusted." The clinical terminology clearly disgusted her.
"Thank Merlin Eliza seemed fine when she left," Harry remarked, shifting the subject slightly.
"Stable, but exhausted," Daphne nodded, though her concern was evident. "She did say her friends will monitor her tonight. I gave her instructions on what to watch for. She's remarkably resilient, considering what she's been through."
"Do you think there'll be any lasting effects from the memory recovery?"
Daphne considered this carefully. "Not from the procedure itself. I've refined it specifically to minimize trauma during retrieval. But facing those memories—processing what was done to her—that's another matter entirely." She hesitated. "I'm not sure any of the program survivors will ever fully recover from what was done to them."
Harry nodded grimly. He understood too well how childhood trauma could leave permanent marks. "At least she's remembering. That's the first step."
"True," Daphne agreed. "And she's stronger than she realizes. The way she protected that boy in the memory, despite everything happening around her..." Her voice held genuine admiration.
"Speaking of strength," Harry said, his tone softening slightly, "that was impressive work today, Daphne. The way you handled that seizure—I've seen trained field medics with less composure."
A faint blush colored Daphne's cheeks, visible in the warm lamplight of her flat. "You weren't bad yourself," she continued after a moment. "The way you maintained the stabilizing charm while I administered the potion... most wizards wouldn't have had the control to sustain that level of magical output."
"We work well together," Harry said simply.
"Better than anyone would have expected, given our history," Daphne added with a hint of amusement.
Harry smiled slightly. "Or lack thereof. We barely interacted at Hogwarts."
"I had certain preconceptions about the Boy Who Lived," Daphne countered, though without any real heat.
"And I had certain preconceptions about Slytherins," Harry admitted. "We were children. With rather narrow worldviews."
"And now?" Daphne asked.
Harry considered her for a long moment. "Now I see someone who's dedicated to healing rather than hiding. Someone willing to face uncomfortable truths."
Daphne let out a soft laugh. "It's strange," she mused. "Sometimes I think the biggest casualty of the war was simplicity. Nothing seems black and white anymore."
"Perhaps it never was," Harry replied softly. "We just believed it was because it was easier that way."
Their eyes met across the small living room, a moment of genuine connection forming between them. For the first time, Harry felt like he was truly seeing Daphne Greengrass—not as a former Slytherin or a professional colleague, but as a woman with her own complexities and contradictions.
The moment stretched, neither looking away, until Daphne glanced down at her now-empty mug.
"I've reached out to my contacts in the Department of Records," Harry said. "Unofficial ones. They should have information for us by tomorrow."
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Should I even ask?"
"Probably not," Harry admitted with a slight smile. "But they've been useful in the past when the Ministry's standard procedures prove... insufficient."
"Always the rule-breaker," Daphne murmured, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "Some things never change."
"When the rules protect the wrong people, sometimes breaking them is the only option," Harry replied simply.
Daphne nodded, then suddenly looked vulnerable in a way Harry hadn't seen before. She set her mug down on the coffee table with trembling hands.
"It's hitting me all at once," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What we saw today in Eliza's memory... the runes they used..." Her professional facade crumbled, revealing the weight of everything they'd uncovered. "Those weren't just memory modifications. They were altering fundamental aspects of magical identity. We knew that, but seeing it..."
Without hesitation, Harry moved from his armchair to sit beside her on the sofa. He reached for her hand, and she didn't pull away. Her skin was cool to the touch, but her fingers curled around his with surprising strength.
"I became a Healer to fix things," she continued, her voice unsteady. "To make people whole again. But this—what was done to these children—I don't know if anyone can heal that kind of damage."
Harry gently squeezed her hand. "You're already doing it," he said softly. "Every memory you help recover, every survivor you support through the process—you're helping them reclaim parts of themselves that were stolen."
Daphne looked at their joined hands, then up at Harry's face. For a brief moment, her vulnerability remained exposed—fear, determination, and something else Harry couldn't quite identify all mingled in her expression.
"You don't have to carry this alone," Harry added, his voice gentle but firm. "That's why we're doing this together."
Daphne took a deep, steadying breath. The vulnerability didn't disappear entirely, but it was tempered with resolve as she turned her hand to briefly squeeze his.
"When did you get so wise, Harry Potter?" she asked, a hint of her usual composure returning.
"Probably around the same time you started calling me Harry instead of Potter," he replied with a small smile.
That earned him a soft laugh, genuine if brief. For a moment, the weight of their investigation seemed to lift slightly.
"It's getting late," Daphne said after a comfortable silence had settled between them. "And after today, we both need rest."
Harry nodded, reluctantly letting go of her hand. "I'll contact you as soon as I hear anything."
He rose from the sofa, and Daphne stood as well, walking him to the door of her flat.
"Thank you," she said simply as he stepped into the hallway.
"For what?"
"For being here. For seeing this through with me." The professional mask had slipped back into place, but there was a warmth in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Always," Harry said, the word carrying more meaning than he'd intended.
Something shifted in the air between them—a subtle change that neither acknowledged directly.
"Goodnight, Harry."
"Goodnight, Daphne."
As the door closed between them, Harry stood in the hallway for a moment longer, contemplating the strange path that had led him here, working alongside Daphne Greengrass of all people. And somehow, having her by his side in this fight felt unexpectedly right.
With a deep breath, Harry turned and headed for the stairs, his emerald eyes shining with determination.
TBC.
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