The corridors of the Ministry of Magic of England were, as ever, dark in their finish but bright with the multitude of magical light sources. Although the working day had ended for most a couple of hours ago, and evening darkness had long since fallen over the streets of London, flowing into night, witches and wizards still darted here and there through these very corridors — and not ordinary ones.
Auror uniforms, red combat robes, flashed past at every corner. DMLE operatives in their thoroughly Muggle-looking clothes could have given them a run for their money in terms of wizards per square metre. Almost every Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries was currently in the Hall of Death — an enormous amphitheatre, at the centre of which stood the Veil of Death.
This Arch presented itself as a tall, narrow passage, as though torn straight out of a castle wall, though an attentive observer might notice that the platform on which the arch stood was one single piece with it — which, by simple logic, meant either that there had once been a castle here, deep, deep underground, or that the arch had truly been ripped out from somewhere, foundation and all.
But it was not the Arch's appearance that held the attention of the Department of Mysteries specialists at present — that was more than familiar, having grown tiresome and stale, as had the almost transparent veil within it, that veil so much like a slightly troubled surface of water. The whole matter was "magic."
A column of haze rising a good two dozen metres around the Arch, strange magical fluctuations, and an overwhelming sense of Dark magic — black, dreadful, terrible — that was what drew the attention. But this same phenomenon was also creating the problems that a full five Unspeakables, in their grey cloaks with darkness beneath their hoods, were working on here and now.
It was the Unspeakables who had isolated the area around the Arch using three ancient artefacts. This was, perhaps, the only measure that worked to any degree, preventing the Dark magical energy from the Arch from spreading too far — and, crucially, once these artefacts had been installed, incidents of migraines and states resembling possession among ministry staff working near the Hall of Death had ceased entirely.
Every entrance to the Hall was guarded by DMLE personnel, equipped with every possible protective artefact and possessing extensive field experience.
A wizard in a classic grey three-piece suit, with a slightly darker robe simply draped over his shoulders, appeared in one of the passages. At the sight of him, the DMLE staff snapped instantly to attention.
"At ease," he waved off the unnecessary formality. "What's the situation?"
"No change, sir!"
"Any repeat cases of possession?"
"The personnel under my command have not been subjected to any mental attacks or possession."
"Thank you for your service."
"Sir, yes sir, Director."
John Doe, turning the ring on his finger, began descending through the amphitheatre of the Hall towards the Unspeakables' "field headquarters" — a pair of tables piled with a mass of strange artefacts and no less a mass of books, tomes, manuscripts, and simple, mundane paper documents.
Approaching the table where the Head of the Department of Mysteries was sketching something on large sheets — dressed, like the rest of the Unspeakables, facelessly, in a hood concealing his features — John Doe reflected that at least someone in this stagnant swamp had some sense, preferring to use ordinary paper of various formats rather than a heap of parchment. It was easier to use, easier to store, easier to protect, and easier to destroy if the need arose.
"Head," Doe nodded in greeting.
"Head," the Unspeakable nodded in the same manner, his voice distorted by magic for the sake of secrecy.
"Any progress on the incident?"
"Practically none," the Unspeakable answered. "The only thing we're certain of is that a set of three ancient artefacts, dating back to the ancient Celts, is capable of halting the spread of this Dark magic. And of stopping the cases of possession."
"Except I've got nine possessed individuals stuffed into special cells and—"
"I'm aware of their condition, Doe. What's curious is that their behaviour differs significantly from ordinary cases of possession. They're more like characters from Muggle films — zombies."
"Zombies?"
"A kind of likeness to Inferi, except living, aggressive, mindless, fast, agile, and possessed of magical abilities. It's fair to say even Muggles, for all their boundless imagination, never dreamed up zombies quite like these."
"I see. Do we know anything about the nature of this possession?"
"Presumably, the seizure of a body by spirits or similar entities outside our field of expertise. We cannot see them, cannot detect them, cannot counter them, cannot ward against them."
"But the artefacts—"
"We don't know the mechanism by which they work," the Unspeakable shook his head, answering in that same toneless, inflectionless voice. "Which means we have no means of doing so either."
"Understood. Anything on the principles governing the spread of these elusive 'spirits'?"
"I'd ask for a little less scepticism," the Unspeakable's voice did not change in the slightest, and yet reproach and a certain disdain could be read into it. "We've established that the Dark-magical background doesn't spread by the usual method — as a field, or a directed flow — but as freely flowing streams. There's a hypothesis that it's along these very streams that the spirits move before seizing a body, or before beginning to parasitise one. That's the whole of the information we currently possess."
"And the anomaly near Hogwarts?"
"The same thing, only considerably stronger. We have, however, managed to more or less shield the anomaly and contain its spread, but—" the Unspeakable glanced down at his calculations on paper. "There's a feeling that it's all deceptive. The anomaly's effect has spread roughly the same distance as it has here, at the Ministry. More precisely, the same proportion. I'd like to believe that's down to our efforts, but I find that hard to credit…"
John Doe nodded, turned the ring on his finger, and asked the next question troubling him — or one that simply had to be asked.
"Do we announce an evacuation of Hogwarts?"
The Unspeakable was silent for a long minute, motionless, studying the results of his hours of labour and calculation, laid out across a multitude of diagrams and graphs drawn on paper.
"From the standpoint of absolute safety, it ought to be done immediately," he said quietly, and for the first time since John Doe had known him, faint notes of resignation and unease could be heard in that magically altered voice. "From the standpoint of pragmatism and logic, there's no need. At present, the spread of the anomaly has plateaued at one level, and its boundaries lie a good distance from the castle walls. What genuinely needs to be done is a complete isolation of that site from the students. Even the faintest possibility of anyone getting in there must be entirely eliminated. One shouldn't underestimate the abilities of curious young minds."
"On that last point you're absolutely right, my good man," John Doe nodded with a slight smile, and seemed for a moment to sink into nostalgia — though that impression was deceptive. "So, in your opinion, Hogwarts is in no danger?"
"I didn't say that," the Unspeakable shook his head. "I merely said that, according to the data we have, their safety is almost entirely unthreatened. At the very least, having Dementors as guards a couple of years ago was a considerably more serious threat. What's more…"
The Unspeakable, Head of the Department of Mysteries, quickly located the document he needed on his desk, but while he searched for it, John Doe noticed that, absent conversation and other extraneous noise, standing near the Veil of Death — now an anomaly — was rather difficult, not only because of the background effect of the strange magic emanating from it, which they had never managed to shield completely, but also because of a strange, extremely low humming sound.
"…one of the 'possessed' managed to come to his senses and give a full account of his state, along with his sensations during the process of possession. It is indeed genuine possession — except…"
"Except?"
"Except one gets the impression that these spirits possess an intellect not greatly different from rabid animals. But not all of them."
"Not all of them?"
"Well, they're in your cells, after all," in the Unspeakable's words John Doe could sense mockery and reproach, though the intonation of his magically altered voice remained as neutral and impersonal as ever.
"But it's you, my good man, who are 'working' with them," John Doe smiled his most polite yet neutral smile, behind which the Head of the Department of Mysteries could easily read the coldness of his gaze and a calculation devoid of any emotion — and this rather pleased him.
"Quite so. Some behaved rationally. Some showed no resistance whatsoever upon capture, as your organisation's own reports show. I suspect that among them are some who are entirely lucid — or simply capable of pretending to be. Which means they could now be anywhere."
A couple of seconds of silence, and the Unspeakable continued his thought.
"We have established, reliably, that 'infection' by possession can only occur within the anomaly's zone of influence. Its first stage, a severe migraine, can likewise only be observed within that zone. Feral possessed have been encountered at a radius of no more than two hundred metres from the anomaly. A single, nearly lucid specimen was caught practically in the Atrium — which, as you know, is nearly six hundred metres out, taken as the radius of an abstract sphere. And if a 'possessed' individual is fully lucid and rational? There's every chance he could have left the Ministry grounds entirely without anyone noticing. Our defensive and alarm wards are utterly powerless against something like that…"
"So you're saying…" John Doe frowned.
"Yes," the Unspeakable cut across his thought, and Doe had to skilfully and habitually bury his irritation at such impertinence deep within himself. "The possessed could be anywhere, anyone at all. I don't rule out the possibility that these 'spirits,' whatever they are, may be capable of changing hosts."
"That's all we needed…" John Doe did not sigh mournfully, did not arrange his face into anything sad, grieved, or strained — he simply stated a fact. "And after all that, you tell me Hogwarts and its students are in no danger? There are too few of us wizards to go putting the younger generation at risk. Every drop of magical blood is an inestimable value."
"I'm perfectly aware of that," the Unspeakable nodded, without reacting in any way to the DMLE Head's declaration. "However, our department categorically lacks the means, the knowledge, and the experience to solve this problem. We've gone through every archive available to us, every piece of data on working with spirits and related entities — voodoo magic, spiritualism, Japanese Shinto, and much besides. There are no answers to be found anywhere. Though, in fairness, it should be noted that our knowledge in these particular fields of magic is extremely limited."
"Perhaps," John Doe did not deliberate for even a second, "it's worth bringing in the Dark Guild."
"Such a decision lies outside my competence. But I'll note that the Wizengamot and the other department heads won't agree to it."
"The department heads, save for the Auror Office, are thoroughly incompetent wizards, and the Wizengamot is mostly old men whose only concern is their own pockets and their reputation."
"Which is precisely why they won't approve it. Bringing in the Dark Guild would be an unimaginable blow to our reputation, and might well bring no benefit at all. Politics isn't my area, but the current political climate holds Dark Magic to be wholly inadmissible on English soil. Yes, there are masters, there are licences and so forth, but the wider public knows nothing of this. Bringing in the Dark Guild, however, couldn't be concealed. In any case, as Head of the Department of Mysteries, I would support such an undertaking. The problem is serious, it needs solving now, and there is no solution — nor is there much hope of one appearing."
"Well, that's all clear to me, then. For my part, I'll try to raise the matter. I won't keep you from your work any longer."
"Yes, if you would be so kind."
The Unspeakable returned to his calculations on the desk, and John Doe once again had to smother a flicker of irritation deep within himself.
Still, negative emotions no longer hold such power over me as they once did. As though I were back in Hogwarts — almost at peace, John Doe noted to himself with some satisfaction, as he climbed the amphitheatre steps towards the exit of the Hall of Death.
And the matter needs solving. It looks as though my loyal allies will have to exert themselves and push this decision through in the Wizengamot and the council.
With such thoughts, John Doe left the Hall of Death and went off to attend to the rest of his business. He could scarcely have imagined how much labour the post of Head of the DMLE would demand in times as difficult as these, when threats to the country, to wizards, and to the magical world of England had begun crawling out of the woodwork from every direction. It had been so much simpler to run his "club" of radically right-wing idealists.
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