HP: Spirit Talker

The surroundings of Malfoy Manor.

In front of the high wrought-iron fence, an array of banging devices, people in gray robes with hoods pulled over their heads, and impenetrable mist billowing beneath them appeared. As many as half of the mages were holding incomprehensible gadgets and devices that produced various sounds/effects such as hissing, chiming, clouds/jets of smoke, and various light effects.

The artifacts were immediately set up on the ground, constantly waving their wands, adjusting their operation, taking readings. Other Unspeakables waved their wands in the air, quietly dictating their findings aloud, while scrolls and feathers hovering nearby immediately took notes behind them. The mages outside the fence, on the grounds of the manor, simply watched.

The Master had equipped the commanders with special amulets that reacted to the breach of the Manor's defenses, so the guards were in no hurry to react. Not all of them, of course, some were watching the unspeakables with obvious interest, some were just doing their dangerous work, and some, like the trio of mages, were joking loudly, commenting on the actions of the "Greys" and showering them with jokes. "The Greys were not distracted.

Ever since the memorable commotion when the old measurement artifacts, some of which had been deemed inoperable, had suddenly awakened, the Unspeakables had been working in emergency mode.

Enormous amounts of data appeared, some of it completely incomprehensible to the current generation of Unspeakables, and old archives had to be dismantled to decipher the information. Many, many hours were spent trying to get at least an approximate understanding of the nature of the readings, not to mention the data itself.

This, by the way, was the reason why it was not possible to determine the point of interference immediately, and by the time other, older and more accurate artifacts were reconfigured, it was already too late. The Department of Mysteries has its own protocols for such cases, so today the ritual was fixed in record time, and the point of disruption was found even faster.

The special port-keys were encoded in seconds and the specialists were immediately transported, while the remaining specialists on duty transmitted the signal to the Aurora as instructed.

About fifteen minutes later, the alert team, which had been prearranged by the head of the Department of Mysteries and the DMLE, arrived. The group of twelve mages was led by Rufus Scrimgeour himself. A tall man with blond hair and yellow and brown eyes, he professionally assessed the situation and found no immediate danger, but mercenaries in tight leather suits, metal greaves, armor and breastplates glowing with blue runes might pose a threat.

Someone might have been fooled, but not a group of experienced fighters, they were not fooled by the slightly melancholy faces (those not hidden under masks) of the first line of guards or the natural demeanor of the second line of mages.

He was particularly intrigued by a trio of boisterous mages, clearly Irish: two of the three men held shiny staffs covered with metal rings bearing some unknown insignia. The men held themselves loosely, confidently, laughing a lot. They were unfamiliar to Scrimgeour and his subordinates, so it was completely unclear what to expect from them... as if mages in armor weren't enough!

Those small plates on the guards' arms, legs, and chests were extremely rare pieces of protection that Scrimgeour had only seen once before, but even that was enough for him. The man held a small amulet in his hand, signaling "Standby" so that another group of them could be here in a few seconds if necessary.

— Smith? — Scrimgeour turned to a certain Unspeakable, recognizing him by his gloves and wand, and "Smith" was every second, if not every first, of this brood. — Recognize anything? — The man did not hide his impatience.

— Not much. — Smith replied quietly. — The Manor's defenses are knocking out our artifacts. But we just started, we haven't had time to finish the calibration, so...

The Unspeakable's speech was momentarily interrupted by a bright flash of fire and a birdcall, from which emerged the tall figure of the familiar gray-bearded headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dumbledore was collected, somber, serious. Despite his colorful robes, no one present doubted him.

The Headmaster turned to Scrimgeour and "Smith", his glasses glittering, he took a few steps towards them, opening his mouth to ask his questions, but a wave of indignation spread around the area, like circles on water, doing neither harm nor good, the melodious sound of a flute and the tinkling of bells. Many people listened, but the unspeakable was more powerful. Dumbledore turned to the guards, his eyebrows furrowed in menace.

— What's going on here? — The masked wizard standing opposite him behind the fence said nothing, only his eyes glittering in the slits of his mask. — Answer me now! — There was no answer. Dumbledore turned to the officers. — My instruments have detected strong magic, obviously a ritual, most likely dark magic. — For some reason, the Headmaster raised his voice so that many, if not all, could hear him. — Mr. Scrimger, as a representative of the authorities and head of the Department of Law and Order, you are obligated to take action to prevent this situation from escalating! This dark wizardry must not be allowed to continue! — Albus Dumbledore's voice sounded confident and encompassing, many people had already accepted the wizard's words as the truth, the right gears in their hearts and minds had begun to turn, accelerating the idea through their bodies.

— Hey you! Who are you?! — A male voice with an accent unusual for this place broke into Dumbledore's speech, catching everyone's attention. — You have some time on your hands, don't you? — A man of medium height, wearing an open cloak, narrow trousers and a deep bronze bowler hat, a red waistcoat, and shiny pointy-toed shoes with shiny buckles, looked directly at the old man, defiantly.

— Identify yourselves! — Dumbledore demanded with a menacing scowl.

— Call me Seamus Magee, — the Irishman smiled broadly (a large brooch in the shape of a four-leaf clover was pinned to his lapel, glittering expensively with gold and stones), with an unpleasantly distorted scar running from the corner of his mouth to his chin; six gold teeth gleamed on his left side. — And this is my brother, Sean, — the Irishman clapped a second red-haired man with an almost full set of gold teeth. — And our friend Peter. — A third man in a long, buttoned raincoat and dark navy cap squinted characteristically, the way bandits or brigands/pirates do.

— Mr. Makgee...

— Magee! — Dumbledore was immediately corrected by the Irish-American.

— You must open the gates now and let the authorities through to prevent dark magic. — said the old man confidently.

— Won't your face crack? — Magee grinned mockingly, and the Aurors surrounding the headmaster frowned menacingly, wands at the ready, waiting for orders. — And anyway, — the Irishman continued to chuckle. — I wish you'd get out of here! Or how not to offend ... — and he stroked meaningfully over a heavy-looking baton, reinforced with four metal rings, hanging from a wide belt.

— You must obey the official authorities! You can't let dark magic happen!

— I've had enough of you. Get out of here! This is business, and you don't stick your long nose where the dog doesn't stick his tail! — Pausing briefly, Magee continued, clearly sensing Dumbledore's determination. — If you don't stop, we won't look at your age, old man, I'll break your legs myself!

— Mr. Scrimgeour, — Dumbledore said without breaking eye contact. — There is obviously evil going on here, and these criminals are obstructing the law. We must show determination...!

Albus Dumbledore's speech would undoubtedly have continued had it not been for the dome of rich yellow light that rose above the trees. Like a soap bubble, it easily grew to thirty meters in height and then turned into a wave that spread out and touched everyone, despite protective amulets, artifacts or charms.

A soft, warm light touched everyone. Even the most indifferent and cruel wizards suddenly felt warmer, a little lighter, everyone remembered something pleasant from their childhood. While people were getting used to this unusual sensation, which was very similar to the effects of the physical Patronus, the clouds in the sky quickly began to part, to lighten, and now, not a minute later, a perfect circle of clear sky was forming over Malfoy Manor.

Against the backdrop of the generally gloomy and damp weather, the sun's rays seemed like unusually bright spotlights with a rich golden hue. The sight so shocked people that even Dumbledore stared in amazement as the golden rays fell from the sky.

— Have you seen how good dark magic is? Let's learn it, too! — the cocky Irishman couldn't keep his mouth shut.

— Fixing the strongest release of energy of directed blessing.... — said one of the unspeakable, unable to contain his emotions. — The artifact has been shattered! — In front of people's eyes, the complex structure of many colorful rings rotating in different planes shook once, twice, and melted like candle wax, solidifying into heavy drops.

— Last statement? — Mr. "Smith" asked.

— Almost divine levels of light spectrum recorded! — said the employee of the Department of Mysteries, still a little out of breath.

— You got it right, you old goat, 'near-divine' and 'light' was a ritual, not what you shouted! — Magee grinned defiantly, supported by a few more voices. — Get the hell out of that brothel they let you out of in that dress! Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha! — The loud laughter was accompanied by a gleam of golden teeth.

The Unspeakables, busy studying the readings of the artifacts that remained intact, paid little attention to the Irishman's last sentence, but some still smiled under their hoods. As did some of the Aurors. Dumbledore, glaring angrily from beneath his glasses, disappeared in a flash of flame. Rufus Scrimgeour wondered what exactly he was getting himself mixed up with for this 'rally' under the fence of a very powerful man.

Of course, there was a lot to get caught up in, as no one had officially warned about such a powerful ritual, and there were other nuances, including the official ban on such rituals. But there are all kinds of amendments and decrees and precedents. I'm glad they didn't start tearing down the shields, or they would have had to flee the country. And Dumbledore? He almost set them up! Meanwhile, they recorded that the ritual was not yet complete, and they had already destroyed two-thirds of the artifacts.