Bridgerwarts
by Kelly Chambliss
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Chapter 1
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The letter was sitting in the center of Headmistress McGonagall's desk when she came into her office one morning, not long after the start of term.
The plain, square envelope was addressed in what looked like the headmistress's own emerald ink:
Professor Minerva McGonagall, O.M. (First Class)
Antique Mahogany Desk
Office of the Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Shire of Hogsmeade, Scotland
The ordinary daily owl post had not yet arrived, so Minerva looked around for the private owl that must have delivered this note. She'd give it a treat and send it on its way.
But no owl was to be seen. A quick check of the castle's magical logs indicated that no owls had passed through the wards during the night, either.
"Beldy?" she said to the house elf who had just appeared with her early-morning tea. "Did you see who left this letter?"
"No, your headship; Beldy not be a witness to the advent of this epistolary discourse," said the elf, who had recently taken a correspondence course on vocabulary-building.
Minerva had been unable to cure him of addressing her as "your headship," though she did manage to convince him to leave off his adjective of choice. Thus at least she was no longer "your divine headship."
"Albus? Or anyone?" she asked the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses who lined the walls. Most were asleep, but Dumbledore and a few others were watching her. Albus shook his head.
"It just. . .appeared," said Amrose Swott, stroking his long beard. "One moment not there, the next moment - - poof! There it was. Like magic." He chuckled at what he apparently thought was his own wit, while Dilys Derwent rolled her eyes.
The arrival of mail by unknown magic was not unprecedented, but nonetheless, Minerva was mildly worried. Voldemort had been defeated mere months ago, and repairs to the battle-scarred castle had been completed only recently, delaying the opening of school for six weeks. Students and staff alike were still understandably skittish, and even Hogwarts itself remained a bit difficult. In the last few weeks, the Castle had several times stopped the movement of all staircases, leaving people stranded in mid-air.
Clearly the wizarding world was going to take some time to recover from the damage inflicted by Voldemort and his supporters, if indeed it ever would.
Yet far too many people were determined to act as if all the horrors of the last few years were totally behind them.
Minerva knew better. "The Dark Lord" himself might be gone, but the wizards as a group had not all suddenly become totally progressive and enlightened. Voldemort's ideology had not disappeared. Many people still clung to old ideas, although at least those who believed in "blood purity" mostly kept those thoughts to themselves. For now.
Thus the headmistress continued to keep a weather eye out for any unusual occurrences - - constant vigilance, as Alastor would say - - and an unexplained letter definitely counted as one.
She tapped the envelope with her wand to open it and then unfolded the broadsheet inside.
LADY WANDSDOWN'S STAFF PAPERS
(it read, in a swirly, old-fashioned font)
20 October 1998
Extraordinary Magical People, Extraordinary Magical News
It has been said that, "Of all witches dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine." If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth. My name is Lady Wandsdown. You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. But be forewarned, dear readers: I certainly know you.
Minerva put the letter down slowly, her cup of tea forgotten. What on earth. . . ? She didn't like the sound of this.
At all.
We find ourselves, the letter continued, at the start of another Hogwarts school term. But this is not just any term, my friends - - Merlin's pockets, no. This is the first term in decades that students and staff will not suffer under the threat of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Shall there be universal rejoicing? Perhaps. Then again, word has reached my ears that all may not be perfectly harmonious within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. There is unrest, readers - - unrest.
Oh, nothing overt. No, not overt.
But that is the problem, you see. Too much remains unspoken at the school, too many feelings remain unaddressed, too many dreams remain unfulfilled.
Yes, much is now hidden at Hogwarts - - but not for long.
For you see, Lady Wandsdown knows all the secrets. All of them.
And I am about to tell.
Until next time, my dears, I remain,
yours in fealty to magic,
Lady Wandsdown
"Merlin's pockets, indeed," said Minerva sharply, rising to pace the office. Was this some fresh new hell, or just someone's misguided idea of a joke?
"Trouble?" asked Albus's portrait. Virtually all of the portraits were watching with interest now.
"I'm not sure," she replied. "But possibly. Listen to this." She read the letter aloud.
"Outrageous," blustered Mordicus Egg, but as this was his response to virtually anything, no one paid him any attention.
Eupraxia Mole and Quentin Trimble were whispering excitedly across their frames; they loved anything do to with intrigue.
"How enthralling!" Eupraxia breathed, and Quentin rubbed his hands. "Oooh, nothing like a good scandal, is there, Eupie?" he said.
Dilys eyed them with disapproval. "Do grow up," she snapped, and then said, more calmly, "It's probably nothing, Minerva. My advice is simply to wait and see what, if anything, happens."
"I agree," said Albus. "Very likely you'll hear nothing more about it."
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As Minerva entered the Great Hall for breakfast half an hour later, she was greeted by the sight of every staff member's head bent interestedly over copies of Lady Wandsdown's letter.
"We all received one," Filius Flitwick said, handing Minerva his envelope. It read,
Professor Filius Flitwick
Deputy Headmaster and Head of Ravenclaw House
Third Seat from the Left, High Table
Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle
"They just appeared on our plates as we sat down," he continued.
Minerva sighed. "So much for hearing nothing more about it, Albus," she muttered. "Filius, you'd better call a staff meeting for this afternoon. I have no idea what this is about, but I'm fairly certain we're not going to like it."
When she entered the staff room later that day, she saw that for the first time in her memory, every member of the Hogwarts staff had showed up early for a meeting.
"This has Rita Skeeter written all over it," said Madam Hooch, tossing her letter onto the table. "Nasty, scandal-grubbing bitch. She has some nerve, calling herself a journalist. And she was pants on a broom when she was a student here."
"I wish I knew what you really thought of her, Ro," laughed Pomona Sprout. "But I agree, this sounds exactly like something Rita would do."
"Fishing," nodded Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. She'd come in from giving a Magical Creatures lesson in the forest, and her ruddy face looked concerned. "Woman spends more time looking for shit than a dung beetle. Speaking of which, Pommie, I've a bumper crop of them if you need some to aerate your fertiliser."
"The text is a little more literary than I'd expect from Rita Skeeter," said Filius, examining the letter thoughtfully.
"What?" screeched Hooch. "I'm just a flying instructor, so what do I know about literature, but are you suggesting this nonsense is a piece of art or something?"
"No, of course not," replied Filius. "But look at the opening line: it's a quotation from one of the letters of Lord Byron, a Muggle poet. Or rather, it's a mis-quotation. I'm afraid his lordship, like Rolanda here" - - he grinned at Hooch - - "was less polite than our letter writer; he actually said 'bitches,' not 'witches.' Which gives more bite to the word 'canine,' you see."
"Fascinating bit of literary explication, old chap," said Horace Slughorn, who had agreed to stay on as head of Slytherin. He joined them from the tea counter, a cinnamon pastry floating next to his cup. "But I don't quite understand. . ."
"My point," said Filius, "is that this bit of Byronic arcanum would seem to be beyond the knowledge of La Skeeter. I can't see her knowing much about the letters a Muggle poet wrote two centuries ago."
"Frankly, I can't see many wizarding folk at all knowing that sort of thing," said Poppy Pomfrey.
"Yes, be careful, Filius," Wilhelmina said with a chuckle. "Wouldn't want us to think that the writer must be the head of Ravenclaw House."
There was a pause. Minerva watched unhappily as everyone glanced sideways at one another. Wilhelmina had been joking, but "Lady Wandsdown" could indeed be one of them. This was just the kind of suspicion and distrust that Hogwarts did not need.
"Does anyone know anything factual about this letter or about 'Lady Wandsdown'?" she asked, and when they all shook their heads, said, "Then I suggest we follow Dilys Derwent's advice - - we do nothing for now. "
She rose to signal the end of the meeting. "Let's keep this among ourselves and just wait to see if anything further happens."