HP: Spirit Talker

The castle itself, or the fortress of Azkaban against the backdrop of what had happened, made me extremely uncomfortable. For decades, centuries, during which this place had been used by wizards not only as a prison but also as a Dementor nest, the earth and stone had been imbued with magic. Yes, yes, you heard me, magic! I can see and feel it clearly — the place where the unknown catastrophe that created this anomaly happened has acquired its own magic. Black. Evil.

I hear the groans of madness, the despair, the pain, the devouring horror of souls thrown here and lost here. I hear the cries of pain of souls who have been stripped alive of all their spiritual shells, for only the core of the soul is virtually indestructible. But such a soul will at best be reborn as a beast, an animal, even for the most undeveloped man such a soul is not enough. I stopped and looked up at the sky, where more than one or even a dozen coal-black figures were flying, forcing the Aurors accompanying me to stop.

I feel the constant pain of souls captured by the greed of unbalanced and simply insane mages, for the dementors are half-demonic evil spirits that have taken over the bodies of madmen, hungry for power and forbidden inhuman knowledge. I hear and feel the suffering of the many innocent souls missing here. I turn my eyes to the hulk of stone called Azkaban. This place is a huge altar where the gifted are tortured, and the pain and suffering of the tortured souls breeds black magic in all its dark splendor.

It is said that the strongest spirits can conjure within the walls of Azkaban, even summoning the Patronus. I believe it. I do. But for some reason, everyone prefers to ignore the fact that those who conjure here die young, go mad, lose their powers and so on.

Allowing black magic to pass through you infects you with something that is only suitable for certain types of non-humans. Not everyone can limit their energy, not "grab" it from the outside when their own amount of magic is not enough. You have to be able to do it.

And black magic is dangerous because it attracts the stupid and the greedy with its available power, its "simplicity", its "ease". I could talk a lot about this, because my way, as a carrier of Hoshino and Miyazaki's blood, is to fight against true evil. But unfortunately, we've already reached the cameras that interest me. Will you talk about the inside of Azkaban? Why? Gray corridors, dark even during the day because of the lack of large windows or enough torches, which the dementors hate.

The piercing sea chill from the constant drafts. And the smell of doom, despair, madness, pain, and filth. Go down to the Parisian catacombs and it's pretty much the same, but with piles of bones.

There are still rare streams of magic that feed members of clans that have a clan altar or even a source. In some places on the walls near the floor, where even the diffused light couldn't reach, I could see chunks of ice, traces of permanent Dementor dwellings.

Here they were, by the way. A trio of creatures swam towards us, blocking the entire corridor and spreading a deep chill and eeriness. The Aurors immediately grabbed the amulets around their necks — identification amulets that protect them from the creatures. I have one of those, too. But it doesn't really protect, and when the creatures rebel, it doesn't help.

I even turned my head a little to get a better look at my companions' reactions. The wizards were genuinely frightened, and the prisoners were screaming, whimpering, and shouting themselves hoarse. Nearby, behind the cell we'd just approached, a mad, hysterical laugh, clearly female, rang through the walls. Well, I'd seen enough.

A wave of my left hand and my new associate was immediately in. He really doesn't like the local darkness, and I agree with my partner. A wave of pure, warm light, accompanied by silvery sparks from the heel of the staff striking the stone and the melodic chime of the silver rings on the tip, spread around the full sphere. I didn't put much power into it, so the sphere was only a little over ten meters in diameter. But here was the effect!

The screams were immediately cut short by a general groan of relief, for this light can warm souls, even the darkest of souls. Abe no Seimei, according to legend, exorcised demons and purified evil with a single stroke of his Shakujo. That's what I see around me.

The stone of the walls and floor has brightened, and the black haze that had been torn from it has dissipated. Breathing has become easier. But most importantly, the dementors, they have literally been shredded into ashes, and whole clusters of silvery orbs of human souls have flown from each creature into the sky.

As my companions recoil from the presence of the dark, even black creatures, I approach the door. It opens at my will, and I see one of those I came to see. The staff stands unsupported, generously spilling warm light in a sphere more than ten meters across in all directions, ignoring the obstacles. A few seals flew out of the sleeve unnoticed, instantly creating a distorting barrier so that the Aurors could only hear disjointed sounds and see trembling, indistinct shadows.

— Mr. Lestrange. — My voice snapped the scrawny man in filthy rags out of the reverie he was in, basking in the light of my wand, sitting on dirty, old straw. — I don't have much time, so pull yourself together! — The man opened his eyes with obvious difficulty and looked at me with a tired, pained expression.

— Who are you? — the hoarse voice came out hard, with difficulty, the dry, thin lip bursting, but a tiny drop of blood showed.

— I am the one who is giving you a chance, Mr. Lestrange, to revive your clan, which you idiots, along with your brother, have brought to the brink of destruction.

— You can't help me... — replied the man, who had once been broad of shoulder but was now almost a mummy. — Even the Lord won't help me anymore... ah-ha-ha.... Azkaban steals the future...

— I'm no more interested in your mad master than I am in hunting game. Listen to me, Mr. Lestrange.

— Lord. Lord Lestrange.

— You were him when you were free, until you became a slave and a Mudblood, accepting the power of one who wasn't worthy...

— How could you... — the prisoner gasped.

— Shut your mouth and listen when intelligent people speak, for they do not repeat themselves! I will give you and your brother a chance to save the Lestrange family, but in return...'

— A soul? — Rudolphus Lestrange grinned.

— In return, you will dissolve your marriage to Bellatrix and release her without conditions or debt. Also, her current safe-deposit boxes at the bank are for my use. I'll wait exactly one minute for your answer, and then I'll leave. The time is up. — I ostentatiously marked the minute on my Patek trophy. Thirty-two seconds later, Lestrange raised his voice.

— Can you really do this? Ahem... — Bloody saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. — None of us three...not me, uh-uh. nor Rabastan nor Bellatrix can have children.... — I looked up at him confidently, for I had a whole plan in my head that I was finally ready to carry out.

— I see you are dying, Mr. Lestrange, you have at most a year to live. — Brief pause. — But I can give you a chance to see your son and your brother's son while you are still alive. Do you agree to my terms? Do you agree to follow my will to save your family from extinction? — We stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds, and then he closed his eyes, breathing heavily and raggedly.

— I agree... to everything.

— You made the right choice, Mr. Lestrange.

A thought touches the bracelet, and a mindless body falls to the floor at my feet, taken from a mental hospital where they practice "experimental treatment" that actually turns the insane into vegetables. There is no soul in this body, and it is alive because it has retained remnants of spiritual shells — a kind of ghost. A few hairs from the prisoner are sent to the vessel containing the reversal potion, then poured into the body.

While waiting for the change, a short pulse of magic stops a very weak, exhausted heart. As a result, the body of Rudolphus Lestrange lies on the floor. The seals are placed on the extremely surprised prisoner, and then the man is in the ring. I calmly leave the cell and make my way to Rabastan.

The Aurors, on the other hand, are frozen without movement or thought — the seals on the backs of their heads have simply knocked both men out. There was no need for me to talk to the youngest of the brothers, the head of the family had said his word, so I was finished in the second cell in a few minutes. In the third cell I saw what had once been Bellatrix Lestrange.

I saw a movie about Auschwitz once — people looked like that. Scary. Without further ado, I repeated the procedure. And then three more times. Rookwood, Malsibert, Dolokhov.

 Next, I extinguished and hid the staff, and began the second stage of the Seals of Submission. Ten minutes later, the three get into a boat and set sail from this terrible place. The two remember nothing from the moment they got into the boat on the other side of the river, only vague shadows and vague scraps that no Legilimens could grasp, could collect.

And the special potion of absent-mindedness, with its short-lived but powerful effect, will cement the influence so that no one can prove anything now.

It's so nice when a plan you've worked out works one hundred percent!

***

POV Unspeakable

— Well? — The blond man with the mane and the yellow eyes was tense with impatience.

— ... — The figure in the gray robe lowered his wand, which immediately disappeared into a long, wide sleeve, along with a brush in a gray glove, and his face remained hidden by a shadow in a deep hood. — Not much was learned... — came a soft, slightly tired voice after a moment of silence. — Details! — The yellow-eyed man seemed ready to force the information out, barely restraining himself.

— Auror remembered all the way to boarding the ship and part of the way across the sea. — The Legilimensional Specialist's brief pause literally infuriated the yellow-eyed man, but he continued to hold back, only clenching his lips and gritting his teeth. — Then the "Visitor" used what must have been mental magic to summon a magical creature from the sea, probably one of the strong spirits, and demonstrated it to his companions. — Pause again. — I must admit that this creature looked like a stunningly beautiful turtle.....

— What are you talking about? — The yellow-eyed man grimaced.

— This species, — the Unspeakable ignored him and continued his formal report. — was probably so conspicuous to ordinary Aurors that they could barely remember it. I would call this effect 'culture shock'. The appearance of the creature was perfectly remembered in the mind, down to the smallest detail, but everything else afterwards turned into blurred images, impossible to make sense of.

— So we have no proof that the Visitor caused the deaths of the six Eaters? None at all? — The yellow-eyed man blinked.

— No. — The hood shook slightly. — There were no traces of magic in the blood or on the bodies. The Aurors had been drinking to excess after the mission, so if there was any potion, it was impossible to tell.

— Dismissed. — The yellow-eyed man growled, feeling the chair wobble beneath him, but there was nothing he could do, and such a good chance was a fog over the Thames.

Unspeakable, without any reaction, silently left the office of the head of the DMLE. There was much he had not told the man, for the man had simply not asked, and some details in no way directly related to the current case. What was this stone that even mute Aurors could sense its magic? Why had the Sea Spirit given such a gift? How was it possible to rid a part of Azkaban of dark emanations? The information he received raised a number of suspicions, perhaps the figurehead of the recent 'noise' had been discovered?