Harry Potter : Bloodraven

"Good afternoon, miss. My name is Maverick Caesar. I'm a private investigator looking into a string of memory-related cases... people who may have had their minds tampered with. I was hoping to speak with someone named Bridgid Keena. Does she live here, by any chance?"

Maverick's senses did not miss the way the young woman stiffened slightly at the mention of the name, though she kept her expression mostly neutral.

There was certainly a flicker of recognition there, but she seemed to hesitate, unsure of what to say. However, before she could answer, a man's voice echoed from somewhere deeper inside the house.

"Who is it, honey?"

Footsteps approached, and a moment later, a man in his forties stepped into view. He bore a striking resemblance to the girl—same dark eyes, same chin. And the moment his eyes landed on Maverick, his eyes widened as if he were seeing something unbelievable.

"You… you're…" he stammered, struggling to find the words. It seems Maverick was not a stranger to him but Maverick was not really surprised. After all, he's sort of a celebrity as well now a days.

When the girl saw the man's strange reaction, she glanced back and forth between him and Maverick, trying to understand the cause of it. Her eyes finally stopped on Maverick's face, and she narrowed them as if trying to place him. Then, moments later, just like the man, her eyes, too, widened in sudden recognition.

"Master Caesar?" she breathed. "You're the Master Caesar? The master alchemist—the one from the news?"

Maverick offered a small nod, mildly amused. It was probably the first time he had met a fan from outside Britain. And it had been some time since his name had appeared in the news, so they must know about him rather well, to show such a reaction.

"Hello," he spoke calmly, looking at the man. "I was just asking this young lady here if a woman named Bridgid Keena lives at this address."

"Mother?" the man repeated, frowning slightly. "Yes… she lives here. But she's not in any condition to speak."

Maverick exhaled softly. So she was still alive. That was something.

"Please," the man said quickly, stepping aside with his daughter. "Come in, Master Caesar."

The inside of the house was modest but tidy. It wasn't large, but it didn't feel cramped either. A warmth hung in the air, along with the faint scent of lavender and old books. Maverick was led to a small sitting room and took a seat across from the man, while the girl quietly slipped away to make some tea.

"I'm David," the man said, introducing himself. "Bridgid's my mother, and that was my daughter, Irene."

Maverick inclined his head. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me."

They talked as they waited. David explained his mother's condition in response to Maverick's questions, noting that it had been nearly five years. According to the Irish Aurors, she had been attacked by an evil spirit—a banshee—and the curse had left her in a near-comatose state ever since. She was alive, yes, but spent most of her time sleeping. She woke only to eat or use the bathroom, but rarely interacted with anyone. She hadn't spoken a word in years.

"She can nod sometimes," David added, "if we ask her simple yes or no questions. That's all."

When Irene returned, she carried two glasses of lemon juice and offered one to Maverick before sitting beside her father.

"Master Caesar," she said carefully, "can you tell us why you're looking into my grandmother's case? And also, what did you mean earlier when you mentioned something about Obliviation crimes?"

Maverick paused, glancing at the girl, then at her father. "I'll explain everything... But first, would you mind if I had a look at her?"

Father and daughter exchanged a quick look. Neither seemed eager to say no—not because they completely trusted him, but because they knew enough about him to believe he wasn't likely to cause any harm. And besides, having a master alchemist take a look gave them a glimmer of hope—maybe, just maybe.

They talked some more, and by the time Maverick finished his drink, he had learned a few things about the family from their brief exchange.

He had been right to assume they were fans, because—well, they had said so directly. He had also noticed several of his company's products scattered around the room.

David was apparently an alchemist himself—a beginner, according to him—just past the apprentice rank. He ran a small shop selling defensive magical gadgets that he made himself, and Irene was following in his footsteps. That explained their familiarity with him. Among alchemists, Maverick was no stranger.

"Soon, Maverick was led upstairs to a quiet bedroom where the air carried a faint scent of lavender. An old woman, presumably Bridgid Keena, lay motionless beneath a thick quilt, her breathing soft and steady.

"She's not exactly in a coma," David emphasized again. "She wakes up to eat, and she can use the bathroom, but she doesn't speak. She can nod—yes or no. That's about it. Most of the time, she just sleeps."

Maverick approached the bed, studying her for a long moment before turning back toward them.

"Would it be alright if I performed a diagnostic spell?" he asked. "Please rest assured, I am very proficient in healing magic."

David hesitated, glanced at his daughter, then back at Maverick and nodded. "You can try. Many Healers have looked at her already. They all said the same thing: the banshee did something horrible to her mind... shattered it... beyond help."

Maverick just nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Then, without another word, he lifted his lefthand and held it just over the woman's head, closing his eyes.

Next, his right hand moved—fingers flicking as if pressing invisible keys. Spell after spell flowed from his fingertips, silent, wandless, and precise. Soft light drifted over Bridgid Keena's body, washing across her like moonlight through water.

David and Irene watched in awe, saying nothing. Half their thoughts were on the woman lying in the bed—their own blood—and the other half was simply stunned by the display of magic unfolding before them. They were just an ordinary magical family, and it was safe to say they had never seen magic being cast like this before, not even during their school years from their professors.

The room remained quiet throughout the process, save for the soft pulse of magic and the occasional spark as invisible patterns wove themselves through the air.

About five minutes later, Maverick exhaled slowly and lowered his hand, then turned to face the woman's son and granddaughter.

"This is not the work of a banshee—or any creature, for that matter. It was done by a wizard."

David and his daughter, who had been watching him expectantly, widened their eyes.

"What?" they echoed together, stunned.

"Obliviation," Maverick added. "Brutal, straightforward Obliviation."

"How is that possible?" David took half a step back.

"But why?" Irene asked, equally as shocked. "Grandma's never been hostile to anyone. She was kind to everyone. Why would someone do this to her?"

"I told you," Maverick said, keeping his tone calm and neutral. "I've been following the trail of a serial criminal who specializes in this kind of magic. She's not the only one... there are others left in a similar condition."

"Is there a way to help my mother?" David asked, stepping forward and grabbing Maverick's hand. "Sir, please…"

He quickly realized he was being too forward and let go, stepping back. His voice was a bit calmer now, but just as desperate.

"Can you help? Or at least tell us who's behind this? Have you found any leads in your investigation?"

Maverick let out a slow sigh. "The person responsible has hidden their tracks well... at least from the eyes of everyday witches and wizards. And their motives... are unique. So unique that no one had even thought to look in that direction."

After a pause, he went on, "I do know who it is. But before I can take legal action, I need to cure at least one victim... someone who can testify."

"Can you really cure Grandma?" Irene asked, her voice hopeful.

Maverick didn't answer immediately. To be honest, after his diagnostic, he wasn't confident he could fully heal the woman's mind. It had been far too long since she was put into this state.

"I'd like to request that she be taken to a location of my choosing. There, I have another victim... someone in a similar condition. I want to try healing them both. That place has the equipment I need."

"Please, do as you see fit, Master Caesar," David said quickly. Neither he nor Irene hesitated.

Maverick gave a small nod. Then, after a moment of thought, he added, "You're welcome to come and stay with her. It might actually help the treatment if a close family member is present."

"I'll go," David said immediately.

"Me too," Irene added.

They had spoken in unison.

Maverick nodded again, then stepped back. He raised his hand, then paused and glanced at them. "Do not be alarmed."

He waved his hand, and under the astonished—and equally frightened—gaze of the two, a visible crack appeared in the middle of the room. It soon stretched and expanded, turning into a gate that, to them, seemed to lead straight into the abyss.

"A spatial rift," Maverick explained before they could spout out anything. "If you had graduated from a magic school, I'm sure you know what kind of magic this is and..." He paused, turning to face them and added, "what rank of wizards can wield it."

...

The father and daughter gulped and nodded at his words. Of course they knew. They had read about spatial rifts before, but... it was something they, ordinary as ordinary could be, never imagined would one day witness with their own eyes.

Maverick did not wait for their response. He turned back to Bridgid Keena, who still lay asleep, completely unaware of the strange events unfolding around her.

With a quick flick of his fingers, he sent her into a deeper sleep, then gently levitated the bed.

"Follow me," he said calmly, and turned toward the rift, walking straight into it with the floating bed gliding behind him.

David snapped out of his daze first, though his heart hadn't yet caught up. He turned to his daughter and gripped her shoulder, shaking her gently.

"Da... Dad…"

"I know," he said, quickly agreeing with the disbelieving look in his daughter's eyes. His gaze flicked to the gaping rift still hovering in the middle of the room, and he made the decision. "But we don't have time to talk about it."

"I know, Dad!" Irene's voice was steadier this time. She followed her father's gaze to the impossible sight before them, then nodded with quiet resolve. "Let's go. For Grandma."

She took a step forward, ready to lead—but David reached out, gently pulling her behind him.

"Stay close. I'll go first."

---

London.

Inside a spacious, brightly lit room, Maverick gently landed the hovering bed carrying Lockhart's victim onto the floor.

Beside the bed, not far from it, was another bed, and a woman lay there as well, deeply asleep.

"Is this the last one, boss?" came a woman's voice from behind him.

Maverick didn't glance back and instead began setting up the equipment near the bed, connecting it to the woman. "Yes... unfortunately, only two survived," he replied while working.

The equipment was standard medical gear, meant to monitor their vitality and condition—nothing magical, just basic monitoring.

"How's the first patient?" Maverick asked, glancing briefly at the man sitting beside the bed of the first patient.

"Still asleep," the man replied.

Just then, through the rift that had been open a moment ago, two figures stepped through, causing Aisha and Bucky to turn their heads.

"Are we expecting company?" Aisha asked, eyeing the unfamiliar faces.

"These are the son and granddaughter of the second patient," Maverick explained. "They'll stay here while I work on helping the patients."

Saying that, he turned to David and Irene, who had rushed over as soon as they saw the woman and now stood beside her bed, watching her closely with worried expressions.

"These are standard Muggle monitoring equipment," Maverick wanted to explain, just in case they asked some silly question. But, fortunately, that wasn't necessary.

The two simply nodded, giving him a grateful look.

"I forgot they're Muggle-born," Maverick thought to himself as he made the final connection of wires. The monitors flickered to life and soon, it started displaying the data.

"Right then," he said, glancing at the father and daughter. "Like I said, I'll do my best to help her recover, but no promises. In the meantime, you two can check out the table," he pointed to a metallic-looking table in the corner of the room, and continued, "There's a file there called The Bandon Banshee—should give you some context."

On the table, Maverick had laid out copies of Lockhart's original manuscripts. Reading them would give David and Irene at least some understanding of what had happened to their relative.

David and Irene nodded, and then moved toward the table.

Maverick turned to Bridgid Keena once again as he stood beside her bed. His mind was already churning through the steps, the spells, and the magic he might use to mend the fractures in her mind. There were several methods, actually, but none promised a full recovery. Even so, it would be better than leaving her as she was now.

Just because he was an Archmage didn't mean he excelled at everything. Mind arts—especially the healing aspect—were a vast and intricate field. Powerful mages like him could brute-force their way through weaker minds and extract thoughts, but healing was different. It demanded patience, precision, and a delicate touch.

Mind reading… Maverick paused as a sudden thought crossed his mind. Would it work? He hesitated, unsure.

In the end, he decided it was worth a try—if all else failed.

He pulled out a phone—not his personal one—and scrolled through the contacts until he found the name he was looking for, and then pressed dial.

The phone rang, and after a few moments, a middle-aged man's voice came through, rough and distant.

"Well, well… wasn't expecting your call... Make it quick, kid—I'm kinda busy waging war over here."

His voice was relaxed, almost amused, with the easy confidence of someone who knew Maverick well—and didn't care much for formalities.

Maverick didn't mind the tone either, but his brow twitched when the unmistakable sounds of moaning and creaking furniture came through the speaker.

Doing his best to ignore the background noise, he spoke quickly. "James, I need an urgent favor."

"Oh... does your Lordship require this humble mortal's assistance?" came the sarcastic reply

Maverick sighed, rolling his eyes before getting straight to the point. "Charles Xavier. A mutant. Check MI6's database for him. If he's there, help me track his latest location without raising any alarms. I'll owe you one."

At the mention of the favor, the sounds of the so-called battle on the other end paused, followed by a chuckle. "I'll text you the data in a moment, kid." Then, the phone went dead with a click.

Maverick stared at the phone for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket and turned his attention back to the woman before him.

"Let's get started," he muttered, taking a deep breath.

—————————

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