Means to an End

"Now, if you will turn your attention to this next image..."

The enlarged picture shimmered and changed at the front of the lecture hall. It showed a geographical map, a very battered copy at least, and many of the listeners seemed impressed with its condition.

"This map of Scotland dates back to around the year A.D. 2000, three years after the end of what seems to be a great upheaval in wizarding society. One may also note the year as the start of modern historical documentation, after said three year period. While we are still unsure of the real reason behind wizarding England's closed-mouth approach, and why the rest of the world refuses to acknowledge more than a sneeze from that area, we are certain that something rather catastrophic happened which disrupted the economical and social climate.

"It is to be assumed, from the earliest records we have, that this unrest began with a mysterious disappearance of several hundred children and young adults, all enrolled students of one school. None of the writers alludes to a possible reason for the disappearance, simply that it occurred, and the wizarding world literally had to start all over again; it is also to be noted that from this time period to our present society, young wizards and witches have never entered a formal wizarding school, and no movement has been made to create one. Judging from population records dated 1996 the wizarding world had less than half its numbers in the year 2003. You may be asking the question: what does this have to do with a map?"

The speaker paused and turned to give the slide a serious glance. "All my research up to this day has led me to believe that a great wizarding school, located somewhere in Scotland, once produced some of the greatest wizards and witches in all Europe. What little historical records we have from before the catastrophe all mention a large castle, called Hogwarts, where children from ages 11 to 17 went to learn magic; no records from the year 2000 onward mention the school at all.

"My question to you, ladies and gentlemen, is this: what happened to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, called the greatest out of all magical schools, that our ancestors preferred to forget what had to have been an enormous part of their lives?"

A great murmuring broke out among the listeners. One deep voice called out from the dark lecture hall.

"What exactly do you propose to do with this question, Doctor?" the man said, a mocking tone creeping into his voice. "If, as you say, the entire student population disappeared along with the school, what end could finding this castle create for us? Surely you don't wish us to fund an expedition to dig up the corpses of children?"

The lecturer turned back to face the crowd. "As archaeologists, we dig up skeletons of children any time a shovel is pushed into the ground," he stated calmly. "Think of the horrors experienced by the populations of Pompeii and Herculaneum. There was a skeleton of a young girl found in the former city, clutching the skeleton of a baby. These sorts of things, while relevant to discovering how these people lived and how they died, are no more relevant to the discovery of the cities themselves.

"While the skeletons of the students might be found, should we find the great castle, they will only offer a limited amount of information, provided they have not crumbled to dust already. The bigger find, however, is what the historian Christian Bones describes as a vast library--a copy of every book of magical spells and history ever written was supposedly housed at Hogwarts. Think of the magnitude of information about our past could be revealed to us!"

The man who had voiced his question shook his head. The murmuring started up again, and little by little the crowd inside the hall thinned till there was one woman left.

Dr. Morgan Finnegan sighed heartily. People today just aren't concerned with the information, he thought miserably. Every time I bring this subject up, the part about the children lost erects a wall between me and possible patronage!

"Dr. Finnegan?"

It was the woman, three rows from the back of the hall. Morgan glanced at her with curiously.

She smiled. "I enjoyed this lecture immensely, doctor. A Finnegan, eh? That's certainly a surname from the old days."

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry--Ginevra Weasley, pleased to meet you at last."

Morgan started and dropped several of his files on his feet. Ginevra Weasley? The heir to the richest fortune Gringotts had ever housed? Perhaps his luck was changing...he sized her up for a moment.

Miss Weasley was fairly tall (perhaps five feet, eight inches) and had warm brown eyes and long, flowing auburn hair. Underneath the smattering of freckles was found fair, clear skin, and her face held a gentle curve which (he imagined) could light up any room (if the lecture hall was any indication).

Recent newspaper articles placed her in her early thirties, perhaps Morgan's own age at most (he'd just turned 31).

"I'm glad you liked it," he said cordially, nodding at her. "Apparently, you're the only one."

"I have a vested interest in your research on Hogwarts, Dr. Finnegan," Miss Weasley answered in a business-like tone. "You're not the only one with family possibly buried with the ancient stones."

"Stones which, according to Bones, could not be taken apart, the magic being too deep within them," the archaeologist replied. "If there's nothing else, Miss Weasley, I have some explaining to do to my superior, who no doubt has heard of my failure to extract more financial support."

Miss Weasley waved her hand. "Money given to Dr. Lee would've been wasted on superfluous 'further research into the matter'. I'm here, Dr. Finnegan, to fund you and your efforts to discover Hogwarts' final resting place."

Morgan's jaw dropped. "Miss Weasley," he began after finding his voice again. "You do realize that Hogwarts was an Unplottable building? That the only reason we know it was even in Scotland was because of the abandoned village of Hogsmeade where most of the earliest records were found?"

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that fact. And I also know you're about to raise objections about my slur on Dr. Lee's archaeological methods. To put it bluntly, I don't trust your project leader with something as monumental as this."

"Miss Weasley, I..."

The woman set a glare on him that could have melted titanium. "If you don't want your own dig, then I suppose I should..."

"No!" Morgan's mind threat-assessed the situation. "Just...let me get this straight. You want me, a relatively new face in wizarding archaeology, to search for Hogwarts without a senior archaeologist to make sure I'm going about it correctly? Miss Weasley, this is unheard of."

"To put it lightly, Dr. Finnegan, yes, it is," she replied with a smile. "Like I mentioned before, Hogwarts holds more than historical value for you and me; there's a possibility of finding out what happened to our relatives.

"Besides, I'd much rather share my family library with someone who won't blab about it to the highest bidder."

Morgan blinked. "Library?"

"Yes, my family has an extensive library. Judging from our family records, we wouldn't have been known for such a thing five centuries ago, but just as our wealth has increased, so has our appreciation for old things." Miss Weasley smiled. "Did you know that Ireland won the Quidditch World Cup in 1994, even though the Bulgarian Seeker caught the Snitch?"

Snitch? Quidditch? What the hell is she...oh. My. God. Morgan cleared his throat, trying to suppress the lump forming at its base.

"Did you say 1994?!"

"Did I mention my family secretly kept records and books from pre-Upheaval? Oh, how silly of me!"

Years later, Morgan would admit to having signed on to Miss Weasley's certain-suicide-exploit simply to examine the texts she claimed her family had stored.

During supper that first evening, Miss Weasley told Morgan about her direct ancestor, Bill Weasley, who had been a member of an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. Out of seven siblings, Bill was the oldest and the only one to survive a great event known simply as the 'Second War'; Charlie and Percy had been killed in a bloody battle in 1996, while the twins, Fred and George, died in November of 1997. There had been a younger brother, Ron (for whom Bill's eldest child was named), and an only sister, Ginevra (for whom Miss Weasley herself was named); both teenagers had been within Hogwarts when the castle disappeared.

Morgan found that Miss Weasley was extremely well-versed in her family history and knew that particular section of the library like the back of her hand.

"Are there any journals left from the time before 1997?" he inquired over dessert, his mind still reeling from the incredible tale his hostess had been spinning. Miss Weasley shook her head.

"The Weasley men from that time period were not exactly thinkers, Dr. Finnegan," she explained. "Bill was a curse-breaker; Charlie became a dragon-handler. Percy had disowned himself in 1995, due to some terrible misunderstandings between the Minister of Magic and Albus Dumbledore."

"Who was that last one?"

"Only the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had," intoned Miss Weasley reverently. "He tried to convince the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, of the danger Lord Voldemort's rebirth presented, but Fudge thought Dumbledore and Harry Potter were crackpots..."

Morgan flashed his hands. "Whoa, time-out, Miss Weasley..."

"Please, call me Hermi."

"Excuse me?"

She laughed. "My middle name, Hermione. Ginevra becomes confusing when you have a mysteriously missing ancestor to debate about at home."

"Right--call me Morgan. Now, who exactly are you talking about? I mean, who exactly were Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter?"

Hermi's graceful features saddened minutely. "Lord Voldemort was the foulest wizard to walk this earth," she stated. "Many wizards and Muggles alike were killed and tortured at his whim. He commanded a force known as the Death Eaters and was so feared, no one spoke his name."

"Then how did they talk about him?"

"Everyone except his followers referred to him as 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'."

Morgan chuckled. "That must've gotten confusing after a while."

"It's no laughing matter, Morgan," Hermi replied. "The terror even those titles inspired in people during the late 1970s...oh, you have no idea. You could trust no one; families and friends were torn apart by death and betrayal...but on Halloween of 1981, Lord Voldemort visited the house of James and Lily Potter. He murdered them both and moved to bestow the same killing curse on their 15-month old son, Harry. The curse, however, rebounded on the baby, effectively tearing Voldemort's soul from his body; and a mere scar was left on Harry's forehead.

"Now we skip past several years, and it is June of 1995. Voldemort reclaims a mortal body, using the unwillingly-given blood of his marked equal, a fourteen-year-old Harry. The following summer, Dumbledore reveals something to the boy which shatters his world: that neither Harry nor Voldemort can die while the other still lives. You see, a fifteen-year-old now realizes that it's either him or the bad guy--there's a possibility he won't be able to save the world again, a possibility his dreams and ambitions are a waste of time."

Morgan was spell-bound by Hermi's narrative.

"This boy becomes desperate--there are so many expectations of him. The entire wizarding world hinges on his victory or defeat. So he trains, and studies, and slowly loses his sanity along with his sense of pure right and pure wrong.

"Sometime during the end of his seventh year, Voldemort attacked Hogwarts. That very morning, the castle which had stood for centuries prior to this invasion vanishes, along with all its students, most of the faculty, its slightly insane Savior and the Dark Lord.

"Now, can you sit there and tell me you simply want the 'wealth of information' Hogwarts housed?"

Morgan could not.

"Be ready by Friday, Morgan. My people will gather a team of assistants for you, and all the necessary equipment. We will Portkey to the excavated site of Hogsmeade at 7:30 AM. Do not inform Dr. Lee or any other archaeologist we have not approved."

Hermi smiled again, cheerfulness filling her face at the sight of his stupor. "Don't worry about your pay check, either. Everything will be taken care of. Would you like me to call my driver for you? It's only midnight, he won't mind."

End Chapter One