The Lost Tales of Beedle the Bard Collection

by Tuzilla

Nine previously unknown tales written by the master were recently found and translated into a collection. Being slightly more adult than the originals, it is thought they were not deemed suitable for publication back in the day. Enjoy.

Forward

Beedle the Bard was a well-known 15th Century writer of wizarding tales. He hailed from the area of Yorkshire, England. Originally written in ancient runes, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, has been translated into new versions of English several times. The Modern English version is a standard in wizarding household to this very day.

Until recently, the book was believed to be Beedle's only written collection of tales. However, in August of 2014, a collection of stories written in runes was discovered in the cellar of a monastery in northern Yorkshire. After careful study, this collection of nine previously unknown stories was certified as having been written by the hand of Beedle.

Following the certification, a team of scholars headed by Hogwarts Professor of Ancient Runes Bathsheda Babbling and one of her favorite students, Hermione Granger, was assembled to decipher and translate the runic tales. After over two years of work, they have been successfully rewritten in modern English for today's reader.

One thing that struck the translators during their work is the fact that some of the tales in the collection seem to have originated in places far from 15th Century England. Haika and the Cursed Moonstone comes from Morocco. Sangu & Catina comes from somewhere in Eastern Europe, perhaps modern day Romania. Notes by Beedle at the end of the collection mention him taking a trip around the Mediterranean in 1434 where he met many of his fellow storytellers. This trip probably accounts for many of these tales.

It was also noted by the translators that the stories in this collection tend to be more adult than the ones in his more famous collection. It has been suggested that this fact is responsible for these tales not being distributed with the others back in the day.

So, sit back and enjoy these newly translated works by Beedle and our team of dedicated translators. Enjoy!

— Udar Priggett

Haika and the Cursed Moonstone

There once was a young witchnamed Haika who lived in a small, rural village outside of Tangier, Morocco. Her skills at potion making and other magic provided her a position of prominence with the muggles of the area. They came to her with their problems, being them health-related or just about anything else. She was always invited to social affairs and meals at the homes of the many families of the area. None of them suspected her of being a witch.

Despite all of her fame and popularity, she was quietly unhappy. Never in her life had she known or experienced love. None of the men of the village came to call on her. She yearned for a husband with whom she could feel the fulfillment of marriage and children.

As the years passed, she became more and more desperate for that which she did not have. She found herself wanting the attention of a young man named Yusef. He was a handsome, young man who tended a flock of sheep, selling woolen goods, yarn and cheese made from ewe's milk in the market

Drawing on her skills at potion making, she began to gather the ingredients necessary to brew a love potion. She ground a pearl she had been saving into dust. She gathered peppermint from her garden and refined its oil. She also cut some of her garden roses and carefully removed the needed thorns. Casting the incendio charm at a fallen branch in her yard, she left the fire to burn until it went out. Shortly thereafter, she gathered some ashwinder eggs.

Getting the final ingredient, a moonstone, was a bit more difficult. She finally located a possible source from an unsavory shop in a back alley of the Kasbah in Tangiers. She did not like dealing with the people in the shops of this alley. The shops were filled with dark magical sorts. However, she was desperate and this seemed her only option.

The shop sat at the dead end of the alley. The sign over the entrance said Curiosities from Afar. In place of a door was a woven drape that looked to be Chinese.

The shop was lit by a pair of oil lamps that barely provided enough light to navigate the shelves laden with everything from monkey hands to crystals to shrunken heads. It smelled like no place she had ever experienced in the past.

"What brings you here?" asked a withered man in a light blue djellaba and red fez. He had black eyes, a long scraggly beard and hair, and a huge, gnarled nose.

"I am in need of a moonstone gathered from under a full moon," said Haika

"A moonstone gathered under a full moon, you say," replied the shopkeeper in a worn out voice. "That is an uncommon request. What would a young woman such as you want with a moonstone like that?"

"You needn't bother yourself with my reasons. The business is my own," answered Haifa in a curt voice.

"Very well," said the shopkeeper with a bit of a frown from her sharp tone. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a box. From the box, he pulled a beautifully polished, milky stone. "I have this very special one gathered under a full spring moon just this year. I can sell it to you for five-hundred dirham.

"Five hundred!" exclaimed Haifa. "Surely it cannot be worth more than two-hundred."

"Two-hundred," said the shopkeeper like he had been insulted. "I can go four-fifty. Not a dirham less."

"Two-fifty," shot back Haifa. "I only want to buy the stone, not the whole shop."

"Four-hundred," he replied. "I can go no lower."

"Three-hundred. That is my final offer," responded Haifa.

"That is your final offer? I will not sell this stone for so little. For three-hundred I can only sell you this stone," said the shopkeeper in a less than friendly tone as he pulled a second moonstone out of the box.

The new stone seemed equal in size to the other. The only difference was it seemed to have a slightly redder tint to it. After a moment of thought, she gave the shopkeeper three-hundred dirham for the second stone.

She put the stone in her pocket and left the shop for the journey home. She had no idea the stone she had purchased bore a curse. For it had been found under a blood moon. If she had known this, she would have never bought it. It would not work in the ways of a regular moonstone. It had the potential to behave in very unpredictable ways.

Once she returned home, she started brewing the potion with the addition of a few of her hairs in her aged cauldron. After adding the final ingredient, the cursed moonstone, she stirred it until steam began spiraling upward. She could smell her mother's kitchen, the woods and stream near her childhood home, and the saffron crocuses of the surrounding fields. The potion was ready.

She bottled the mother-of-pearl colored potion and concocted a plan to slip some of it to Yusef at the next village gathering. She would bring him a cup of tea laced with the potion. Once he had drunk it, she would be there for him. It was foolproof. What could go wrong?

The village gathered to celebrate the collection of saffron from their fields of crocuses a few weeks later. It was the major source of income for most of the residents. Everyone was there, including Yusef. Haika brought her potion with plans to gather him.

After the villagers had feasted, they began telling stories, singing and dancing. Haika prepared two cups of spearmint tea, one of them dosed with her potion. She presented the dosed cup to Yusef. He thanked her as he took a sip.

Within seconds he was ensnared. He found himself hopelessly infatuated with Haika. She was surely the love of his life. They spent the rest of the evening talking like lovers in the shadows of the festivity.

They began planning their marriage the next day over cups of spearmint tea. A dose of love potion was strong enough to hold him for at least a day. Her supply should last a few months. By then, they would be married and she would have had time to restock her supply.

Everything went well for three days. Then there was a knock on the door. It was a young lady from the village named Aziza. She was very upset and began screaming at Yusef. Unknown to Haika, Yusef and Aziza had been engaged in a secret love affair for over a year. They had been planning to run off and get married because their families did not approve of them being together.

Aziza cried and screamed and flailed at Yusef. Yusef, still under the effects of the love potion, acted confused and was unresponsive to her distress. Finally, in an act of desperation, Aziza pulled a koummya from under her robe and plunged it into her breast.

Her hand pulled the blade from her breast as she collapsed against Yusef. Blood erupted from her severed aorta and splattered him. It burned him like devil's fire. He cried out in pain, the effects of the potion suddenly leaving him.

Yusef knelt down beside Aziza as his mind continued to clear. As he picked up the koummya, his memories poured back into him and he realized all that had happened even though he did not understand why.

Yusef stood up and turned to Haika. She was unaware that her potion had lost its effect over him. In her mind, she was certain that he was completely hers. She extended her arms, ready to accept his love.

Raising the bloody blade, Yusef thrust the blade into his heart. He fell into her arms. His blood and the blood of Aziza on his robe burned into Haifa's skin like she was being doused with boiling oil.

Haifa fell screaming onto the floor. The blood of Yusef and Aziza acted like acid, eating away at her until her skin was gone. Then it ate her flesh, entrails and finally her bones. When the villagers finally found the scene a couple of days later, all they found were the dead bodies of Aziza and Yusef. Nothing was left of Haika except for her bloodstained clothes.

The End

Desperate Changes

There once was a young wizard named Marcach O'Brynne. He was quickly noted as gifted at Transfiguration during his first year of school. He mastered all of the rudimental spells in short order, moving onto more technical spells while his peers were still struggling with the basics.

By his third year, he became fascinated with learning to become an animagi. This was a difficult feat accomplished by only a few. It would take him quite some time before he found success.

Marcach had found a book detailing how to become an animagi during a secret visit to the Restricted Section of the school library. After reading the details, he began the process. It promised to be tedious and trying, but he deemed it worthwhile.

First, he plucked a large mandrake leaf from a plant in the greenhouse. He would have to keep it in his mouth for one month. If it came out or he swallowed it, then he would have to start over. This would prove very difficult when trying to eat, talk or sleep.

As the days passed, he gathered a sizable quantity of fresh dew that had never seen sunlight or been trod upon. He stashed it away in his trunk to keep it safe from light or tampering. He also gathered the other necessary ingredients.

After what seemed forever, the month passed. The next night was the full moon, part of the next step. Once darkness had fallen, he took his container of dew and went out in the moonlight. He spat out his now disgusting mandrake leaf into a crystal phial and let it rest in the rays of moonlight. To the phial, he added a few of his hairs, a silver teaspoon of the dew, a chrysalis from a Death-head Moth. His potion was now complete. He now needed to store it out of the light until a day promising a lightning storm.

At sunrise and sunset of each day from now on, he needed to place the tip of his wand over his heart and said 'Amato Animo Animato Animagus'. He now needed to do this until the arrival of a storm. This could take days, weeks, even months.

School ended two days later and he returned home to Dublin. On occasion, he thought he could feel a second heartbeat when saying the spell. A week went by, then it was July. He guarded his supply until a day when clouds filled the sky.

He was excited when he saw lightning in the distance. All he needed was for it to come closer. One good stroke of lightning would activate the spell and he would be transformed in his animagus form. He hoped it would be something cool.

As the storm came closer he opened the chest where the phial of potion had laid undisturbed since its making. He pulled it out, seeing a blood red liquid inside. He was hoping he had done everything correctly. He thought this was going to be it as he went outside and into the trees behind his house.

He placed his wand over his heart and repeated the spell, Amato Animo Animato Animagus and downed the potion. He felt a pain like he had swallow fire. His heartbeat doubled. A vision of a buckskin stallion filled his mind.

Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash and a resounding clap of thunder. Marcach felt a strange sensation course through his body. He looked down to see that he had long equine legs and hooves. He had changed into the buckskin stallion with a black and tail from his vision. He was delighted.

He spent the rest of the summer learning to walk, run and act like a horse. He was surprised by the amount of time he felt compelled to graze. By the time he returned to school, he could act and behave like a very convincing stallion. He could change from horse to human by visualizing the one he wanted to become.

Marcach was paired with a girl named Phaedra Santee in Transfiguration. She was a beautiful, Ravenclaw girl with dark chocolate brown skin, black eyes and long, braided, black hair. He found her undeniably fascinating.

Over the course of the year, Marcach made several attempts, albeit awkward ones, to get Phaedra to go out on a date with him. They became friends, sharing an occasional butterbeer or dance, but his efforts never managed to score an actual date.

More time passed and his passion for her grew. He finally came up with a plan to win her using his transfiguration skills.

Marcach developed a spell Femina et Equus. If it worked properly, it would change Phaedra into a horse. He just needed to find a way to get her alone where he could use the spell unseen by others.

He decided to use schoolwork as a cover. After dinner one evening he convinced her to go down by the lake for some transfiguration practice.

Marcach started his plan working by changing some rocks into frogs and some frogs into dinner plates. As Phaedra tried working the spells, Marcach used a confundus charm to muddy her mind. He then said 'Femina et Equus' with a dipping swish of his wand.

A silvery light flashed out from the end of his wand. A second later, Phaedra had turned into a midnight brown mare with a black mane and a white blaze on her muzzle.

Marcach approached her, talking calmly, trying to get her to let him pet her nose. He conjured some carrots and apples. She happily ate them. After a few moments, he was allowed to pet her nose and rub her neck and mane. He was pleased with the progress.

He wanted to see if she would let him ride her, but she resisted all attempts at being mounted. Marcach had ridden horses in the past but had no knowledge on how to break a previously unridden horse. He was forced to give up on the idea.

A moment later he had transformed into his animagus horse. Phaedra was excited as he approached her. They sniffed each other nervously as they got acquainted. Before long, they were frolicking about on the lakeshore.

After a while, as a full moon began to rise up through the trees and over the hills, they bolted off. The two of them disappeared into the moonlight, two free spirits united in deception.

They were never seen again. Their disappearance was a scandal that caused a great deal of concern over the workings of the school.

As time passed, things eventually calmed down and returned to normal. However, for several years after the disappearance, there were reports by students of seeing two horses, sometimes alone, sometimes with a colt, playing on the distant hills under the light of a full moon. Since those days a full moon at the school is often referred to as Equus Lunae.

The End

Sangu & Catina

There was once a vampire named Sanguisuga, although he went by the name Sangu. He had no recollection of ever being anything except a vampire. If he had been anything or anyone prior to that, the knowledge of it was long forgotten.

The only thing he knew was that he was very old, even though he looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had seen human civilization rise. He watched many great empires, dynasties and cultures rise and fall as he endured. If his earliest remembrances were accurate, he was at least twice as old as the earliest Egyptian dynasty.

In all of those years, over all of those millennia, he had killed almost two million people in order to feed his bloodlust. Like all vampires, it was his preferred, required sustenance. He could, like any other vampire, drink animal blood. However, vampires find animal blood a distasteful, desperate substitute for human blood.

His life was a sullen, lonely one. Humans were seldom active during his normal waking hours. He usually preyed on them during the predawn and evening hours. If he could find humans outside of the homes, such as hunting parties or homeless people, he preyed on them during the night. Occasionally, if the sky was sufficiently overcast, he was able to hunt during daylight hours.

Most of his kills were quick ambushes. Others were victims of his hypnotic skills. He did, however, become acquainted with some of his victims, especially the younger women. He may have been evaluating them as potential mates before killing them.

Over the millennia, Sangu developed a taste for killing thieves, thugs, murderers. He yearned for the love or a woman, a true love, a mate to share his life. His inability to achieve this yearning frustrated him. It caused him to carry a particular hatred for those who preyed on women. These were often his most brutal, ugly kills.

Despite his failure in the search for a true mate, Sangu searched for that one true love. He had married at least a hundred times in his life. Most of the women were ones who caught his eye, not vice versa. He courted, wooed and entranced and ensnared them. He converted them to vampires and lived with them, finding brief periods of happiness. However, none of them proved to be his eternal love. One after another he tired of them. On a few occasions, he was even betrayed. In the end, he had killed all of his wives.

Almost a thousand years had passed since the killing of his last wife. It caused him to lose some of the desire to find a mate. He resigned himself to a solitary life. It would be less painful than the inevitable pain presented to him by his previous wives.

Sangu's wanderings had brought him into an area known as Transylvania. He was living in the dark forests near the Somesul Mic River. He preyed regularly on travelers, thieves and hunters. On the rare occasion that one of his kills was discovered, it was usually blamed on the wolves and bears of the area.

One overcast day he was searching for prey in the late afternoon. He spotted a single person just outside of a nearby village collecting wild fruits, berries and mushrooms. He assumed that it was a townswoman. She would make for a satisfying meal.

As he neared his victim she looked up and saw him. She was a young girl, certainly in her early teens. He felt the fear of being approached by a stranger pour out of her. This stimulated his appetite.

However, she was so beautiful. Beautiful in an innocent way he had not seen in hundreds, if not thousands of years. Her hair, which was mostly covered by a red scarf, was flaxen yellow…quite rare in these parts. She had deep, vibrant eyes of the color of the sky he was forbidden to view. Her dress and form indicated she was transforming from a girl to a woman. His bloodlust was uncharacteristically interrupted.

Just as she was about to scream and try to run away, Sangu spoke. "Fear not, young lady. I mean you no harm. I am but a weary traveler searching for food and a place to rest."

She hesitated, looking up at him with her intoxicating, blue eyes. "My name is Catina, sir. Would you like some plums and berries? I have found many."

'That is very kind of you, Catina," said Sangu as he selected a couple of plums and a handful of berries.

Catina smiled and gazed into his eyes as he enjoyed the fruits and berries. Even though he was not trying to entrance her, his eyes penetrated her in a way she had never before experienced. It may have been due to her internal changes, but that could not account for all of it.

They chatted as he ate. Her lilting voice was as beautiful as her eyes. Catina lived in the nearby village. She was the daughter of a woodworker and seamstress. She expected that she would be a seamstress like her mother. But she really wanted to be a cook or baker.

Sangu told her he was a lover of travel. Not having a trade or skill to discuss, he opted for telling her of several places he had visited in his life. She was rapt upon his every word.

The day was starting to wane and Catina said she needed to return home. It was dangerous to be out after nightfall. Her parents would be starting to worry. Sangu excused himself and headed back toward his lair. He had no active bloodlust fogging his mind. He could only think of Catina and her hypnotic eyes.

Three days passed, during which time Sangu had killed a pair of thieves he happened upon as they were dividing their take. He yearned to see Catina, but the daytime sun had prevented him from searching for her. He had entranced, ensnared thousands of women over the millenniums with his guile. This was the first time in his life where he was the one being entranced. He was used to being the spider, not to fly. It was fascinating but somewhat unnerving. He had not wanted the company of a woman in nearly a thousand years. Now he was feeling that desire ahead of his bloodlust.

Finally, another cloudy day gave him the opportunity to watch for her. He sat in a thicket of trees looking at the village. He saw many people, but not her. He was tempted to venture into the village but thought better of not exposing himself to the people. It was best he remained unknown to all but her.

Well into the afternoon he finally saw her. She had a basket and was walking out toward the area where they had first met. He walked to the plum tree and picked some ripe fruit. He thought it best she found him this time. He could even offer her some fruit.

Time passed as he awaited her appearance. She finally appeared and he got up from his seat. "Ah, Catina," he said. "It is very nice to see you, again."

The two of them talked as Sangu helped Catina gather berries and ripe plums that were otherwise out of her reach. He never noticed how quickly he was slipping under her spell. The situation was normally just the opposite. Her blue eyes were like bottomless wells and he wanted to drink them dry.

All too quickly their allowable time had passed. Catina said she needed to head for home. She asked if she would see him again. He said he would be here as long as the fruit and berries lasted. Then he would be forced to move on.

She turned to leave, then turned back and gave him a hug. The feel of her young body against him was almost too much to bear. He returned her hug. Then she hurried away toward home.

Three days passed before he got another cloudy day allowing him a chance to see her. The sky was thick gray with a few sprinkles of rain. As he sat watching for her, he hoped the weather would not deter her.

She finally appeared on the trail with her basket. He was eating some berries as she approached. "Sangu!" she exclaimed, dropping her basket and running to give him a hug. "I thought you had left."

"I am still here," he replied as he embraced her. "I said I would stay as long as the fruit lasted."

"But it is almost gone," she said.

"I know."

"Where will you go?"

"To the south in search of better weather and food."

"I want to go with you. I love you."

"That would be difficult. You have a family here. I don't think you realize what you are saying."

"I don't care. I am fifteen. All of the other girls are already married."

"Let me think about it. We can make the decision at our next meeting."

They gathered a basket full of fruit and berries. They also found a few mushrooms. When it was time for her to leave for home she embraced him with an urgent tightness. He returned her hug with much of the same. Before they separated, she pulled herself up and kissed him passionately. He was hopelessly entangled in the spider web. He was all but hers.

Sangu spent the next two day pondering the idea of taking her as his wife. He feared her reaction to finding out his true nature. Would it destroy their love? Would he be able to convert her? He needed to think this through.

Two days later Catina found him near the plum tree. She immediately clasped him in a passionate hug and kiss.

"We have to talk," said Sangu, breaking them apart after a moment.

"Yes, my love. I want you to meet my parents before we leave. But I am ready to give myself to you, now," she said as she pulled off her dress and undershirt to expose her girlish bosom and perfect, pale skin to Sangu and the gray steel of the sky.

"No, there is more," replied Sangu as she stepped forward to embrace him. "There is more we must discuss."

"What is it, my love?" she said with a hint of confusion and fear in her voice. She stood still, wearing only her shoes and underpants, waiting for him to speak.

"I am not what you think. I am not a normal man."

"I know you are not," she said as she wrapped her arms around him. "That is why I love you."

The feel of her bare breasts pressed against him made it hard to speak. "I am not a man," he managed to get out. "I am a vampire."

Catina released him and stepped back. "What are you saying? You're lying. Don't you love me?"

Sangu slowly opened his mouth and exposed his fangs. Catina put her arms across her breast. Her fear was palpable.

"I love you, Catina. I want you to be my wife. But it is impossible."

"Why?" she asked, the first of several tears rolling down her cheek and falling onto her breast.

"I live by killing others and drinking their blood. I am immortal. You are human. You will grow old and eventually die. I can do neither."

"Then make me a vampire," she cried as she embraced him once again. "I want to be with you forever."

"I fear to curse you that way. You are gentle. You do not want to become a killer. It will tear you apart in ways you cannot imagine," he told her as he detailed his life story to her.

"Then kill me," she sobbed as she stepped back. "I cannot bear to be without you."

"I cannot harm you. I have loved you since the first time I saw. There is one way we can be together. But you will have to be very strong and brave."

"Anything, my love. I will do anything to be with you."

Sangu took her hand and led her back up into the woods. He took her to a shallow hole with a coffin lying at the bottom.

"You must do exactly as I say. Then we can be together for an eternity."

"Yes, Sangu. I will do as you say."

Sangu stepped down in the coffin and laid down. He picked up a wooden stake and held it out to her.

"You must drive this through my heart," he said, touching the tip of the stake to the center of his chest. "You must be strong. You must kill me. Then we can be together for eternity."

Catina looked confused. "I cannot kill you, Sangu."

"You must. It is the only way. Kill me and go live a long, good life. When the time of your death comes, we can then be together through all eternity."

"Are you sure?'

"Yes, it is the only way."

Catina stepped into the hole beside him and knelt down. He took the stake and put it into her shaking hand as he looked into her wet eyes.

"Be strong, my love. Do this for our love."

She leaned forward and kissed him with a long passionate kiss. Then she pulled back up and looked into his eyes with a sadness that can only come from tragic love.

"Be strong, my love. Let your hand be strong and true. I am ready."

Catina plunged the stake straight through Sangu's breastbone, piercing his cursed heart. A strange feeling that he had never before felt grasped him. He felt alive, he felt free for the first time in his existence at the exact moment that life was being ripped away from him and fading away into darkness. Catina fell forward onto him as he gasped and died.

Catina went back home and did as instructed. She lived a good life as a baker until the winter of her forty-ninth year. She was laid on her deathbed by an epidemic that was sweeping through the realm. Her last words were: "Sangu, I am coming to be with you at last." No one understood what she meant.

Her story of the cursed relationship, separation and desire to rejoin Sangu was found in a hidden journal years later. It was translated into this tale.

The End

Melwin the Meddlesome Muggle

'There once was a small, wizarding commune named Boarbristle. It rested, hidden from muggles, in a small, dampish dale among the hills of the English uplands. To the muggle eye, the village looked like an abandoned farm surrounded by an inhospitable, marshy lowland. But, to the wizarding eye, it was a vibrant community of happy families plying a life removed from the intrusions of the outside world.

In order to meet their greater needs, they earned extra income from the sale of goods to members of the nearby muggle towns. Each week, groups of three or four members of the commune would take muggle-safe potions, clothing, mushrooms, herbs, charms and other ubiquitous crafts to sell the various towns. Their mead and root beer were particularly popular items.

Their goods, because of their fine quality, were highly sought after by the residents of the towns. None of them really knew where these sellers lived, but it did not matter to them. If asked, the people of Aynsley would tell you they lived out near Dunbar Hill. The folks in Dunbar Hill will say they come from near the Aleister river. The folks over that way will point south to Lake Crowley. And the Lake Crowley folks will claim they are from Aynsley.

The arrangement worked very well for many, many years. The muggles got the benefits of the knowledge and craftsmanship of the wizarding commune. The commune got goods and money to satisfy their needs that would require visits to places like Diagon Alley.

One day a boy in the village of Aynsley named Melwin let his curiosity get the best of him. Melwin had a reputation around the village of being too nosy for his own good. He was always sticking his nose into places where he should not be sticking it and he had a penchant for telling far-fetched tales of those things half seen or heard. It was going to get him into big trouble someday is what people were always saying about him.

While the members of the commune were busy selling their goods, he snuck onto their wagon and began poking about. He found many things he probably should not, such as a wand, some runes, an amulet and essence of dittany, but it did not set off his young mind.

He was just about to get off the wagon when he heard the voices of people coming his way. Fearing being found nosing around where he should not be, he climbed under a blanket and hid.

The voices belonged to the commune members. They were done for the day and ready to return home. He heard them loading boxes and bags onto the wagon. After a few moments, they got onto the wagon and started to ride away.

Melwin was now trapped. He was an unintentional stowaway. He had no avenue for escape, and he had no idea where he was going. The best he could do was a few occasional peeks out from under the blanket to see the countryside.

The wagon traveled further and further. Well over an hour passed. He heard strange talk about making potions he had never heard of and repotting screaming mandrakes. He was very puzzled by talk of perfecting a freezing spell so they could collect fire seeds next week.

The wagon finally stopped after what seemed an eternity and he heard one of the commune members say some very weird words. He heard a whoosh and then the wagon started moving. A few minutes later the wagon stopped a second time. He heard and felt everyone get off of it. As he listened, they unloaded it and walked away. Still scared to move, he stayed still under the blanket.

Several more minutes passed. It was nearly silent around the wagon. Melwin cautiously moved to the edge of the wagon and poked his head out from under the blanket. He was in a strange village that he had never before seen. The people were wearing strange clothes. He saw a man in a black robe walking a couple of animals he did not recognize. Some children were playing a game across the way. They had sticks and a ball that appeared to be floating in the air. It must have been on a string he could not see. The children watching them had some incredibly delicious-looking candy.

Two men in similar black robes were unloading a different wagon near a store. They had sticks similar to the ones being used by the children. They seemed to be using them to float the items off the wagon and onto the porch in front of the store…but that was impossible.

Some women, also wearing black robes and strange, pointy hats were buying odd-looking vegetables from in front of a store. The plants in front of the store were different than any he had ever seen. Some of the plants moved almost like they were alive beyond that of normal plants.

Darkness began to fall as he kept watching the village from his hiding place. The streets cleared and a peaceful silence fell over the streets. He cautiously got out from under the blanket and climbed down off the wagon.

A crescent moon and an abundance of star gave him enough light to walk through the village. He looked through the occasional lit window. He saw families eating dinner. A pair of older men were playing a game that looked like chess, but the piece seemed to move on their own. An old woman was putting strange things into a cauldron cooking over a fire. Bright sparks and colorful puffs of smoke would rise from it with each new addition. A pair of knitting needles appeared to be knitting all by themselves.

In another house, he saw kids playing with a dog with two tails. Owls were commonplace. They seemed to enjoy taking things and flying off or flying in and leaving things. One elderly lady had a house filled with several hares.

As fascinating as all of this was, it scared him a little. What kind of place was this? Who were these people? He had heard of witches and wizards, but never really believed in them. Could they be real? He wanted to go home, if only he knew where his home was.

Back in Aynsley, Melwin's parents were a bit upset he had not come home for dinner. His father took a quick stroll through town, but did not see him in any of his normal hangouts. Melwin was prone to wandering and often would stay out to late, even all night. However, he seldom missed dinner. When he was not home when his parents decided it was time to go to bed, his mother made his father promise to have a talk with him in the morning about his behavior.

Melwin could hear many of the owls talking to each other. Crickets and frogs filled the air with an abundance of their songs. Most of the windows were closed on the houses, so he could not really hear any human conversations. As the night settled in and the temperature cooled off, he started back to the wagon to sleep under the warmth of the blanket he had used for hiding. Maybe he could sort things out in the morning.

Just as he got to the wagon, he heard a voice say, "Who are you?" He tried to run, but his legs seemed to lock in place. Two silhouettes of men approached him. He was scared, not knowing how much trouble he might be in.

The men looked at Melwin, not recognizing him as a member of their small community.

"Who are you, boy?" said the larger of the two.

"Don't scare him, now, Nicolas," said the smaller man.

The larger man paused, then said, "Of course, Geoffrey. We mean you no harm, lad. You're not from around here. We just want to know who you are."

"I—I'm Melwin. Melwin Fletcher"

"Well, now, Melwin Fletcher," continued Nicolas. "How is it that you have found your way into our village this evening?

"I was on that wagon," said Melwin, pointing to it. "I was under that blanket. I came with the people who sell things in my village."

"Did they know you were there?" asked Geoffrey.

"No, sir. I was hiding."

"Hiding, you say. That is very irresponsible. Very poor character, indeed."

"I think we need to take him over to Gwynndor's," said Nicolas.

"Yes, I believe that would be best."

The two men escorted Melwin over to the house of Gwynndor, leader of the village. They sat Melwin on a sofa while they discussed the situation. Gwynndor began mixing a drink as they talked.

"Here," said Gwynndor as he handed a mug to Melwin. "Have a drink. You must be thirsty and hungry. I will get you some food."

Melwin took a sip. He head began to spin. Then he passed out on the sofa. The three of them carried him out to the wagon and wrapped him in the blanket. The drink was actually a sleeping draught laced with a mild confundus charm that would muddle, but not entirely erase his memory. They were worried a stronger charm might injure a young muggle mind.

They rode out into the night to deliver him back to his village. The sleeping draught promised to keep him asleep for several hours. Once they reached the outskirts of Aynsley they placed the sleeping boy and blanket under a large tree. He would wake up in the morning wondering what had happened to him and be confused about whether or not the events of the evening were just the result of a strange dream created from sleeping outside under a tree.

As morning broke, the birds started singing. Butterflies were fluttering about drinking nectar from the dewy flowers and bees were buzzing around gathering pollen for honey. Melwin was suddenly awakened from his slumber by a particularly big bee standing on his nose, looking him in the face. It proceeded to sink its pointy stinger into him as he watched it with crossed eyes.

"AAAAIIIIIEEEE!" screamed Melwin in shock and acute pain. His cry was loud enough to bring several of the villagers running from their houses to see what was wrong. They found him sitting under the tree holding his nose. He seemed confused as to why he was there. His nose was rapidly swelling. Before long it looked like a ripe apple stuck to his face.

He told them as best he could remember things of his trip to the magical village and of the strange things and occurrences he had seen. The things he described sounded outlandish. Everyone laughed at him and his now particularly large nose. One man accused him of stealing some of the barley beer from the tavern.

In the end, they assumed it was all just another of his tall tales. He swore it was all true. He tried to show a group of them the location of Boarbristle, but could find nothing but the enchanted marshlands and abandoned farm. His particularly large nose never returned to its normal size.

The End

"Finish up your supper if you want a story before bedtime, kids," said Ginny.

A Fool and His Life

"There was once a village named Godwill. It rested at the base of a tall mountain in northern England. It was a simple village of simple means, but it had a couple of secrets. The first secret was the people of the village were all witches and wizards. The second was, at least according to the many stories, was the idea that the mountain was the home of a dragon and its treasure.

Godwill was originally built by muggle farmers and hunters. It was attacked several hundred years ago by a dragon supposedly living in the mountain. The dragon ruined most of the village, taking the sparse bits of gold and other valuables of the villagers before disappearing into the mountain. It had not been seen or heard from since, but its legend endured.

The muggles who had built the village deserted it after the attack. Members of the wizarding community found it and took over the site, using protective enchantments to leave it looking ruined to all who passed it by.

Willum and Persell Mossmen were a pair of teenage twins living in Godwill. Like most boys of their age, they were prone to roaming the woodlands and getting into occasional mischief. Most of their activities were purely innocent.

One day in September, the pair ventured further into the woods and up the side of the mountain than was commonly done. It was a beautiful day and the cooler temperature invited adventuring.

As they passed out of a particularly dense patch of forest, they found an opening in the side of the mountain. It was certainly a cave. They had never heard tell of any caves on the mountain. It was natural to assume it was undiscovered and ripe for exploring.

"Let's go in and have a look around," said Willum, the more inquisitive, adventurous twin. He was always the leader of the pair.

"I don't know," replied Persell, always the more cautious of the pair. "It could be dangerous." His more pragmatic nature kept them out of a lot of trouble, even though they got into more than their fair share.

"C'mon, Perse," said Willum in a condescending voice. "Don't be a coward. We'll just have a little look."

Persell reluctantly gave in to his brother and the two of them approached the entrance. It was pretty large. The air exiting it was cool and had a strange.

"Lumos," said Willum as he stepped into the darkness. Persell also lit up his wand.

Willum led the way into the cave. It was dry for the most part. It was happily without creepy crawly creatures. Nothing out of the unusual presented itself.

"Have you seen enough, yet?" said Persell after a few minutes. "There's nothing interesting in here."

"Okay," replied Willum. "We'll go just a little further. You might be right."

They proceeded on for a few minutes. Willum was just about ready to give in to Persell and head back when the cave opened up into a large room. The floor of the cave glittered in the light from their wands.

"What is this?" asked Willum with wonder in his voice. "It looks like gold and jewels."

"I don't know," said Persell. "It can't be gold and jewels. That would be crazy."

Willum walked into the room, his shoes crunching on the glittering floor covering. Then he saw a huge silhouette in the center of the room.

"What is that?" he said to Persell in a suddenly hushed tone. Do you see it? I think I can hear it breathing.

"Maybe it is the dragon from the legends," said Persell in a worried tone. "Maybe those stories are true."

"Yes," whispered Willum. "It's the dragon and…and this is his treasure. I'm taking some."

"I think that's a bad idea," said Persell as he began edging back out of the room.

"He's sound asleep," replied Willum, starting to sound bolder. "There's so much here. He will never miss the small amount I can care if he ever wakes up."

"No, I don't like it," said Persell as he continued to make his way out of the room. "We need to go."

"Nonsense," said Willum as he cast an incendio charm at the dragon. The fire burned for a moment and went out. The dragon never moved. "See. He is completely asleep."

By now, Persell was back into the corridor leading out of the cave. He was holding a single jewel he had picked up out of curiosity. Willum cast a few more charms. The most he got from any of them was a couple of twitches from the sleeping dragon as he continued stuffing treasure into his pockets.

"Rictusempra," said Willum with a wave of his wand. He was starting to enjoy his brash behavior. The dragon suddenly convulsed and spasmed. Persell ducked back into the corridor as the dragon blew a couple of puffs of smoke out of its nose before settling back down and returning to its slumber.

"I think he liked that," said Willum in a loud whisper.

"Stop it," said Persell. "Let's go."

"Okay. Okay," said Willum as he cast one more Rictusempra spell.

The dragon convulsed and then stood up wide awake. He was big, green and looked truly enormous in the dimly lit room.

"A Thief!" roared the dragon. "You dare to enter my sanctum and disturb my sleep and steal from my treasure."

Willum was backing up, finally realizing the errors of his impetuous behavior. Persell had doused his light and was laying in the dark corridor. There was a brilliant flash of fiery light and Willum disappear before Persell's eyes.

There were several small fires left burning for pieces of flammable treasure. The dragon looked around for a few moments. Persell cowered against the wall, barely breathing.

The dragon finally laid down and returned to his slumber. Once his breathing seemed calm and regular, Persell quietly crawled as far as he could in the dying firelight before relighting his wand.

Persell was distraught at the loss of his twin brother. He stumbled, crying, through the forest and back into the village. Several villagers ran to see what the matter was.

Persell's parents arrived and he began to relate the story of finding the cave amidst his sobs and tears to the villagers. He told them how they had found the cave and Willum convinced him to go into it. He showed them the single jewel he had taken and talked about finding the room with the treasure and discovering the sleeping dragon. He told them how Willum had stuffed his pockets with treasure before starting to cast spells at the dragon.

"I tried to stop him and get him to leave," wept Persell. "But he wouldn't listen. He thought playing with a sleeping dragon was funny. He just wouldn't listen."

He told them how Willum's foolishness finally went too far and how he awakened the sleeping dragon with a tickling charm and was incinerated a moment later on the spot.

The villagers tried to get Persell to take them up the mountain and show them the cave, but he refused. No one ever found it again. As far as anyone knows, the treasure still rests with the sleeping, ticklish dragon."

The End

Adah & Zillah

There once was a pair of twins named Adah and Zillah Hawthorn. They were so alike in looks and actions that few could tell them apart. By the time they received their acceptance letters from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry they had grown into beautiful young witches with dazzling blue eyes, willowy bodies and long, straight, gingery hair.

As was the case with many sets of twins, the sorting hat put into different Hogwarts houses. Adah went into Ravenclaw while Zillah went into Slytherin. This was notice of the fact that while their physical looks and mannerisms were nearly indistinguishable to the eye the inner workings of their minds had differences.

Being in different houses did not bother them. They spent most of their free time together. They both studied hard and won praise and points for their houses from their professors. They had many mutual friends among their peers.

One particular friend was a Hufflepuff boy named Arcturus Furze. He was a handsome boy in the same year. He was tall with golden hair, blue eyes and an athletic body that found its way onto the house quidditch team as a chaser.

As they grew closer over the years, many of their classmates assumed Arcturus would eventually marry one of them. Many of them had bets on which of them he would pick.

When the end of their seventh year and graduation approached, their discussions became more and more serious. They talked about their futures and what they wanted to do as they moved into the adult world.

Adah talked about loving to write and sing. She thought she would pursue it and also try to become a professor at a school, hopefully, Hogwarts. Zillah had a more political mind. She said she would like to work for the Wizard's Council. Arcturus enjoyed cooking and creating new recipes. His hope was to open a restaurant or inn where he could make the finest of foods.

Zillah was the first to broach the subject of marriage and family. She asked Arcturus is he wanted a build a family. He said he did. She then asked if he was considering her or her sister as possible wives.

Arcturus pondered the question for several moments before answering. He told Zillah he had thought about that possibility a few times but did not know how he could decide. He loved both of them as dear friends. He feared that no matter how he chose it would hurt their friendship. He said he could not do anything that would damage it.

The conversation passed and a few days went by. While they were eating lunch the girls said they had an offer for consideration. They proposed that Arcturus marry both of them. They could live together as friends, husband and wives in the best of all worlds.

Arcturus thought about it and told them he must give it more serious scrutiny, which he did. When he finally returned to the subject a couple of days later he brought them a proposal. He said he would like to marry both of them, but they would have to first develop a plan of shared responsibilities and duties to prevent issues after they were married. If they could do that, then the marriage could go forward.

The girls talked and talked but could not develop a plan acceptable to both of them. Each plan favored the creator too much according to the other. When Arcturus asked if they had sorted things out after two days they confessed their failure at finding a solution to the task.

Arcturus said he would offer them a way to decide. He said one of you will develop the plan for their marriage. It would detail the duties into two sets of choices. Then, the other would decide on which of the two choices they wanted to fill. They only needed to decide on who would write the plan and who would make the choice.

The girls agreed to the plan. They decided Adah would write the plan because of her writing skills. Zillah would select from them.

Zillah had used her political mind to take on the role of selector. She felt confident that no matter how well Adah thought it out, one role would prove ultimately superior. It was going to be like dividing the last slice of pie. No matter how evenly it was cut, she could surely find a more succulent piece of fruit or perfect stretch of crust exposed in one of them. When Adah presented the plan a day later, Zillah did not get the choice she expected.

Adah had developed a fine plan. One of them would shop for food and help Arcturus cook. The other would tend to the house cleaning and laundry. One of them would tend to the garden and gather firewood. One of them would attend to sewing and mending. The other would share the master's bed with Arcturus. Then, after seven days, they would reverse the roles for the next seven. The only thing for Zillah to choose was which set of duties she wanted to assume for the first week.

Zillah realized the plan was ultimately fair and none better would ever be found agreeable by both of them. She agreed to it and selected the set of duties that included the sharing of the bed with Arcturus. Arcturus also agreed to their plan and the marriage was planned for in the summer after graduation.

Polygamy, albeit rare, was legal. Since they were all from pureblood families of reasonable means, it was agreed to by both families. Many of their friends thought it was a cursed idea, but it did not matter. The three were married and they settled into a fine house in the countryside.

Things went along well over the rest of the summer and into the fall. Arcturus started cooking at a local inn. Adah and Zillah cared for the house and garden. Zillah used family contacts to start finding her way into the Council. Adah wrote songs and performed on occasion at the inn.

One evening in the late fall Adah made an announcement at the dinner table. She told Arcturus and Zillah that she was pregnant. This was exciting news. It would be the beginning of their family.

Secretly, Zillah was concerned and jealous. She worried that Adah's child would lower her status. She felt Arcturus would care too much for his first born and elevate the mother of the child to a higher position than her. She would suddenly become the second wife, no longer an equal.

A few nights later she snuck out of the bedroom with Arcturus and into the bedroom where Adah was sleeping. She killed Adah like a thief in the night and returned to Arcturus' bed.

When she awoke in the morning Arcturus was already awake and out of the house. She went downstairs as if nothing had happened. As she made breakfast, Arcturus returned home.

"Where have you been so early, darling?" she inquired.

"I had business to attend to. Where is Adah?" he asked. "Is she awake."

"I suspect she is still sleeping," said Zillah as she brought him a cup of tea. "I think her condition makes it so she requires more sleep."

As Arcturus put butter and honey onto some bread there came a knock at the door. He rose and answered it, having found two men there.

"Who are these visitors?" asked Zillah as Arcturus let them in.

"They are here for you," said Arcturus.

"For me," she said, looking at them. "What business can they have with me that brings them here so early?"

"I saw you go into Adah's room last night," said Arcturus, starting to cry. "I heard her muffled cries through the door. After you returned to bed and were asleep, I got up and found her still warm body bleeding from where you slit her throat. These men are from the Council. They are here to take you away for her murder."

Zillah tried to flee, but they stunned her before she could reach her wand. They took her away. After a trial by the Council, she was reunited in death with her sister.

The End

The Good House

There was once a large house on the edge of the town of Barnstow. It was called The Good House because it had been the home of the Good family for six generations. The Goods were a magical family who secretly lived among the muggles for many years. The Goods had a fine reputation among the muggle community. They created a long history of helping their neighbors with potions and other healing, fixing occasional issues, and making excellent foods and drink.

This changed when Demona Good died. She had never married and therefore left the world and the house without any heirs to care for it.

A wizard named Iratus Frugge bought the house at auction and moved into it. The Goods always had a reputation as excellent neighbors, but Iratus not so much. He was decidedly antisocial, not caring to mix or speak with the townsfolk. He was also known to be rude to the occasional visitor to his house.

Shortly after moving in a group of tattered neighbor children were a game with sticks and balls too near to the house in his mind. He cast a few spells causing their sticks to break and their balls to bounce away into the trees. He smiled as they walked away with sad faces.

The next time he saw them, they had new clothes and much nicer sticks and balls. They were playing happily in a field away from his house. This still caused him to frown.

Later that same day he dropped his favorite teacup. As he bent to pick up the pieces, he caught his sleeve on the arm of a kitchen chair causing it to tear almost to the elbow. This was the end of his happy mood left over from chasing the kids.

The house had a wonderful garden of useful plants and herbs behind it. It had been created over the generations by various Goods to aid in the making of potions and tea. Demona had left in beautiful condition when she passed. Iratus did not tend it with her delicate hand, but he kept it well.

Demona enjoyed the birds, bees and butterflies that joined her during her gardening chores. Iratus was more likely to ignore them or chase them away with his hat if they got too close.

One fall day a rangy, feral-looking cat ventured into the garden while he was picking herbs. It was probably lured there by the catnip. He used a swat with a Calvio curse to chase it away. It left large clumps of its fur behind as it disappeared out of sight. The next day he saw another cat in the garden, this one with the most spectacular, long and brown coat he had ever seen. He thought to go chase it away like the other one but decided to just ignore it.

That night he noticed in the mirror that his thick, brown hair was thinning to where a bald spot was developing in the back. "When did this happen?" he thought. "I hadn't noticed this before."

The rest of his first year in the house passed without serious incident. He cursed a few animals that got to close to his garden. Children who played too close to the house or made too much noise were punished with various curses. The occasional knocker at the door was sent off, usually with a curse or hex that would either make the ill or embarrass them in front of others.

Iratus' luck over the same period was mostly fine. The garden had not produced as well as expected, but that could be attributed to the weather. He continued losing his hair. No spell he could muster seemed to stop the hair loss. He broke the occasional plate or cup due to clumsiness, which he also blamed for a couple of falls. His clothes seemed to be showing their age by splitting seams and tearing a little too frequently. None of it seemed cause for alarm.

One day in late November a pair of women appeared at his door. They were collecting for the needy so they could have nice Christmases. They also wanted him to come to the benefit dance at the town hall the following Saturday night.

"The poor are poor because they are lazy," he told them. "They can work like everyone else if they do not want to be poor."

He sent them away with nothing to show for their effort except a hiccupping for the first one and sneeze curse for the second. As to their dance, he placed a curse on it, as well.

Big, black clouds began to gather early on the night of the party. By the time the party started, it was raining quite steadily. None of it deterred the partyers. They filled the table with food and a band started playing.

Before long, flashes of lightning were filling the air and claps of thunder were drowning out the music. Still, the party went on with people enjoying the food, dancing and donating money and goods to the cause.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash and a thunderous boom. Seconds later a huge oak tree came crashing through the roof and onto the dance floor. As people screamed and ran, a fire began climbing the walls and burning the table of donations. Then they noticed one of the women who had organized the event laying crushed under the trunk of the tree. It was a disaster.

Iratus could see the orange light of the fire from his seat in his parlor where he was reading. He rose and climbed the stairs to get a better view of the situation from his bedroom window.

He pressed forward against the window for a better look. "Good enough for them," he thought as he watched the flames. Then the windows swung open and he tumbled out, falling onto the cobblestone walk up to his front door.

When some of the townsfolk found his dead body a couple of days later he was completely bald and his clothes were tattered. All of his other belongings were neatly stacked outside of the house.

The answer to the mystery of his death and the tale of his time there was never fully understood by the people of Barnstow. However, when his niece, also a witch, took possession of the house, she returned it to its former kindly friendship with the town and The Good House once again stood for good in Barnstow.

The End

The Isobel They Never Knew

There once was a young witch named Isobel Dearghead. She lived a quiet life in a small village out in the Irish countryside. None of the residents of the village had the slightest notion that there was a witch hiding amongst them even though the evidence was all around them.

Isobel was an attractive young witch with and abundance of red hair, blue eyes and an athletic body. She was educated at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where she excelled in potions and charms. She was also a star chaser on the Hufflepuff quidditch team.

Isobel used the skills she had learned from her parents and at school to protect the village and its residents from danger in many ways. The brooms she sold in the market were made from the common broom evergreen. Along with trash, they secretly purified the ground they swept. Her pretty, little charms contained crystals with hidden powers. Her herbal teas and candies promoted health and well-being. The candles she made had protective herbs in them such as silver fir leaves to bless and protect mothers and newborn babies.

Many of the plants growing in Isobel's garden, which she quietly shared into the community, had various powers to protect, heal, bring good fortune and other things to the village. Although the villager's never realized it, many of the trees of the village were similarly placed by Isobel. For example, the yew tree in the cemetery watched over the dead.

Other times she did much grander things. During a drought that threatened to destroy the crops of the village, she used runes and spells to conjure the crop-saving rains. During a plague that was sweeping through the realm, she cast protective enchantments around the village that prevented would be visitors from finding it and inadvertently delivering the plague into their midst.

Through all of this, the villagers stayed blissfully unaware of her magical presence. They considered themselves lucky, blessed and fortunate…never suspecting they were actually being protected by a benevolent, young witch. Isobel was able to mingle among them as an equal. She could shop in their market and maintain her booth. She attended their picnics and festivities.

To all around her, she was just another member of the community living in a house inherited from her aunt. None of them had the slightest notion that her aspen wand was almost always in clear view. She used it and a leather strap to hold her wealth of red hair under control in a ponytail or bun. They thought it was just an ornately carved piece of wood.

On occasion, usually about four times a year, she would disappear for a couple of days. The villagers tended not to notice because of the shortness of her absence. These disappearances were to attend gatherings of other witches in the realm.

In order to get to them, Isobel would transfigure herself into a hare, as was their tradition. She would travel undetected, only having to be wary of the occasional fox or owl. She would meet with the others to share news, perform rituals and take part in ceremonies. When she returned home, she often brought new knowledge of enchantments, herbs and roots, and magical items.

The fact that Isobel was unmarried did not go unnoticed by the villagers. Her gingery hair and bright, blue eyes helping to create a pretty face attached to a strong, lithe body. Many of the men, especially one named James, were attracted to her.

James was a handsome, young man who worked as a carpenter and cooper. The work gave him a strong body to go with his brown locks and eyes. James fancied Isobel. He often went out of his way to speak to her, asking if she needed any work done or if she was coming to the next town gathering.

Isobel was reluctant to engage in a relationship with a non-magical villager. She was always nice to James, but never let things move forward. Still, he persisted, not willing to take her coolness as a rejection.

Late in the fall of Isobel's twenty-fifth year, the village held a pre-winter festival to celebrate its bountiful harvest and completion of the repairs on the village church. The church might have been destroyed along with much of the village if Isobel had not secretly intervened with a bit of magic in the manner of a fortuitous thundershower that helped quench the fire. They were a religious and superstitious folk and the salvation of their church was very important to them.

Isobel spent much of her time at the festival talking with a group of older ladies. They all knew each other from their shops and booths in the market. When the ladies excused themselves, James, who had been watching Isobel for much of the time acted on the opening. He walked over with two glasses of freshly pressed cider and sat down.

James talked to Isobel, trying to get her to get up and join the others who were dancing to the music of some local musicians. After a while and several requests she finally gave in and danced with him. He was overjoyed and she actually had a good time. It was the first time she had danced since finishing school.

James walked her home and he asked her if she might join him for another occasion. While she did not say yes, she did not say no, either.

Over the next few weeks, James spoke with Isobel on several occasions in an effort to make good on the possibility of them getting together. Much to his dismay, she turned him down with a variety of excuses. It was getting very discouraging.

More time passed and James had all but had given up. It was late in the day and darkness was upon him as he passed Isobel's cottage on the way home. Suddenly her door opened and she stepped out. He thought to speak to her but did not want to frighten her with a voice from the dark. Instead, he stood still, watching her.

Isobel stood still, looking around, but did not see him. Then she started walking away in the direction of the woods. Where could she be going? It was not normal for people to venture into the woods after dark. While this was not a particularly bad country, it was still not a good idea. A person could stumble and get hurt or slip into a bog. Or they could have that rare, chance encounter with a dangerous creature. James decided to follow her in case she needed help.

They had barely passed the edge of the forest when Isobel stopped. James could see her silhouette in the moonlight. She was making some weird gestures and saying some strange word. Then, in the blink of an eye, she changed into a hare and hopped away into the trees.

James nearly fainted. The girl of his heart was most certainly a witch. He went home and spent a fitful night. By noon of the next day, the entire village knew Isobel's secret.

In the late afternoon two days later when she appeared in her booth to sell her wares she was accosted by an angry mob. None of them cared that no harm had ever befallen them. They invented things to blame on witchcraft. They never considered for a moment that any of the good fortunes that had benefited the village could have magic behind them.

She narrowly escaped the mob and ran to her home. By the time the villagers arrived, she had gathered the things she considered essential. The rest would be sacrificed.

Isobel escaped out the back as they were preparing to set fire to her home in the fading daylight. She outran the mob and made it into a thicket of willows where she transformed into a hare. She then cast a spell that launched her straight up into the full moon. As the villagers watched, the shadow of a hare appeared on the moon. It has remained there ever since.

The next year an illness she could have guarded them against claimed the lives of many in the village. The harvest was the smallest in several years. Some believed she had cursed them before she left. Isobel eventually found her way to a wizarding community near the coast where she married a wizard, started a family and lived the fine life she deserved.

The End

The Fifth House

There was once a village named Bleakmoor. It sat far out next to the river dividing the Good Forest, which was full of game and fishing, from the darker, less hospitable Dark Forest, which was nearly without game and said to be home to various 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 sank completely into the ground. As it disappeared, hundreds of streaks of white light shot upward into the sky and out of sight. The flames died down and the hole sealed itself. Dwarkan laid back down in his casket and the top returned to seal it. And thus came the final end of the fifth house of the school.

The End

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