The Evil Soul

The building which housed the Ministry of Loyal Surgeons rose two stories, its clean, white facade constructed in the best of neoclassical tradition. Elevated by a set of steps and railed by wrought iron, a portico guarded the grand entrance. Large windows gleamed alongside it, giving all who could see a glimpse of the richly decorated interior. Though an object of great beauty, and a treasure to its nation, the Ministry was unobservable to most inhabitants of Great Britain. For it was a place of Wizardry. Long ago, magic had constructed the shining palace, not mere human hands. Where was once nothing, magic had transfigured that nothing into something, and that something was visible only through magic itself.



Here gathered in front of the Ministry was a crowd, who listened with rapt attention to a man speaking from the rails of the portico, the Minister himself.



"There is a great darkness," he said, "which has spread itself eagerly through our land."



A wave of cold passed through the hearts of the gathering.



"You know of what I speak," the Minister continued. "You have seen them. You have seen what they have done to our countrymen. You have seen them devour the souls of Wizards!



"I, too, have seen them. They sought to penetrate the walls of this institution before me. They could not. The power of our goodness, the power of our love, it defeats them. It makes them fear!



"We know how to counter them. It is by the strength of our hearts and of our magic that we will defeat this menace.



"I assure all of you, the cowardly acts of these wraiths will not stand."



The crowd seemed to contract upon itself before it erupted in relieved and uproarous applause. A mother who had lost a child to the pervasive death cried honestly and openly. Her opalescent blue eyes reflected the warm, silver glowing of a score of patroni which patrolled the perimeter of the Ministry Building. An hour later, the gathering had dispersed.



All was quiet in Grimmauld Place.