1964- Age 18
Augustus Rookwood was all but eighteen when he was taken under the wing of the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and began his interning at the Ministry of Magic. Horace Slughorn's fascination with collecting who he believed to be the more interesting students of Hogwarts proved to be useful when it came time for Rookwood to send out letters of recommendation. Rookwood had been collected in his third year of being in school—a favorite amongst Slughorn's own Slytherin house. For once, he'd felt more important than somebody. Throughout school, he learned that being pure blood meant less if one didn't have the money to go along with the image the name produced.
He remembered going on tours of the Ministry with higher up wizards such as Amadeus Crouch, sometimes going on them along with his son, Bartemius. It took over a week for a tour of every floor. Floor One: Minister of Magic and Support Staff , including Office for Minister; Floor Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Auror Office; Floor Three: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Muggle Worthy Excuses Department; Floor Four: Department Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, including the Office of Misinformation; Floor Five: International Magical Cooperation, including the International Law Office; Floor Six: Department Magical Transportation; Floor Seven: Department of Magical Game and Sports; Floor Eight: Atrium; Floor Nine: Department of Mysteries; Floor Ten: Wizengamot Courtrooms.
The ninth floor was the one that stuck out the most. The black walls and doors made the halls seem darker. That the light from their wand tips weren't enough to keep the darkness from snatching them up and having them immured within the metal forever. Their footfalls echoed boisterously, making him feel even more important than he used to. He had the power to make nose in a place immersed in silence.
"This is the death chamber, Rookwood. It hasn't been in use for over fifty years now."
"What used to happen here, sir?"
"Public executions. This was used before the chambers in the Wizengamot Courts. This was where people who were denied trials were brought to."
"Witches and wizards."
"No. Mostly muggles. And the half breeds. Mudbloods. Blood traitors. Near the turn of the century, the government became more tame and executed wrongdoers only."
"So beforehand, people were executed for no reason?" He looked at his elder, seeing his jaw tighten, forcing back a lie.
"Yes."
"Do you think it will ever be like that again?"
A pause. "I hope not."
Rookwood looked around the room. There was a pit below the rows of seats. It was like a theatre he remembered reading about in Muggle Studies, back when the class was mandatory.
"What's that down there?"
"Come with me."
He followed Crouch down the stairs in between the rows of seats, to the pit.
"This is the Veil. It is an archway to the afterlife."
It was a stone archway with broken foundation around it. It was like the threshold of a door, but there was no foundation to keep it supported. Inside the "doorway" were transparent, billowy drapes. He heard voices, felt colder, and wanted to step through. He couldn't see the other side of the room through the opening. He wanted to know what was inside.
Crouch grabbed Rookwood's wrist. "Don't. I know they must be calling for you, but don't."
"What is this? Why is this here?"
"The records that we have on it are few. But from our knowledge, nobody knows where it came from, or why it is here. We have files of case studies on victims of the Veil."
"Case studies?"
"Yes. We have the diary of one of the first Unspeakales who kept adamant record of what went on in this room. The first entry dates at 1785. He noted of he and fellow wizards in his department were trying to figure out the mystery of it and hired volunteers for research experiments. They forced people to walk through the archway. The first one went in and didn't come back. So they sent another one in to go after him. When he didn't come back, they Obliterated the other volunteers and sent them home."
"Then what happened?"
"The man who wrote the diary became obsessed, and experiments grew more sinister. The other Unspeakables did not want any part in it, but he Imperiused them to do his biddings. They would bring back single volunteers and he would bind them and lay them on the floor right here and position them to where only their head was in the Veil so they could see what was in there. The first person to be bound and pulled back out went blind."
"What?"
"When they pulled him back into this room, his eyes had been clawed out."
"Merlin."
"He said as soon as they stuck his head in, it was like he was asleep, but his eyes could not open. And then something must have come up on him, but he couldn't tell. And he tried to scream, but no sound came out. He said you can hear whispering around the archway, but there are no sounds inside. And it felt damp in there.
"A second one was bound, but they only stuck his legs in. Something grabbed him from beyond. The cases were ultimately the same. He made one of the Unspeakables stick his arm in to see if he could feel around for something, grab something out. His arm was ripped out of its socket. He was pushed through the Veil so nobody else in the ministry would find out he had been toying with it down here."
"And no one ever found out about the other subjects?" Rookwood wanted to know how so many missing people went without investigation of some sort.
"Well, from his notes, he picked poor witches and wizards off the streets and they happily did whatever he asked them to because he was going to pay them for it. Galleons talks, you know."
"So I've heard."
"The diary gets stranger as the years go by. I only assume that the man descended into madness. He got into American magic. Hoodoo, to speak with the dead and the supernatural."
"That's not real magic. Muggles practice it."
"I assure you, Rookwood, it is real. It's dark magic. It's only as powerful as the belief of it is. And he poured all of his faith into it and made it real for himself. He conjured beings from the other side of the Veil that no one could ever imagine existed."
"Like what?"
Crouch shuddered. His voice dropped to a whisper, yet still echoed throughout the acoustic chamber. "Three headed dog beast."
Rookwood saw, in his mind, a picture of Cerberus form Muggle mythology and felt his stomach drop.
"Cockatrice."
"Bird dragon."Rookwood was whispering now.
"Manticore."
"Stop, stop. I don't want to hear anymore! These things, they aren't real!"
"I assure you, Mr. Rookwood, they are. They came out of the Veil. There are documents found in other departments of this Ministry dated close to the diary entries about the inquiries their own offices had to deal with upon getting rid of the beasts."He studied Rookwood's troubled, young face. "This is an object that man should have never been introduced to. It brought centuries of suffering to others for the sake of research. Please do not worry about it any longer, son."
He was starting for the stairs again, Rookwood still looking into the grey abyss.
"Come along, boy. I need to show you the Hall of Prophesy."
1981- Age 35
Augustus Rookwood was one amongst many Death Eaters sent to Azkaban without trial after the Dark Lord's downfall. They wiped his memory of anything that pertained to the secrets he had studied during his lifetime serving the Ministry of Magic.
They didn't know that he was practiced in the art of Occlumency so well that memory was too strong to be wiped. He still had those important memories, albeit, damaged memories.
1995- Age 49- The Year of the Massive Azkaban Breakout
Rookwood knelt before an armchair facing afire place. "My Lord. I have good news."
"Tell, me Rookwood." The voice was raspy, weak. Rookwood hoped the chair would not be turned around."
"I remember being told about a room of prophesies."