The Research

THE RESEARCH

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The time was around six o' clock in the evening and sun was threatening to sink behind the high mountain peaks in the west, leaving the atmosphere cool and dark. I turned away from the scenery and looked around the place; so they have been right. Strange and mysterious are the only words that can describe this place. With furrowed brows, I tried to understand what it was all about, but I had no luck so far. Nobody had any luck with it.

The place was in the far north of the British Isles. It was fortunate that it was summer; with the low latitude here, we would have half frozen to death if it were winter. What was more, no one would have ever found us if we died because the place was completely isolated. Neither my team nor I had come across a living soul for miles. No wonder this place was not under a habitation. It was extremely cold, and none of us knew why, the place seemed to shelter a strange power. We could feel it around us but none of us could comprehend it. What it was or where did it come from, none of us knew. It was oozing out of the air; so obvious below our noses.

It didn't take a genius to work out that this place had once been a civilized village. There were small structures all around, which clearly once had been huts and houses. Besides, we had found glasses, bottle, mugs, traces of drinks, skeletons... And speaking of skeletons, we had found extremely strange ones, human and animal alike. One such specimen was of a human's shape, but way too large and broad. And what was more, its snout was long like a dog. We found another piece that would have been a horse but for a large horn protruding right from it's forehead. A lay person would have termed them as 'werewolves' and 'unicorns', but technological people like me didn't hold with such nonsense. My newspaper company, The Daily Prophet scientist doubted about hybrids and I am with him. The people living here must have had strange ideas.

'Hey, look at this!' cried someone.

I turned around and found my team, a group of five people (two journalists, a photographer, a cameraman and a scientist) huddled together over something. I put my hands in the pockets of my suit and walked over to them. Alice Patterson, a journalist, was holding what looked like an old wooden plate that said 'Hogsmeade' in curly letters that constantly kept flashing different colors. Alice broke the board with a hammer; it had no batteries.

In spite of having found several such objects, I was surprised. We were finding objects that had nothing to with science or technology but still did miracles. Yards to the left, we had found a wooden stick that emitted multi-colored sparks when touched. Another peculiar thing we had found was a spinner-type object that was whistling faintly. Then, a map where the markings moved, appeared and disappeared on their own. And of course, a branded broomstick that said Comet Two-Sixty.

We had no clue what these things were or how they worked without any energy source like batteries, electricity or solar power or anything. My scientist was unable to explain this.

But whatever we had found promised my newspaper and me a lot of fame. I was going to be famous all over the world to have found such objects. But that wasn't what I wanted. This place seemed to be whispering words to me that I couldn't hear. Its things were showing me a story I couldn't see. All this rattled me inside.

A cool female voice sounded behind me. I, along with the others, turned around to find a young girl of seventeen or eighteen standing a few meters away. 'Who are you all?' she asked. 'Why are you here?'

She was dressed oddly. With a black cloak draped around her shoulders, she wore a grey pleated skirt and a shirt that bore a strange crest: a snake, a lion, a raven and a badger around a large, golden 'H'. She seemed to be dressed in a uniform of some kind.

'Who are you all?' she asked again. Her hair was curly and brown; her amber eyes annoyed. A pretty girl.

I stepped out and said, 'We're from the Daily Prophet.'

The girl who didn't seemed to have noticed me turned her hawk like eyes towards me. Suddenly, her jaw dropped and body jerked backward. She murmured something; I couldn't make out what.

'Pardon me, Miss...?' I said.

She didn't reply. Her expression was a mixture of many. A part of her seemed surprised, a part of her triumphant. But her eyes showed a different story. They showed complete happiness. But her face changed then and it seemed as though she was fighting for self-control. It was like a long awaited dream had come true and she was trying not to lose control.

'I am Draco Malfoy,' I said, running a hand through my short platinum blonde hair. 'And you are...?'

'I know who you are,' she said breathlessly. It was obvious; my newspaper was famous all over Britain. Her eyes were fixed on me and didn't move. It was as though the others didn't exist. She murmured something again, which vaguely seemed liked grey eyes.

I knew that my eyes were a silvery grey and many women liked them. But I was around forty and this girl was a late teenager. I decided what I was assuming was wrong.

'Who are you?' I asked again.

She jerked again, as though she was hearing humans after a long time. Her eyes were again focused upon me. 'Huh?'

'Who are you?' I asked yet again, slowly and more clearly.

'You needn't know,' she said, a smile tugging at her fine lips.

I turned to look at my staff. Their expression matched my own: raised eyebrows and inquisitive eyes. Turning back to the girl, I said, 'As you wish, miss.'

'What are you doing here?' she asked again.

Her hard gaze disconcerted me, but I stood my ground. 'As I told you, we are from the Daily Prophet.'

'That what?'

I was puzzled; I thought she knew about my newspaper. But if she didn't, then how did she know me? 'The Daily Prophet,' I repeated. 'A newspaper.'

'A Muggle newspaper?' she asked, surprised.

'A what newspaper?'

The girl's mouth formed an 'O' of realization and she nodded her head, biting on her lips as she murmured to herself again. 'Nothing,' she told aloud to me. 'Yes, what are you doing here?'

'Since we're from a newspaper,' I replied, 'we are researching this place. A week ago a journalist of mine - yes, the Daily Prophet is mine -'

'I know,' she interrupted.

I gave her confused look and knew my team was just as confused. However, I continued, 'We received information about this place. Do you live here?'

'Yes, I do.'

Excitement coursed through my veins. So the people who made this mysterious objects were alive! And they had to live somewhere nearby. I shot David (another journalist) a look. He was already ready for an interview with his pen and paper.

'Then where is your house?' I asked excitedly. 'Your family? Your city?'

The girl sighed sadly. Her head bowed down and for once, her eyes left me. 'I have no family, no house. There is no civilization here.'

I shared more uncertain looks with my companions. Slowly, I asked the girl: 'What do you mean?'

'I live here all alone,' the girl replied resignedly and her eyes captured mine again. 'All alone.'

'Excuse us for a moment,' interrupted Alice. She turned to me and said, 'A moment please, Sir.'

I followed her to a few feet away to the right till we were out of earshot. 'What?' I asked her in a low voice.

'This girl's crazy,' said Alice. 'Why bother with her? She could be a spy of the Quibbler.'

I knew what Alice was saying was true. The Quibbler was an annoying magazine that often stole our exclusive articles. But there was something about the girl that made me believe her. 'No, I don't think so,' I replied. 'I think she must have some ground about what she's speaking.'

'A girl living in this desolate a place, Sir? And did you notice her clothes? They are so clean. There's got be a civilization nearby. How can there be no one but only a young, well-kept girl?'

'I can find that out only if I talk to her,' I said sternly and walked back to the team and turned to the girl. 'Why wouldn't you say your name?' I asked her.

'I wouldn't, simple,' she replied, smiling slightly again. She had a very nice smile. 'You tell me what exactly you want here.'

'We are researching this place, didn't you hear me?' I replied, a bit annoyed. 'We are finding strange objects round here. David, show her those.'

Alice uttered a reproachful sound but I ignored her. David, on my command, pulled out the things from a bag and walked towards the girl. She immediately took a step backward and cried out, 'Do not come near me!'

'I'm not going to attack you,' said David, bewildered.

'Nothing can harm me,' the girl replied sadly. 'But still, do not come near me.'

David shot me a look and I nodded lightly. I wanted more information from that girl which I wouldn't be able to receive if I scared her away. David complied. 'All right,' he said and stepped back. Kneeling down, he pulled out the stick, the broomstick, the spinning toy and the map.

The girl wasn't fascinated or surprised.

'What are these?' I asked her. 'How are they working? Do your people make such objects? How do they manage it without technology of the latest kind?'

'Magic,' she replied.

'Come again?'

'Magic,' she said again. 'M-A-G-I-C. Magic.'

'I know,' I replied coldly. 'Stop playing the fool and tell me what these are.'

'That's a magic wand,' she said, pointing to the wooden stick.

My team sniggered behind me. I couldn't blame them. I was wondering if this girl was insane, but something in me believed her. It was as unexplainable as those objects.

'That's a flying broomstick,' she was going on. 'Pity you didn't find a Firebolt. Comet Two-Sixties aren't that good.'

'Excuse me?' said Alice.

I shot her a glare. She shut up.

'They are brand names,' the girl explained. 'And that's a magic map, of course. And this is a Sneakoscope.'

'What?'

'A Sneakoscope. A magical object that detects presence of unworthy people.'

I let out a snort, immediately followed by my companions.

'I know you don't believe me,' the girl said and sighed sadly again. 'But this is your only option. Science and technology can never explain these things as I can, because these things are magical.'

'How can you explain it?' I asked her. 'Are you magical too? Are you a ... witch?'

'I used to be,' said the girl, getting morose again.

'Oh,' I said sarcastically. 'So you were a witch. What happened then? Did a pump suck the magic out of you?'

The girl smiled; she showed no sign of being abashed. 'You are still the same.' she said softly.

My sarcasm disappeared. 'What?'

'Nothing.'

'Look,' I started impatiently, 'tell me if you know anything about this. I'm not in the mood to play games.'

'I'm not playing games. You want me to explain, I'll explain. But only to you. You only.'

'Why?'

'Because you are entitled to the truth. I can't let you go uninformed when fate has finally brought you back.'

'What rubbish -?'

'Please,' the girl interrupted. 'You want to know what this place is, what are these magical objects, who am I, what am I doing here and why am I talking like this? Then follow me and I'll tell you everything.'

I looked back at my team. They were perplexed, surely, but interested. I turned back to the girl. 'Lead me.'

She smiled and started walking towards the west. I followed her till the others were out of sight and into a place where huge rocks were scattered here and there. She settled on one and indicated me to do the same on a rock a little away from her. I wondered why was she avoiding us.

'This story is a century old,' she began. 'This is a story of wizards and witches that existed here a hundred years ago.'

'There are no wizards or witches,' I interrupted firmly. 'There is nothing called magic. I want to hear the practical reality.'

'This is the reality!' the girl exclaimed. 'Witches and wizards are out there. Though you won't find any here because they were all killed ... slaughtered. Every single one in this place. They were all killed by Lord Voldemort.'

'What!' I said. The name struck me ... unpleasantly familiar. Hatred rose within me and filled me with anger. But none of it was directed towards the girl. Instead, I felt something strange but definitely pleasant for her.

'Yes, Lord Voldemort,' the girl continued. 'He was the most powerful wizard ever to walk on land. He had powers that no wizard or witch could even think of. But he was bad ... he was Dark. He liked torturing and killing people. He was ambitious and merciless. He had no one to fear but ... only a boy. Harry Potter.'

I knit my brows. That name struck me familiar too. But this time I felt jealous, madly jealous of someone I didn't know. I ran a hand through my hair again and bit my lip as I tried to gain control over myself. The girl started again.

'Harry Potter was the only person who could have killed Voldemort. But would only a teenaged boy stand a chance against the darkest wizard of all times? No, of course not. Voldemort succeeded in killing Harry. Our next hope was Albus Dumbledore.'

Another pang of familiarity; I didn't know what was happening. Dislike coursed through me.

'But Dumbledore was a White wizard. He was no way as powerful as Voldemort. Voldemort killed him too in the end.'

Loathing like anything coursed in me and I wanted to kill, to rip everything apart that was within my reach. I grabbed the sides of my rock settee hard; I feared I was getting mad, but why would I? I looked at girl with my jaws clenched. 'I'm not here to hear a fancy story. I want to know what place is this and what are those objects.'

The girl's far away face turned hard and voice was suddenly whipping. 'You want to know that only? Okay, I'll tell you. This place is Hogsmeade, a wizarding village. D'you know why no one lives here? Because there are no wizards to live. Muggles cannot stay here; it's protected against them. And everything here was destroyed.' Her voice started quivering with emotion now. 'Voldemort came here and destroyed everything.'

'Why?' I asked her. She seemed so serious about it - I didn't know whether to believe her or not.

'He wanted rule all over the world, wizarding and muggle alike. But wizards were stopping him from doing so. A number of wizards joined him but most were killed in the war and Voldemort by that time was too old to recruit people again. But he died too, of course. He died of old age.' She let out a derisive snort. 'Voldemort wanted to be immortal. But no one is immortal. Not even me. I will go away also.'

'Go where?'

'I don't know. But I can't stay long on this earth after I have got salvation.'

I looked at the girl - she seemed dead serious. 'What proof do you have that there's anything called magic?'

She let out a bark-like laugh. 'All these things you found here, do you think science or technology can ever make them? No, never. Wizards made them with magic. And check out Muggle - that means non-magical - newspapers of hundred years back. There were mysterious deaths. Deaths that no postmortem could comprehend. Because death by magic leaves nothing behind except for a healthy body, apart from the fact that it's lifeless.'

'Then why don't we people know about magic? About wizards and witches?'

'Because we hid ourselves. We didn't expose because many wizards hated Muggles and many Muggles hated wizards. We were a different world and we didn't want to get mixed up with the other sort.'

'So all are dead here?'

'Yes,'

'Then what about you?'

The girl smiled a painful smile. 'But you are not interested in anything else other than the reality, are you? I told you what you wanted to know.'

'I want to know about you.' These words just slipped out of my mouth before I realized it. But I agree, I wanted to know more.

'Then you have to listen to this story. A hidden story behind all the destruction, all devastation.'

'All right.'

The girl smiled again. 'Next to this village was a school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' I felt another twinge of belonging and gritted my teeth in annoyance. 'Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster and Harry Potter studied magic there. But this story is not about them. This is a love story. A story about two other students who studied there.

'It wasn't possible for them to love each other. The girl, Hermione Granger, had Muggle parents and wasn't very rich. The boy had wizarding parents and was very rich. And he hated that had anything to do with Muggles and that is why he hated Hermione. He was rude and unfeeling and Hermione hated him back. It didn't seem possible between them.'

I was staring into nothingness. The name Hermione Granger stirred something deep inside me. A pleasant feeling and a feeling of life, of hope and ... of love.

'The boy's father was helping Voldemort. And he wanted his son to accept the lordship of Voldemort too. But somewhere inside the super-callous image, the boy had a conscience. He refused. His father tortured him but the boy didn't comply. His father sent him threatening messages to the boy during school. And one day, Hermione came across such a letter.'

The story was music to my ears. It filled me with emotion and I felt wistful, as though I wanted to see everything happen in front of my eyes. I suddenly felt unattached to everything and anything. That was very strange.

'Hermione was a girl of hope and love,' the girl was saying. 'She wanted to help the boy, help him escape the evil, the pain, the slavery under Voldemort. But at first, hatred made the boy shake her off. He didn't listen to her. Days went by, he was more pressurized. And then he chose the only option he had: to turn to someone, anyone who could help him. So, he went to Hermione. She accepted him readily. She talked with Dumbledore and the boy's safety was ensured. His father couldn't reach him. The boy became friendly with Hermione. He started liking here, her ways, her attitude, her actions. He fell in love with her. Hermione started loving him back too.

'This angered the boy's father to no end and he was Voldemort's right hand man and therefore, one of the most powerful wizards ever seen. He lured his son out of school one-day and brought him here, to Hogsmeade in the dead of the night. Hermione in the school got worried when she found the boy gone and started looking for him. She followed his trail and came to Hogsmeade too.

'What she saw was one of the last things she ever did. Tied with ropes was the boy, wriggling like a worm on the ground hopelessly while his father knelt over him. The father had his wand pointed towards him and Hermione knew that he was going to kill the boy. She screamed and leapt in to help her love but - the man killed her. Just without a second thought, he killed her. And then, of course, he killed his own son.'

Tears were rolling down the girl's eyes and she was choking. She couldn't help herself. I looked at her, stunned at the story and her attitude towards it. I pulled out a handkerchief and leaned forward to offer it to her but she pulled back, alarmed and cried again: 'Don't come near me!'

I froze at that position, leaning forward when I looked deep into her ochroid-flecked eyes.

It was a dark night and the moon was out, bathing everything within its reach in argentous rays. A boy was tied with ropes and was on the ground. He had platinum blonde hair that shined brightly in the starry effulgence. Kneeling over him was a man with the same kind of hair. He was holding a wooden stick, which was pointed at the boy's thread.

'No! Leave him alone!'

The boy turned around. A girl was lurking in the shadows. He seemed to have recognized her voice.

'Hermione, go away. He'll kill you!'

'Yes, get lost, stupid girl. Don't make me kill you too,' the boy's father replied nastily.

'Leave him alone!' the girl cried again and was about to come out when -

'You Mudblood bitch ...

Avada Kedavra!'

A flash of green light shot out of the wooden stick and struck the girl at her abdomen. She fell down.

'Noooooooo! Father! What did you do?' the boy cried, writhing uselessly.

'What I'll do to you now, you traitor, worthless son.

Avada Kedavra!'

Another flash of blinding green light shot out and struck the boy in his face.

I saw this ghastly scene in her eyes and froze. Was it my imagination? But it seemed more of recalling a long forgotten memory. But how could it be? Nothing happened to me like that. I fell back on the rock, stunned and confused. The girl was sobbing silently.

'How do you know all this?' I asked her softly.

She looked at me for a moment that went on for ages. Her eyes didn't leave mine. 'I am Hermione Granger,' she said.

'You what?' I gasped.

'I am Hermione Granger.'

'But you told me that she's dead.'

'Yes, I died. Now I'm a spirit,' the girl said wistfully. 'I was haunting this place for a hundred years in one hope, which now is fulfilled. I can leave now.' She got up. 'You don't believe me, then search this place thoroughly. You'll find no one. But stay away from the Forbidden Forest. There are many dangerous animals there. And werewolves, yes.'

I was shocked yet I believed her, denying the voice in me that said: What nonsense!

The girl wiped her tears. 'I must go,' she said. 'And yes, one more thing. Do you want to know who was the boy?'

Mutely, I nodded.

'His name was Draco Malfoy.'

With a whoosh, Hermione Granger disappeared.

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