Chapter 160 – Conrad’s Message
In a magically reinforced chamber, somewhere under the earth in the English countryside, Moody was breathing heavily, slumped against the wall, his magical eye rolling around like a compass's needle in a magnetic storm. From the top of his head, blood was flowing down his face, thanks to the fresh crack he received after being flung against the hard stone wall.
"Bastards..." He groaned while he was reaching into his breast pocket with a shaking hand, looking for his flask of scotch.
His disheveled look and rare panic in his natural eye were not because without reason. It originated from the fact that he failed to open the package their newest 'guest' had with him. He was well aware that powerful magic was shielding it; he could see its presence with his magical eye, but he could not discern it. Still, as an experienced Auror, he was confident in his abilities and began preparing to force it open. He utilized all of the spells and hexes he always used when dealing with traps set by the Dark Lord himself... yet they were cut through as if they were used by some first-year student.
"No..." he murmured after swinging his flask, thinking back to what happened and watching the smoking, smoldering heap of ash in the middle of the room. "That was something different."
He got back up, leaning on his walking stick, and confirmed that he could feel most of his defensive spells around himself. They were still working, and they remained untriggered. Whatever it was that attacked him, sending him flying through the room and then bursting into flames, was not entirely a spell. It was something that he didn't consider...
"Alastor." Dumbledore said, entering the room, wand drawn, followed by Flitwick and McGonagall in a highly alerted state.
"I'm fine, Albus." He groaned, shaking his head in dejection. "Whatever magic protected it was self-destructive."
"You are bleeding!" McGonagall exclaimed, stepping forward and handing a handkerchief over to him.
"It is superficial." He mumbled but still took it, wiping his face clean.
"It wasn't magic..." Dumbledore stated calmly, using his wand to pick up the ashes, sorting through them in the air until one tiny ring had fallen out from it. It was broken into four pieces, destroyed, and no longer useful, but it still carried the feeling of magic within its ruined pieces.
"Oh?" Flitwick hummed, getting closer and using his own spells to examine it. "It seems like an artifact? A broken one?"