CHAPTER TWO: Isabel

Isabel woke slowly feeling as if she were surfacing from a fog. She could tell she was lying down on what felt like a couch. She could hear voices that sounded as if they were coming from behind a door but she couldn't make out what they were saying. Where was she? Then it came back to her in a rush: the magic wall, wizards, memory modification. She must have fallen asleep or fainted while waiting at the station and had a very odd dream.

She shook her head to clear it, then opened her eyes slowly. She was in some kind of an office. Well, then, whatever had happened couldn't be too bad or she would be in hospital or clinic. That was good. She most likely had missed her train, however. That wasn't good. Perhaps she'd be able to catch another one today.

She sat up carefully and looked around. The office was paneled in dark wood and dominated by a large desk. The desk was littered with very old looking books, stacks of old paper, and old-fashioned feather quills and inkpots. There was also a lime green bowler hat perched on the edge of it. On the walls were several oil paintings in heavy ornate frames.

One painting was a pastoral scene done in the impressionist style. In the foreground a picnic had been laid, but the painting had no people in it to enjoy the meal. That seemed odd but not nearly as odd as the rest of the paintings. All of them were portraits and the subject of each and every one was sleeping. Why, she wondered, Would someone want a portrait of themselves having a nap? She squinted at the nearest portrait, of a man in ornate Tudor costume. It was done so well it almost seemed as if his chest were rising and falling. Come to that, so did most of the portraits. This gave Isabel a bad feeling.

She rose to get a closer look just as two people wandered back into the picnic scene, sat down, and began to eat. Isabel squawked in surprise and the door at the far end of the office flew open to admit several people. Unfortunately, Isabel recognized two of them from her dream.

Mr. Parrish and Mr. Weasley stood beside another man who wore an immaculate pin-striped suit and green velvet robes that matched the hat on the desk. Weakly, Isabel realized that the events she remembered upon waking hadn't been a dream after all. Isabel backed away from the three men until she felt the back of her legs hit the couch and she was forced to stop. Her face must have betrayed some fear because Mr. Weasley stepped forward with a concerned expression and said,

"Please, Ms. Clay, no one wants to harm you."

"Where am I?" she snapped

"You're at the Ministry of Magic, child." said the man in green.

Isabel shot an indignant look at Parrish and Weasley,

"I told you I wouldn't come here so you knocked me out and brought me anyway! This is kidnapping!"

"We are sorry, Ms. Clay, but neither Arthur nor I stunned you. It was Nigel. But as you were unconscious and we needed to consult the Minister we thought it best to bring you here." Mr. Parrish explained a bit defensively.

Isabel "humphed" but said nothing. The realization that, like it or not, these people could do whatever they wanted to her was beginning to sink in. She was feeling a lot less sure of herself than she had earlier. But she reasoned that her best defense so far had been a good offense so it was best not to betray her growing lack of confidence.

The man in green stepped forward to introduced himself. "I am Corneilus Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Ms. Clay, will you have a seat?" he said gesturing at the couch behind her.

"Thank You" Isabel said shortly and sat. Truth be told she was glad for the chance to sit because she wasn't sure how much longer she could have kept her legs from visibly shaking. Fudge took the seat behind the desk while Mr. Parrish and Mr. Weasley turned the two chairs in front of the desk around to face the couch and sat down as well.

"Ms. Clay, you have presented us with quite a little dilemma which Mr. Weasley has urged us to take seriously. I think you may take it as a pledge of our good faith that we did not modify your memory while you were stunned and incapable of objecting."

That hadn't actually occurred to Isabel and it did make her feel a bit better. She was clearly not out of the woods, however.

Fudge continued, "We could take this matter before the Council of Magical Law for a decision. I am inclined, however, to try and handle the problem on this level without bringing in the Council."

"Begging your pardon sir," Isabel interrupted, "But I don't see what the problem is. I mean, why is my knowing you exist so awful?"

"Well, naturally, were it to become widely known that there are witches and wizards certain problems and demands would arise which would make it very difficult for magical people to live their lives."

"But I'm only one person. Honestly, do you think that anyone would believe me if I were to tell them?"

"Well, no, that is highly unlikely."

"Surely I'm not the first, um, 'Muggle' is it?" she said with a hint of distaste, " Surely I'm not the first Muggle to discover that there are witches and wizards?"

"No, of course not. Most however, know of our existence because there are witches and wizards in their families or because they have married a magical person. That is a different situation entirely."

"Most but not all?

"No, there are some Muggles, such as your Prime Minister, who know."

"O.K., so why can't I be among that group?"

There was a pause after this question until Mr. Weasley spoke up.

"That is a good question, Corneilus."

"Well, Arthur," Fudge replied a bit testily, "It's a question of precedent."

"But how often does this really happen? This is one in how many centuries?" Mr. Parrish asked.

"And," said Mr. Weasley, "even if it did occur more often, there is still the ethical question to be dealt with. I don't think we have the right to force magic on a Muggle who understands and objects."

Fudge sighed heavily and Isabel tried to think of something she could add that might help her case. It seemed that this Fudge was at least open to hearing her side and she wasn't sure that the Council of which he spoke of would be.

"If you are concerned about precedent, sir," she said, "Wouldn't it be better for you to decide rather than an official Council?"

"Indeed, Indeed," Fudge said waving an impatient hand in her and the other two wizards' direction, "I need time to consider this. If you would all excuse me I would be most grateful."

Weasley and Parrish rose, returning their chairs to their original positions. Isabel had stood as well, but was at a loss as to where she should go. Arthur Weasley gave her a small smile and gestured for her to follow, which she was only too glad to do. When they reached the anteroom, Isabel noticed it contained a thin-lipped witch at a desk. She must be his secretary, Isabel thought. Carl Parrish nodded at the woman and excused himself saying he had work to do in his office.

"Ms. Clay, may I offer you a cup of tea? I have some in my office." Mr. Weasley said kindly.

Isabel nodded gratefully. The witch behind the desk kept glancing up at her with an increasingly sour expression. She did not relish the though of sitting with her to wait.

"This way," Mr. Weasley gestured toward a hallway. Just then, however, Isabel heard that popping noise again and couldn't help wincing. A tall wizard in purple robes had appeared next to the secretary's desk and she was clearly not happy to see him. The wizard must certainly be old, for his long hair and beard were silver white and he wore old-fashion half moon glasses. But the blue eyes twinkling over the glasses gave him an age-less look.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed with a note of surprise, "How good to see you."

"Thank you, Arthur, it is good to see you as well." Dumbledore replied. Then, turning to the secretary he said, "Would you be so kind as to let the Minister know I have received his owl and am here to discuss it in person? Thank you." The secretary didn't look as if she cared to interrupt the Minister, but she disappeared into his office just the same.

Dumbledore then turned to Isabel. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he said.

Isabel felt instinctively that she could trust this man and immediately replied, "I am Isabel Clay."

"Albus Dumbledore," the man said, then continued dryly, "At your service I expect."

"Sir?" Isabel said raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"You are, I assume, the Muggle who found her way onto Platform 9 3/4 late this morning and subsequently refused to have her memory modified?" he asked with the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile.

"Well, yes. That would be me."

"Well, Ms. Clay, I am glad to see your memory is still intact. I'm here to express the opinion that it should remain so."

This gave Isabel a sense of relief. It seemed, somehow, if this man were on her side she might have a chance after all.

"May I ask you to tell me the details of what transpired this morning?" Dumbledore asked.

Yet again, Isabel told the story. When she had finished Dumbledore's eyes were again crinkling above his glasses as he chuckled softly.

"Well, you can see and think. You must have given the Minister quite a turn."

Isabel colored at this but said nothing as Fudge's secretary had, at last, re-appeared. Her arms were now burdened with a great pile of parchment. She gave Dumbledore an accusing look which gave Isabel the impression she blamed him.

"I am to send you in." she said curtly.

Dumbledore left them with a nod. Isabel felt Mr. Weasley's hand on her arm as she looked at the closed door to Fudge's office.

"How about that tea?"

"Yes, thanks," she said, letting herself be led away from the ill-tempered secretary to Mr. Weasley's cluttered office down at the farthest end of the hall. Nearly forty-five minutes had gone by before they were summoned back to Fudge's office. Mr. Parrish and Dumbledore were both standing beside Fudge's desk as Isabel and Mr. Weasley arrived. Isabel tried to get an idea of what was coming from their faces but before she could decide what Dumbledore's meant Fudge was speaking in a very official tone.

"Ms. Clay, it is with some trepidation that I have decided to drop the matter of modifying your memory." At this, Isabel let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"However," Fudge continued, "as a condition of this you will be asked to sign an oath that you shall not willfully reveal the existence of the magical community to your fellow Muggles."

"Yes, of course, gladly." Isabel said quickly. Where's the pen? she thought, let me sign it and get out of here before he changes his mind.

Fudge presented Isabel with a piece of handwritten parchment and a feather quill. Isabel looked at the quill blankly for a moment, then caught sight of an inkpot and carefully dipped the quill in. She signed her name a bit sloppily. Fudge seemed satisfied and dismissed them all from his office.

Once beyond Fudge's door Mr. Parrish smiled at Isabel and extended his hand, "Congratulations, Ms. Clay, I am glad you prevailed." Isabel shook his hand with mild surprise. She hadn't been sure how he would feel about this. Parrish then nodded to the group and disappeared with that "pop".

Isabel turned to Mr. Weasley and asked, "Um, I was wondering. I don't have any idea where I am, you see. Could you tell me how to get back to King's Cross Station?"

"Oh, of course. Certainly, if you like." Mr. Weasley said looking a bit dissapointed. Isabel didn't have time to wonder why this would disappoint him because Dumbledore spoke.

"Ms. Clay, I don't want to intrude on your plans but I would like to extend an invitation to return with me to Hogwarts, our school of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Isabel was rendered temporarily speechless. She had not expected this. Finally, she spoke.

"Well, actually, I don't really have any firm plans for you to intrude upon. I'm just traveling for a while so my plans are open. So, um, well yes, I would like to come very much. It's just that I thought you people wouldn't want me to see any more ...magical things."

Dumbledore nodded, "I am sure some people would rather you saw no more. I am of the opinion that, so long as the proverbial cat is out of the bag, we ought to try and discover how or why you were able to penetrate an impenetrable barrier. A stay at Hogwarts would give me a chance to try and discover the reasons. In addition, I expect Hogwarts itself might be of interest to you."

"Are you kidding? When do we leave?"

Before Dumbledore could answer, Mr. Weasley asked a question in a worried tone.

"Ah, Professor, are you sure-?" he asked trailing off but inclining his head toward Fudge's office.

"Yes. Fudge was ambivalent when I first made the suggestion, but even he realizes that it may be important to know what enabled Ms. Clay to enter the platform. Besides, the 'damage' has already been done. He is comforted by the notion that he will know where to find Ms. Clay should those examining the barrier have further questions for her."

Mr. Weasley nodded philosophically and Dumbledore went on to explain to Isabel how they would travel magically using something called "Floo Powder" and a fireplace. Hearing this, Isabel was again struck by how surreal the whole situation was. Still, she reasoned, there is no doubt this will be a much more interesting vacation than I had planned.

They left from the fireplace in Arthur Weasley's office. Before they did, however, Mr. Weasley peppered Isabel with advice on Floo travel.

"Speak clearly when you step into the fire. Keep your arms tucked to your side so you don't bump your elbows. Oh, you might want to keep your eyes shut, too. My son Ron's friend, Harry, said that keeping his eyes open the first time he traveled by Floo made him nauseous.

"Speaking of Ron - he and my sons Fred and George and my daughter Ginny are all students at Hogwarts. You'll recognise them by their red hair.

"Good luck." He said and stepped away from the fireplace.

Dumbledore picked up her duffle and said, "I will go first to demonstrate. Remember, your destination is 'Hogsmeade Station.'"

"Right," Isabel nodded trying not to look nervous, "'Hogs-mead Station' Got it. See you there."

Dumbledore then took a pinch of silver powder out of a pouch from within his robes. He put it in Isabel's hand and took another for himself. He threw his powder into the fire whose flames turned green and leapt high in the grate. Dumbledore stepped into the flames, was heard to say "Hogsmeade Station" and was gone.

Isabel stood quite still for a moment, staring at the fire where Dumbledore had been. She wasn't sure she still had the nerve to try this. Mr. Weasley put a fatherly hand on her shoulder and said, "It's alright - quite easy actually - You can do it."

Isabel stepped to the hearth and cleared her throat. She took firm grasp of her rucksack at the same time trying to keep her elbow tucked in. Then, with a deep breath, she threw the silver powder into the flames. Again they rose up green. Isabel clamped her other arm to her side and stepped into the fire yelling "Hogs-mead Station!" She felt herself spinning in the green light as the openings of fireplaces whipped by at an impossible rate. It did make her feel a bit queasy and she remembered Mr. Weasley's advice and closed her eyes.

She felt like a spinning top dropping down a tunnel. It seemed she had spent a great deal of time doing this when she finally sensed herself slowing down. She closed her eyes more tightly and braced herself. A moment later she landed hard and fell out of a fireplace onto a flagstone floor. Coloring, she quickly glanced around to see if anyone had seen her fall. Only Dumbledore seemed to notice her. He stood waiting patiently a few feet away. He stepped forward and offered her a hand up. Isabel noticed that he was surprisingly strong. She spent a minute or two brushing and batting the ash off herself then turned to the Professor.

"Onward and Upward?" she asked.

"Literally." he replied gesturing toward a door on the far side of the large, mostly empty, room. They stepped outside into the crisp mid-afternoon sun. Isabel looked around and saw a very quaint village nestled up against the foothills of craggy mountains. The air smelt of peat, woodsmoke, and heather. Amazing! she thought, I wound up in Scotland after all!

Dumbledore led the way to a well worn footpath that led away uphill away from the station and the town. Isabel reached for her duffle but Dumbledore waved her away. They walked up the first hill in silence as Isabel looked all around her trying to take in as much as possible. As they crested the hill, Isabel caught sight of a very old and extremely large castle a short way distant. It was a top-heavy jumble of turrets and towers which looked to have been cobbled togther with very little forethought. In fact, it looked as if it were standing in opposition to the laws of physics. Well, Isabel thought, I guess it probably CAN defy the laws of physics.

She glanced over at Dumbledore and saw him regarding her with a benevolent smile.

"I don't often get to see someone taking in their first sight of Hogwarts Castle," he said, "Doing so tends to renew one's appreciation."

"It does tend to boggle the imagination, sir."

"Well put," Dumbledore chuckled and continued on toward the castle. "Tell me, Ms. Clay, can you think of anything odd that you've seen or done before this morning?"

"Such as?"

"Anything that didn't mesh with the laws of nature or 'common sense.' For instance, something strange and inexplicable that may have happened to or near you during a time of emotional stress. Or perhaps what you call 'psychic abilities' or premonitions."

Isabel considered this for several minutes as they crested another hill. Dumbledore seemed content to let her think and waited for her to speak without comment. Finally, she said apologetically,

"Not really. Not that I can think of , anyway. At best, I suppose I've had a premonition or two but nothing significant. Why? What are you thinking?"

"Well, it seems to me that the first thing we must do in our effort to discover how you, as a Muggle, were able to penetrate the barrier is to see if you are actually a Muggle."

It was Isabel's turn to chuckle, "Trust me, that is a safe assumption."

"Still, if you would indulge me, please tell me about your premonitions."

Isabel felt embarrassed. "They're silly, really. I sometimes know who is on the telephone. I've sensed danger before something happened once or twice. Stuff like that. Frankly, I'm not convinced those things can't be explained as the result of the subconscious mind adding up observations of the conscious.

You know, things that you notice but don't know you notice. For instance noticing the weather is bad, and that someone who is about to drive is in a bad mood and remembering in the back of your mind that they have bad brakes. It would be reasonable to feel they are in danger. Even you don't realize that you've added together those observations so you call it a premonition."

Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps, yes. But perhaps no. It has been my experience that non-magical people are trained by their culture from earliest childhood to find any explanation but magic for magical things. You may have had genuine premonitions but encouraged yourself to find a 'logical' explanation for them."

"Well we've certainly got good reason," Isabel noted dryly, "to believe in magic is generally considered the sign of an unbalanced mind. Why would anyone go for an explanation that seemed irrational and could land them in a mental ward when a nice 'logical' one was available?"

"Exactly. This is what most non-magic people do. I would point out to you, however, that there were doubtless any number of 'logical' explanations for what you saw this morning at King's Cross; yet you chose to explore the 'irrational' one."

Isabel had nothing to say to this and was saved from trying to by their arrival at the gates of the Hogwarts campus. A rolling hill lead up to the crazy-quilt castle. There was a lake at the bottom of the hill and a dense forest stretched away from its shore and out of sight. Dumbledore noticed Isabel looking at the forest.

"That is the Forbidden Forest. It is populated by a number of very dangerous creatures and is, as it's name implies, forbidden to our students. I think it wise if you avoid it as well."

Isabel nodded her assent and squinted at the innocent-looking woods. She didn't think avoiding a wood full of dangerous beasts would be a hardship. As they started up the slope to the castle Dumbledore spoke again,

"Our students will be arriving this evening. There will be a sorting ceremony dividing the new ones into one of the four School houses. This is followed by a feast. We would be pleased if you would join us at the staff table for the feast and other meals. You will be most welcome in the staff room as well. You are free to observe classes as you wish once the term begins in the morning. I will introduce you to the students at the feast as our guest."

They were at the foot of stone steps leading to large oak doors. Dumbledore mounted them and held a door open to Isabel. She stepped through and found herself in a truly impressive entrance hall. It was vast and centered around a magnificent marble staircase. Several torches in holders along the wall had been lit in anticipation of the coming twilight and a large door to the right revealed a glimpse of a very large room filled with tables and chairs.

"This is wonderful." Isabel breathed.

"Thank you. This is the entrance hall, the room to your right is our Great Hall where all meals are taken. Ah, Minerva, your timing is impeccable!" Dumbledore had caught sight of a woman with square spectacles and a tight bun whose black robes swished as she approached them.

"This is Professor Minerva McGonagall, deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Mistress," Dumbledore said to Isabel. "Minerva, this is Isabel Clay, the young woman who gave Corneilus Fudge such trouble this morning. She will be our guest here for a time."

"A pleasure." McGonagall said extending her hand. When Isabel took her hand she noticed McGonagall had a formidable grip.

"Thank you. Likewise Professor."

"Minerva, if you would guide Ms. Clay to accommodations near Gryffindor Tower I would be most grateful. I'm afraid I have some things awaiting my attention in my office."

"Certainly, Albus." McGonagall replied pleasantly.

"Thank you sir." Isabel offered

Dumbledore handed her duffle to her, said "See you at the feast" and was gone.

"Come, dear, you'll likely want to freshen up." McGonagall said in an unmistakable Scottish burr.

"Thank you, yes, that would be very welcome."

As they started up the marble stairs Isabel could see that McGonagall was restraining herself from asking questions. Perhaps Isabel felt secure now that she was in Dumbledore's realm and not Fudge's. In any case, she surprised herself by asking McGonagall,

"So, did Professor Dumbledore tell you anything about me before he left?

"Only that a muggle had made her way onto Platform 9 3/4 and was giving Fudge some trouble."

Isabel grinned, "That was me. It does seem that I gave the Minister a few problems, too. I wizard tried to do a spell to change my memory but I ducked and his wand missed. After that I refused to let them."

"I can see how that would be a trouble to the Minister. I also see that you seem to have prevailed."

"Thank God. I wasn't too keen on anyone zapping holes in my mind. I think Professor Dumbledore helped convince your Minister to let me keep my memories. Now he wants to figure out how I got through the barrier at the train station."

"Indeed. That seems sensible enough. Ah, here we are."

McGonagall had stopped in front of a large painting of a road winding away over distant hills. A peasant sat, sleeping, next to a pack mule at the side of the painting's road. McGonagall cleared her throat rather loudly and the man started and looked up.

McGonagall said "Liberalitas" to the man and the painting swung forward to reveal an archway to small sitting room. McGonagall led the gaping Isabel into the room. As they stepped in, the portrait swung shut behind them. McGonagall stepped over to the fireplace and pointed her wand at it. Immediately cheery flames sprung up in the grate. She pointed at a door saying,

"Your bedchamber is through this door. The feast begins around six. There are some robes in the wardrobe that will fit you if you wish to wear them."

"Thank you. Um, what was the word you used to get in here, again?"

"The password is 'Liberalitas'"

"Liberalitus. Liberalitus. Got it. Do I use it to get out, too?"

"Not from the inside. I will ask our Caretaker, Mr. Filtch, to come by to show you the way back downstairs at a quarter to six. Now, I have several things to attend to so I will see you at the feast."

"Thank you. See you at the feast Ma'am."

McGonagall frowned a bit.

"You may call me 'Minerva' if you wish."

"I would be very grateful if you'd call me 'Isabel.' I've never been addressed as Ms. Clay so many times in one day before!"

"Ye'll get used to that at a school, Isabel. In any case, the student's won't call you Ms. Clay, they'll call you Madam Clay," McGonagall said. Isabel could have sworn she was trying not to smile. She didn't have much chance to confirm this for with that comment, McGonagall was gone.

"Good, Heavens," Isabel sighed, "Madam?"

Shaking her head, Isabel dragged her duffle bag into the bed and sat down beside it, searching it's depths intently. Finally she withdrew a small, leather bound book with very thin pages. Turning to the last section of it she ruffled through pages looking for something. Finally she found it the passage that had been rattling around in her head since Dumbledore had complimented her on being able to see AND think:

"Though they have eyes they do not see. Though they have ears they do not hear or understand. In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah: 'You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving. For this people's heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes."