Chapter 87. Clues
Adrian Wesson had always felt helpless about his younger sister's condition.
Under ordinary circumstances, a person subjected to the Cruciatus Curse would suffer pain worse than death, and only prolonged exposure would drive them mad.
But Ariana's illness…
To be honest, it didn't look like after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse at all.
The Cruciatus Curse could not leave someone comatose for so many years.
Adrian had once asked the Tree of Wisdom to analyse it, but the Tree of Wisdom had offered nothing useful.
After he'd stood looking at his sister for a while—
"By the way, Mum," Adrian turned his head and asked his mother, "in your letter you said you had some leads—what exactly did you mean?"
Leah noticed Adrian's gaze. She sat down by Ariana's bed, gently holding her hand. "Your father and I happened to meet a master recently. According to him, Ariana's ailment has damaged her soul."
"Soul?" Adrian murmured.
Souls were well outside his understanding.
Leah nodded and went on, "That master told us everyone experiences pain differently. Ariana may be… special—extremely sensitive to the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Because of that sensitivity, it's as if her soul has been… torn."
"So you mean Ariana's been in a coma because her soul was injured?" Adrian thought for a moment, then said slowly, "How credible is this 'master' you're talking about? It sounds a bit absurd."
"Perhaps," Leah frowned, stroking Ariana's forehead. "But unfortunately, he didn't tell us what to do. He didn't know how to treat it, either. So he suggested we consult someone with deeper expertise in matters of the soul."
Someone more accomplished in soul magic?
In Adrian's mind, the noseless face of Lord Voldemort slowly surfaced. He was the sort to split his soul and make Horcruxes; in terms of soulcraft he certainly ranked among the foremost in the wizarding world.
However, Lord Voldemort was not a suitable counsellor.
Advice? He'd only give Adrian an Avada Kedavra…
Not to mention, Adrian had already destroyed one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
"Eldra."
Adrian addressed the Tree of Wisdom in his mind: "Analyse the cause of Ariana's coma."
Perhaps because the Tree of Wisdom had grown a great deal lately, it could now access more information.
Very soon, the Tree of Wisdom relayed its message into Adrian's mind.
[Name: Ariana]
[Status: Soul Integrity (51%)]
Adrian's pupils contracted sharply.
Fifty-one per cent soul integrity? That meant half of Ariana's soul was missing!
Adrian then asked the Tree of Wisdom how to make the soul whole again.
Unfortunately, this time the Tree of Wisdom provided no specific method.
He quickly asked his mother, "About that master—what's his name?"
Leah froze for a moment, then shook her head. "We don't know. But your father and I both think what he said has some reference value. So next we may follow his advice and see someone with greater expertise in the soul."
"What about where? Where did you find him?"
"In Paris. We were there to attend a conference and brought Ariana along. While we were pushing her out to sit in the sun, he came up and spoke to us."
Leah rose from the bed and continued, searching her memory. "But he said he was only in Paris to see an opera—he actually lives elsewhere. So now your father and I can't find him, and we didn't even have time to ask more questions."
"Doesn't sound terribly reliable."
Talking, Adrian walked over to the Christmas tree by Ariana's bed—just as Leah had written in her letter, there was a photo of Adrian and Ariana hanging from it.
In the photo, a young Ariana clutched Adrian's arm, grinning foolishly; behind them stood the Hogwarts Express.
Staring at the picture, Adrian went blank for quite a while.
"Don't worry, Adrian." Leah glanced at the clock on the wall, then headed for the door. She gave him a reassuring look. "Your father and I will think of something. I think I need to get to work now—feel free to look around."
After Leah left, Adrian sat by Ariana's bed and brooded a while longer.
Paris… opera…
A hazy guess began to take shape in his heart.
Afternoon.
Opéra de Paris.
"Damn it… was that still pushing it too far?"
Adrian sat on a bench in a nearby park, panting—what drew the eye was the delicate little vial in his hand.
Long-distance Apparition was no easy feat. He had strung together Merlin knew how many jumps to get here, which left him reeling and dizzy.
Clutching his aching forehead, Adrian looked at the empty bottle in his hand—earlier that afternoon, he had drunk the Felix Felicis Albus Dumbledore had given him.
It was that potion's guidance that had driven him to such lengths to reach this place.
But once he arrived, the wondrous sense of guidance evaporated.
Which meant he had absolutely no idea what to do next.
Wasn't Felix Felicis supposed to confer nearly a dozen hours of luck? Had he drunk a counterfeit?
Adrian looked around. Although people were coming and going, magic ensured that no one noticed the young wizard sitting on the bench.
Just then, a middle-aged couple walked past, and their conversation drifted to his ears.
"When does the performance start, darling?"
The man checked his watch. "Half an hour yet—we've time."
As their voices faded away, Adrian rose from the bench.
He straightened his robes, made sure the Disillusionment Charm still held, and then followed the couple towards the Paris Opera House.
Since he was here, he might as well have a look inside.
The glow of the setting sun gilded the opera house's golden roof, bathing the grand edifice in a spellbinding sheen.
Following the crowd into the opera house, Adrian slipped silently into a seat in the very back row of the auditorium.
In truth, he had snuck in under a Disillusionment Charm and had no idea whether the seat he'd taken had been reserved.
Fortunately, no one came up before the performance began to tell him that the seat was already taken.
Tonight's opera was The Magic Flute, roughly the tale of a prince who endures trials and, at last, is united with a princess.
Because of the language barrier, Adrian could only barely understand what the performers were saying, yet he still found himself immersed in the performance.
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