CHAPTER 1

Story Time

An unaccustomed, but welcome calm filled the lives of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny in the days following their trip to Australia to find and de-hex the Grangers. It had been an exciting, but trying time. They relished this long overdue chance to just kick back and relax.

The sound of someone appearing from apparition broke the silence inside The Burrow. It was Harry and Ron. They had been to Hogwarts watching the workers rebuilding the quidditch pitch.

Hermione had been sitting on the couch reading a book. She stood up to greet them as they walked through the door. She was staying there while her parents busied themselves reworking their house and dental office. The only other person in the house was Molly. She could be heard working in the kitchen.

"Hello, boys," she said, in a cheerful voice as she gave Ron a hug and kiss. "How are things at the school?"

"Great," answered Harry.

"Yeah. Really great," agreed Ron. "The quidditch pitch should be ready for school. The rest of the school is starting to look like Hogwarts again, too."

"What have you been doing?" inquired Harry, noticing the small book in her hand.

"Well, I was a little bored. So I…"

"…went to the library," interjected the boys with practiced precision.

"No," she retorted, feigning a scowl at their cheekiness that quickly dissolved into a smirky chuckle. "You'd have seen me, if I had been at Hogwarts."

Harry and Ron joined her chuckle, but could not help but notice a stack of new books on the table. She had apparently found somewhere else to shop for books.

"Actually, I went to Diagon Alley and rummaged around the back shelves of Flourish & Blott's. I found a few interesting things for some light reading, including this strange, little book," she said, noticing their looks at her newly acquired selections. "It is a really old collection of legends and tales. They remind me a little of Beedle the Bard."

The boys looked at the book, feigning interest, as she held it out to them. They secretly admired her bookish nature. She was the brains of their team. More than once they had mentioned that they could not believe she wound up in Gryffindor, instead of Ravenclaw. But, they all agreed that they were glad she did. Where would they have been, or be today, if she had not been sorted into Gryffindor?

The book looked truly ancient, like it was 'really' old, not just made to look old. Its title was Things Forgotten Things Lost by Fescue Mordelock.

"Most of the stories in this seem to take place back in the early days of Hogwarts," she said with a gleeful voice filled with the excitement of academic curiosity. "It must have been a truly fascinating time. But I find some of them most—uh—peculiar.

"Sure, fascinating," said Ron in a less than enthused tone. "What is so peculiar about a bunch of old stories?"

Harry elbowed Ron, knowing he had just queued up Hermione to possibly unleash a prodigious lecture upon them. Ron winced at the poke, and then realized what he had done.

Hermione opened the book and turned to a page near the end. "This story," she said, pointing to the page. "It is called The End of the Fifth House. I find this a particularly puzzling story.

Harry looked at Ron as she positioned the book so she could begin reading. "This is your fault," he whispered. Ron could only moan in response. He was all too aware of that fact.

"There once wast a village named Bleakmoor," she began, as Harry and Ron accepted their fate. "It satteth far out next to the river dividing the Good Forest, which wast full of game and excellent fishing, from the darker, less hospitable Dark Forest that wast scant of game and hath said to beest home to dangerous creatures...

…[To the south was a vast tract of uninhabited moor running as far as the eye could see. It was a typically barren, inhospitable expanse pockmarked with the occasional small pond or copse of trees. It was this land that lent itself to the name of the village. Other than Bleakmoor, the only other visible sign of civilization was an ancient, ruined castle sitting high on a distant hill past a large lake known for its frequent storms, treacherous currents and below average fishing.

The residents of Bleakmoor were a peaceful, humble people of simple means who got by on what they could grow from the surrounding land and take from the streams and woods.

Being as it was a small community, death did not often visit there. However, one day an elder member of the village passed away from a lingering illness. Since the village did not have a church or priest, a makeshift funeral was held with most of the village in attendance.

Following the service, a small procession made up of family members left to escort the body up an old road out of town to their remote cemetery. None of them ever returned from the trip.

The next day a group of men from the town walked out to the cemetery in search of their missing neighbors. Nothing, no evidence of them was anywhere to be found. No casket. No fresh grave. It was as if they had been whisked away from the world by a mystical, magic hand.

When they returned and told the rest of the village, everyone was frightened. Nothing like this had ever occurred in the past. They all feared some kind of evil had taken them.

Although the villagers did not know it, a wizard named Dwarkan Mynoss lived among them. He was considered the wisest member of the community and the de facto leader. He was skilled in the healing arts, potion making and the writing of spells. He was capable of handling most problems while still being very careful to protect his magical identity from the villagers. He prevailed upon the community to remain strong. An explanation would be found. However, for now, calm must be maintained.

Time passed and an explanation was never found, but the community slowly returned to normal. By the time death once again visited Bleakmoor, the previous incident was a distant memory. However, following the funeral, the group taking the body to the cemetery disappeared just like the previous group.

The community was beside itself. What type of evil was upon them? They were all living in great fear. Even the normally staid Dwarkan was concerned. It took all of his power and wisdom to hold the village together.

Calm eventually returned once again. Other than the disappearances of the two funeral parties, no other evil visited itself upon them. The weather was favorable and their harvests were good. The fish and game were plentiful. They had plenty for which to be thankful.

The following spring another death befell the village. A great fear gripped it as members of the deceased individual's family prepared to bury him. It was decided that a group of men led by Dwarken would follow the mourners at a distance to watch over them as they made their way to the cemetery.

The family made its way out of the village and up the road toward the cemetery. Their protectors, armed with axes, rakes and pitchforks followed along behind. Everything went along quietly until they came to the skeletal remains of a long-abandoned house. It was rumored to have been the home of an evil, old woman. Some claimed she was a witch.

A dark cloud eclipsed the sun and strange sounds, like wailing voices, emanated from the direction of the house. Everyone stopped in their tracks. The voices grew louder and louder.

After a moment the mourner started to try and turn to escape back to the village. However, their feet seemed stuck to the ground. The protectors started trying to move to their aid, but an invisible force was preventing them from moving forward.

Dwarkan started to raise his wand, preparing to cast a spell. Then there was a dark flash and the mourners disappeared, coffin and all. The force holding back the men was released. All of them, including Dwarkan fled back to the village.

The following day the people of the village made a decision. This road was to never again be used for trips to the cemetery. Many felt it should not be used for any reason whatsoever.

Several years passed without serious incident as the villagers used a longer, looping route to make their way to the cemetery. Those who did choose to chance the road passed the house in order to travel elsewhere frequently reported seeing eerie, emaciated faces staring at them as they passed the dilapidated house. Some claimed to have heard voices calling to them, asking for help. However, no more disappearances occurred. The peace of the village held fast.

Then came a day that the entire village dreaded. Dwarkan Mynoss, by now a very elderly man, even by wizarding standards, fell ill. He was certain he would soon die.

It was his final wish to be buried along with his writings in the old cemetery. That seemed to be a very reasonable request. But it also stipulated that his remains were to be taken there using the old road. This caused a lot of angst among the villagers.

When the day came and Dwarkan died, the villagers said their goodbyes to him at a funeral service in the town square. Every member of the village was present. Many stories were told of his wisdom and help in healing illnesses and solving problems. He would be greatly missed.

Because of the great respect they had for him they decided after a long discussion to honor his request. With great fear and trepidations, a group of the bravest villagers hoisted his casket and started up the road toward the cemetery. They bolstered their spirits singing hymns as they made their way.

After a while, they came to the site of the old house. At first, everything seemed fine as they walked past it. Maybe the evil had finally left it. Then came a thunder-like clap and a darkness fell over them. They tried to drop the casket and flee, but some invisible force was holding them in their places.

Strange voices began to emanate from the house. Faces looking more like masks with pained, tortured expressions than real people were calling through the broken windows for them to join them. Everyone was certain death was upon them.

Then the top flew off from the casket and Dwarkan's corpse sat straight up with his writings and wand in his hand. He looked to the house and hollered in a voice louder than the sounds coming from the house. "In the names of Hester, David, Morton, John, Ethel, Frederick, James, Elwood, Dermont and Sarah Hemslow, I command you, 'Igitur et Dimiserunt!'

The house rattled and shook. It appeared to sink partway into the ground. The wailing of the voices changed from calls to come to them into screams of agony.

Dwarkan again yelled, waving his wand and papers. "In the names of Anna, Marybeth, Henry, Charles, Alfred, George, Marion, Matthew and Albert Curlew, I command you 'Igitur et Dimiserunt!'"

The wails from the house grew louder as it shook, pieces of the roof and chimney toppling into it. The whole of it sunk further into the ground.

Dwarken yelled yet a third time as he waved his wand. "In the names of Ronald, Linden, Charles, Elizabeth, Lizzie, Mary, Mark, Peter, Michael, Beth and Martin Woodley, I command you 'Igitur et Dimiserunt!'"

The screams became deafening as the house continued to sink as it collapsed. The darkness in the sky turned red.

"Fuga Daemonum!" shouted Dwarken as the house continued sinking into a now flaming hole in the ground.

"Ad Infernum!"]…

…The house completely did sink into the grind. Hundreds of streaks of white lighteth did shoot upward from it into sky and out of sight. As the flames died and the hole sealed itself, Dwarkan did lay backeth down in his casket and the top returned to sealeth it. And thus cameth the final ende of the fifth house of the school."