Department of Mysteries Incident Report Number 175,304
Officer on Duty: B. Bode.
Date of Writing: 8th of August, 1976.

The contents of this report detail the events that occurred on the night of the 30th of July, 1976.

On the night in question, I, Broderick Bode, was undertaking my usual rounds through Chamber 7. At approximately 23:03, I observed a strange light emanating from the artefact known alternatively as the Portal, the Veil or Charon's Gateway.

Upon the observance of this strange phenomenon (which resembled lightning, or some other kind of electrical disturbance), I immediately called for assistance, and was joined shortly by Unspeakables A. Rookwood and C. Croaker. After observing the Portal for approximately fifty-seven minutes, during which the 'lightning' became more frequent and powerful, my colleagues and I were knocked backwards by a blast of intense magical energy.

Upon regaining our senses, we were confronted by a lone figure.

He was of above average height, middle aged (appearing approximately 40-50 years), with greying hair (chin-length) and full beard (auburn). The right-side of his face had been badly disfigured by some dark curse, and it appears that he is semi-blind in one eye as a result of this (his right eye being coloured milky-white, in contrast to his left eye, which is green). Upon ejection from the veil, the subject was naked (he was provided with plain robes – see Appendix 3). He appeared badly malnourished, and his feet were blistered and dirty, as though he had been walking for several days.

The subject fell unconscious upon arrival in Chamber 7, and was immediately relegated to secure custody.

Upon being awoken, the subject seemed confused and liable to violence. Considering this, and the unorthodox manner of his arrival, the Unspeakables considered it necessary to restrain him.

The initial transcript of our conversation can be found in Appendix 1, though it is rather nonsensical. The subject was unable to hold a single line of conversation for more than a few moments, and became distressed when we refused his demands or were unable to answer his questions.

In light of the new Ministry regulations (See Appendix 2), it was at this point that we summoned Auror Alastor Moody from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (although it was clear to me that a mere Auror would not be able to add substantial understanding to our study, and that his inclusion could have in fact damaged proceedings).

Alastor Moody took a swig from his hip-flask. The cells in the depths of the Ministry were dark and oppressive, and the atmosphere did not improve his already foul mood.

"I just don't understand what you expect me to do, Augustus," he said.

"It's just formal policy," said Rookwood, silkily. "These new regulations are Crouch's doing, so if you've got a problem, complain to him, not me. All it says here is that you need to conduct a formal interview with the suspect, since technically he was trespassing upon Ministry premises."

The two of them looked up, at the man chained to the chair on the opposite side of the oaken table.

The prisoner stared at his knees. Since Moody had entered the room, he had done nothing but mutter quietly to himself, gently rocking backwards and forwards. Moody lent forward slightly to try and make out the words, although not too far forward. He was fond of his ears, and didn't want one of them to get bitten off by a gibbering madman of questionable origin.

"Right," he said, with a sinking sensation that what he was about to do was utterly pointless. He thought about the pile of reports lying uncompleted on his desk, four floors above, and rubbed his forehead. He was unlikely to get home before dawn. "Do you know who I am?"

The man gave no sign that he had heard Moody, continuing to stare at the floor. He was dribbling, Alastor noticed with a sense of disgust. He turned to Rookwood.

"What'll happen to him, after the interrogation's over?" he asked.

"Don't worry about that," said Rookwood, with a crooked smile. "We have uses for people like him."

Moody resisted the urge to shudder. He was struck - not for the first time - by the thought that he didn't much like Rookwood. The man was popular within the Ministry, but something about his manner - some indefinable oddness - put Moody's teeth on edge. He squared his shoulders, and tried again. He might as well do the damned thing properly.

"My name is Alastor Moody, and I'm from the Office of Magical Law Enforcement," he said. "You are currently under arrest for trespass in the Ministry of Magic, though that status is liable to change. I'd read you your rights, but you don't have any. Sorry about that."

Rookwood gave a derisive snort. "I'm off to get a coffee," he said. "Call me if anything interesting happens. It'll be on the recording, anyway."

The latch clicked shut behind him. Moody's eyes travelled from the closed door back to the prisoner.

Very slowly, the man raised his head. He'd stopped muttering, and his sudden gaze was deeply unsettling. His right eye had been badly damaged by whatever curse had ravaged his face, and had turned milky-white. Moody was suddenly glad to have two, healthy eyes: the man would have trouble in a fight, with no peripheral vision on his right side.

"Mad-Eye?"

They were the first clear words the prisoner had spoken since Moody had entered the interrogation room. Even if they were completely nonsensical, it was a start.

The man leaned forward. He had a slightly conspiratorial air about him.

"Don't trust Rookwood," he whispered. "He's been passing information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from inside the Ministry itself."

Moody felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and mentally shook himself.

"And what do you know about Voldemort, then," asked Moody. Maybe this could be worth his while after all.

"Fear of the name," said the man, but then he became distracted again, and his eye flicked downwards.

"Dumbledore says that," said Moody, trying to be encouraging. "Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself."

"Dumbledore!" said the man. "Is he here?" His eyes were wide, and Moody could see the desperation in his face.

"Not here," grunted Moody. The case might be slightly unusual, but he wasn't going to get his friend out of bed in the middle of the night, just to listen to the confused ramblings of a very lost man.

"We mustn't say his name or he will find us."

Moody rubbed his hand against his face, feeling the prickle of his stubble. When was the last time he had had a shave?

"Is Lily here?"

Unable to help himself, Moody ran through a quick inventory of the names he knew at the Ministry. There was no-one named Lily, as far as he knew.

"Not that I know of," he said.

"She has to be here," he whispered. His voice sounded small and sad, as though it were coming from the bottom of a deep, dark hole. "She has to be."

Moody got heavily to his feet. He didn't think he could bear much more of this, and he felt guilty for his lack of empathy. When had he stopped caring? The man seemed harmless enough, despite being completely insane. He didn't like to think about the fate that awaited him here. The prisoner would never see the sky again, that was for certain.

There was a whisper, and a ball of silvery vapour materialised from under the door. He jumped slightly, before realising the Patronus for what it was. As he watched, it transformed into a twittering sparrow, which whispered its message quickly into his ear before vanishing.

"Fancy that," he said, to no-one in particular.

Because he found the prisoner's manner and appearance unsettling - far more unsettling that he cared to admit - Moody decided to wait in the corridor. He'd left Bode watching him. This was not an ideal arrangement, as Bode wanted to return the prisoner to the Department of Mysteries as quickly as possible. He was resentful and angry at Moody's intrusion, and in response, Moody was fulfilling his official duty with glacial slowness.

His message to Albus had been brief, and not terribly informative.

Funny business down here, if you've got time after Bagnold. Some nut-job who turned up in the Department of Mysteries is asking for you. Could be important. Ninth Level, interrogation room B.

Albus had always had a soft-spot for cases like this, Moody knew. He didn't want to waste his friend's valuable time, but he was sure that Dumbledore would want to know. It was the kind of thing he was interested in.

There was more to it than that though, he thought. Moody trusted his intuitions. Something niggled at the back of his mind, though he couldn't put his finger on what it was. It made him anxious, not least because if Albus didn't arrive soon, Bode was going to drag the intruder back down to the Department of Mysteries no matter how hard Moody objected. It would be the end after that. They would never see him again.

It was a close thing. Bode was actually beginning to un-cuff the manacles from the floor to take the prisoner downstairs when Moody heard the rattle of the elevator. With a feeling of relief, he saw Albus striding down the long corridor, and raised his hand in welcome.

"Alastor," he said. Dumbledore looked tired and drawn, and Moody felt a twinge of guilt at having called him here. "What is it?"

"Come and see," he replied.

Bode was annoyed at being denied the chance to immediately conduct further experimentation. He seemed downright insulted when Moody asked him to leave.

When Moody led Dumbledore in, however, he knew he'd done the right thing. The effect on the man was immediate and dramatic.

"Professor," he said, in a strangely childish voice for a man so old and battered. At the same time, his tone was clearer and more direct than anything Moody had gotten out of him.

Dumbledore stood quite still in the doorway. Moody turned towards him, trying to read the expression on his friend's face. Slowly, Dumbledore stepped forward, letting the door swing shut behind him. His intense stare never wavered, and Moody wondered what he was seeing. What signs could Albus see, that were invisible to him?

After a few moments of observation, he spoke to Moody.

"Alastor," he said. "I must ask you to leave us."

He waited outside the door for half an hour before being called back in. By then, it was half-past-three in the morning, and he was beginning to think longingly of his bed.

To his shock and mild alarm, he saw the Dumbledore had removed the prisoners's chains. The man stood unsupported, but was hunched over as though in terrible pain.

"Alastor," said Dumbledore. "Do you have your spare invisibility cloak?"

"Always," Moody grunted. He pulled it from his robe, tossing it to Dumbledore without objection.

"I will need your assistance escorting our new friend from Ministry premises. It is of the utmost importance that he is released into the custody of the Order."

Albus - with great gentleness - guided the man towards him. "I am going to escort you back to my office at Hogwarts," he said, quietly, as though he were speaking to an frightened first year. "It is important that you stay quiet and by my side until that time. We must not be observed as we exit. Do you understand me?"

The man nodded, silently. Albus's intervention seemed to have rendered him as pliant as newborn kitten.

Albus fastened the cloak around the man's shoulders, rendering him completely invisible. He waved his wand, closing his eyes for a moment in concentration.

A ghostly apparition appeared. As Moody watched, it became opaque. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the man appeared to still be seated at the table, staring blankly at his hands.

"It should last about an hour before dissolving," said Dumbledore.

Orders were orders, thought Moody, but enough was also enough.

"Albus," Moody said. "What the hell is going on? And who the hell is he?"

Dumbledore smiled his secret smile. "I will explain everything soon. At Monday night's meeting."

He paused for a moment, before opening the door. He held his arm at a strange angle, and Moody knew that he was guiding his invisible companion.

"As for who our new friend is... he represents the difference between winning and losing this war. Goodnight, Alastor."

Upon questioning the subject, Auror Moody summoned Albus Dumbledore. What the two discussed is unknown to me, as this section of the recording spell is blank.

Albus Dumbledore left shortly after, apologising that he could not be of more assistance. Rookwood, Moody and myself continued to question the subject, but after this point he seemed unwilling to answer or respond to us.

At approximately 04:03 on the morning of the 31st of July, the subject vanished, transforming into vapour.

His origin, powers and purpose are still unknown.