The emergency Apparition point at St. Mungo's flared with magic as Harry and Daphne materialized simultaneously, their wands already drawn. Unlike the hospital's public entrance through the abandoned department store, this arrival area was designed for medical emergencies and Auror response—a sterile white chamber with reinforced walls to contain any magical discharge from hasty Apparition.
"Fourth floor," Daphne said, immediately moving toward the door. Her professional demeanor had slipped fully back into place, but Harry caught the slight tremor in her hand as she pushed through the exit.
The hospital corridors at night had an eerie quality—the magical lighting dimmed to a soft glow, the usual bustle of Healers and patients reduced to occasional hushed movements. Their footsteps echoed as they hurried toward the Magical Trauma wing, past empty waiting areas and closed treatment rooms.
"We don't know what we're walking into," Harry cautioned in a low voice as they approached. "Stay behind me."
"I work here, Potter," Daphne replied tersely. "And Belby was my colleague."
"This isn't about questioning your capability," Harry said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Whoever's behind these murders is now targeting Healers as well. You're potentially in danger just by being here."
Daphne's expression softened slightly. "Your concern is noted, Auror Potter. But I didn't survive a war by hiding behind others. We face this together."
Harry studied her for a moment, then gave a slight nod of respect. "Together, then. But wands ready."
Before they could continue their exchange, they rounded the corner to see a corridor blocked by the shimmering barrier of Auror containment spells. Three red-robed figures stood outside, wands directed at the sealed doorway of what Harry knew to be Belby's office. Jenkins, the young Auror who had accompanied him on a few assignments, was the first to notice their approach.
"Auror Potter," he called, relief evident in his voice. "Healer Greengrass. They said you'd been notified."
"What happened?" Harry demanded, stepping up to the barrier.
"Cleaning staff found him about forty minutes ago," Jenkins reported, his eyes darting nervously between Harry and the office door. "Same as the others."
Harry felt Daphne stiffen beside him. "How bad?"
Jenkins swallowed hard. "Bad, sir. And... different."
"Different how?" pressed Harry, his voice hardening.
Jenkins lowered his voice, glancing uneasily at the sealed room. "He... the killer left a message this time. Not just the rune. Something written on the wall with..." he struggled for words, "...with memories, sir. Actual extracted memories."
Daphne inhaled sharply beside him. "Memory extraction as a writing medium? That's extremely advanced magic. And ethically abhorrent."
With a complex wand movement, Harry modified the containment charm to allow their passage. The barrier rippled like disturbed water as they stepped through, reforming seamlessly behind them.
Belby's office door stood ajar, a harsh blue-white light spilling from within—the distinctive illumination of forensic magic. Harry pushed the door fully open, bracing himself for what they would find.
The scene was methodically horrific.
Belby lay spread-eagled on the floor, his limbs arranged in the same ritualistic position as the previous victims. His eyes were open and clouded with death, his mouth frozen in a silent scream. The Crucible Rune had been carved into his forehead, the blood dried to a dark crust.
But it was the wall behind his desk that commanded attention. Written in glowing, silver-blue strands that could only be extracted memories was a message that pulsed with ghostly light:
THEY TRIED TO MAKE US FORGET
The memory-strands writhed slowly, as though alive and in pain—caught between liquid and gas, neither fully substantial nor entirely ethereal.
"Merlin," Daphne whispered, her professional composure cracking. "Those are his memories, right?"
"Could be. Why would the killer extract and then present them to us like this though?" Harry asked quietly, reluctant to voice the horrific implication.
Daphne shook her head slowly, her clinical gaze fixed on the luminous writing. "No. Memory extraction this violent would have killed him instantly. These must have been... harvested... earlier. From someone else."
"The other victims?" Harry suggested grimly.
"Possibly. Or from the killer themselves." Daphne's voice had taken on the detached quality of a Healer confronting something too terrible to process emotionally. "This is a desecration of the most fundamental magical principles concerning memory and consciousness."
Harry moved carefully around the body, his experienced eye taking in every detail of the crime scene. Two magical forensics specialists were already at work, using specialized charms to collect evidence without disturbing the lingering magic.
"Died between four and six hours ago," reported a witch Harry recognized as Annabelle Brown of magical forensics. "Same cause as the others, but even more extreme—a specialized memory extraction that removed not just specific memories but his magical core's retention of them."
"Meaning?" Harry asked.
"Meaning they didn't just take what he remembered," Daphne interjected, her clinical gaze focused on Belby's body despite her evident distress. "They took his ability to have ever formed those memories in the first place. It's a violation of the fundamental magical principles of memory."
"Is that even possible?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "To remove not just the memory but the capacity to have formed it?"
"Theoretically, yes," Daphne replied, her voice hushed. "But the magical theory behind it has been forbidden for centuries. It requires an intimate understanding of how memory and magic intertwine within a wizard's core. The kind of knowledge that's been deliberately obscured from magical education."
Harry turned his attention to the message on the wall. "Can we preserve that?"
Annabelle nodded. "We're trying. It's unstable—memory strands weren't meant to be used this way. They're degrading rapidly."
"They're in pain," Daphne murmured, approaching the wall with a professional fascination that overrode her horror. "Memories have a form of consciousness—it's why they can be viewed in a Pensieve. But this... this is torture of memory itself."
Harry was about to respond when a commotion at the doorway drew his attention. Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office, strode in, his heavy-set frame tense with irritation.
"Potter," he barked. "What in Merlin's name is a civilian doing in my crime scene?"
Harry stepped forward, physically placing himself between Robards and Daphne. "Healer Greengrass is consulting on this case, sir. Her expertise in magical trauma and memory healing is relevant."
Robards's weathered face darkened. "This is an active Auror investigation, not a teaching hospital. And as of this moment, you're off the case."
The room went silent, even the forensics specialists pausing in their work.
"What?" Harry kept his voice level with effort. "I've been leading this investigation since the first murder."
"And now it's being reassigned," Robards stated flatly. "The Travers and Pierce murders will be handed over to Auror Jones's team. This incident will be handled separately by Auror Williamson."
Harry felt cold anger building behind his carefully maintained expression. "With all due respect, sir, that makes no sense. These cases are clearly connected."
"That determination will be made by the new investigative teams," Robards replied. He glanced pointedly at Daphne. "Healer Greengrass, thank you for your assistance thus far, but your consultation is no longer required."
Daphne straightened, her aristocratic bearing suddenly pronounced. "I was summoned here as a Healer of this hospital to assist with a crime involving my direct superior. I have every right—"
"This is a Department of Magical Law Enforcement matter now," Robards cut her off. "Hospital staff will be interviewed as necessary, but the crime scene is restricted to authorized personnel only."
"Interviewed?" Daphne's voice took on a dangerous edge. "Two of my patients, and now one of my colleagues have been murdered in identical fashion, and you're treating us as potential witnesses rather than targets who need protection? I demand to know what protocols are being put in place for the safety of the remaining Healers who worked on—"
"That's enough, Healer Greengrass," Robards interrupted sharply. "Security measures are being implemented as we speak."
Harry took a step toward his superior, lowering his voice. "What's going on here, Robards? Three people murdered in identical ritualistic fashion, and suddenly I'm being pulled off the case?"
"Your judgment has been compromised," Robards responded, equally quiet but with an edge of warning. "You've been pursuing unauthorized avenues of investigation, including looking into classified Ministry operations from the post-war period."
"Classified operations that are directly connected to these murders," Harry countered. "Someone is systematically eliminating every person associated with the Halcyon House project."
A muscle twitched in Robards's jaw. "That project remains under Ministry seal for good reason, Potter. Your continued attempts to access those files constitute a breach of security protocol."
"That's bureaucratic nonsense and you know it," Harry hissed, his temper flaring. "What could possibly justify keeping those records sealed when lives are at stake? When did the Auror Department become more concerned with protecting old Ministry secrets than preventing murders?"
"Watch your tone, Potter," Robards warned, his face reddening. "You may be the Chosen One, but you're still an Auror under my command."
"I'm an Auror sworn to protect the wizarding community," Harry retorted. "Not to participate in cover-ups."
Robards stepped closer, his voice dropping dangerously. "You're treading on thin ice. Whatever you think you know about Halcyon House, I guarantee you don't understand the full picture."
"Then enlighten me," Harry challenged. "Three people are dead, Robards."
"They knew what they were involved in," Robards muttered, then immediately looked as though he regretted the words.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What exactly does that mean? Are you suggesting they deserved what happened to them?"
"Of course not," Robards snapped. "I'm saying that some operations during the reconstruction period required... difficult choices. Choices that were deemed necessary at the time."
"Necessary by whom?" Harry demanded. "And what exactly were these 'difficult choices'? Because from what I've pieced together, they involved performing experimental memory magic on traumatized children."
"That's a gross oversimplification," Robards growled.
"Then explain it," Harry pressed. "Help me understand why the Ministry is more interested in burying this investigation than solving it."
"I won't repeat—"
"Three people are dead!" Harry's voice rose despite his efforts to remain calm. "How many more before the Ministry's secrets become less important than preventing murders?"
The tension in the room was palpable. Several Aurors and Healers who had gathered in the corridor were openly watching now, the containment barrier doing nothing to mask the argument.
"Potter," Robards said, his voice dangerously quiet, "this conversation is over. You are officially removed from all aspects of this investigation. Your clearances for related evidence and case files will be revoked within the hour."
"You can't just shut this down," Harry insisted. "There's a pattern here that only I've been tracking from the beginning. Whoever's doing this is following a specific sequence—they know exactly who was involved and in what capacity."
"Jones and Williamson are more than capable of recognizing patterns," Robards replied dismissively.
"Neither of them has been investigating the Halcyon House connection," Harry argued. "They'll be starting from scratch, losing valuable time while the killer plans their next move."
"The decision has been made, Potter." Robards's tone was final. "This comes from above my pay grade."
Harry's eyes widened slightly at the implication. "The Minister's office is involved in this? Kingsley would never—"
"Minister Shacklebolt is aware of the situation," Robards cut him off. "That's all you need to know."
"So that's how it's going to be?" Harry asked, disbelief coloring his tone. "The Ministry would rather cover up the past than solve these murders?"
"That's enough!" Robards snapped. "Another word and you'll be on suspension."
"On what grounds?" Harry challenged, stepping closer to his superior. "For doing my job? For following evidence wherever it leads? Tell me, when did the Auror Department adopt Death Eater tactics of silencing investigations that might prove embarrassing?"
A dangerous silence fell over the room. Even the forensics team had stopped pretending to work, all eyes now fixed on the confrontation.
"You're dangerously close to insubordination, Potter," Robards said, his voice deadly quiet.
"And you're dangerously close to obstructing justice," Harry replied. "Whatever happened at Halcyon House, whatever the Ministry is trying to hide—it doesn't justify allowing a killer to continue murdering people."
"This isn't about protecting the Ministry's reputation," Robards insisted, though his eyes flickered uncertainly. "There are... implications you don't understand. Security concerns that go beyond these individual cases."
"Security concerns?" Harry repeated incredulously. "Like what? That the public might discover the Ministry performed experimental magic on children? That someone might be held accountable for what happened?"
Robards's face flushed with anger. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Potter. The situation was complex—measures had to be taken to protect our society during a fragile reconstruction period."
"What measures?" Harry demanded. "Tell me what was so important that it justifies covering up three murders."
"I don't have to explain Ministry policy to you," Robards retorted. "Your job is to follow orders, not question them."
"My job is to uphold the law," Harry corrected him. "Something that becomes difficult when my own department seems to be working against that goal."
Daphne stepped forward, her expression carefully composed. "Auror Robards, before you make decisions you might regret, perhaps you should be aware that Healer Belby pulled the complete files for the Children's Rehabilitation Project this morning." She gestured toward Belby's desk where several folders lay scattered. "Those files are hospital property and under my authority as Acting Chief of Magical Trauma now that Healer Belby is deceased."
Robards's gaze shifted to the desk. "Those files are subject to seizure as evidence."
"After they've been properly cataloged by hospital administrators," Daphne countered smoothly. "Unless you'd like to explain to the Hospital Board why the DMLE is confiscating medical records without proper authorization?"
"This is a murder investigation," Robards said through gritted teeth. "Standard protocols allow us to—"
"To collect relevant evidence, yes," Daphne interrupted, her tone pure ice. "But patient files contain privileged information protected by healer-patient confidentiality. The St. Mungo's charter, ratified by the Wizengamot itself in 1723, explicitly states that patient records can only be transferred to law enforcement after proper review by hospital administration to ensure patient privacy is maintained."
"We don't have time for bureaucratic nonsense," Robards growled.
"Neither do I," Daphne replied coolly. "But if you insist on removing Auror Potter from this investigation while simultaneously attempting to seize confidential medical records without following proper procedure, I will be forced to file a formal complaint with both the Hospital Board and the Wizengamot's Oversight Committee."
Harry had to suppress a flicker of admiration at the steel in her voice. This was a side of Daphne Greengrass he'd never witnessed at Hogwarts—commanding, authoritative, and utterly unintimidated.
"Are you threatening me, Healer Greengrass?" Robards asked, his voice dangerous.
"Not at all," Daphne replied with chilling politeness. "I'm simply informing you of the procedural requirements that must be followed. As I'm sure you appreciate, proper procedure is paramount in sensitive investigations—as you yourself were just explaining to Auror Potter."
A tense silence fell. Harry fought to keep the surprise from his face—Daphne was outmaneuvering Robards on procedural grounds, buying them time.
"Fine," Robards finally said. "The hospital can catalog the files, but I want copies sent to my office immediately afterward." He turned back to Harry. "And you, Potter—my office, tomorrow morning at eight. We'll discuss your recent conduct and future with the department."
"Am I suspended?" Harry asked directly.
Robards's eyes narrowed. "Not yet. But you're walking a very thin line."
"I'll be there," Harry assured him. "Along with a detailed report of my concerns regarding this investigation and the apparent interference from higher levels of the Ministry."
"You're playing with fire, Potter," Robards warned, his voice low enough that only Harry could hear. "There are forces at work here that even I don't fully understand. Be very careful about the accusations you make."
The cryptic warning sent a chill down Harry's spine, but he maintained his composure. "I'm not making accusations, sir. I'm following evidence. That's what Aurors are supposed to do."
"Sometimes evidence leads to places we're not meant to go," Robards replied enigmatically. With that, he turned and strode from the room, barking orders at the Aurors gathered outside.
"Take inventory of everything in this office. I want a complete list of what's here before anything leaves this room."
Harry waited until Robards was well out of earshot before turning to Daphne. "That was..."
"Basic bureaucratic manipulation," she finished for him, already moving toward Belby's desk. "Something Slytherins excel at. Now help me gather these files before someone with actual authority arrives to stop us."
"You were brilliant," Harry said quietly, genuinely impressed. "I've never seen anyone outmaneuver Robards like that."
A hint of a smile touched Daphne's lips. "It helps to have spent seven years studying under Professor Snape. You learn to navigate rules and authority when your Head of House is a master of finding loopholes."
"I always thought Slytherins just ignored rules altogether," Harry admitted as he joined her at the desk.
"That's a common misconception," Daphne replied, efficiently sorting through papers. "We don't ignore rules, Potter. We study them intimately to understand exactly how far they can bend before breaking. There's an art to it."
Working quickly, Harry joined her at the desk while the forensics team continued their work around Belby's body. The files were in disarray, as though Belby had been searching frantically for something specific.
"He knew," Harry murmured, looking at the scattered parchments. "He knew he was next."
Daphne nodded grimly as she sorted through the papers. "Look at this," she said, holding up a sheet covered in Belby's hasty handwriting. "Notes he made just hours ago."
Harry read aloud from the parchment: "'Systematically eliminating everyone who knew the truth about Halcyon. Must warn the others. The children—where are they now?'"
"He was trying to track them," Daphne said, pulling more papers from the chaos on the desk. "Look, he's compiled a list of all the children who went through the program, with their last known locations."
"This confirms it then," Harry said, scanning the documents quickly. "Someone's targeting the people involved in the program. Anyone who shows the signs of getting cold feet."
"Not just targeting them," Daphne corrected grimly. "Extracting specific memories before killing them. Memories related to Halcyon House."
Harry scanned the list quickly. "Cillian Rosier is on here—listed as 'Status Unknown, presumed in containment HC-3.'"
"HC-3," Daphne repeated, her brow furrowing. "That matches the designation in the files we found at my family's library."
"What do you think it means?" Harry asked.
Daphne's expression grew troubled. "High Containment, perhaps? If they were experimenting with memory magic that affected magical cores, some subjects might have developed unstable magical abilities. They'd need special containment facilities."
"You mean they're still being held somewhere?" Harry asked, horrified at the implication.
"It's possible," Daphne admitted. "Or HC-3 could be a classification of the subject's condition. Without more context, it's hard to say."
A movement at the door caught Harry's attention. Ron Weasley slipped into the room, his Auror robes slightly askew as though he'd dressed in a hurry.
"Harry," he said in a low voice, coming to stand beside them. "What in the bloody hell is happening? Robards just stormed past me looking like he was ready to hex someone."
"I've been removed from the case," Harry replied tersely, continuing to gather papers. "Apparently investigating the actual motive for these murders conflicts with Ministry secrecy policies."
Ron's eyebrows shot up. "That's mental. These murders are connected to something the Ministry's hiding?"
"A post-war program called Halcyon House," Daphne explained quietly. "A so-called rehabilitation center for children traumatized during the war. Only it appears they were doing something far more sinister than rehabilitation."
Ron's gaze darted between them, a bit uncertain when he gazed at Daphne. Prejudices were indeed not easy to get rid of.
"Bloody hell. And now they're covering it up? Again?"
"Someone's eliminating everyone who knew what really happened there," Harry said grimly. "And the Ministry seems more concerned with maintaining secrecy than stopping the killer."
Ron ran a hand through his red hair. "Listen, mate, you need to know—there's talk in the department. You're being watched. Someone's monitoring your case files, your movements."
"What?" Harry's head snapped up. "On whose orders?"
"Not clear," Ron said, glancing toward the door to ensure they weren't overheard. "It's coming from higher up than Robards—maybe even the Minister's office."
"Kingsley wouldn't authorize surveillance on his own Aurors," Harry protested, though uncertainty crept into his voice. The man had given him clearance, and now this was happening. It was puzzling, to say the least.
"Maybe he doesn't know," Ron suggested. "Or maybe he's being pressured. There are still plenty of old-guard bureaucrats in positions of power who survived both wars by bending whichever way the wind blows."
Harry felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. This was worse than he'd thought.
"How did you find out about this surveillance?" Daphne asked Ron, her voice cautious.
"Overheard Jones talking to Proudfoot," Ron replied. "They didn't know I was in the records room. Jones mentioned 'keeping tabs on Potter's unusual interest in post-war rehabilitation programs.' Said it came from 'upstairs' and was 'highest priority.'"
"We need to leave," Daphne interjected, having gathered the most relevant papers. "Now, before someone realizes what we're taking."
"Go," Ron agreed. "I'll cover for you—say you left after Robards dressed you down. But Harry..." His expression grew serious. "Be careful. Whatever this is, it's big."
"What about you?" Harry asked. "I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire."
"I can handle myself," Ron assured him with a grim smile. "Besides, I've got plausible deniability. As far as anyone knows, I just came to check on a colleague after hearing about the argument with Robards."
Harry clasped his friend's shoulder briefly. "Thanks, Ron. Tell Hermione I might need her help with some legal questions."
"Already ahead of you," Ron replied with a grim smile. "She's waiting at the Leaky Cauldron. Figured you might need her brain for this one."
Harry nodded gratefully before turning to Daphne. "Ready?"
"Almost," she replied, shrinking the stack of documents with a flick of her wand and slipping them into her pocket. "We should go separately. Less conspicuous."
"No," Harry said firmly. "If someone's watching me, they've likely already connected you to the investigation. We stay together."
Daphne looked like she might argue, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But we take the stairs, not the lift. Fewer people to notice us."
Together they slipped out of the office, moving casually past the Aurors now taking statements from hospital staff. No one attempted to stop them—Ron's presence in the office providing the distraction they needed.
They took the stairs rather than the main lifts, descending to the ground floor in silence. Only when they reached the quieter corridor leading to the staff exit did Daphne speak.
"We're officially crossing a line, Potter," she said quietly. "Taking evidence from a crime scene, continuing an investigation after you've been explicitly removed."
Harry's jaw tightened. "I crossed that line the moment I realized the Ministry is more concerned with burying the truth than finding justice for three murdered people."
Daphne studied him for a moment. "You genuinely care about this, don't you? It's not just about solving the case or defying authority."
"These people were killed because they knew something someone wants to keep hidden," Harry replied. "Something that was done to children. That matters more than Ministry protocols or my career."
A small smile touched Daphne's lips. "Perhaps there's more to you than reckless Gryffindor heroics after all."
"And perhaps there's more to you than calculated Slytherin self-preservation," Harry returned, unable to completely suppress his answering smile.
"Don't get too comfortable with that notion, Potter," she warned, though her eyes held a hint of amusement. "I still believe in looking before leaping. Someone in this partnership should."
"Partnership?" Harry repeated, one eyebrow raised.
"Professional collaboration," Daphne amended smoothly. "For the duration of this investigation."
They exited through the staff door, emerging into the cool night air of the back alley that served as the hospital's service entrance. Without discussion, they both cast Disillusionment Charms, their forms blurring and then blending into the background.
"The Leaky Cauldron?" Daphne's disembodied voice asked.
"Yes," Harry confirmed. "Hermione might have insights on those sealed records. And we need somewhere to sort through what we've found."
They moved together through London's nighttime streets, maintaining just enough proximity to sense each other's presence without bumping into one another. The journey was made in tense silence, both processing the implications of what they'd discovered and the actions they'd taken.
The Leaky Cauldron was relatively quiet when they arrived, the late hour having driven away most of the regular patrons. Tom, the aging barman, nodded in recognition as Harry and Daphne canceled their Disillusionment Charms and stepped inside.
Hermione was waiting in a secluded corner booth, several thick legal tomes stacked beside her and a cup of tea growing cold as she scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment. She looked up as they approached, her eyes widening at the sight of Daphne.
"Harry," she greeted, rising to embrace him briefly before turning to Daphne with a polite nod. "Healer Greengrass."
"Granger," Daphne replied with equal formality. "It's been a while."
"Since the post-war trials," Hermione acknowledged, her expression guarded but not hostile. "I understand you've been instrumental in developing new approaches to magical trauma healing."
Surprise flickered across Daphne's face. "You've been following my work?"
"I make it a point to stay informed about significant advances in all branches of magic," Hermione replied. "Particularly those related to recovery from war trauma."
Harry sensed years of unspoken history between the two women—not outright animosity, but the careful distance maintained between former school rivals.
Hermione gestured for them to sit. "Ron sent a Patronus. He said you've been removed from the case, Harry, and that there might be Ministry involvement in... something serious?"
Harry cast a quick Muffliato Charm around their booth before responding. "Three people dead, all connected to a post-war project called Halcyon House. The Ministry is actively blocking the investigation."
Hermione's expression grew grave. "I've heard rumors about Halcyon House. It was supposedly a rehabilitation program for children traumatized during the war, but the records were sealed by the Wizengamot almost immediately after the program ended."
"We have reason to believe it was something far worse than rehabilitation," Daphne said, pulling out the notes they'd taken from Belby's office. "Memory manipulation, experimental magic, possibly even ritualistic procedures involving ancient runes."
Hermione reached for the papers, scanning them with practiced efficiency. "This is... disturbing. These notes suggest they were using memory binding rituals on children—magic that's been theoretically banned for centuries."
"Not just banned," Daphne added. "Memory binding of this nature is fundamentally destructive. It doesn't just suppress memories; it alters how magical individuals form and retain memories, affecting their very magical essence."
Hermione looked up sharply. "Like what happened to the victims? Their magical core's memory retention being destroyed?"
"Exactly," Harry confirmed. "We think someone connected to the program—possibly one of the children who went through it—is now systematically eliminating everyone who knew what really happened there."
"And using the same techniques that were used on them," Daphne added. "There's a ritualistic quality to these murders. The positioning of the bodies, the Crucible Rune carved into their foreheads—it's all part of some specific magical working."
"It's revenge," Hermione said quietly. "But not just simple revenge—it's symbolic. Making them experience what they inflicted on others."
"And sending a message," Harry added. "Remember what was written on the wall in Belby's office: 'They tried to make us forget.'"
"Us," Daphne emphasized. "Plural. That suggests there's either more than one killer, or the killer is speaking on behalf of all the children who went through the program."
Hermione frowned deeply, turning to a particularly ancient-looking tome and flipping through its pages.
"What about access to the sealed files?" Harry asked. "Is there any legal way to get to them?"
Hermione shook her head, her expression frustrated. "Not without Wizengamot approval, which would have to be granted by a three-fourths majority vote. Given that some current Wizengamot members were involved in Ministry operations during that time..." She trailed off meaningfully.
"They'd never allow it," Harry concluded grimly.
"Not officially," Hermione agreed. "But there might be... alternative approaches."
Daphne arched an eyebrow. "I'm surprised to hear the Ministry's most by-the-book employee suggesting something extralegal."
"When the system is being manipulated to cover up potential crimes against children," Hermione replied evenly, "sometimes the rules need to be... creatively interpreted."
Harry felt a surge of gratitude for his friend. No matter how much Hermione had always respected authority, she had never let rules stand in the way of doing what was right.
"I've been keeping records," Daphne said suddenly. "Of all the patients I encountered who went through trauma healing. People I treated at St. Mungo's over the years."
Harry turned to her in surprise. "You never mentioned this."
"It wasn't relevant until now," she replied. "Most were just passing observations—unusual magical symptoms, memory issues, specific trauma responses that didn't align with typical magical PTSD patterns."
"Where are these records?" Hermione asked intently.
"At home," Daphne said. "Hidden under multiple protective enchantments. I've been collecting them for years, though I never understood the full context until now."
Harry looked at her with new respect. "You've been investigating this on your own all this time?"
"Not investigating, exactly," Daphne clarified. "More... documenting patterns I found troubling. I'm a Healer, Potter. When I see patients suffering from similar unusual magical symptoms, I pay attention."
Hermione was already gathering her books. "We should look at those records immediately. If we can establish a pattern connecting these children's symptoms to the modifications of the Crucible Rune we're seeing at the murder scenes—"
She was interrupted by a silvery Jack Russell terrier bounding through the wall of the pub and coming to rest at their table. Ron's Patronus spoke in his urgent voice:
"Harry, official warning has been issued. Department of Magical Law Enforcement ordering cessation of all unauthorized investigation into Halcyon House and related matters. Your flat is being searched as I speak. Do not return home tonight. Will contact when safe."
The Patronus dissolved into wisps of silver mist, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
"They're moving faster than I expected," Harry said quietly. "And going further."
"They're frightened," Hermione observed. "Whatever happened at Halcyon House, it's something significant enough that even now, years later, they're willing to take extreme measures to keep it buried."
"Including allowing a killer to continue eliminating witnesses," Daphne added, her voice tight with controlled anger.
Harry rubbed his temples, thinking rapidly. "We need somewhere secure to work from. Somewhere the Ministry won't immediately look."
"My apartment in London," Daphne offered after a moment's consideration. "It's under Fidelius, with additional protections. A legacy of my family's... cautious approach during the war years. No one knows about it."
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. The Fidelius Charm was complex magic, not something that could be easily bypassed even with Ministry authority.
"Who's the Secret Keeper?" Harry asked.
"I am," Daphne replied simply. "After the war, I decided certain aspects of my life would remain under my control alone."
Hermione nodded approvingly. "That's actually perfect. As your own Secret Keeper, you can selectively share access without risk of compromise."
Harry studied Daphne thoughtfully. Working entirely outside official channels was a significant risk for both of them—but particularly for her. As a Healer with a promising career, she had much to lose if this went badly.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly. "Once we go down this path..."
"People are dying, Potter," she replied steadily. "And now, only of my colleagues too. Somewhere out there are kids who were subjected to magical procedures that violated the most basic ethical principles of magic and healing. I'm already committed."
Harry nodded, his respect for her deepening. "Alright then. But if we're going to do this, we need to establish some ground rules."
"Agreed," Daphne said. "First, absolute discretion. No discussing this with anyone outside this group without mutual consent."
"Second," Harry added, "complete transparency between us. No holding back information because it might be uncomfortable or problematic."
"Third," Hermione contributed, "documented chain of evidence for anything we discover. If this eventually goes to the Wizengamot, you'd need to prove your findings weren't tampered with."
Daphne nodded her agreement to each point. "There's one more thing we should consider," she said, her expression serious. "A binding magical agreement between us."
"What kind of binding?" Harry asked cautiously.
"Not an Unbreakable Vow," Daphne clarified quickly. "Nothing that severe. But a magical oath of mutual protection and confidence. It would ensure that none of us could be magically coerced into revealing information about our investigation."
Hermione looked thoughtful. "That's actually quite prudent. There are precedents in magical law for such agreements among investigators working on sensitive cases."
Harry considered for a moment before nodding. "I'm willing. But we should phrase it carefully."
Tom shuffled over to their table, looking pointedly at the time. "Closing soon, Mr. Potter. Unless you'll be wanting rooms for the night?"
"No, thank you, Tom," Harry replied. "We're just finishing up."
Once the barkeeper had moved away, Daphne leaned forward. "My apartment is on the outskirts of Wizarding London. We can apparate from the alley behind the pub."
Hermione gathered her books and notes. "I'll be in touch. There are some additional materials in my office at the Ministry—legal precedents that might help us navigate this situation."
Harry frowned. "Is that safe? If they're watching me..."
"They're not watching me with the same intensity," Hermione assured him. "And I have legitimate reasons to access legal archives at odd hours. I'm known for my... thoroughness."
With that settled, they paid their tab and thanking Tom for his continued discretion, they slipped out the back entrance to the small courtyard normally used to access Diagon Alley. Instead of tapping the brick wall, however, they moved to the shadowed corner where Apparition would attract less attention.
Hermione embraced Harry quickly. "Be careful. And you know you can count on my help."
After she disapparated with a soft pop, Harry turned to Daphne. "Ready?"
"Almost," she replied, extending her hand to him. "You'll need physical contact for the first visit, since I'm bringing you into a Fidelius-protected location."
Harry took her offered hand, noting absently how cool and steady her fingers felt against his palm. Their eyes met briefly before she turned on the spot, pulling them both into the compressed darkness of apparition.
They emerged in a modestly sized sitting room with high ceilings and tall windows currently covered by heavy drapes. The space was sparsely but elegantly furnished—a comfortable-looking sofa and armchair in muted blue, bookshelves lining one wall, and a small writing desk in the corner. A doorway led to what appeared to be a kitchen, while a short hallway presumably led to the bedroom and bathroom.
"Not what you expected?" Daphne asked, noting his survey of her living space.
"It's... comfortable," Harry replied honestly. "I like it."
Daphne moved to the desk, tapping it with her wand in a complex pattern. The surface shimmered and transformed, revealing a hidden compartment containing several leather-bound journals and a stack of parchment folders.
"My private records," she explained, extracting them carefully. "Observations, case notes, patterns I've documented over the years."
Harry watched as she arranged them on the coffee table.
They spent the next half hour arranging the combined evidence—Belby's stolen notes, Daphne's private records, and the fragments of information they'd gleaned from the files at Greengrass Manor. A disturbing picture began to emerge: systematic memory manipulation using ancient runes, children exhibiting unusual magical abilities afterward, and a Ministry cover-up that had lasted for years.
"We need to find Cillian Rosier," Harry said finally, staring at the puzzle pieces before them. "He seems to be central to all of this."
"I agree," Daphne said. "But first, I think we should complete that magical oath. If we're going to pursue this further, we need the protection it offers."
Harry nodded, rising to his feet. Daphne did the same, standing to face him in the center of the room.
"Something simple but binding," she suggested, extending her right hand palm up. Harry placed his palm against hers, their fingers naturally intertwining.
"I, Harry James Potter," he began, his voice quiet but firm, "swear to protect the confidence of this investigation and those involved in it, to seek the truth about Halcyon House regardless of who tries to conceal it, and to bring justice to those harmed by its operations."
Magic stirred in the air between them, a gentle current responding to his words.
"I, Daphne Iris Greengrass," she continued, "swear to protect the confidence of this investigation and those involved in it, to seek the truth about Halcyon House regardless of who tries to conceal it, and to bring justice to those harmed by its operations."
The magic strengthened, flowing around their joined hands in a shimmering spiral of gold and silver light. It wasn't as dramatic or binding as an Unbreakable Vow, but Harry could feel the magic settling into place, creating a connection between them.
"So witnessed, so sealed," they finished together, and the light flared briefly before sinking into their skin, leaving a faint tingling sensation in its wake.
They remained like that for a moment longer than necessary, hands joined, eyes locked in mutual understanding. Harry became acutely aware of the warmth of her palm against his, the slight flutter of her pulse where their wrists touched.
Daphne was the first to step back, though she did so without haste or awkwardness. "We should organize everything into one comprehensive file," she said, returning to the table. "Make it easier to see the connections."
Harry nodded, grateful for her practical focus. As they began combining their separate notes into one coherent case file, he found himself occasionally glancing at her—noticing the intense concentration in her eyes as she worked, the slight furrow between her brows when she encountered something troubling, the careful precision of her handwriting.
She was nothing like the cold, detached Slytherin he remembered from school. This Daphne was passionate about her work, deeply concerned for her patients, and willing to risk her career to uncover a difficult truth. It was... surprising. And oddly compelling.
"Potter," she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. "Are you certain about this? There's still time to step back, to handle this through official channels somehow."
Harry shook his head firmly. "We find the truth," he said, placing the final page atop their newly assembled case file. "No matter who tries to bury it."
Daphne held his gaze, searching for something in his expression. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her, as she nodded once, decisively.
"No matter who," she agreed, her voice quiet but resolute.
In the soft lamplight of her apartment, surrounded by evidence of long-buried secrets and fresh crimes, they had formed an alliance neither had expected. Not just colleagues, not quite friends, but something new and undefined—partners in a pursuit of truth that would challenge everything they thought they knew about the wizarding world's recovery from war.
And as a clock somewhere in the apartment chimed midnight, marking the transition to a new day, Harry found himself oddly certain that despite the dangers ahead, he was exactly where he needed to be.
TBC.
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