A/N: Title is taken from T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men" (aren't we clever!). Later chapters will likely be longer on average. This opens the summer before Harry's fourth year. We do not own Harry Potter or Bleach, we just have fun messing with the characters.
Chapter 1
Summer before Harry Potter's fourth year at Hogwarts
Barnaby Bradshaw waved aside a few early morning memos buzzing around the top of the elevator as he stepped inside and nodded politely at the balding wizard within.
"Morning, Barny," said Arthur Weasley, yawning into his cup of coffee. "You're here early."
"Got some work to catch up on," Barnaby muttered, fingers straying to the pocket of his robes. The little vial was still there, warmed by the nearness of his body.
"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said the elevator's smooth voice.
"Well, have a good day, Barny." Arthur Weasley raised his coffee mug in salute, readjusted the wiggling toaster under his arm, and exited the elevator.
Barnaby barely heard him, fingers clutching again at the vial in his pocket as the elevator resumed its downward movement into the Ministry of Magic Headquarters. Technically he was supposed to take it directly to the Research and Development folks, but this was his moment. He had been the one with the contact in Japan… and had paid quite a bit out of his own pocket just to even hear a mention of it. He scowled. It wasn't his fault that Japanese wizards were so closed-mouthed about those creatures that rumor alone named Hollows.
But now… now was his chance. He'd test it himself, that's all. Just a pinch—less than really—and then give it straight away to R and D. After all, what if it didn't work? What if his contact had given him a fake? Wouldn't do to lose face in front of the other Unspeakables… especially Croaker, the old crow. Resolve strengthened by the thought of Croaker's sallow, sneering face, Barnaby nodded to himself and stepped out of the elevator into the long, narrow hallway that led to the Department of Mysteries.
A few muttered incantations later, Barnaby stepped from the Rotation Room to the Death Chamber. Shivering slightly in the still, cool air, Barnaby donned a standard issue surgical mask. He may not be doing this the right way as far as R and D was concerned, but he was no fool when it came to releasing unknown substances into the air.
As he descended the stone bleachers, getting closer to the dais, Barnaby started to hear the whispers from behind the Veil. Some of the Unspeakables claimed they couldn't hear anything, others knew better than to get too close for fear that they would become one of the whispering voices themselves. Barnaby stopped a safe distance away, close enough to hear the voices, yet far enough away that should anything happen and he stumble, he would not fall through the Veil.
Barnaby opened the vial with trembling fingers—was he going to uncover a secret of death within minutes?—and pinched off the tiniest bit of the brittle gray substance—what his contact had called "Hollow bait." Holding his hand out to the Veil, Barnaby crushed the bait between his fingertips and flicked the dust from his hand.
For a good five minutes, nothing happened. Even in the dank chill of the room, Barnaby felt a bead of sweat travel down the back of his neck. Had he just been made a fool of? Had he just thrown thousands of galleons away on some silly Japanese trick? Barnaby threw the vial down in frustration and flinched when it shattered into bits of powder and glass shards. The tinkling glass sounded ominous in the Chamber. That probably hadn't been the wisest move. Even if the stuff was worthless, he should have kept some as proof that he had been swindled.
He turned away from the dais, mentally preparing the howler he would send to his contact, when something cold flew past his shoulder. Barnaby whirled, but the room was dark. Squinting, he thought he could just barely make out something in the far corner of the room… something with glowing eyes.
In his split second of shock, the Veil suddenly did something he'd never seen before, it waved frantically as if caught in a gale. Barnaby stared, mouth agape, as things started pouring through the Veil into the room. Monsters—for that was the only word he could think to describe them—lurched through the stone archway.
They were of all shapes and sizes, some resembling animals, others of no recognizable form. Some large enough to barely squeeze through the arch, others about the size of humans, but all with black, putrid green, moldy blue or purple skin and each with an eggshell white mask. One of them—with odd bat-shaped wings and a vicious beaked mask—flew through the air straight for him and he fell back instinctively, wand out.
"S-Stupefy!" he shouted, pointing his wand, but the white-masked monsters continued to flow past him into the room as if nothing had happed. It seemed as if an ocean of mold-laced bone was gushing from behind the curtain. Stumbling away from the dais, Barnaby fell against one of the stone steps and sat there, huddled, breath coming in shuddering gasps. He stared at the creatures filling the room, unspeakable fear rising like bile in the back of his throat. A chill—something akin to the terror induced by Dementors—came over him, and he began shaking.
The stream of creatures coming through the Veil wasn't slowing down and the ones already in the room were starting to stir with an insidious movement, like hunters on the prowl. More than once he heard one roar, a sound like a thousand tortured souls shrieking in agony. He had to get out of there. Stumbling in his haste to leave, tripping over reptilian limbs, feeling hundreds of eyes on him, Barnaby finally made it to the door and wrenched it open. Shouting the spell that kept the Rotation Room from spinning, he lurched across the floor and wrenched open the door.
"Bradshaw?" Croaker stood on the opposite side of the door that led to the hallway and elevator. His gummy old-man's eyes widened as he spotted what was behind Barnaby. "What the devil—?"
Barnaby didn't have time to think. He had to get them out; if they were discovered… if his colossal mistake was found out…
"Stupefy!" he shouted and Croaker fell over, a look of supreme shock stretching his face.
Barnaby lurched down the hall but tripped and fell on the hem of his robes. The hordes of masked monsters surged around and over the prone form of Croaker. Barnaby braced himself to be trampled. He squeezed himself into as small a ball as possible as the creatures slithered, stalked, and flew past him.
A particularly massive Hollow—one that seemed to be walking on four sets of clawed hands—rounded the corner, and Barnaby shuddered. It paused in front of him and seemed to be examining him out of the black slits in the mask. A sudden screech of metal made it look away from its prey. One of the larger creatures was grabbing the elevator, ripping it from the shaft. Barnaby could hear faintly the female elevator voice saying "Level Nine, the Department of Mysteries."
The eight-legged monster veered away from Barnaby and lurched toward the front of the scrum that was forming at the gash in the wall where the elevator used to be. Barnaby watched in horrified silence, as the creatures proceeded to disappear up the now empty elevator shaft.