- CHAPTER FOUR -

Daffodils

It was early afternoon by the time Annie Dobson had finished her trip to Presto Market. Having made her way back to the church this time she climbed into a second booth further along the wall and after removing the secret panel, she drew a deep breath before touching the ancient coin beneath and feeling the familiar sensation of being sucked through a long thin straw.

Shaking off the momentary dizziness, Annie stepped out of a small ornately craved shrine-like building, it had a domed roof and was constructed from a pale almost incandesant stone. The elegant little building stood in what appeared to be a large very well kept garden, where towering hedges as tall as a house surrounded the spacious clearing on all side, their leafy walls only occasionally broken by a worn stone archway or a niche containing a strange looking statue.

Pausing to draw in a long cleansing breath of fresh air, Annie adjusted her grip on her basket and checked once more on the sleeping Robert before proceeding across the perfectly manicured lawn. She strode past an oddly shaped sun dial, which stood on an ancient stone pedestal in the center of the clearing, as she passed it glowed faintly and the contraptions various rings seemed to slowly stir into motion, several runes on the ancient metal bands becoming barely visible as the rings silently turned.

Not appearing to notice the sun dials subtle actions Annie crossed the clearing to a long straight channel which cut through the towering hedges and strode casually down the passage.

There was a peaceful stillness that seemed to hold sway in this place, an almost quiet and reflective calm, the smell of freshly cut grass and the tuneful twittering of a song bird in the distances were the only distractions from the sound of the breeze, which gently stroked the leaves at the top of the tall hedges. As Annie continued her serene walk and it slowly started to become apparent from the positions of the nearby hedges, that Annie was in fact passing through what must be part of a large well groomed maze.

The mazes towering bushy walls had already started to recede and soon opened to reveal the source of the sites true tranquility. The bushy labyrinth was but a small part of a set of giant sprawling gardens, each distinct and unique from the next. Some were dominated by finely crafted ornamental pools and immaculate lawns, whilst others burst with the colours of countless wondrous looking flowers whose alluring fragrances now wafted pleasantly through the air. The gardens all seemed to be at different heights and were separated by equally countless different means such as smooth stone walls, tall noble looking trees and in one case what appeared to be a levitating curtain of water.

Row after row of oddly shaped bushes lined both sides of the footpath that Annie now followed a thick high hedge to her right and the garden cascading grandly away to her left. The bushes along the path had been trimmed with the same immaculate care as the gardens, each opposing pair resembling a different magical creature, so uncanny was the perfection of their sculpting that visitors often eyed the bushes cautiously as they passed, many convinced that they had just seen one of the bushy creatures rotating its head slowly to watch them pass.

Unperturbed by such thoughts Annie rounded the corner of the high hedge into a large central courtyard, the pleasantly familiar sight beyond bringing the hint of a smile and twinkle to her eye.

At the far end of the courtyard, now clearly visible beyond the high hedge, sprawled a large castle. The castles grandeur and exocentric appearance reflected the odd and wondrous gardens that surrounded it; a broad cascading staircase grandly spread out beneath an enormous pair of paneled doors, which were covered with countless door knockers, each emblazed with the tiny face of a different race of creatures, from twisted faced gnomes to grumpy faced trolls. Above in the towers numerous carefully positioned slot windows gazed down onto the cobbled courtyard, the flickering golden hue of torches and lanterns within barely visible. The smooth and weathered stone walls were constructed of an odd patchwork of different shaped and sized stones, yet the patchwork of stone fitted together perfectly with a strange almost regal elegance, which was reflected high up in the buildings battlements and tower tops, where the familiar purple, silver and white colours of Wroxeter castle, home of the WI, fluttered softly in the breeze.

The WI or Witches / Wizards Institute, to give the organization its full name, was one of the wizarding community's oldest and most beloved organizations. The institute had first been founded in Roman times during the age of collusion.

Prior to the arrival of the Romans on Britannia's shores the wizarding communities had been divided and hidden from view, hidden even from each other. The invading Roman's had built many roads and great cities where their own wizards openly performed their form of magic in the streets and temples. The cities had acted like magnets attracting the attentions of wizard and muggle alike and for the first time many of the small scattered families and covenants of witches and wizards came together and meet for the first time.

It did not take the Britannic witches and wizards long to realize that each group had knowledge the others did not possess and that something must be done to protect and spread such knowledge among its people. It was here in the shadow of Wroxeter, the fourth largest city in the land, that such witches and wizards came together, shielded and hidden by their magical protections, to build the first and most ancient part of Wroxeter castle, the tower of high sorcery.

The tower they built was thirteen storeys high, one level for each new moon of the year, but although the tower had a grand library, guest rooms, laboratories and a banquet hall, the building soon needed to be increased. More and more wizards came from all corners of the land, bring more books, more knowledge and more teachings. Soon the tower was joined by three smaller towers and a building between, which formed a keep. Beauty enchanted orchards now surround the building and the wizards placed a Vallum wall around it to protect it. Defensive dwoomer spells were cast upon the woods surrounding the castle, so that any Muggle entering would lose their sense of direction and wander back out.

Years past, Muggle kings rose and fell and with each passing era new additions were made to the castle. The southern gates, lowering down to the river were built in style of the Norman times, whilst later additions like the eastern wing were built in chateau style of the late seventeen hundreds.

From a distance Wroxeter castle was truly an unusual yet magnificent sight to behold, a patch work styles and era's, blended together in a spell binding manner, yet Visitors to it's halls found the castle within to match the walls outside, plunging deep into the heart of castle often found hidden gardens or orchards, the old Vallum wall, the style and colour of the walls, doors and gate changed as person moved from one part of the castle to the next, rumors persisted to this day of countless hidden rooms in every corner of the building.

Wroxeter's uses as well as its appearance had changed many times over the years, the rise of the Ministry and the building of Hogwarts had all had their effects on what the WI taught within it's halls, Toads and Tadpoles classes still existed for those wizards who preferred not to send their children to Muggle schools for their pre-Hogwarts educations, the institute still taught many trade crafts and skills, whilst in the last few decades the WI had blossomed under the introduction of new special interest courses. Most importantly, the castle was far enough away from the city of Wroxeter to not be affected by the great curses, two great curses, of ancient magic now lost, so powerful that it reduced a once great and gleaming city to nothing more than an empty ruined town of ghosts. So cursed was the land, that nothing now grew there and Minster of Magic had even forbid the most powerful wizards to enter its gates.

Revived by the sight of Wroxeter's walls Annie hastened up entrance stairs, taking the old warn steps two at time as she passed between the imposing entrance doors and sweeping into the room beyond.

The room she entered was truly cavernous; an elaborate weave of arching beams and chandlers filled the high rafters, whilst below numerous differently shaped staircases and passageways exited the room at peculiar angles. Most of the stairs were lined with busts of famous witches and wizard who often offered advice, or in the case of Grettlebury the ghastly, cooking tips for troll toes, as you passed them by. The center of the grand hallway had been transformed into large a comfortable seating area of plush and comfortable high backed chairs, where normally several witches and wizards could be found sitting, sipping tea whilst a busy young witch bustled behind a long curved help desk directing silvery legged tables to sidled quietly over to the waiting wizards, offering them a choice of magazines or witches institute guides. Yet today the room seemed mournful and empty, the few witches and wizards present looked deep in clouded sadden thoughts, their somber moods starkly contrasting the bright yellow daffodils that they for some reason were wearing.

Not pausing to linger or chat with the glum looking young witch at the help desk, Annie headed straight across the hall. As she approached a large sweeping staircase she caught the tailed end glimpse of a flash of green flame from the large fire place in the seating area, as a teacher made there way home.

Whilst guests such as Annie were these days forced to enter the grounds through the port key in the maze, the teachers and staff or Wroxeter were still allowed protected access to the entrance hall through the floo's between Wroxeter and their homes. Glancing away from the dying green flames Annie climbed the main stair to the third floor, pausing only momentarily to smile and nod politely at a bust of the wizard Coreon the Crusher, who nodded and smiled reassuringly at her as she passed, a single yellow daffodil tucked under what remained of his one arm.

The main western corridor of the third floor was not much like the passage ways of Hogwarts, it's walls were not lined with as many paintings or suits of amour, Wroxeter instead contained a large number of busts, and oddly shaped statues. Incredibly long tapestries hung on many walls where tiny moving stitched figures played out stories of historical importance. There were also numerous fresco's of living plaster figures which, unlike their silent embroidered counterparts, tended to argue and hit each other over the head with their broom's and caldron's. The ill tempered and rude hob-goblin's, who were chiseled into several of the columns, were in particular well known for picking their noses whilst leering at people who walked by.

As Annie paced down the long corridor her foot steps felt as if they echoed more than usual, she glanced through the occasional open door into the class room beyond and noted that the classes, like the entrance hall, seemed noticeably smaller than usual. Each class she saw seeming to have lessened by almost a third. Like the wizards in the entrance hall nearly every witch and wizard, including the teachers, seemed to be sporting a single lone daffodil, the tiny vibrant flowers seeming almost vulgar or rude in comparison to the depressing sense of loss and suffering that seemed to be hanging in the air.

At last the wide open doors to the administration wing came into view and after passing a small watery eyed house elf dusting a protesting fresco Annie finally swept in to the large open office area of the administration wing. Inside several young witches sat glumly behind their desks either scribing in large dusty tomes with their quills or waving their wands to fold up bits of parchment into the shape of paper birds, which flapped and flew off through open windows or down the corridor, in the direction of their intended readers.

No sooner had Annie come to a halt than the sad faced young witches sprang out of their chairs to greet her, their glumness temporarily forgotten as they rushed to greet Annie and collectively coo over the baby Robert who, having just woke, gurgled and smiled at the attention the beaming young witches heaped upon him. One of the plumper witches had just taken the large bunch of daffodils from Annie and put them into a large wide vase when suddenly the muffled sound of man voice could be heard roaring from the end office, a high shrill woman's voice cut over the mans thundering voice for a moment before the man boomed back, a few seconds later the man's roaring voice was suddenly cut short by a yelp of pain and a moment later the door to the end office swung open revealing the unmistakable hunched form of Basileus Jeffreys, a particularly meddlesome and disliked Ministry official.

"And what the blazes is that thing doing here" bellowed Jeffreys furiously, spit shower from his fat quivering lips, he glowered down at tiny Jack Russell that stood growling defiantly at him,

"Flea bitten mutt" cursed Jeffreys snarling furiously raising his walking stick threateningly,

"I should have you stuffed and mounted on my wall", Jeffreys paused momentarily, and controlling his rage fixed the other person in the room with a particularly malicious and threatening stare.

"Mark my words" he growled coldly,

"I'll be back, and when I do you'd best be more cooperative" his face still a contorted with malevolent rage Jeffreys stormed across the office yelling at several of the young witches to get out of his way or he would them sent to Azkaban, at the double doors he paused, seeming to notice Annie for the first time.

Jeffreys slowly turned his fat pudgy face and silently leered at Annie for several long moments, there was something oddly disturbing about his silent appraising stare and Annie felt herself flinch at the sight of a strange almost greedy glint, which momentarily flickered across Jeffreys dark malicious eyes. He glanced coldly to his side where the vase holding Annie's daffodils stood and glanced back again at Annie, the hint of a malevolent sneer curling his lips, a second later there was violent flash as Jeffreys walking struck the vase and sent it smashing to the floor.

As Jeffreys slouched from the room Annie and the young witches stood stunned for several seconds, aghast at Jeffreys outburst, finally Annie blinking seemed to return to herself and waving away the still nervous looking young witches, fumbled for her wand.

"Reparo" whispered Annie and the pieces of the vase sprang gently back up into the air, reforming into the shape of an undamaged vase, several of the witches helped her retrieve the flowers from the floor and place them back in the vase as Annie, still a little shaken, took aim with her wand a second time.

"Aguamenti"

This time a jet of water poured out of the tip of her wand like a watering can, water poured into the vase and Annie glanced concernedly down the quiet corridor after Jeffreys, whose thunder voice could still be faintly heard roaring unpleasant threat at a scampering house elf.

Leaving Robert to try and cheer the shocked young witches Annie cautiously made her way past the closed door of the office belonging to here older sister Rosaline and in through the open door of the office which Jeffreys had just left.

The office she entered was wide, spacious and airy. Meticulously kept book shelves lined a number of walls whilst several perfectly placed pictures and numerous grand looking certificates and awards covered much of the remaining wall spaces. A large picture window ran the entire length of the outer wall, granting any within the office a breath taking view of the gardens below.

Annie paused hesitantly, biting her lip as if not sure whether to break the silence of the room, as she gazed its occupant.

Behind a large neatly kept desk sat Annie's mother, Olivia Price. She was a slim, immaculately dressed, elderly woman with silvery hair tide back in a bun. Narrow slotted glasses perched on a sharp pointed nose and she whore tight fitting robes that reached all the way up to the neck where a pedant sat prominently beneath the slight ruffles of a white lacey collar which reached out over the top of her robes. Normally Olivia's slender frame seemed to fill any room, her strict Victorian air and piercing stare enough so silence any that entered through the doors of Wroxeter, yet as she sat gazing sadly out of the picture window, her usually indomitable spirt seemed greatly diminished. She stared sadly at her own reflection in the glass, the watery eyes of the reflection reminiscent in someway of a lost and lonely child.

Olivia seemed to suddenly become aware of someone else's presence in the room and with the aid of a long drawn breath, drew herself up in the chair to her full height before turning in her chair to smile pleasantly across the room at her youngest daughter.

"Hello dear," said Olivia, her voice still noticeably distant and slight compared to her normal firm, austere tone,

"Er, hi mum," fumbled a concerned Annie making her way more fully into the room.

"Why was Mr. Jeffreys here?" she asked timidly. Olivia gave a dismissive gesture with her hand and glanced away,

"Oh, don't worry yourself about him," she replied faintly,

"He just thought that given recent events he could just barge in here and threaten me into making the WI do whatever he wants." She turned her gaze to the little Jack Russell, who was sat in a corner of the room on folded tartan rug and a hint of a smile warmed her pale face,

"Unfortunately for Jeffreys were tougher than we look aren't we Trixabella", the little dog gave out short defiant bark and wagged its stubby forked tail enthusiastically,

"Are you sure you're alright mum?" enquired Annie peering more closely at Olivia,

"I mean, I know times are tough now, but you seem so sad today,"

Olivia sat quietly contemplating Annie for several long moments before silently reaching down and lifting what looked like a long picture frame from behind her desk. She paused gazing down at it, cradling it tenderly in her lap like a mother with a new born child,

"It's silly really," she muttered distantly, the hint of a tear welling in her eyes,

"It's just, there's so many tributes coming in for your grandmother," she gestured to numerous large piles of letters and parchments that were stacked high on the desk and several side tables around the room,

"I didn't really have time to read them all until today," she added faintly,

"But, I couldn't put it off any longer as Sandra is going to have the best ones printed in the Prophet and Witch Weekly," her voice tailed off and she gazed down again at the long framed document in her lap,

"So many touching tributes," she whispered sadly,

"And then I came across this one. It's from Dumbledore" she added beaming a faint watery smile as she handed the framed document across the table to Annie.

Dumbledore's long spidery hand writing was instantly recognizable. Silvery ink gleamed up from a bone white page, whilst on the delicate picture frame tiny carved daffodils swayed sleepily from side to side as Annie read;

"A fond farewell to the fondest of friends,

A eulogy by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,

Angelina Lowe was more than one of the greatest witches of her time; a patient teacher, an unparalleled craftsman and the driving force behind the WI for the better part of a century.

In the annuals of history future generations will read of Angelina Lowe and remember a highly venerated witch of exceptional skill.

In the guides and tomes for the creation of magical items, new generations of craftsmen and women will learn of the great advances and abundant wisdom she so freely shared.

And those that walk the halls of Wroxeter will remember a witch whose tireless contributions saved and solidified one of our oldest and most beloved institutions.

But Angelina Lowe was far, far more than the sum of her impressive achievements. In a career that would consumed the best of us, Angelina still found the time to give the best of herself to all those around her.

In a world bound by the constraints of time and the demands of work, Angelina still found the time to be an adoring mother of thirteen children as well as countless grand and great grandchildren, not to mention a confidant and inspiration to students and friends to enumerable to count.

As one of those friends, I will forever treasure the times I shared with her, and lament the time I can no longer have.

Rest well Angelina for you have surely earned it.

And until we meet again I bid you the very fondest of farewells.

Albus."

At the bottom of the long framed parchment a photo of a much younger looking Dumbledore smiled up from the page. His beard blew in a strong breeze that forced him to hold on tightly to his hat. Next to him, smiling and laughing, was a slender blonde haired witch with kindly eyes, who clung to another laughing wizard attempting to shield herself from the wind.

Behind the three friends, as far as the eye could see, were wind swept fields of the smiling woman's favorite flowers, daffodils.