Chapter 7
The next morning, Hermione was already deep within the Department of Mysteries. The labyrinthine corridors felt colder than usual as she made her way to the office of Linda Greengrass, the head researcher and an Unspeakable. Hermione had dealt with Linda before, but today the stakes were higher than ever.
Linda was waiting for her, dressed in her official Unspeakable robes, her demeanor as secretive and detached as ever. A middle-aged woman of small stature, Linda seemed to embody the very essence of her role—unassuming, inconspicuous, and yet a genius in her field. Hermione had pried into the mysteries of the department during her first year in office, slowly gaining access to more information about their work. Most of it made her deeply uncomfortable; some of the experiments and research they conducted were borderline invasive, even by wizarding standards.
Linda led her into a large room with stone walls, humid and heavy with an aura of secrecy. In the center was a massive circular basin, its surface shimmering with silvery liquid. Runes adorned the stone surrounding it—runes Hermione didn’t recognize, even with her extensive knowledge.
"This is the device," Linda explained, her voice steady as she gestured toward the basin. "The individual whose memories we wish to access will stand in the center, within the circle. The observers," she nodded toward the silvery liquid, "will be immersed inside the basin, much like a Pensieve, but this one penetrates deeper. It not only displays the memories—it analyzes them. You'll be able to perceive traces of magic, tampering, and whether the memories have been altered."
Hermione absorbed the explanation, her mind racing through the implications. "And someone needs to be asking questions during the procedure?" she clarified.
"Correct," Linda said. "Questions will guide the memories to the surface. We will need to prompt the subject to recall specific events. Without the questioning, the process won’t be as effective."
Hermione nodded, already forming a list of questions in her mind. Questions that would pierce into the truth of this man—this person who claimed to be Ron. She would need to know not just who he thought he was, but how he knew it, and whether there was any trace of dark magic or manipulation.
After going through the procedure with Linda several more times to ensure everything was understood, Hermione leaned in closer. She hesitated for a moment but knew she had to confide in her. "What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room," she said quietly, her voice firm. "Consider it a direct order from the Minister of Magic if anyone ever asks."
Linda’s expression remained unreadable, her eyes steady on Hermione.
Hermione took a breath. "We’ve apprehended a man. He looks like Ron Weasley—identical, in fact. He also has Ron’s memories, at least up to twenty years ago. He was even questioned under Veritaserum, and he believes what he says. But Ron is dead." Her voice wavered just slightly on those last words. "We need this procedure to confirm whether his memories have been tampered with. Whether this person is truly who he claims to be."
Linda didn’t flinch. Unsurprisingly, the revelation seemed to have little effect on her. As an Unspeakable, she had likely seen far stranger things. "Understood," Linda said, her voice calm. "No word will leave this office. Everything will remain confidential."
Hermione felt a small measure of relief. "The procedure will happen tonight," she continued, her voice regaining its strength. "I’ll provide you with the list of questions, and Harry Potter will be with me during the procedure."
"Very well," Linda said. "We’ll be ready."
Later that evening, Harry sat in his office, the weight of the day pressing heavily on him. Across the room, the man who looked like Ron sat in silence, his hands cuffed with goblin-made restraints that could only be removed by Harry himself. The lookalike was solemn, withdrawn, his face a mixture of confusion and mistrust. Harry was wary—he couldn’t afford to let his guard down, not now.
The silence between them stretched long. Harry had tried to engage the man earlier, to prepare him for what was coming, but he’d said little in return. The man who might be Ron—or someone pretending to be him—was caught in his own thoughts, and Harry didn’t push.
Finally, Hermione entered the office, her face serious. "It’s time," she said quietly.
Harry rose from his chair and walked over to the Ron lookalike. "We’re ready to begin," he said, and signals for him to move. The man didn’t resist but glanced at both of them, unsure of what was happening.
Together, Harry and Hermione escorted him down to the Atrium, the familiar gold and dark marble floors glinting in the low light. There were few people left at the Ministry this late, and that was exactly what they needed. They entered the lift, Harry pressing the button for the ninth level, the Department of Mysteries. The descent was long and silent, the hum of the lift the only sound.
When the doors finally opened, they stepped into the shadowy hallways of the Department of Mysteries. The Ron lookalike's eyes darted around, taking in the strange, all too familiar surroundings. They led him to the chamber with the circular basin, the air inside the room thick with humidity and mystery.
Linda Greengrass stood by, her calm demeanor unchanged. She motioned toward the basin. "Place him in the center."
Harry and Hermione guided the man to the circular stone platform in the middle of the room. He hesitated but allowed himself to be positioned there, standing inside the intricate runes that glowed faintly around him.
Harry and Hermione took their places inside the basin, the silvery liquid cool as it swirled around them. Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest. This was it. They were about to delve into this man’s mind, and whatever they found could change everything.
Linda stepped forward, holding the list of questions Hermione had provided. "We will begin," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the stone chamber.
She asked the first question, and Harry and Hermione felt the tug as they were plunged into the silvery liquid. Memories swirled around them—faint at first, like shadows on the edge of consciousness. They were entering his mind, his memories, and soon, the truth—or whatever version of it lay within—would be revealed.