July 28, 1894 — The Leaky Cauldron

It was a busy afternoon in the Leaky Cauldron, where Philomen had stopped for lunch before heading into Diagon Alley to run errands. He was working nights this week at the hospital, so his days were oddly inverted as they usually were when that was the case. Phil didn't mind it as much as he might have thought he would when he was younger--truly, you could get used to anything if you were sufficiently motivated.

Having finished his meal, Phil was making his way to entrance to Diagon Alley, and was surprised to find there was a bit of a crowd forming. Odd. It was generally a simple matter of getting through, why the back-up? "Is there a problem?"

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Murdock strode through the bustling streets of London with purpose, his broad shoulders easily parting the sea of pedestrians. The midday sun reflected off his vibrant red hair, and his family tartan flashed in the sunlight as he walked, a kilt swaying with each confident step. In muggle or wizard society his physicality tended to draw attention. Today, he was on a mission for his eldest daughter, whose fascination with magical creatures had sent him to Diagon Alley to procure a rare tome on the subject - well as rare a tome as a 14 year old could be trusted with.

Murdock ducked into the pub, greeted by the familiar murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses. He made his way toward the back, intent on reaching the brick wall that would open the way to Diagon Alley. He made the requisite movement and....nothing happened. His years of dealing with both magical law enforcement and the unpredictable nature of lycanthropy had honed his instincts—something amiss.

He heard a voice inquire and he had to school his annoyed features, Murdock recognized the speaker, albeit vaguely —a healer from St. Mungo's, if he wasn't mistaken. But his name escaped him. He turned to answer. "The entrance is stuck. it's not responding to the usual tapping sequence." he demonstrated again. The bricks shuddered, and then stilled -nothing changed

  

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MJ is a National Treasure

Phil looked past the other man at the brick wall, frowning. Well, that wasn't good, was it? "Don't suppose you've had enough time to work out what's gone wrong with it?" He had a feeling he already knew the answer, but there was still a moment of hope. With any luck, it was a simple problem that would be fixed quickly.

Granted, problems were rarely simple and quick to fix, but you know, a man could dream.

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Murdock glanced at the man, who was eyeing the stubborn brick wall with a mix of concern and curiosity. The question, laced with a hint of hopeful optimism, made Murdock chuckle—a deep, rumbling sound that came from the depths of his broad chest.

"Ah, if only," Murdock replied, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he tapped the tip of his wand against his palm. "But unfortunately, I've found that when things go wrong with magic, it's usually the sort of wrong that makes you wish you'd just stayed in bed that day."

He stepped closer to the wall, tilting his head as if trying to coax it into behaving. "But let's have a look, shall we? Maybe it's just having a bad day, like the rest of us. I’m sure we can charm it into a better mood."

With a wry smile, Murdock began to inspect the enchanted bricks more closely, his thick fingers tracing the uneven lines where the magic had gone awry. "In my experience, when something that should work doesn’t, it’s usually because someone’s tried to be a bit too clever for their own good."

He paused, glancing back at Philomen with a conspiratorial grin. "Of course, if that doesn't work, we could always bribe it with a pint of butterbeer. I've seen stranger things do the trick."

  

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MJ is a National Treasure

Philomen chuckled. "You know, if there was ever a time when such a thing would work, I wouldn't be surprised it was in this establishment." It wouldn't be the first time magic--or its users--had a sense of humor about this sort of thing.

Drawing his wand in one hand, Phil felt along the wall with his other. "Any ideas of what we should try first?" he asked the other man. "It'd be helpful if we knew if any spells had been cast here recently, I imagine."

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Murdock nodded, sharing in Philomen’s chuckle. "You’re right about that. This place has seen its fair share of strange magic and even stranger solutions." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering the healer's question. "As for what to try first, let's see if we can’t get a sense of what’s been tampered with. Always helps to know what we’re dealing with before diving in."

He raised his wand, the familiar weight of it in his hand, and pointed it toward the brick wall. "Let’s start with a basic Revelio spell—see if there’s any lingering magic that doesn’t belong."

With a flick of his wrist, Murdock muttered, "Revelio." A soft, golden light emanated from the tip of his wand, washing over the bricks. As the light spread across the wall, it shimmered and pulsed, revealing faint traces of a jinx that clung stubbornly to the stones.

"Ah, there we are," Murdock said, the light dancing in his eyes as he examined the glowing traces. "Looks like someone’s been a bit overzealous with their charms. Seems to be a Confundus jinx mixed in with the original enchantment—no wonder the poor wall’s confused about what it’s supposed to do."

He turned to Philomen with a grin. "I’d say we’ve found our culprit. Untangling it...that might be a bit beyond me." he worried his lip. "hows your cursebreaking?"

  

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MJ is a National Treasure

"Not very good, I'm afraid," Philomen admitted. "I'm not sure I'd be much help unless the wall somehow contracted a magical disease." His skills were plenty useful in plenty of situations, but he usually left this sort of thing to other specialties. "Perhaps one of my colleagues in Artifact Incidents would be more helpful." Or, you know, an actual cursebreaker, if they could find one.

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