- CHAPTER TWO -
In The Invisible Tower
One thousand years or more had passed. Hogwarts continued to flourish; the responsibilities the four founders once took being passed on from generation to generation. Helga, Salazar, Rowena and Godric may have been long gone, but their precious values and enthusiasm for teaching were still very much alive in others.
The school had changed in appearance in only very subtle ways: a few turrets had been added, the masonry showed centuries of weathering and the ivy creeping up the castle walls was now well established. If Godric Gryffindor was to be reincarnated, he would still easily recognise his cherished castle overlooking the vast glassy lake.
For the last few years, Hogwarts had been under the devoted, watchful eye of Professor Albus Dumbledore, certainly one of the best headmasters Hogwarts had seen, and arguably one of the greatest wizards of the age. Everybody from the Minister of Magic downward seemed to have a certain respect for Dumbledore. The spindly, silver bearded, one-hundred-and-forty-year-old wizard appeared to know just about everything that was worth knowing.
Professor Dumbledore lived in the traditional headmaster's tower, where he now sat on this summer's evening at his great oak desk. Those sparkling blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were now scanning through a particularly long letter from the Minister of Magic. He then reached for his peacock feather quill pen, and began to studiously write a reply on some yellowing parchment paper. He seemed so absorbed in his mountainous workload it appeared nothing could possibly disturb him. He wasn't even particularly distracted when the extraordinary site of a witch flying through the arched window on a broomstick.
There was a gentle flump as the witch's sparkling silver slippers hit the stone floor. She dismounted her Golden Eagle racing broom and propped it up against the wall of Dumbledore's office. Flicking one of her long darkest-shade-of-chestnut locks behind her ear, she took off her shimmering silver cloak and hung it on the back of the door. She rubbed her shadowed eyes and sighed, taking the magic wand from her cloak pocket.
Dumbledore's office was a circular chamber, which played exhibition room to moving portraits of all the headmasters and headmistresses who had ever served at Hogwarts. In pride of place opposite Dumbledore's desk, and out of direct sunlight, hung the age-old group portrait of the four founders: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff. The witch faced it and tapped the bare stone wall underneath it three times with her wand, whispering a password as she did so.
Magically a small opening emerged out of the solid stone wall, just large enough for an adult to struggle through. The lady got on her knees and crawled through, finding herself at the foot of a stone spiral staircase. There was an eerie purple glow coming from the lanterns that lined the walls. The lady climbed the steps, stopping every now and then to glance at the moving photographs, which had captured many of her happy memories.
At the top of the staircase was another circular room, but this one was quite different from Dumbledore's study. The otherwise dark, gothic stone walls, heavy, studded, oak door and arched windows had been uplifted with garish shades of purple and blue, with swags of silver velvet hanging from the ceiling. The furniture was quality mahogany, and the walls were lined with shelves of potion bottles of all shapes, sizes and colours. Star and moon shaped beams of light seemed to be mysteriously rotating around the room, lighting every corner.
The witch sighed with relief. She was home.
She passed through this room and into another, through he oak door in the far corner. This room was entirely different again. The walls were bare stone, and crammed everywhere were cabinets, contained piles upon piles of parchment. Jammed into the corner was an oak desk and chair, which the lady squeezed her way to. She sat down and took a quill, a bottle of ink and some parchment out of one of the draws. Her quill poised, she thought for a moment, and then began to write.
30th July
We seem to have the situation with the McKinnons under control, but in predicament s such as this it is always difficult to tell. The house is being guarded by the Prewetts, and well as a thousand and one enchantments cast by them, Mad-Eye and myself. Mad-Eye seems confident that there is no chance Voldemort could succeed in an attack, but as ever, I'm anxious. The McKinnons would undoubtedly be perfectly safe if we were dealing with an ordinary wizard, but of course we're not. Lord Voldemort is anything but ordinary. He always seems to find a way, and that has been a thought worrying me no end this last few days. Yes, the charms on the McKinnons' house are strong, but not unbreakable with Dark magic, I'm sure. As for the Prewetts… they are two of the finest Aurors I know. But unlike Voldemort they are mortal, and I don't question that Voldemort would not think twice about killing them.
As procedure, I have listed the Charms on the McKinnons' house, and have enclosed the records with this entry.
The witch read through a few times what she had written then placed it into one of the wooden filing cabinets. She then returned to the previous room, her lounge. She gracefully sat cross-legged on the tie-dye rug opposite the window. She held her arms out straight at either side of her, like the wings of an eagle. She closed her eyes and composed herself, breathing deeply in, then out.
She let her thoughts ebb away… like a crowded room gradually emptying, one by one. Finally all that was left was utter, blissful peace.
The witch felt the strangest sensation of herself leaving her body… She was travelling to that blue-green, misty place… the place that makes you tingle all over with excitement, fear, sadness and happiness all at the same time… the place where dreams are created…
She drifted through realm after realm of what seemed like endless pleasure. Nonetheless she knew it would not last long. Soon she would be entering the domain of nightmares. Soon her ears would be surging with white-hot pain as she heard those unfathomable screams of those who were in jeopardy, those that had been in jeopardy and those who were to be in jeopardy. If she could just make sense of it all, there was a chance she could help one of those waiting to fall into fate's snare…
A painful jolt shook the witch as the perpetual darkness of suffering tried to consume her soul. Endless moaning, screaming, shrieking, weeping… One voice that reached the witch's ears above all the commotion…
"Help me! Someone hear me, please! They'll kill me! HELP!"
With an agonizing stinging sensation, she was jerked back into her own reality. She knew whom she had to find. She knew where she had to go. She knew what she had to do.
Rushing downstairs, the lady opened the hidden entrance to her tower and ran across Dumbledore's office. She grabbed her broomstick and swooped out of the window on it, and into the blackness beyond.
Now, a ten-year-old girl by the name of Monica Hildegard waited unknowingly. Soon she was to cross paths with one extraordinary witch who would change her direction on the pathways of life forever.