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Shadows in St Mungo's: Chapter 06
🕑 Added 2025-03-23 22:33:52 +0000 UTCThe rain kept falling heavily, pounding against the windows as if the world were collapsing outside. Harry still held the door open, the cold storm air whipping against his face, but he didn’t move.
Daphne was there, drenched, trembling, her eyes wide as if she had seen a ghost. The cut on her forehead wasn’t deep, but the blood trickled slowly down her temple, mixing with the rainwater and disappearing beneath the soaked fabric of her robe. She was breathing too fast, her shoulders rising and falling in a frantic rhythm.
For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to do. She never showed weakness. Daphne Greengrass was cold, meticulous, always in control. Now, none of that remained. The only thing he could see was fear.
She tried to speak, but her voice failed. Her body swayed slightly, as if her legs were about to give out.
“Shit,” Harry muttered, pulling her inside.
She entered without resistance, her soaked shoes slapping against the wooden floor. He shut the door with a thud, sealing them off from the storm. The silence that followed was suffocating. Daphne stood there, in the middle of the entrance hall, her trembling hands rising to hold her own arms.
Harry ran a hand through his wet hair.
“Daphne… what the hell happened?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she did something he didn’t expect. She cried. Not a silent, discreet cry. But a complete collapse. Daphne Greengrass crumbled before him.
Sobs tore from her throat like a muffled scream, her shoulders shaking violently. She raised a hand to her face, trying to stop the tears, but it was useless.
Harry stood still. He didn’t know how to handle this. He didn’t know how to handle people breaking down in front of him. Because he was always broken himself. Because he never knew how to ask for help.
He took a deep breath, running a hand over his face.
“Okay… okay,” he murmured, trying to think.
He looked around, then did the only thing that felt natural. He took out his wand and conjured a dry blanket. Then, he cast a drying charm, removing the excess water from her clothes and hair.
Daphne didn’t seem to notice. She kept crying.
Harry sighed quietly, running a hand over his neck.
“Alright, let’s… let’s sit down, yeah?”
She didn’t move. Harry sighed, gently taking her arm and guiding her to the sofa in the living room. She sat without resistance, still sobbing, her hands buried in her face.
Harry sat in the armchair across from her, unsure of what to do with his own hands. He could ask again what had happened. But she still wouldn’t be able to answer. So, he waited.
He waited until the sobs subsided.
He waited until her breathing steadied.
He waited until, finally, Daphne lifted her face.
Her blue-gray eyes were still glassy with tears, but her expression was no longer pure panic. Now, it was despair. She opened her mouth, tried to speak. And this time, her voice came out, though hoarse, trembling.
“He’s going to kill my sister.”
The storm kept roaring outside, the thunder reverberating against the walls of Grimmauld Place, but inside Harry’s office, everything was silent.
Daphne held the teacup between her hands, her fingers slightly trembling, her gaze fixed on the dark liquid. Her clothes were clean now, courtesy of Kreacher, with the cut on her forehead completely cleaned—just a scratch—but the weight of the night still lingered over her.
Harry sat across from her, his back against the armchair, watching her in silence. He waited. He waited because he knew that once she started talking, there would be no turning back.
Daphne took a deep breath and then broke the silence.
“Astoria was… is dying.” She corrected herself.
Harry said nothing. He just watched.
“It’s a neuromagical disease. Degenerative. Her bones and nerves are deteriorating.”
She turned the cup in her fingers, her eyes lost in the darkness of the tea.
“My father disappeared during the war.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. That was a detail he had never heard before.
“Disappeared? How?”
Daphne gripped the cup more tightly.
“No one knows. He just… vanished.” She paused, as if carefully choosing her words. “My mother managed to pull some strings so that it never came to light. To the wizarding society, Philip Greengrass simply chose to isolate himself.”
Harry narrowed his eyes.
“And you believe that?”
Daphne let out a humorless smile.
“Of course not.”
She sighed, leaning back in her chair.
“Since he disappeared, I had to take care of everything. My mother… she never accepted the situation.”
Harry didn’t ask anything. He knew what that was like. The weight of carrying a family alone. The weight of having to grow up too soon.
Daphne continued.
“After the war, Mulciber showed up.”
Harry immediately became alert.
“The chief healer?”
She nodded slowly.
“He said he worked with my father in the Department of Mysteries. That they had developed an experimental treatment.”
Harry clenched his teeth.
"And your mother accepted?"
Daphne bit her lower lip.
"No."
She raised her eyes, finally looking at him.
"I was the one who convinced her."
The silence in the room grew heavy. Harry didn't look away.
"In the beginning, the treatment worked," Daphne continued, her voice a little lower. "Astoria improved like no one else. For the first two years, it was like a miracle."
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to relive that time.
"But then..."
The tremor in her voice was almost imperceptible, but Harry noticed.
"Then she got worse. Worse than ever."
Harry felt his stomach turn. Burkes. Burkes had been trying to help her. And now Burkes was dead.
"That's why you became a healer," Harry said, not as a question, but as a statement.
Daphne swallowed hard.
"Yes."
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The only sound was the distant patter of rain against the windows.
Harry pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to process everything. She had trusted Mulciber. She was the one responsible for Astoria undergoing that treatment. Now, Astoria was dying. And Mulciber knew far more than he let on.
Harry finally broke the silence.
"Do you trust him?"
Daphne didn’t answer immediately. When she finally did, her voice was just a whisper.
"I don’t know what to trust anymore."
Daphne turned the teacup between her fingers, the steam still rising in thin spirals as her mind seemed as distant as the storm outside.
For a moment, Harry thought she wouldn’t say anything else. But then, she took a deep breath and let out the truth.
"Astoria has hallucinations."
Harry immediately became alert.
"Hallucinations?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the dark liquid in the cup.
"She started talking to things that aren’t there. Screaming in the middle of the night, saying she feels something watching her."
Daphne pressed her lips together, visibly uncomfortable.
"In the last few months, it’s gotten worse. Now… now she says she feels something touching her."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Selwyn had said the same thing. "He touches my skin without touching me." The connection was there.
Harry straightened in his chair, crushing out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray.
"I have a theory."
Daphne raised her eyes to him. The exhaustion was evident in her expression. Harry took a deep breath before speaking.
"I think Adrian Rosier is killing these people."
Daphne didn’t blink. The silence between them grew heavier. And then, she laughed. Low. Humorless.
"Rosier has been in a coma for five years, Potter."
"I know." Harry leaned forward. "And that’s why it’s worse."
Daphne frowned. Harry continued.
"I think, somehow, he’s still here."
"What do you mean by that?"
Harry clenched his hands over his knees.
"I found records of spells that allow the mind and body to be separated. If Rosier was hit with one of those spells… he might be trapped between both states."
Daphne remained still. But she didn’t seem surprised. And Harry realized it immediately.
"You know something."
Daphne took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. Then, she finally spoke.
"Mulciber put Adrian Rosier in a coma."
Harry felt his stomach turn. He hadn’t expected that.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice colder now.
Daphne placed the teacup on the table and crossed her arms.
"I knew Rosier at Hogwarts. He wasn’t a Death Eater."
Harry raised his eyebrows.
"His last name says otherwise."
Daphne rolled her eyes.
"And your name doesn’t automatically make you a hero, does it?"
Harry narrowed his eyes but didn’t argue.
"Rosier never wanted to fight alongside Voldemort," she continued. "He didn’t take part in the Battle of Hogwarts."
Harry leaned forward even more.
"Then how did he end up in a coma?"
Daphne let out a heavy sigh.
"Side effect."
Harry waited. Daphne rubbed her temples as if she were battling old memories.
"He was hit by a spell that was only supposed to knock him out."
"And who cast it?"
Daphne kept her gaze fixed on the fire in the fireplace.
"Mulciber."
Harry felt the anger begin to boil inside him.
"And why the hell was Mulciber casting spells on someone who wasn’t a Death Eater? Or worse, the son of an ally?"
Daphne bit her lip, hesitating. But Harry didn’t let her escape this time.
"Greengrass." He called her by her last name. "You know more than you’re saying."
Daphne finally looked at him. There was something different in her eyes now. It was no longer just fear. It was guilt.
"I read the documents, Potter."
Harry didn’t blink. Daphne took a deep breath before speaking the truth.
"Adrian Rosier wasn’t supposed to be in a coma."
Silence filled the space between them.
"The spell Mulciber used was simple. Something to knock him out for a few hours. But he never woke up."
Harry felt bile rise in his throat. He knew. He knew in that instant.
"Mulciber lied about what he did to him."
Daphne nodded. Harry gripped the edge of the table, his jaw tense.
"If Mulciber lied about Rosier… he also lied about Astoria."
Daphne didn’t respond. But she didn’t need to. The terror in her eyes was enough. Daphne lowered her head, pressing her fingers against her temples as if she were holding something inside herself.
Harry waited. He knew how to recognize when someone was on the verge of saying something they shouldn’t. Something dangerous. And then, she spoke.
"I found a journal."
Harry leaned forward.
"What journal?"
She swallowed hard.
"My father’s."
The name hung between them like a curse. Philip Greengrass. The man who disappeared during the war. The man Mulciber claimed had worked by his side. The man whose traces had been erased from history.
"You had this journal the whole time?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.
"No." Daphne replied, her voice low. "I found it two months ago, hidden among old documents."
She crossed her arms, restless.
"My mother kept everything of his. Clothes, letters, even the belongings they brought back from the Department of Mysteries when he 'vanished'."
Harry noticed the way she avoided the word "died."
"And what was in the journal?"
Daphne took a deep breath, hesitating.
"My father… he didn’t agree with the methods."
Harry frowned.
"What methods?"
She bit her lip as if trying to decide how much she could reveal.
"He was part of a research project within the Department of Mysteries. A confidential project. Mulciber was involved, along with other Unspeakables."
Harry felt a chill run up his spine.
"And what were they researching?"
Daphne remained silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
"The separation between mind and body."
Harry didn’t blink. Silence stretched between them.
"My father wrote everything down," she continued. "And in the last pages, he wrote something that never left my mind."
Daphne looked at Harry, her eyes dark.
"'What they want is not natural.'"
The chill returned, stronger this time.
Harry clenched his jaw.
"Daphne…"
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering courage.
"I think my father tried to stop something."
Thunder rumbled in the distance. And in that moment, Harry knew they were dealing with something far bigger than they had imagined.
Inside Grimmauld Place, Harry and Daphne were trapped in a heavy silence, each digesting what had been said. Daphne kept her eyes fixed on the teacup, but Harry could see that her hands were rigid, tense, her fingers pressing against the porcelain harder than necessary. Harry didn’t like this kind of silence. It was the kind of silence before an inevitable truth.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with one hand, trying to put the pieces together.
"Do you still have that diary?" he asked, his voice low but firm.
Daphne nodded slowly, but her expression was cautious.
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
She hesitated.
Long enough for Harry to notice.
"Daphne." His voice wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t gentle either.
She finally looked up at him.
"I hid it."
Harry gripped the edge of the table.
"Why?"
Daphne let out a tired sigh, running her hands through her disheveled hair.
"Because I know there are people in the Ministry who don’t want it to be found."
Harry clenched his teeth.
"Do you think Mulciber is after it?"
She let out a humorless laugh.
"If he isn’t yet, he will be soon."
Harry stared at the flames in the fireplace, the orange glow dancing against the dark walls of the office. Philip Greengrass had tried to stop something. He had written everything down. And now, the pages of the diary might be the only answer they had.
"I need to read it," Harry said bluntly.
Daphne looked at him for a long moment. Weighing the decision. Then, she nodded.
"Tomorrow."
Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Why not now?"
Daphne pressed her lips together, averting her gaze.
"Because if anyone finds out I left here and went straight to get that diary, I might not live long enough to deliver it."
The statement hung in the air, dark and final. Harry took a deep breath, feeling the knot tighten in his chest. She wasn’t exaggerating. People were dying for far less. So he simply nodded.
"Tomorrow."
Daphne stood up, her movements stiffer than before.
"I’m going to need a safe place to spend the night."
Harry scoffed lightly, gesturing to Grimmauld Place around them.
"Welcome to the refuge of the cursed."
Daphne rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of relief in her expression. She knew that, at least for that night, she would be safe. Harry wasn’t sure he could say the same for the next day.
Harry didn’t move for a long moment. The information was there. Clear. Brutal. Inescapable. But the hardest part wasn’t seeing it. It was accepting what it meant. He turned slowly, his gaze dark and fixed on Daphne.
"Mulciber seems to be erasing traces."
She didn’t respond immediately. But the way she wrapped her arms around herself was enough.
"A purge," Harry continued, almost to himself.
"Yes," Daphne finally murmured.
Harry ran his tongue over his teeth, rage burning under his skin like a dormant ember.
"Selwyn knew something and died."
He began pacing the office, his fingers brushing against his chin, where his beard was growing unchecked.
"Burkes got too close and was eliminated."
His gaze drifted to the photo of Helena Goshawk, pinned to the board with a tack.
"And Helena… she was starting to remember."
Daphne nodded, crossing her arms as if trying to shield herself from the inevitable conclusion.
"And Vaisey?" Harry continued.
Daphne swallowed hard.
"He was killed the moment he started tracking the Department of Mysteries’ research."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment.
"And all these people… somehow, they were all connected to Adrian Rosier."
Daphne said nothing, but he saw the confirmation in her eyes. He ran his hands over his face, feeling the crushing weight of reality. This wasn’t a coincidence. It was systematic. A methodical execution.
"He doesn’t just want to hide something," Harry murmured, his voice rough.
Daphne watched him, her gaze intense.
"He wants to erase any and all evidence that this ever happened."
The silence in the office grew heavy, suffocating. Harry pulled out a cigarette, but before he could light it, Daphne snatched it from his fingers.
"Seriously?" She raised an eyebrow.
Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. There were more important things at the moment.
He ran his hand over the board, the rough paper beneath his fingers, observing the red lines connecting each victim.
Selwyn. Burkes. Helena. Vaisey.
All dead. All connected to Mulciber’s past. And all, somehow, to the Rosier case.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the lost cigarette between his fingers.
"Daphne…"
She watched him cautiously. Harry turned to her, his gaze dark and resolute.
"We need to get to Mulciber before he erases the last piece of evidence."
Daphne bit her lip, as if she already knew what he was about to say. Harry took a pin and fastened the last photo onto the board. An old image, cut from an admission report.
Adrian Rosier.
He turned to Daphne.
"Because the next person on the list…"
Her eyes shone with a mixture of fear and understanding.
"Is Rosier."
Daphne bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the image of Adrian Rosier pinned to the board. The name felt heavier now. As if, suddenly, it was the most important piece on the board.
"Why kill Rosier?" she finally asked, her voice hesitant. "He’s in a coma."
Harry took a deep breath, crossing his arms, his mind spinning with the intensity of the storm outside. He had been considering this possibility for some time. But now it was obvious.
"What if the spell is failing?"
Daphne frowned.
"The spell?"
Harry nodded.
"Every night, at the same time, Rosier shows spikes in brain activity. That doesn’t happen with patients in deep comas. His vital signs fluctuate between three and four in the morning."
Daphne crossed her arms, absorbing the information.
"The time of the murders."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Exactly."
He pointed to the board, where the information was connected.
"I think the spell that put him in a coma is weakening. Every time he kills someone else."
Daphne seemed to be processing everything.
"And that means…"
Harry leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense.
"If he wakes up, he might remember what happened. A witness."
Daphne froze.
"And Mulciber can’t allow that."
Harry clenched his fists.
"Mulciber killed everyone who could trace what he did five years ago. And now, Rosier is the last loose end."
Thunder roared in the sky, making the house vibrate. Daphne stepped away from the board, running a hand over her face, clearly disturbed.
"So you think he's going to try to kill him?"
Harry didn’t hesitate.
"I think he’s already planning it."
Daphne swallowed hard.
"And we have to stop him."
Harry nodded. He looked at the image of Adrian Rosier, the shadows flickering over the worn photograph. Inside the office, the silence between Harry and Daphne was almost as dense as the mystery they were trying to solve.
Harry rubbed his temples, exhausted.
"The Ministry let this slip through." He finally broke the silence, frustration in his voice as sharp as a blade. "Selwyn was a former Death Eater. Burkes was a respected healer. Helena Goshawk was an ordinary civilian. Vaisey worked for the Department of Mysteries. Four people murdered in a similar manner, and no one realized they were connected?"
Daphne crossed her arms, watching him intently.
"Or they realized and chose to ignore it."
Harry frowned.
"What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the board once more before turning to him.
"If the Ministry doesn’t want this to be revealed… then someone very important is protecting Mulciber."
Harry felt a cold shiver down his spine. If that was true… it explained a lot. The delay in responses from St. Mungo’s. The difficulty he had in obtaining the court order. The way the Department of Mysteries had kept its distance, yet remained just close enough to interfere.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
"Someone in the Ministry is covering all of this up."
Daphne nodded.
"And that person can’t be just anyone."
Thunder shattered the silence violently, the torchlight flickering for a brief moment. Harry pressed his lips together. If someone was protecting Mulciber… who were they? And more importantly: why?
He looked at Daphne, and for the first time since the start of the investigation, the truth began to feel much bigger than he had imagined.
The storm had finally begun to move away, the thunder becoming a distant echo on the horizon. The silence in the office was no longer as heavy as before; now, it carried a strange familiarity. Daphne looked at the board, but her expression was no longer as tense.
Harry took his wand and made a quick gesture, conjuring a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured himself a drink and raised the bottle toward her.
"Need something to relax?"
Daphne arched an eyebrow.
"Do you really think whiskey is going to solve anything?"
Harry shrugged, bringing the glass to his mouth.
"No, but at least it helps pretend it does."
Daphne didn’t respond immediately but accepted the glass he offered her. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. It was Daphne who broke the silence first.
"So… are you planning to stay up all night thinking up theories?"
Harry gave a tired smirk.
"Probably. But you can rest. You can have the main bedroom."
Daphne looked at him with a mix of surprise and skepticism.
"And you? Where are you going to sleep?"
"On the couch." Harry took another sip of whiskey. "I’ve slept in worse places."
Daphne looked around the house, frowning.
"How many bedrooms does this house have again?"
"Five."
She arched an eyebrow again.
"And why don’t you sleep in any of them?"
Harry gripped his glass, slowly swirling the amber liquid.
"Because I never used any."
Daphne watched him, waiting for him to say more. Harry sighed, finished his drink, then shrugged.
"Never asked Kreacher to clean them."
The silence filled the room again, but this time, it was different. Daphne didn’t press, didn’t ask anything else. She just nodded, as if she understood something without him having to explain.
"Good night, Potter."
The silence stretched after Daphne stood up, but Harry didn’t let her leave so easily.
"Greengrass."
Daphne stopped at the door but didn’t turn around immediately. Harry didn’t take his eyes off her, his voice firm but unhurried.
"What happened to you today?"
Daphne took a deep breath, keeping her back straight, as if gathering the courage to answer.
"I already told you, Potter."
Harry arched an eyebrow.
"You said you needed my help, showed up at my door completely wrecked, and still haven’t explained why."
She finally turned to face him.
"Do you think it was easy for me to come here?"
Harry didn’t respond immediately. Daphne let out a tired sigh, loosening the arms she had kept crossed against her body.
"I was at the hospital… watching over Astoria. She had to be admitted yesterday." She averted her gaze, staring at the fireplace. "The night was already bad enough when I realized someone was following me."
Harry immediately became more alert.
"Who?"
Daphne shook her head.
"I don’t know. But it wasn’t a hospital staff member."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." She lifted her chin slightly. "I’ve spent enough time there to know who works the different shifts. That person didn’t belong to the hospital."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine.
"What happened next?"
Daphne bit her lip, as if recalling it unsettled her.
"I tried to lose him. Walked in circles through the corridors, changed floors."
Harry noticed the way her fingers tightened around the fabric of her robe.
"But when I reached the psychiatric ward… everything went dark."
He remained silent, waiting for her to continue. Daphne kept her gaze fixed on the floor.
"There was no one. No candles lit, no sound. Just darkness."
Harry leaned slightly forward.
"Then what happened?"
Daphne exhaled slowly.
"I heard something behind me."
Harry didn’t like her tone.
"What?"
"Breathing." Her eyes met his. "But there was no one there."
The silence grew heavier. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Did you feel anything?"
Daphne hesitated.
"I can’t explain, Potter."
Harry pressed his lips together. Daphne continued, her voice lower now.
"I tried to leave, but something pushed me."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Pushed you?"
She nodded.
"It was as if the air itself had weight. As if something invisible was there."
Harry felt a strange cold in his chest. He remembered Selwyn’s words.
"He touches my skin without touching me."
Daphne cruzou os braços, desconfortável.
"I managed to get out of there. But I fell down the stairs in the process." She pointed to the cut on the side of her face.
Harry didn’t look away from her, assessing every word.
"Do you think it was Mulciber?"
Daphne shook her head.
"Mulciber wouldn’t need to scare me in the middle of the hospital. He could simply have me sent away."
Harry silently agreed. If it wasn’t Mulciber… then who, or what, did that?
Daphne took a deep breath.
"Potter…"
Harry looked up.
"I don’t want to say this out loud. But I think there’s something in that hospital that shouldn’t be there."
Thunder rumbled in the distance, like a warning. Harry leaned back in his chair, feeling a knot form in his stomach. He didn’t know exactly what was happening… but he knew it wasn’t good.
Daphne gripped her arms.
"And what if we’re not just dealing with Mulciber?"
Harry stared at the fireplace, watching the flames dance
"Then we’re already late in finding out what it is."
