Chapter 1: Magic is real
Magic is a term that many scoff at. Turn their nose up or scrunch their eyebrows.
"Magic? Pish posh, that's a children's word," they might say.
But the fact is, and always has been, that magic is real. Walking amongst us are wizards, and witches and all sorts of magical creatures. There have been wizarding wars, feuds and some arguments that have reached the level of catastrophic. All of this unbeknownst to the regular people. The "Muggles" as they affectionately call us. This simply means they can't perform magic, and are sadly unaware of how wonderful and mystical their world truly is.
Instead we have jobs, ride buses, and scurry about our lives ignoring the signs around them. Well, you can't teach an old dog new tricks, and a Muggle wouldn't believe in magic if it carried them off to Egypt and dropped them on the pyramids. For now.
This doesn't take away from the fact that magic exists, and that those who use it exist as well.
I have researched the origin of magic, and have been laughed out of every major scientific facility in the country. One could say that magic has completely ruined my career, and ended my marriage. But little does it matter, because I have always been invested in finding the truth.
This all started ten years ago, I was on a business trip outside of Surrey, England when the most fantastical things happened. I saw lights flaring in the sky and men and women flying on broomsticks. Bolts of energy bursts from their "wands' and in a moment they were gone.
Over the next ten years I spent all my time trying to prove this was real, that I hadn't simply had a few too many pints as people would say. But my time wasn't wasted, because I found an old book placed on a dusty shelf in London.
A History of Magic, it was called and has been the boon of my research. It talked about the broomsticks, wands those wizards were carrying and a fantastical history we knew nothing about!
But I get ahead of myself, that is why I am writing you, you remain a constant and polarizing name in paranormal science, and we share a past of professional ridicule. I am prepared to share my knowledge with you, if you are prepared to listen. I have a correspondent (Who will remain unnamed) who is, in fact, a wizard. They and I will be willing to meet with you and give a demonstration and we could start redeeming our careers.
Imagine the looks on their faces when we return to the limelight, with magic behind us we could accomplish anything,
Please respond in due time,
-Marcus Fawe
This letter sat in a dusty old room, empty except for a concerned man wearing old long cloaks, accompanied by a small black cat.
"Have you read this, head mistress?" The man asked.
The cat nodded its head solemnly, but said nothing. The silence in the room was palpable, and their silence made an already dark and dreary room almost unbearable.
It was past night fall, on the outskirts of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The two wizards sitting in the room was an animagi named Minerva McGonagall and quiet wizard by the name of Neville Longbottom.
The talk of the letter had been the only words they had exchanged on the quiet walk to the cabin behind the school grounds. Minerva McGonagall was the headmistress of Hogwarts, an already intimidating factor for Neville. The fact that a talking black cat had pulled him out of his office and claimed to be the Headmistress had surprised him almost as much as the fact she had needed his help. Minerva had stayed in feline form for their entire walk down the corridors of Hogwarts and outside towards the old shack they were sitting in.
Neville was a small man, in his early thirties who always had been known as meek, or incompetent. He had been spending his entire life trying to prove these people wrong, that he was worth something and could be trusted. There were those that suggested he had more than proved his merit, but he always felt that he could do a little more. Being asked by the headmistress to help with something, while surprising, was a good opportunity to prove his worth once again. As his hand reached for the letter resting on the night stand, a voice spoke up from the corner,
"That letter was intercepted by owl post yesterday morning."
He quickly turned around to see McGonagall once again in her human form. Her skin was aged and wrinkled, and the permanent frown that had scared him as a child was still rested comfortably above her pointed chin. She had been serving as headmistress of Hogwarts ever since Voldemort's defeat over fifteen years ago. While the stress of the job seemed to age her considerably, Neville believed she had grown in power over the years. The secrets that must have been given to her from the writings of previous headmasters and mistresses seemed to make her even more of a powerful witch than she was when young Neville attended the school himself all those years ago.
"Did you say owl post? What's a Muggle using owls with their mail anyhow?" Neville asked.
McGonagall frowned, "Exactly. This Marcus Fawe is quite a concern for us, especially if he has aligned himself with a wizard. He means to 'expose the world to our magic."
"An unnamed wizard at that," muttered Neville, "why not use a Confundus charm, or a memory charm or at least something of that nature?"
"We would, but it is clear that the wizard he has aligned himself with is more powerful than we had planned. Marcus Fawe has simply disappeared, but his letters continue. It would be wise to assume that this wasn't the only letter he sent to his friend," McGonagall said.
Neville thought for a moment about the repercussions of a Muggle widely releasing evidence of magic. It seemed implausible, almost to the point where he couldn't imagine an outcome where the Muggles knew of the Wizarding world.
"Is this why you brought me here? To look at Marcus Fawe's letter?" Neville asked.
"No, though it is of some concern. You will see shortly why I asked for your help. I think it better if I don't explain until Hagrid returns," McGonagall replied.
Neville lowered his head and started staring at the dusty floorboards of Hagrids shack. Hagrid was a professor at Hogwarts, and had been even be so when Neville was attending the school. He was an unconventional sort and his shack was no different. It had an odd sort of smell to it that he'd rather not try to guess. Pots and pans littered the kitchen counters and a firm layer of dust edged the tops of the bookshelves and tables.
He didn't have long to wait, as he heard the heavy panting of a dog in the distance and the hoarse shouts of Hagrid,
"Easy there Fang, yeh're rip'n my arm off, " Hagrid shouted outside the door.
He burst in the door, and for moment Neville forgot how large he was. He took up the entire doorframe, and his beard and hair had grown since Neville had last seen him. He wore the same old dirty cloaks and mud tracked boots, but the soft and caring eyes still stared back at him.
"Neville? What're you doin' here? Thought you was workin' with Harry down at the Auror's office," he said with a broad grin.
"Um- I resigned last year. Actually, I was just hired as the new Herbology professor," Neville said. Fang, meanwhile, had leapt into Neville's lap attempting to lick his face with pure adoration.
"Down Fang! Well, I'm glad fer yeh, 'specially now," Hagrid said.
"Now? How do you mean?" Neville asked.
"Alright Hagrid, let's just show him," McGonagall said, motioning to the door.
"A'right, I jus spoke to the centaurs, they're gonna let us inter the forest fer now, seein' as what's happened,"
Hagrid led them out of the shack, and toward the forest that had haunted Neville growing up. Even now he felt the strongest reproach upon entering the forest. A forest that had once held Voldemort and his Death Eaters, home to giant spiders and other beasts of unnatural size. Its trees hung menacingly low as if their branches were reaching out for them. The moon was high but it disappeared behind the dark foliage around them.
Neville decided to keep his questions to himself, seeing as asking questions so far had done him little good. He had concerns about coming back to Hogwarts to teach, after all Hogwarts was a place that seemed to attract danger. It couldn't be worst than his years as an Auror, whatever this problem was now.
"Fer what it's worth, I'm glad yer back at Hogwarts, Neville. I find meself missin' the old kids," Hagrid said, as if he had heard Neville's own thoughts.
Neville mumbled a quick thanks, but kept quiet. He was glad that Hagrid had missed him, but he could sense that mostly Hagrid was referring to his favorite trio. Hermione, Ron and of course Harry Potter. All were very good friends of Neville, but he had never felt that he could ever compete with any of them.
"How much farther is it, Hagrid?" McGonagall asked.
"Not too much left, miss. Jus a little bit further," Hagrid replied.
So the three of them continued to walk through the dark forest, the only light they had was shining from the tips of their wands. The light of his wand cast a shadow on McGonagall's face, and Neville thought she looked older than he had ever noticed. Older and scared. The look of fright on her face was soon echoed by his own. Whatever it was, if it was enough to scare McGonagall, it was enough to worry Neville as well.
"Here it is, miss. Jus the same as yeh left it," Hagrid said with a sigh.
Ahead of them, a small fire had engulfed a dead tree. Curious, Neville approached the fire, and a strange sense came over him. An overwhelming feeling of darkness and dread blanketed him as he realized what the fire was.
"Is that what I think it is?" he gulped.
McGonagall nodded, "The symbol of Grindelwald."
Before them, hanging from the tree was a flaming symbol. It hung like a noose from one of the branches but kept its form even as the fire licked and curled the shape that was clear to all them. It was a symbol that they had been taught to fear, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.
"But-why is it here? Grindelwald was killed by Voldemort years ago!" stuttered Neville.
"Indeed," McGonagall said, "so you can understand our concern."
"But why did you bring me?" asked Neville, "I'm no expert on Grindelwald."
McGonagall face was expressionless now, a solemn change from the fear that had overtaken her before.
"Tell me, do you recognize the tree that the fire had engulfed?" She asked.
Neville shook his head, and realized how strange this was. He was more than a qualified Herbology expert, and was more than aptly aware of all the indigenous trees that grew in the area.
"I've never seen that kind before, why doesn't the bark burn? How does the form hold?" he asked.
"No matter what magic we use; no spells or charms have stopped the flame. The tree doesn't burn, and the symbol of Grindelwald keeps its form," McGonagall said.
It was more than ominous, seeing the flaming symbol of Grindelwald hanging from the tree branch. All of them were silent, as they watched it burn in the night.
"Seeing as Professor Sprout has retired, you, Mr. Longbottom, are our Herbology expert. You will be working with our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor every night to study this tree and the magic around it. You are not to parlay this information to anyone other than the two of us and Ms. Amari," McGonagall ordered.
"Ms. Amari?" asked Neville.
"Lina Amari, our newly appointed Defense against the Dark Arts professor. She will be riding in by carriage tomorrow afternoon," McGonagall explained.
Neville nodded and turned his attention back to the tree. So little of this made sense, and an overwhelming dread was burning in his stomach. His life as an Auror had been dangerously exciting, he hadn't prepared for the same world as a Herbology professor.
Little did he know, that on the other side of the earth, in a small town in Maine, events were in form that would shape the destinies of not only Neville Longbottom, but entirety of magic itself.
