Vison had always felt helpless about his sister's condition.
Under normal circumstances, someone subjected to the Cruciatus Curse would experience agony worse than death, and although prolonged exposure could drive a person mad, Ariana's situation was different.
Frankly, it didn't seem like the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse at all.
That curse couldn't possibly keep someone in a coma for so many years.
Vison had once asked the Tree of Wisdom to analyze Ariana's condition, but at that time, it hadn't offered anything useful.
Now, standing quietly beside his sister's bed, he watched her pale face and unmoving form.
"By the way, Mom," he turned to his mother and asked, "what did you mean in your letter when you said you found some clues?"
Lia caught his gaze, walked over, and sat beside Ariana's bed. She gently took Ariana's hand in hers and replied, "Your father and I recently met a Master. He said Ariana's illness may have affected her soul."
"Soul?" Vison repeated, puzzled.
The soul was not something he knew much about.
Lia nodded, brushing Ariana's hair back tenderly. "That Master told us everyone perceives pain differently. Ariana might be extremely sensitive—especially to the Cruciatus Curse. He believes her soul may have been torn apart by the pain."
"So you're saying she's in a coma because her soul is damaged?" Vison frowned. "That sounds... kind of absurd. Is this Master reliable?"
"Maybe," Lia said, her brow furrowed. "He didn't tell us how to treat it. He admitted he didn't know a cure, but suggested we find someone more knowledgeable about souls to consult."
Someone with higher attainments in soul magic?
An image slowly surfaced in Vison's mind—Lord Voldemort. A dark wizard notorious for splitting his soul to create Horcruxes. If anyone knew the intricacies of the soul, it was him.
But Voldemort was not someone you consulted.
He would offer Vison only an Avada Kedavra, not advice. Besides, Vison had destroyed one of his Horcruxes before.
"Eldra," Vison called out mentally to the Tree of Wisdom, "analyze Ariana's condition."
The Tree of Wisdom had grown significantly recently and now could access more information.
Soon, data flowed into Vison's mind.
[Name: Ariana]
[Status: Soul Integrity – 51%]
Vison's pupils shrank in alarm.
Fifty-one percent? That meant nearly half of Ariana's soul was missing.
He immediately asked the Tree of Wisdom again: how to restore a soul to completion?
This time, however, the Tree did not provide an answer.
He turned back to his mother. "What's the name of that Master?"
Lia blinked, then shook her head. "We don't know. But your father and I both think he made sense. We plan to follow his advice and look for someone more advanced in soul magic."
"Where did you meet him?"
"In Paris. We were there for a conference and took Ariana with us. While we were pushing her in her wheelchair to get some sun, he approached us."
Lia stood up, trying to recall more details. "He said he was just visiting Paris to watch an opera. He normally lives elsewhere. So we don't know how to contact him, and we didn't have time to ask more."
"That's not very reassuring," Vison muttered.
He walked over to the Christmas tree next to Ariana's bed. As Lia had written in her letter, there was a photo of him and Ariana hanging among the ornaments.
In it, a young Ariana clung to Vison's arm with a silly smile, and behind them, the Hogwarts Express steamed in the background.
Staring at the photo, Vison's heart tightened.
"Don't worry, Vison," Lia said, glancing at the clock. She walked to the door, gave her son a reassuring look, and added, "Your father and I will figure something out. I need to go to work now. Feel free to walk around."
After she left, Vison remained seated beside Ariana, lost in thought.
Paris... Opera...
A vague hunch began to take form.
Afternoon – Paris, France
Vison sat exhausted on a park bench near the Paris Opera House. In his hand was a small, ornate glass bottle—now empty.
He had used an absurd number of consecutive Apparitions to get here, and the repeated magical strain left him dizzy and disoriented.
Breathing heavily, he clutched his forehead and glared at the bottle. It had contained Felix Felicis, a vial of liquid luck gifted by Dumbledore.
That potion had guided him to this very place. But the moment he arrived, the magical clarity it had given him disappeared.
So now what?
Wasn't Felix Felicis supposed to provide hours of good fortune? Had he taken a counterfeit?
He looked around. Though people bustled nearby, the Disillusionment Charm cloaked Vison from Muggle eyes.
A middle-aged couple strolled past him, their voices floating into his ears.
"When does the performance start, dear?"
The man checked his watch. "Half an hour. We've got time—"
Their voices faded as they walked away.
Vison stood up.
He double-checked his Disillusionment Charm, adjusted his robes, and followed the couple toward the grand structure ahead.
The Paris Opera House gleamed in the sunset, the golden dome painted in warm, ethereal hues.
Inside, he slipped in with the crowd and quietly found an empty seat in the back row. He had no idea whether it was reserved—but no one came to claim it before the performance began.
Tonight's opera was The Magic Flute, telling the story of a prince undergoing trials to unite with his beloved.
Vison didn't fully understand the language, but he didn't need to. The music, expressions, and stagecraft mesmerized him. He allowed himself to be immersed in the tale, if only for a while.
But in the back of his mind, the puzzle remained unsolved.
Why had the Felix Felicis led him here? Was it because of the Master his parents had met?
Could that mysterious man be among the audience?
Or perhaps even involved in the performance?
He narrowed his eyes, scanning the crowd, the stage, the wings behind the curtain...
The answer had to be here somewhere.
FOR MORE CHAPTERS
patreon.com/Johnybairstow