AFiF 4, Chapter 30: Bone of the Father

XXX. Bone of the Father

A sea of dress robes blurred past him. Harry watched, intrigued, as the Beauxbatons students scrambled off in a craze towards what he could only assume were the students’ quarters.

Odd. I’d have thought they’d prefer to stick around.

But the students of Beauxbatons were nothing like their Hogwarts counterparts, as Krum had once told him. Shaking his head, Harry pushed his peers out of his mind, allowing himself to focus upon the nervous beating of his heart.

“Harry,” a faint voice whispered, “Harry, it’s him.”

Harry looked up. Gabrielle stood before him, resembling something far more divine than human. For a second, Harry wondered if she was the cause of his rapidly-pounding heart.

“Him?” Harry murmured softly, “What do you mean, him?”

The girl’s fingers snaked around his.

“Garnier. He’s in the Hall of Enigmas.”

“Hall of - Hall -”

All at once, Harry’s heart stopped beating. The weight of a thousand suns fell upon his shoulders.

Astoria.

Harry’s body stiffened.

“Garnier,” he whispered uncertainly, “You’re . . . you’re sure?”

Gabby nodded quickly. Harry didn’t bother waiting for her to elaborate, his mind having drawn up the dregs of an earlier conversation with Oliver:

“Busy . . . he’s got a meeting in the ministry, I think.”

Harry felt his heart lurch. His eyes combed the frantic room, hurriedly making their way back to Gabrielle. He took a step towards her.

Someone . . . someone important.

“You’re - you feeling alright, right?”

Gabrielle stared at him, exasperated.

“My mother’s not even five feet away,” she snapped, “I’m perfectly safe.”

They both turned, watching as Lady Delacour was swamped by Ministry officials. She was swiftly ordering them about, her expression one of calm determination. Still, there was a slight glint of something frantic concealed within her eyes -

“It’s Inspector Garnier, Harry, I’m sure of it,” Gabby said loudly, reclaiming Harry’s attention, “He’s in the Hall, he’s being attacked -”

“I know that,” Harry snapped, “I just - Luna said -”

“And I told you, it just means you have to choose!” the girl practically shouted, “I’m not at risk - whoever might be hurt tonight, it won’t be me.”

And if it isn’t you, I doubt I’d really care. Not in the same way.

Shouting surrounded them as a wave of Aurors brushed past. Lady Delacour frantically glided toward them, clutching Gabrielle’s wrist.

“We are leaving now,” she said. Her tone allowed absolutely no room for argument, “We’ll be heading for home straight away -”

“That’s fine,” said Gabrielle quickly, “Is father already there?”

Lady Delacour’s jaw clenched. The faintest quiver of her eyebrow betrayed her emotion.

“Your father is at the ministry.”

Harry watched as the color drained from Gabrielle’s face.

“He what?” she sputtered loudly, “He - you said he’d be here for the ball!”

“He would have been,” Lady Delacour pursed her lips, “He was meant to simply preside over the key points of the meeting within the Hall of Enigmas before joining us.”

Harry turned to Gabrielle. He watched as panic spread across the girl’s delicate features.

“Does he have guards?”

“Of course, dear. He was preparing to leave a few minutes before the attack began -”

“Then why isn’t he here?” asked Gabrielle pointedly. Her mother grimaced.

“The attackers are spread throughout the Ministry,” Apolline frowned, “If General Fontaine’s intel is to be believed, he and his guards are currently trapped in a fight near the Atrium -”

“And you’re not worried?” Gabby sputtered furiously, “Why aren’t we going -”

“We are going home, Gabrielle,” Lady Delacour hissed dangerously, “Hand me your medallion.”

The hair on Harry’s hands nervously flicked up. He felt his eyes widen with surprise as Gabrielle stared almost defiantly up at her mother.

“I don’t have it.”

Harry watched as the angel-like woman across from him went still. When she spoke, her voice was dangerously calm.

“Where is it?”

A contemplative expression coated Gabrielle’s features. After a moment, she stepped forward.

“With Harry.”

Apolline’s muscles twitched. Somehow - almost impossibly - her perfect features contorted into something ugly.

“You gave your medallion to this - this boy?” she asked furiously, motioning at Harry with her head. To Gabrielle’s credit, she seemed nervous yet undeterred.

“I did,” she nodded stiffly, “I thought he needed it more than I.”

The Lady of the Land looked positively murderous. She took a long, unsteady breath.

“I will deal with this later,” said the woman slowly, “For now, we are leaving.”

Lady Delacour made a small motion with her fingers. A number of Auror draped in blue and silver marched toward them. Something nervous settled in Harry’s mind.

“The - the Aurors are accompanying you back?” he asked worriedly. Lady Delacour stared at him.

“The Minister’s personal battalion,” she said, her lips thinned, “I assure you, Harry Potter, we are in good hands.”

Harry grimaced, his mind conjuring up images of the Auror and the Vampire back in Diagon Alley. Gabrielle edged toward him, her brows furrowed.

“What is it?”

Harry paused.

“I don’t know if they can be trusted,” he admitted softly, “The Aurors, I mean.”

Gabrielle glanced at the soldiers dressed in flowing robes. She eyed them carefully.

“They’re my father’s personnel,” she reminded him softly, “They’ve had countless opportunities to hurt me in the past.”

“I know,” Harry murmured, “I - I’d just feel better if you had your medallion.”

His fingers returned absentmindedly to the insides of his robes. Gabrielle stopped them.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, “Tonight you’ll need it more than me.”

Gabby leaned forward to gently press her lips upon his. She tasted like cherries and chocolate. Harry's heartbeat quickened.

“Enough of this,” Lady Delacour spat. Harry’s eyes shot open, “We’re leaving now, Gabrielle.”

Gabby nodded, eying Harry warmly.

“You’ll find my father, won’t you?”

Harry nodded.

“You didn’t need to ask.”

“I know,” Gabrielle smiled. The joy faded from her expression as she took her mother’s arm, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.”

A flourish of blue and silver robes separated the pair. Harry watched as Gabrielle and her mother hurriedly made their way out of the entrance hall and out into the sprawling grounds. His fingers toyed with the medallion hidden beneath his robes.

I should probably get a move on.

Harry glanced around the room. What looked like hundreds of Aurors were spread about the grand hall, occasionally apparating away in groups of two and three. Only a few students remained. Those spotted were quickly dragged off by Professors, venturing further into the depths of Beauxbatons school.

“You’re wasting time,” Harry murmured to himself, “I need Theo -”

Crack.

The world twisted as Harry reappeared within his compartment at the Hogwarts Express. He hurriedly shuffled through his door and into the common room. Several figures rose at once.

“Who’s there?” a tall outline demanded, pointing his wand at Harry.

“Me, genius,” Harry snapped. Fred sagged with relief, “Where’s Tori?”

“Here!” a voice piped up from the armchair by the fire. Harry spun around to find Astoria and Luna sharing a chair, the former watching him rather attentively, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Harry said, frowning. His gaze shifted to Luna, who wore an expression he couldn’t quite place, “Where’s Dumbledore?”

“Outside talking to some of the French officials,” said Marietta, “He’ll return in just a moment.”

“He was looking for you, actually, so it’s a good thing that you’ve returned,” Hermione added.

“Not really,” Harry shrugged, moving past them, “I don’t exactly plan on sticking around -”

He ignored Hermione’s loud protests, moving to peer through the window. Sure enough, Dumbledore was engaged in a silent conversation with two French men Harry was sure he’d seen before.

“Is he going to stay with us once he’s done chatting with them?” he asked Fred.

“That’s what he told us,” the boy nodded. Harry smiled dryly.

Perfect.

“Lovely,” he said, “Well, I’ll be seeing you then.”

“Harry, you can’t -”

Crack.

The world spun again. This time, Harry found himself frequenting a familiar street in Magical France.

Gabriel Street. Like Gabby.

Harry’s jaw clenched. He nervously ran his fingers around an ornate black ring.

Nott. I need you now.

His head rose as Harry eyed the Eiffel Tower that loomed off in the distance. A second later, a dishevelled boy appeared beside him.

“Wazzgoinon?” Nott murmured indignantly, rubbing at his eyes.

“The French Ministry’s been attacked,” said Harry simply, “I’ve got to make sure that you and Daphne are safe.”

Nott blinked a few times.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Hogwarts is in Scotland, you dope,” Nott reminded him, “We’re not at risk -”

“I’ve got reason to believe you might.”

The dark-eyed boy stared at Harry, his gaze lined with suspicion.

“Why?”

“It’s not important -”

“No, it is,” Nott frowned, “Why?”

Harry pursed his lips.

“A seer told me so.”

A look of disbelief flashed across Nott’s face. Harry couldn’t tell if the boy was going to laugh or cry.

“A seer?” Nott repeated indignantly, “You called me over because of a seer -”

“Just make sure Daphne’s safe, will you?” Harry snapped, “It’ll give me some peace of mind.”

Nott nodded lazily.

“What’d the seer say then, that one of us is in danger?”

“No,” Harry frowned, “Just that if I interfered with something I might end up endangering someone important to me.”

Nott groaned.

“What?”

“Harry, you fucking idiot,” Nott snapped, “You shouldn’t have said anything. This is interfering, you dickwad.”

But Harry simply shook his head.

“This isn’t it.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Nott indignantly.

Harry grimaced.

“Because I’m about to really interfere with something else.”

-(xXx)-

Crack.

Harry stumbled, falling face-first into what could only be the atrium of the French Ministry. Walls of silver and bronze surrounded him on either side, a ceiling of glass overhead. Harry could just barely make out the evening stars that peered overhead. Warm blood trickled down his philtrum as he pushed himself off the cracked floor.

“You fucking idiot!” he heard someone shout. Rough hands shoved into his navel, “You - do you have any idea what you’ve done -”

BANG!

Seering lights stabbed at his vision like greatswords. Harry swore furiously as he turned away, his eyes forced shut. Pained shouts and the sound of sharp explosions permeated the room, subtly accompanied by the smell of something burning.

“You,” the voice from before began, “You - come here -”

Harry gritted his teeth, wiping the blood from his lips.

“Obliviate.”

He jabbed his wand at where the speaker had just been, wiping away any memory of Harry’s face. A moment later, he heard a faint ‘thud’.

That’s one problem solved -

“GET DOWN -”

BANG!

The world tore itself out from under his feet. Harry felt himself ragdoll through the air, landing on the marbled pavement with a sickening crunch.

“Fuck,” Harry moaned, forcing himself to roll over, “Fuck . . . wand.”

His eyes slowly opened. His phoenix feather wand rolled gently along the marble floors some five meters before him.

No. Come back.

The glowing lights of the fires overhead made it hard to see. Harry sputtered furiously, crawling towards his wand with his hands outstretched.

“Come back,” Harry spat furiously, blood trickling down his lips, “Come back. Now.”

Woosh.

The thin strip of wood lodged itself neatly within his palm. Harry waved it over his body before shoving himself back up to his feet. His fingers slowly dragged across his face.

“Scurolumin.”

Harry grinned half-heartedly as the flashing lights dimmed overhead.

“Much better,” he murmured, transfiguring his robes into the purest black. Once satisfied (which, given his surroundings, didn’t take very long), Harry allowed his gaze to roam, properly surveying the atrium.

Fucking hell.

It was in ruins. That much was abundantly clear, despite the fact that Harry had never been here before. Shattered glass lined the floor, accompanied by the severed heads of large bronze statues. Similar heads of flesh and blood lingered, too. Harry felt his stomach twist with disgust.

“Not now,” Harry whispered aloud, “You don’t have time.”

I have to find Garnier.

Harry Disillusioned himself with a hasty wave of his wand before setting off along the edge of the atrium. His heart dropped upon spotting the combatants: both sides of the surrounding fight wore the trademark blue robes of the French Aurors.

Gabby. I need to - I must -

Harry slapped himself irritably. His heart continued to pound in his chest.

Don’t interfere.

“Garnier,” Harry whispered, “I need Garnier.”

Shaking himself right, Harry sprinted down the length of the atrium. The sounds of his footsteps were masked by the screams of fire and fury surrounding him. 

“Where to go, where to go . . .”

His eyes latched onto a small group at the end of the hall. They wore not the standard blue of the French aurors, but rather a variation of what could only be formal wizarding ware. If the quality of silk was anything to go off, they were politicians.

They might’ve come from the meeting in the Hall of Enigmas.

A burst of magic flew towards them. Harry batted it aside with a wave of his wand, allowing his Disillusionment Charm to drop.

Woosh.

The fires around them dimmed. Harry came to a stop before the group before turning around.

Someone approached. Tall and thin, the figure was cloaked in a silvery-blue satin. Harry could just barely make out a hint of armour from under their robes. It was as black as the evening sky.

“Petit prince,” the man whispered, continuing to dim the surrounding flames as he stalked towards them, “Oh, combien de temps j'ai attendu pour te voir de mes propres yeux . . .”

The dimming light made it hard to be sure, but the man’s face was hidden. In its place was a sort of ornamental bird mask not unsimilar to those of the Death Eaters. Harry felt rivulets of irritation burn within his chest.

“You’re wasting your words,” he said firmly, straightening up, “There isn’t much point speaking without one of these -”

He held his arm up. The Silver Language amulet gleaned in the faint light of the far fires.

“Ah, chère création d'Aveline,” the man stepped forward. There was a curious tone to his aged voice, “Oui, je suppose que c'est logique.”

He held his wand aloft, Harry watched, heart racing, as the man pointed it at him.

“Je me demande. . . De qui de vos nouveaux amis devrais-je l'obtenir?”

A woman screamed behind him. Harry fought the urge to turn around, instead pointing his own wand at the man.

“Don’t,” he warned.

The man opposite him burst into laughter. The fires swelled at once, their harsh glow matching the amusement of their maker.

“Garçon idiot,” the man smiled, “Je ne suis pas là pour toi.”

Bang.

Clusters of magic barrelled towards Harry, who hastily tossed up a shield.  He grimaced as his barrier trembled from the impact of the man’s magic.

He’s really trying to kill me.

“Tu ne peux pas te cacher, Bernard,”  the man was laughing from somewhere beyond him, “Tu ne peux pas me cacher.”

Confusion trickled through him as Harry slashed his wand overhead. A chorus of glass rained overhead. Harry twisted his wand, directing the broken bits of ceiling towards the man in blue.

“Pathétique,” the man snarled, lazily redirecting the glass with a gust of wind, “Je devrai mieux t'apprendre une fois que j'aurai arraché l'amulette de Bernard sur son cadavre.”

Harry grimaced.

Cadavre. Like cadaver? A corpse?

Something hot and furious built in his chest.

“You won’t lay a finger on anyone,” Harry whispered, “The only death you’ll be responsible for will be your own.”

But the man only laughed again, his wand slowly rising.

“Un enfant se bat pour vous sauver!” he roared. Harry could easily imagine him grinning behind his mask, “Voyez comment tombent les plus vertueux! Caché derrière un petit garçon qui ne sait pas . . .”

The man in blue straightened up, replacing the shoulder straps of his armour.

“Votre fin commence.”

The marble floors ripped out from underneath. Harry shattered them before blasting them back at the man, only for him transfigured them into rabid dogs. The man pointed a singular gloved digit in Harry’s direction.

“Tuer.”

The canines sprinted towards him, saliva flying through the air. Harry contorted them into snakes with a single wave, only for the man to chase them with haws made of surrounding bronze scraps.

“Pyrmurus!” Harry shouted. A wall of fire melted the hawks into molten metal. A second later, Harry found the liquid flying towards him.

He’s going to shatter the ice if I freeze it.

Harry swore internally.

“Glacius! Bombarda!” Harry spat, freezing and exploding the newly-formed ice before the man could beat him to it. To his surprise, his Exploding Charm soared through what was clearly a body of water.

What?

Harry could just barely make out the man in blue through the mass of water. Several tongues of flame trickled from the tip of his wand. He laughed cruelly.

“Où sont tes yeux, mon cher garçon? où est ta vue?”

Lightning sputtered from the man’s wand, connecting with the water. He flung the roiling mass at Harry.

I don’t understand -

“He’s asking where your sight is,” a nervous voice whispered from somewhere behind him, “Something about eyes.”

Harry froze.

He knows about my Legilimency.

Harry straightened up, not daring to turn around and face the woman who’d spoken.

“Tell him it’s hard to look someone in the eyes when they’re wearing a mask.”

The woman remained silent. Harry ignored her, now studying the man opposite him in a new light.

I need to remove his mask. I need to be able to predict him.

Harry clenched his jaw, his wand twisting. He decimated the floor behind the man in blue, forcing him closer and closer -

“De quelle tactique s'agit-il?” the man grinned, bemused, “Pensez-vous que vous pouvez retirer mon masque si je suis suffisamment proche?”

Shut up.

Harry’s magic swirled. More and more of the battlefield was consumed by debris, fire, and various other ailments until only a few square meters remained. Steeling his mind, Harry stabbed his wand forward.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The man in blue shouted, jumping out of the way of the sickly green spell. He landed exactly where Harry had anticipated - the only place left.

I don’t need my sight to see through you.

Harry steadied his wand.

“Imperio.”

The yellow spell hit the man square in the chest. Harry watched as he slowly rose to his feet.

“Drop your wand,” said Harry loudly. A sharp crackling sound echoed from somewhere behind him, “Drop it now.”

The man hesitantly allowed his wand to slip from his grasp. It clattered loudly as it hit the floor.

Accio.

Harry deftly caught the wand as it zoomed toward him. He pocketed it hastily, his eyes surveying the battlefield that surrounded them. A gleaming silver something caught his eye.

Perfect.

“Accio Language Amulet,” Harry intoned. The amulet unclasped itself from the arm of a fallen Auror before soaring towards him. Harry tossed it to the man in blue, “Put it on.”

He watched as the man did as he was instructed. Satisfied, Harry stepped forward.

“Who are you?”

“Abernathy.”

“Just Abernathy?”

“Adélard Abernathy.”

Harry nodded slowly.

“Abernathy,” he said aloud, testing the name on his tongue, “Doesn’t sound very French.”

“My father was born and raised in America. I carry his surname,”

“Right,” Harry said indifferently, stepping forward, “You can take off that mask now, by the way.”

He watched as the man’s arms rose. They hesitated upon passing his shoulders.

“You will take that mask off,” Harry spat. The man’s fingers more swiftly rose to his mask, pulling it off to reveal pale skin and dark hair. Harry studied the man carefully, making note of his various freckles and the mark just below his left eye.

Checks out.

“There we go,” Harry said, tugging the mask from Abernathy’s grasp, “Much easier to breathe now, isn’t it?”

The man said nothing. Harry didn’t care. He flipped the mask about for a few seconds before eventually tossing it aside.

“Why are you here?”

“To fulfill my father’s legacy.”

“Your father,” Harry frowned, “And that is . . .”

“William Abernathy.”

“William Abernathy,” Harry repeated, nodding. He eyed the decimated atrium, “And what, he wanted you to set this place on fire.”

Adélard trembled slightly.

“He wanted me to serve his master. My master.”

Harry felt his heart drop. He took a careful step forward, pointing his wand between the man’s eyes.

“And who, exactly, is your master?”

Adélard stared up at him with unfocussed eyes.

“Gellert Grindelwald.”

Harry felt his muscles spasm. He took a few steps back, struggling to keep his mind focused.

“Grindelwald,” he whispered aloud, “Grindelwald, Grindelwald, Grindelwald . . .”

Harry shook his head.

“Did he send you to the Hall of Enigmas? Did he want you to hurt the people at the meeting?”

“Gellert Grindelwald has been imprisoned for about fifty years -”

“Whoever sent you!” Harry snapped angrily, “Nagel’s buddies, or whichever other one of his stupid slaves is in charge. Did they send you to interfere with the Hall of Enigmas?”

Adélard frowned blankly.

“No.”

Harry grunted.

“Then what,” he breathed heavily, “What exactly did they send you to do?”

“To kill Bernard,” offered Adélard reluctantly, “And to test you.”

Harry blinked. After a moment, he smiled.

“Bernard?” he said aloud, grinning, “Bernard.”

Idiot. He said his name nearly a dozen times.

A slight trill of satisfaction slithered through Harry’s chest as he eyed the dark-haired man.

“You’ll have to tell them you failed,” he noted, motioning behind him, “None of them are -”

Harry’s voice failed him upon turning around. The group of politicians lay within a pool of crackling water. None were moving. Harry’s heart sank.

Dead.

He painfully turned around.

“Where’s t-the Hall of Enigmas?” he asked unsteadily, “Which way do I go?”

Adélard shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Harry chewed at his lip. An image of Inspector Garnier slowly wafted through his mind, eventually turning into one of Astoria. The sweet blonde girl lay in a pool of water like the one behind him, her body wilting beneath the electricity surrounding her -

“You said you were testing me,” said Harry loudly, drawing himself from his morbid thoughts, “What do you mean?”

The man smiled.

“She wanted to be sure you were capable,” he whispered, “In case her time with you is cut short, she wanted to make sure you were the one.”

Harry blinked.

“She?” he frowned, “Who -”

“Avada Kedavra!”

“NO!”

Harry’s eyes widened as a blast of green light flung towards them. His wand spun through the air, conjuring a shield of stone, but it was too late; Adélard Abernathy slumped forward, unmoving.

No. No, no, NO!

He stared furiously through the smoke. Countless fighters were sprawled among the opposite end of the atrium, Not one was looking his way.

“Fucking damn it!” Harry snapped, angrilly sending a blasting curse into a nearby wall. Silver scrap metal flew everywhere, “Damn it all -”

Something stirred. Harry felt his heart lurch, his eyes widening as the frail stomach of one of the men in the water heaved.

Protect them.

Harry quickly waved his wand. Surrounding debris piled up, blocking the downed politicians from the rest of the hall. Harry poured more magic into the spell, muttering incantations under his breath.

Should be good enough, Harry decided eventually, Unless someone like Voldemort appears.

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Someone like Grindelwald.

“Attollereos,” Harry murmured, his wand pressed against his cheekbones. He conjured a mirror a second later, inspecting his reflection carefully.

I look like her.

“Tom again,” Harry sighed, ducking over to remove the Language Amulet from Abernathy’s corpse. He replaced it across the frail man’s wrist before straightening up.

“Sanguiscura!” he whispered, his wand pointed at the man. The downed body slowly healed itself, “Enervate!”

Bright blue eyes flew open. Harry watched as the man, short and thin, nervously stumbled to his feet. A black wand was firmly clenched within his grasp.

“Who - who are you?” the man asked, “What do you want?”

“To talk with Bernard,” Harry frowned, “Is that you?”

The man shook slightly, holding the wand higher.

“N-no,” he said nervously, “That’s - that’s him.”

He nodded towards a rotund man lying face-first in the water. Bernard was clearly dead.

There goes another route of questioning.

“I’ve seen you before,” the frail man said suddenly, “You’re - you’re the traitor!”

Harry stared at him incredulously.

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

“I saw you talking to Grindelwald,” the man sputtered, “You - you agreed!”

What?

Harry’s heart pounded violently. Nervous sweat wept from the pores that lined his skin. He carefully eyed the shaking wand pointed between his eyes.

“This is a disguise,” he said slowly, “I don’t actually look like this -”

“I know what I saw!” the man interrupted shakily, “It was you! You’ll kill us all!”

Harry’s stomach sunk further.

“I’ve never met Grindelwald before,” he said almost pleadingly, “Please -”

“Of course you haven’t,” the man snapped, “It’s the future, not the past -”

The hairs on Harry’s skin shot up.

“The future?” he repeated, eyes wide. His fingers tightened around his wand, “Where did you see this?”

He watched as the man’s lips thinned.

“I won’t tell you.”

I figured as much.

In the blink of an eye, Harry pointed his wand at the man’s skull.

“Legilimency!”

A hundred images shot into his mind at once. Basic things came first: his address, his family, and his name -

Jean. Your name is Jean.

“Where did you see it, Jean?” Harry whispered carefully, “Was it the Hall of Enigmas?”

The man’s eyes widened. All at once, Harry was tossed into a memory from some six months prior:

“La Salle des Énigmes,” Garnier muttered, “And don’t get lost.”

Jean nodded slowly.

“Of course, Sir.”

Jean quickly made his way through a series of grimey halls before arriving in the atrium. After what felt like less than a second, the man was led through an easily missable door at the far end of the hall -

The connection shattered. Harry fell backwards breathing heavily.

What in Merlin’s name was that?

Jean scrambled for his wand. Just before he could grab it, Harry shoved his wand between the man’s eyes once more.

“Expelliarmus!” he shouted, sending Jean’s wand flying, “Imperio!”

The young man’s eyes instantly glazed over. Harry stared at him.

“Why can’t I see the rest of the memory?”

“It - it’s protected,” Jean said unwillingly, “The magic of the Hall of Enigmas prevents it from being seen.”

Of course it does.

Harry paused for a moment.

“Can it be Obliviated?”

He watched as Jean shrugged uncertainly.

“I don’t know.”

Right.

Harry paced back and forth, thinking carefully. His mind impatiently conjured threatening images of Ganier and Astoria all the while -

“Once I go through the door,” said Harry slowly, “Is it a direct path into the Hall of Enigmas?”

“Yes.”

That’s all I needed to hear.

“Obliviate.”

Jean slumped over at once. Harry Disillusioned himself carefully before banishing the stone structure that surrounded them. His eyes instantly fell upon the easily-missable door just twenty feet from where he stood. With a deep breath, Harry sprinted over, pried the door open and stepped inside.