The Department of Mysteries was eerily quiet at this time of night. Harry's footsteps echoed through the circular entrance chamber as he waited for the walls to stop spinning. It had been years since he'd ventured this deep into the Ministry, and the memories that surfaced weren't pleasant ones. His hand instinctively moved to his chest, where the prophecy orb had once shattered, where Sirius had—
He shook his head. Now wasn't the time.
When the walls finally settled, a door directly opposite him swung open silently, revealing a silhouette framed in pale blue light.
"Right on time, Harry," said Luna Lovegood, her voice still carrying that dreamy quality he remembered so well, though it had matured over the years into something more serene. "Though the Nargles did try to mislead you. They're quite active tonight."
Harry couldn't help but smile. "Hello, Luna."
She stepped aside to let him pass, her silver-blonde hair catching the strange light that emanated from various artifacts around the room. The Rune Division of the Department of Mysteries looked more like an archaeologist's workshop than anything else—tables covered with ancient stones, glass cases containing fragile parchments, and walls lined with symbols Harry had never seen before.
"Thank you for seeing me so late," he said, handing her a sealed envelope. "I know Unspeakables aren't supposed to discuss their work."
Luna took the envelope, breaking the official Auror seal with practiced efficiency. "Friends help friends, Harry. Besides, the rules of the Department are more like suggestions for those who can perceive beyond ordinary restrictions."
Harry wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he nodded anyway. "Did you bring what I asked?"
"Of course." Luna gestured toward a table in the corner where a small stone basin sat, the Pensieve memories Harry had recovered from Pierce's home swirling within it. "Though I must say, this rune has caused quite a stir among my colleagues. Most interesting."
She led him to an adjacent workspace where she'd already set up an array of specialized magical instruments. At the center lay a piece of parchment on which Luna had meticulously copied the rune from the crime scene photographs. Even in this form, the symbol seemed to pulse with an unsettling energy.
"What can you tell me about it?" Harry asked, watching as Luna picked up what looked like a monocle rimmed with tiny rotating gears.
Luna peered through the device, adjusting various settings as she examined the rune. "It's ancient. Pre-dating standardized magical writing systems. The elements have similarities to Proto-Runic forms found in northern cave systems, but the configuration is... unusual."
"Unusual how?"
"It shouldn't exist," Luna said matter-of-factly, switching to another instrument that resembled a silver tuning fork with a crystal embedded at its center—similar to the Dark magic detector the Aurors used at crime scenes. When she held it over the rune, the crystal glowed with a deep violet light. "At least, not according to conventional magical history."
Harry frowned. "I don't understand."
Luna set down her instruments and turned to face him fully, her electric blue eyes unusually serious. "Magical writing systems evolved like spoken languages, Harry. They have lineages, patterns of development that scholars can trace. This symbol combines elements that, historically speaking, never intersected. It's as if someone wrote a sentence using both ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs and Norse runes."
"Could it be a modern creation? Something invented recently?"
"No," Luna said firmly. "The magical resonance is too deep, too complex. This is old magic, Harry. Very old. But it's been... adapted. Modified for specific purposes."
She gestured for him to follow her to another table where she had laid out several ancient texts. One was open to a page showing similar, though not identical, symbols.
"The closest match I could find is here, in accounts of ritual magic practiced before the establishment of the International Statute of Secrecy. When magic was more closely tied to community survival, to protection of bloodlines and inheritance."
Harry leaned closer, studying the faded illustrations. "What was it used for?"
"Intent binding," Luna replied, her finger tracing the outline of one symbol. "Magic that could lock a person's magical intentions or memories into physical form."
"You mean like a magical contract?"
"More intimate than that." Luna's voice had taken on the lecturing tone she sometimes used when explaining particularly complex magical theory. "Think of it as creating a physical anchor for something inherently non-physical—thoughts, intentions, memories. The rune acts as a bridge between the metaphysical and the material."
Harry straightened, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Could it be used to bind someone's memories? Or extract them?"
"Potentially." Luna nodded thoughtfully. "Though the method would be crude by modern standards. We now have spells and potions specifically designed for memory manipulation. This would be like... using a battle axe when a scalpel would do."
"But more powerful?" Harry pressed.
"Much more powerful," Luna confirmed. "And much more dangerous—to both the caster and the subject."
She moved to the Pensieve, gesturing for Harry to join her. "Shall we see what secrets Mr. Pierce thought worth protecting?"
Together they bent over the swirling silver surface. Harry felt the familiar sensation of falling as the memory pulled them in.
They landed in what appeared to be a grand old house. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating a spacious room filled with children's beds. But this was no ordinary dormitory—each bed was surrounded by a circle of faintly glowing runes etched into the wooden floor. And at the center of each circle, painted in what looked disturbingly like blood, was the same symbol Harry had found at both crime scenes.
A slightly younger Morgan Pierce stood nearby, watching anxiously as a witch in healer's robes bent over one of the children—a small boy with white-blond hair who couldn't have been more than nine or ten. The healer held her wand to the child's temple, drawing out threads of silvery memory.
"Are you sure this is safe?" Pierce asked, his voice echoing strangely in the memory. "These modifications go beyond what was authorized."
The healer didn't look up from her work. "The Ministry has given us full discretion, Mr. Pierce. These children have seen things no child should see. Done things no child should do. Would you rather they remember?"
"But altering core memories..." Pierce began.
"Is necessary," the healer finished firmly. "We're not just removing trauma. We're removing dangerous knowledge. These children came from the darkest of households. They've been exposed to magic most adult wizards never encounter."
The memory shifted, blurring around the edges before resolving into a different scene. The same room, but at night. Pierce was alone now, moving from bed to bed with a small notebook, making notes as he examined the runes.
He paused at the bed of the blond boy, whose face was contorted in what seemed to be a nightmare. As Pierce watched, the rune beneath the bed began to glow more intensely, pulsing in rhythm with the child's distress.
Pierce bent down, studying the symbol more closely. "That's not right," he muttered. "The pattern is changing..."
The memory dissolved again, reforming in what appeared to be an office. Pierce sat across from a stern-looking wizard whose face was obscured by shadow.
"I'm telling you, something's wrong with the containment protocols," Pierce was saying, his voice tight with urgency. "The runes are adaptive. They're not just binding memories; they're... feeding on them somehow."
"Your concerns are noted," the shadowy figure replied coldly. "But the program continues. The Minister himself has authorized these methods."
"These are children," Pierce protested. "We're supposed to be helping them, not—"
"We are helping them," the figure cut in. "And we're helping our society. Do you have any idea what would happen if these children grew up with full knowledge of the Dark magic their parents practiced? With the emotional scars of what they witnessed during the war?"
"So we're just erasing who they are? Replacing their identities with convenient fictions?"
"We're giving them a chance at normal lives." The figure leaned forward, still obscured. "And you, Mr. Pierce, would do well to remember your oath of secrecy."
The memory began to deteriorate, fragments breaking away like ice sheets calving from a glacier. The last clear image was of Pierce staring at a file labeled "PROJECT HALCYON: SUBJECT RECORDS," his expression a mixture of horror and resolve.
Harry and Luna emerged from the Pensieve, both silent for a long moment as they processed what they'd seen.
"Those children," Harry finally said, his voice rough. "They were experimenting on them."
Luna's usual dreamy expression had hardened into something more solemn. "Not just experimenting, Harry. They were using binding magic to fundamentally alter their minds."
"But why? Why go to such lengths?"
Luna turned back to her instruments, examining the rune again with renewed interest. "Why indeed? Memory charms have existed for centuries. Even Obliviation, while imperfect, is well-understood. This..." She gestured at the symbol. "This is excessive. Dangerous."
"Unless standard memory charms wouldn't be enough," Harry mused, pacing the small space. "Unless they needed something more... permanent."
"Even the most powerful memory charms can be broken under the right circumstances," Luna agreed. "But binding magic operates on a different principle entirely. It doesn't just remove memories; it transforms them into something else."
"Something that could be stored? Accessed later?"
Luna nodded slowly. "In theory. Though the cost would be significant. Magic this primal... it always requires sacrifice."
Harry stopped pacing. "The murders. Travers and Pierce—both killed after they started asking questions, both with signs of memory extraction."
"Not extraction," Luna corrected. "Reclamation. If these men were involved in binding children's memories using this rune, and if those bindings were still active..." She trailed off, her eyes widening. "Oh."
"What is it?" Harry asked anxiously.
"The murderer isn't just killing witnesses, Harry. They're reclaiming the bound memories. Closing the circle." She pointed to the rune. "Look here, at this element. It's a connector—a magical link between the caster and the subject. If these men performed the binding rituals..."
"Then they remained magically connected to the children," Harry finished, feeling sick. "And now someone's using that connection to silence them."
"And possibly to recover whatever memories were bound," Luna added. "Though without knowing the specifics of the ritual, I can't be certain."
Harry ran a hand over his face, processing the implications. "Luna, how many people in the wizarding world would know how to use this kind of magic?"
"Very few," she said. "Even here in the Department of Mysteries, this is obscure knowledge. Ancient ritual magic fell out of favor centuries ago precisely because it was so unpredictable and costly."
"So we're looking for someone with exceptional knowledge of obscure magical history," Harry said. "Someone connected to these children, to Halcyon House."
Luna studied him for a moment, her head tilted slightly. "You seem to be assuming it's one person, Harry. But rituals of this magnitude typically require multiple participants. A magical circle, working in concert."
The implication hung in the air between them. Not a rogue agent. A conspiracy.
"I need to know more about Halcyon House," Harry said finally. "About this 'Children's Rehabilitation Project.' Did you find anything in the Ministry archives?"
Luna shook her head. "Nothing under those names specifically. But there are gaps in the post-war records—files that should exist but don't. Places where information has been deliberately removed."
"Classified," Harry muttered. "Kingsley mentioned that the program was classified at the highest level."
"The Minister knows about this?" Luna asked, her eyebrows rising slightly.
"He knows something," Harry confirmed. "Though how much, I'm not sure. He seemed genuinely disturbed when I mentioned the murders."
Luna carefully gathered her instruments, setting them back in their proper places. "Be careful, Harry. If this does involve high-level Ministry officials, past or present..."
"I know," he said grimly. "My job gets a lot more complicated."
Luna placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Not just your job. Your safety." Her wide eyes seemed to see right through him. "The Department of Mysteries doesn't just study the unknown, Harry. Sometimes we protect it. Sometimes we hide it. For good reason."
"These were children, Luna," Harry said quietly. "Whatever was done to them in the name of 'rehabilitation'—they deserve justice."
Luna smiled sadly. "I've always admired that about you, Harry Potter. Your moral compass never wavers, even when the path is treacherous." She handed him a sealed envelope. "Everything I've discovered about the rune. The magical theory, the possible applications, the historical context. It's not much, but it might help."
"Thank you," Harry said, tucking the envelope into his robes. "For everything."
"One more thing," Luna said as she walked him back toward the entrance chamber. "I'd be careful about who sees that symbol. The rune itself carries power. Even a representation of it can activate certain magical resonances in those who've been exposed to it before."
"Meaning what, exactly?"
"Meaning," Luna said, her voice taking on that familiar dreamy quality again, "that drawing it, showing it, speaking of it—these actions may alert whoever cast the original binding spells. Like tugging on a thread that connects you to them."
Harry nodded, understanding the warning. "I'll be discreet."
As they reached the entrance chamber, Luna paused before opening the door. "The children in that memory, Harry—do you know what became of them?"
"Not yet," he admitted. "But I intend to find out."
"When you do," Luna said, her gaze unusually intense, "remember that whatever was done to them, their original memories still exist somewhere. Bound, hidden, but not destroyed. Never destroyed."
With that cryptic statement, she opened the door, and Harry stepped back into the regular Ministry corridor, his mind racing with new questions and disturbing possibilities.
-Break-
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was relatively quiet in the early hours of the morning. The Welcome Witch at the reception desk had dozed off, her head pillowed on her arms, and the only sounds were the occasional distant moans from the artifact accidents ward and the soft footsteps of healers making their rounds.
In her private research room, Daphne Greengrass sat surrounded by books and parchments, her blonde hair pulled back in a practical knot, her wand providing the only illumination as she carefully examined her own copy of the mysterious rune.
She had recreated it from memory—not a perfect replica, but close enough for reference. Around her lay open textbooks on healing magic, particularly those dealing with mental trauma, memory disorders, and post-traumatic magical manifestations.
Daphne rubbed her eyes, fighting off exhaustion. She'd been at this for hours, ever since returning from Pierce's cottage. The research room, usually her sanctuary, felt oppressive tonight, the shadows in the corners deeper than usual.
She picked up her cold tea, grimacing at the bitter taste, and allowed herself to sink into the memory that had been nagging at her since she'd first seen the rune at the crime scene.
Four years earlier, the Advanced Healing Academy in Geneva:
"Miss Greengrass, if you could stay behind for a moment," Professor Merrythought called as the other students filed out of the lecture hall.
Daphne approached the elderly witch's desk, wondering if she'd somehow misunderstood the assignment on healing trauma-related magic. The professor's expression was unreadable as she waited for the room to clear.
"You've shown exceptional aptitude for Mind Healing," Professor Merrythought said once they were alone. "Your essay on memory reintegration therapies was particularly insightful."
"Thank you, Professor," Daphne replied, uncertain where this was going.
The old witch studied her for a long moment. "Your family remained neutral during the war, did they not?"
The question caught Daphne off guard. "Yes, Professor. My father believed involvement either way would bring unnecessary risk to our family."
"A pragmatic approach," Merrythought observed, neither approving nor condemning. "And now you seek to specialize in healing mental trauma from that same conflict."
"The war affected everyone," Daphne said carefully. "Not just those who fought in it."
Merrythought nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. "I have a special research project that might interest you. Experimental therapeutic techniques for severe trauma cases, particularly in young witches and wizards."
She reached into her desk drawer and withdrew a slender volume bound in faded green leather, its title embossed in silver: "Childhood Magical Trauma: Advanced Remediation Protocols."
"This text is not part of the standard curriculum," Merrythought explained, handing it to Daphne. "It contains... controversial approaches. Techniques that push the boundaries of what many consider ethically appropriate."
Daphne accepted the book with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "What sort of techniques?"
"Memory binding, primarily. Methods of containing traumatic memories that cannot be safely removed or modified through conventional means." The professor's voice had grown quiet, almost reverent. "The book was compiled following the Grindelwald conflicts, when many children had been exposed to Dark magic that left psychological imprints resistant to standard healing approaches."
Daphne opened the volume, her breath catching as she saw the intricate diagrams within—complex runic arrays surrounding simplified human figures, lines of power connecting the two.
"These were actually used?" she asked, turning pages with increasing fascination.
"Briefly," Merrythought confirmed. "Until the ICW determined the risks outweighed the benefits. The techniques were effective but... unpredictable. And the required power expenditure was deemed excessive."
Daphne paused on a page displaying a particularly complex rune. Even drawn in simple ink, it seemed to pulse with potential energy. "What does this one do?"
"That," Merrythought said, her finger hovering just above the page, not quite touching the symbol, "is the Crucible Rune. The most powerful binding configuration ever developed—and the most dangerous. It doesn't just contain memories; it transmutes them, alters their very nature."
"Why would anyone need to do that?"
The professor's eyes took on a distant look. "Some memories are too dangerous to exist in their original form, Miss Greengrass. Memories of Dark rituals, of spells so forbidden that the very knowledge of them is controlled by the Ministry. When such memories exist in the mind of a child..."
"You can't simply remove them," Daphne realized. "Because they've become part of the child's developing personality, even the magical core."
"Precisely." Merrythought looked impressed. "Remove such memories carelessly, and you risk damaging the child's magic and psyche permanently. But leave them untreated..."
"And the Dark magic could manifest as the child grows," Daphne finished. "Corrupting their natural abilities."
"The Crucible Rune was designed as a solution—a way to transform such memories from dangerous knowledge into benign magical energy, safely integrated into the child's core." The professor sighed. "A brilliant concept, in theory."
"But not in practice?"
"The binding proved too powerful, too invasive. And the casters found themselves... changed by the process. Magic that fundamental always exact a price, Miss Greengrass. Always."
Daphne stared at the symbol, committing its complex whorls and angles to memory almost unconsciously. "Why show this to me?"
Merrythought closed the book gently but firmly. "Because healing is not just about applying known remedies to familiar ailments. It's about understanding the full spectrum of what's possible—and what's too dangerous to attempt. Knowledge that is forbidden is not necessarily knowledge that should be forgotten."
She tapped the leather cover. "Study this. Learn its lessons. And then return it to me in one week's time."
As Daphne left the classroom, the green book tucked safely in her bag, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just been inducted into some sort of silent fellowship—guardians of dangerous knowledge, preserved not for use, but for protection against its misuse.
The memory faded, and Daphne found herself back in her research room, staring at her incomplete reproduction of what she now recognized as a modified Crucible Rune. The realization sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Someone had taken one of the most dangerous binding configurations ever developed and altered it—customized it for some specific purpose. But what? And why use it on children from Death Eater families?
She turned to another book, this one detailing the Ministry's post-war recovery initiatives. There, in a brief paragraph easily overlooked, was a single mention of the "Children's Rehabilitation Project" as part of the larger reconstruction efforts.
"...allocated significant resources to the rehabilitation of minors affected by Dark magic exposure, particularly those from households associated with confirmed Death Eater activity. Through the generous support of the Wizengamot Relief Fund, specialized facilities were established to provide comprehensive magical and psychological care for these vulnerable young witches and wizards..."
No specifics. No locations. Just vague platitudes about "healing the next generation" and "breaking the cycle of Dark magic influence."
Daphne made another note on her growing list of questions just as a soft knock sounded at her door. She tensed, her hand moving instinctively to her wand.
"Who is it?" she called, keeping her voice steady.
"It's me," came the reply. "I got some info about the rune."
Daphne hesitated for a moment before she cast a quick revealing spell to confirm his identity. Once she was done, she unlocked the door with a wave of her wand.
Harry entered, looking as tired as she felt. His Auror robes were rumpled, his hair even more chaotic than usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He carried a sealed envelope that he placed on her desk without preamble.
"Luna... Luna Lovegood works in the Department of Mysteries now," he explained, taking the seat she offered. "Specializes in ancient runic magic. She identified our symbol."
"The Crucible Rune," Daphne said, watching his eyes widen in surprise.
"You know it?"
"I've seen it before," she admitted. "In a restricted text during my healer training. It's designed for binding and transforming dangerous memories, particularly in children whose magical development has been affected by Dark magic exposure."
Harry leaned forward, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "That matches what Luna told me. She called it 'intent binding'—magic that could lock memories into physical form."
"It's more than that," Daphne said, pulling her notes closer. "The original Crucible Rune was designed to transmute dangerous magical knowledge into gentle energy. But this version—" she gestured to her drawing, "—has been modified. The containment elements have been strengthened, but the transformation aspects have been reduced."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it's designed to bind memories more securely, but not necessarily to transform them." Daphne frowned. "It's almost as if they wanted to preserve the memories in their original state, just... locked away."
Harry nodded, not looking surprised. "Luna suggested something similar. That the memories weren't being destroyed, just contained in a way that could be... accessed later."
They fell silent, both contemplating the implications. Daphne studied him surreptitiously. Potter had changed since their Hogwarts days. The boy who had stumbled through classes, perpetually disheveled and reactive, had grown into a man with purpose and focus. His green eyes, always intense, now held a weary wisdom that spoke of years spent confronting darkness.
"Why are you sharing this with me?" she asked finally. "You could have taken the evidence and pursued this officially."
Harry met her gaze directly. "Because two of your patients have been murdered. Because you already know more about these runes than most of my department combined. And because—" he hesitated, "—I'm not sure who in the Ministry I can trust with this."
The admission hung between them, heavy and significant. Daphne felt a surprising surge of respect for him. How many Ministry officials would acknowledge their institution might be compromised, especially to someone they barely knew?
"I didn't think we were really... collaborating," she said carefully.
"We aren't. Officially." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "But unofficially, I could use your expertise. And you could probably use Auror protection, considering what happened to your other patients."
Daphne arched an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting I might be next on the killer's list?"
"I'm suggesting," Harry said, his voice grave, "that anyone asking questions about Halcyon House and the Children's Rehabilitation Project seems to end up dead. And you've been asking a lot of questions, Healer Greengrass."
She couldn't argue with that logic. After a moment's consideration, she pushed her notes toward him. "I've been researching the project. There's very little publicly available information, but I did find this—"
She pointed to a paragraph in the Ministry report. "The Children's Rehabilitation Project was established immediately after the war, specifically for children from Death Eater families. Both Travers and Pierce worked with the program."
Harry scanned her notes. "No mention of Halcyon House?"
"None," Daphne confirmed. "Though I haven't been able to access the more detailed Ministry archives."
"Luna mentioned those files seem to have been deliberately removed or classified." Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "We need to find someone who was directly involved with the project."
Daphne hesitated for a moment but she soon made a decision. "I might know someone. Marcus Belby—he was a few year ahead of us at Hogwarts. Ravenclaw. He's now a senior administrator here at St. Mungo's, overseeing the trauma ward."
"Belby..." Harry frowned. "I remember him. He was in Slughorn's Slug Club, wasn't he?"
"Briefly," Daphne confirmed. "His uncle invented the Wolfsbane Potion. More importantly, he was involved in post-war healing initiatives, including programs for affected children."
Harry checked his watch. "Is he likely to be here this early?"
"He's always here," Daphne said, already gathering her notes. "Lives for his work. His office is on the fourth floor."
As they made their way through the quiet corridors of St. Mungo's, Daphne felt a strange sense of alignment with Potter. Despite their different paths—he an Auror upholding the law, she a healer bound by oath to do no harm—they were both, in their own ways, seekers of truth. Both driven by a need to right wrongs, to protect the vulnerable.
It was an unexpected realization, and not entirely comfortable. She had spent years maintaining a careful professional distance from her patients' wider circumstances, focusing only on healing the minds before her. This foray into investigation, into potential conspiracy, was uncharted territory.
"What happens when we find the truth?" she asked quietly as they descended the stairs to the fourth floor. "If this really does involve the Ministry at the highest levels?"
Harry glanced at her, his expression hardening. "Justice happens. No matter who's involved."
"Even if it's your own Minister? Your own department?"
"Especially then," he said without hesitation. "The Ministry exists to serve and protect the wizarding community, not to cover up crimes against children."
There was a certainty in his voice that Daphne found both admirable and slightly naive. The world was rarely so black and white—she'd learned that early, growing up in a family that had navigated the murky, gray waters of wizarding politics for generations.
But she also recognized something in his conviction that had been lacking in her own approach to the troubling patterns among her patients. Where she had observed and documented, maintaining professional detachment, Potter was prepared to act, to confront.
Perhaps between her caution and his conviction, they might actually uncover the truth.
The fourth-floor corridor was deserted except for a young healer dozing at the nurses' station. Daphne led Harry to a door marked "Marcus Belby, Chief Administrator, Magical Trauma Services."
"Should we knock?" Harry asked, hand already raised.
"At five in the morning? Probably not." Daphne withdrew her wand and cast a quick detection spell. "He's in there, though. Alone."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's a handy spell for a healer to know."
"I find it useful to know if my patients are actually resting when they claim to be," she replied with a faint smile. "Shall we?"
Without waiting for his answer, she knocked firmly on the door. After a moment of silence, a harried voice called, "Enter!"
Marcus Belby had changed little since Hogwarts—still thin and nervous-looking, with receding brown hair and perpetually darting eyes. His office was a chaotic mess of parchments, medical texts, and half-eaten meals. He looked up from a stack of files, surprise evident on his face.
"Healer Greengrass? And... good lord, Harry Potter?" He stood quickly, sending several scrolls tumbling to the floor. "What brings you both here at this hour?"
"We need to discuss the Children's Rehabilitation Project," Harry said without preamble. "Specifically, its connection to Halcyon House."
The color drained from Belby's face. He sank back into his chair, his eyes darting between them. "I don't—that is, I'm not sure what you're referring to."
"Two healers associated with the project have been murdered," Daphne said, her voice cool and professional. "Both displayed signs of memory extraction consistent with the reversal of a very specific binding ritual."
She placed her drawing of the modified Crucible Rune on his desk. Belby flinched visibly, pushing his chair back as if the paper itself might burn him.
"Where did you get that?" he whispered.
"It was found at both crime scenes," Harry said, watching him closely. "And in memories extracted from one of the victims."
Belby's hand trembled as he reached for a glass of water. "I was only involved peripherally," he said, his voice barely audible. "Administrative support. Resource allocation. I never—I wasn't part of the actual procedures."
"What procedures?" Harry pressed, moving closer. "What exactly was happening at Halcyon House?"
"Rehabilitation," Belby insisted, a note of desperation entering his voice. "That's all. Helping traumatized children recover. Giving them a chance at normal lives."
"Using experimental memory binding rituals?" Daphne asked sharply. "Rituals that even the Department of Mysteries considers dangerous?"
Belby's eyes darted to the door, as if calculating his chances of escape. "It wasn't like that. The children were damaged—exposed to Dark magic, some of them forced to participate in rituals, others raised in environments saturated with corrupting influences. Standard memory charms weren't enough."
"So you used the Crucible Rune," Harry said, his tone making it clear this wasn't a question. "A binding ritual designed to transform dangerous memories."
"A modified version," Belby admitted reluctantly. "Developed specifically for the project."
"Modified how?" Daphne asked. "The transformative elements have been reduced. Why?"
Belby hesitated, clearly weighing his options. "I don't know the magical theory. I just know the project directors believed standard memory modification would be insufficient for certain cases."
"Children with particularly traumatic experiences?" Harry suggested.
"Children with knowledge of specific Dark magic," Belby corrected, then looked as if he regretted the admission. "I mean, yes, trauma was a factor, but the primary concern was... containment."
Harry and Daphne exchanged glances. "Containment of what?" Harry asked.
"Knowledge," Belby said, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Rituals, spells, artifacts... things these children had been exposed to in Death Eater households. Things they might later use or share if the memories weren't properly contained."
"So this wasn't about healing trauma," Daphne said coldly. "It was about controlling dangerous knowledge."
"It was about both," Belby insisted. "The children were traumatized. The memories were causing psychological damage. Binding them provided relief."
"While simultaneously ensuring they couldn't remember potentially useful intelligence about Death Eater activities," Harry observed.
Belby flinched again. "The project had multiple objectives."
"Who authorized it?" Harry demanded. "Who oversaw the procedures?"
"That was above my level," Belby said quickly. "I received directives from Magical Law Enforcement, countersigned by the Minister's office. The actual procedures were conducted by specialized healers, most brought in from abroad."
"Names," Harry said, his patience clearly wearing thin. "I need names, Belby."
"I don't have them!" Belby protested. "Everything was compartmentalized. Need-to-know basis only. I handled logistics, resource allocation, nothing more."
Daphne studied him closely, noting the tremor in his hands and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was terrified, but not just of them—of something else. Or someone else.
"The records," she said. "Where are they kept? Files on the children, the procedures, the results?"
"Sealed," Belby replied immediately. "Ministry archives, highest security classification."
"But there must be copies," Harry pressed. "Medical records, treatment notes, follow-up assessments."
Belby shook his head emphatically. "Everything was centralized. Security protocols were absolute. No duplicate records, no personal notes permitted to leave the facility."
"And yet Pierce had memories of the procedures," Harry pointed out. "Memories detailed enough to identify specific children and binding rituals."
Belby paled further. "That's impossible. All staff underwent memory modification themselves upon completion of their service. Standard security protocol."
"Clearly not standard enough," Harry said, his voice hardening. "Pierce remembered. Travers too, apparently. And now they're both dead."
Belby's hands were shaking so badly now that he knocked over his water glass. He ignored the spreading puddle, his eyes darting between Harry and Daphne.
"Look," he whispered, leaning forward, "the project had good intentions initially. Traumatized children needed help. But there were... complications."
"What kind of complications?" Daphne asked, her healer instincts sharpening.
Belby hesitated, his eyes darting between them, and he seemed to deflate. "The memory bindings weren't always stable. Some children experienced... side effects. Nightmares. Magical surges. In a few cases, breakthrough memories."
"And what happened to those children?" Harry pressed.
"The project was eventually discontinued," Belby said, carefully avoiding direct answer. "The official position was that conventional therapeutic approaches would be sufficient moving forward."
"That's not what I asked," Harry said.
Belby swallowed hard. "Most were released to guardian families. Carefully selected, discreet. A few with more severe cases remained in specialized care."
Daphne crossed her arms. "And no follow-up? No long-term monitoring?"
"There was supposed to be," Belby admitted. "Annual assessments, at minimum. But after the project was officially shuttered, responsibility was transferred to regular Healing channels. Many files were sealed. Patients reassigned to general practitioners who knew nothing of their history."
Harry looked disgusted. "You abandoned traumatized children with experimental magic binding their memories, and you're surprised things went wrong?"
"I was just following—"
"Don't," Harry cut him off. "Don't say you were just following orders."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the office. Daphne studied the administrator with clinical detachment. His fear seemed genuine, but there was something else—a hint of guilt, perhaps, or knowledge he wasn't sharing.
"The records," she said finally. "Even if the official files are sealed, there must be a list somewhere. Names, placements, assigned healers."
Belby's eyes flickered to a cabinet in the corner before he could stop himself. Harry noticed immediately.
"That cabinet there?" he asked, already moving toward it.
"You need authorization," Belby protested weakly. "Those are confidential—"
"Two murders make this an active Auror investigation," Harry said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Consider this your official notice."
The cabinet was locked, but a quick charm from Harry's wand took care of that. Inside were dozens of slim folders, each bearing only a number rather than a name.
"Subject indexing," Belby explained, his voice resigned now. "The only copy outside the Ministry archives. For emergency medical situations only."
Harry grabbed the stack, shrinking it with a tap of his wand before tucking it into his robes. "We'll return these when our investigation is complete."
"If anyone finds out I let you take those—"
"No one will," Daphne assured him coolly. "Unless you tell them."
Outside in the corridor, the sky was beginning to lighten through the enchanted windows. Dawn was breaking over magical London, oblivious to the dark secrets being unearthed in its midst.
"That was... informative," Harry said as they walked back toward the stairs.
"And disturbing," Daphne added. "Children used as test subjects for experimental memory magic, then scattered to the winds when complications arose."
Harry nodded grimly. "And now someone's cleaning up loose ends. The question is, why now? Why after all these years?"
They reached the hospital's main floor in thoughtful silence. The Welcome Witch was awake now, yawning as she sorted through the morning's appointment scrolls.
"I should get these files somewhere safe," Harry said, patting his pocket. "Start going through them."
Daphne hesitated for a moment, deliberating on something before she made a decision. "My family home has extensive wards. And a rather impressive library that might help us understand more about these binding runes."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're inviting me to Greengrass Manor?"
"I'm offering a secure location to review classified documents," she corrected, though her lips quirked slightly. "And there's something else you should know. My family... we hosted one of the children. Temporarily."
Harry's eyes widened. "From Halcyon House?"
"A quiet boy with white-blonde hair," Daphne confirmed. "He stayed with us for three months before being relocated. I was away at Healer training most of that time, but..."
"But what?"
"He disappeared about two years after leaving us. No explanation. My parents were simply told he'd been transferred to another program."
Harry ran a hand through his already messy hair. "We need to talk more about this. Tonight?"
"Eight o'clock," Daphne agreed. "The Manor's connected to the Floo network. The address is 'Greengrass East Wing.'"
"I'd prefer to apparate," Harry replied, earning a glance from her.
As they parted ways outside St. Mungo's, Daphne found herself studying Potter's retreating figure. There was something reassuring about his determined stride and his unwavering commitment to the truth. For the first time since discovering the pattern among her murdered patients, she felt a flicker of hope that justice might actually be possible.
And if a small part of her was looking forward to continuing their collaboration more than professional interest strictly warranted—well, that was nobody's business but her own.
TBC.
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