Ministry of Magic's 'Massive' Secret Out: Find out How Much Ministry Went From Their Way to Just Conceal An Ancient Closet (And Yes It Includes Muggles)

By Derek Spinnet

September 4, 1996

In Glastonbury, a charming little town near the infamous 'Isle of Avalon', alleged birth place of many legends for both wizards and muggles, there were rumours of a discovery made by a muggle concerning an ancient artifact, supposedly covered up by the Ministry before our very eyes.

The Ministry declined to comment (no surprise here) on the rumours. However, does this mean there's nothing more to the rumours than there's information about it out there? Or is it something more?

Today, we address those rumours. The rumours, the Ministry so desperately tried to cover up—But who are they kidding? Can the truth be hidden from the Free Press? (No! It cannot!)

Naturally, I, as the reporter who took the case for this noble cause, went to investigate the rumoured location of the so-called "artifact".

Most rumours involved a muggle referred to as an "archaeologist"—a noble profession where muggles excavate remnants of graves to educate themselves of their forgotten past—stumbling upon the venerable ruins of a castle belonging to a magical disposition. Rumours vary between the details. When and how the discovery is made is unclear. Considering disillusionment and muggle-repelling charms were found at the location of the discovery, how a muggle came upon the ruins is even a greater mystery.

Finding the location of the alleged castle was not difficult. According to an anonymous tip the Daily Prophet received, a "sketchy man" was seen wandering around old ruins, digging and grubbing around the outskirts of Glastonbury, a small town in West England.

According to a local muggle, this incident is nothing new. "Many of his sort come here," one muggle man noted, "Treasure hunters, they are! But they never find anything new!"

And it is certainly nothing new. Most of the residents of Glastonbury would assure you strange people turning up to scrutinize the mythical past of the area is not uncommon, mostly due to many legends surrounding this little quaint town.

Glastonbury, founded in the 7th century by a small group of farmers, is famous for its tailors and shoemakers locally. Green plains and woodlands surround the little town. Its main attraction is an old church at the town square. This town, at first glance, would appear entirely insignificant. But there is more than what meets the eye.

Glastonbury possesses more mysteries and legends than your average British town, which results in making it a beacon for many treasure hunters and ensuring the locals' main source of income: tourism. From goblin rule to ancient kingdoms, one could find any type of legends relating to Glastonbury.

Even the children's story, the Ballad of the Green Peak, is set in this little town. According to the ballad and the set of unconventional events that followed it, an old homeless man defied the local authority by dying all of the hair of the residents and rooftops of Glastonbury Abbey green. His reasoning being the local governor trying to change a local pub's name to boost the local tourism.

The alleged discovery of a ruined structure might support the existence of some of the other legends too. Some rumours claim this castle is the proof of Goblin King Bluelips' short rule and fabled wealth over West England during the 1600s, right before the end of the second Goblin War. Goblin King Bluelips, in a legendary tactical move, had managed to take most of West England and allegedly built himself a spectacular place of residence in a secluded location. It would certainly be a mansion fit for a goblin of legends if that is the case.

But rumours do not stop there. Some few even claim this is the ruins of mighty Merlin's Camelot! Quite the preposterous claims! While in muggle legends the Isle of Avalon is the final resting place for King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, most Magi-historians place the legendary Camelot's location near Scotland and not in England, which makes situating Arthurian legends anywhere near in Glastonbury nearly impossible.

Although the little town is examined thoroughly by many investigatory visits both by wizards and muggles, that does not mean there's not something still out there. Many of the residents of Glastonbury seem to embrace many unsolved mysteries the town's mythical past brings. And seem to recognize and (perhaps perpetuate) it by heart. The situation was not different for another muggle woman.

"Growing up here, you feel like the air was differe— magical even," said the muggle, "People like to come here and see if there's any truth to the stories. You feel disappointed alongside with them when they realize they are nothing more than children's bedtime stories."

After inquiring about the possible identity and origins of the ruins and the muggle "archeologist," she mentioned something worth noting.

"He was such a snobby boy," she said, "Everyone here has seen him gloating about this magnificent discovery—said it was near the top of that hill."

And most interestingly, according to the muggle woman, the man was not alone but working with one other person.

"The other one was so very unprofessional. Ordering people around to dig it up. Normally they work in teams, you know," I took notes as I nodded in agreement, "and he was dressed in a bizarre fashion too," she sighed.

After I gathered enough information about the whereabouts of the castle and the people who found it, it was time to see the "ruins" myself.

I went to the "hill" positioned in the very edge of the town and was instantly greeted by the infamous location of the ruins. It was difficult to miss.

The ruins of the castle did not resemble a castle. I don't know why they kept referring to it as a castle. Perhaps the ruins could be referred to as remnants of a once mighty structure but the years clearly had not been kind to it.

Moss ridden slobs of stone were spread above the hillside. Mud and greenery covered most of the area. There was no single connected structure. What the muggle woman said about its magical quality was clearly an exaggeration. There was no innate magical imposition to the area. However, I managed to track faint lines of muggle-repellents and other weak wards. While they were not powerful, it was clear to me they would repel all of Muggles around.

As I was thinking about returning, I was alerted by a noise coming through a wooded area, a little before the position I held at the time. I decided to search for the source of the noise as an investigative reporter.

A tomb-like structure rose before me. How could I miss it before, I do not know. But there was a muggle man sitting by a large trunk, with a man directing him. I stumbled upon a crime scene, I realized at once.

Upon further examination, I was certain he was the "sketchy archeologist" mentioned and the other one was his accomplice. He was giving orders to the other man while the other one attempted to open a large trunk. Most importantly, I recognized this was no ordinary archeologist. This was a Ministry intern, as he was wearing the formal intern uniform.

His attire matched the description muggle woman gave me. Why would a Ministry intern work with a muggle worker seemingly also alone? I have no answers as of writing this article.

Nonetheless, he didn't remain alone for a short amount of time. Another Ministry worker greeted him. An Unspeakable! As I sat there and watched them, I noticed despite their attempts, they could not open the trunk.

At this point, my memory becomes hazy. When I came to my senses, my limbs were tightly bound in a bush, with a muggle man staring down at me. Thankfully, he released me from the bounds. Some memory charms were probably set on me. If I hadn't taken notes, I wouldn't remember till this moment.

While I was unable to recall the identities of the people that assaulted me, their professions as Ministry workers were certain. Upon my return, my peers informed me that a group of Ministry workers arrived at the office and took all of the research I collected. After I returned to the location of the hill, I was again notified that the Ministry prohibited civilians from entering the hill and sealed it completely from outside observers.

The Ministry's actions were a poor attempt at hindering the press from reporting the reality; however, truth comes out no matter the restrictions that are placed on it. Despite their efforts, this article is still published to inform the public of the research I had alongside with me at the time of my assault.

The ruins of a castle beg lots of questions that go still unanswered: whose castle is this? Whose chest is this? What is inside that large trunk? Why is the Ministry so persistent in findings remaining undisclosed?

And most importantly… When will the Ministry break its silence?


"And most importantly… When will the Ministry break its silence?"

Hermione whipped her head to look at her two friends, gripping the newspaper tightly. Her knuckles were pale and her eyes sparkled with an eerie excitement.

"Oh no," Ron muttered. Harry glanced to his face and chuckled.

"Do you know what that means?" Hermione loudly whispered, "First time the Daily Prophet published so antagonistic to the Ministry of Magic! Wel— First time since you-know-what happened with the you-know-who last year—sorry, Harry."

"No problem."

She thumped her hands to the table. A few of the Gryffindors looked at her from their breakfast. Ron sighed and brought a sausage to his mouth.

"This is a direct challenge to the Ministry's authority, Ron! The reporter— Derek Spinnet — is accusing them of misinforming the public, a reporter of the Daily Prophet. We thought, for all this time, that they were the Ministry's own propaganda tool but if their own reporter is disputing with them, imagine what Harry can claim! Right, Harry?"

"Right."

Harry sipped his pumpkin juice. The table shook as Hermione straightened from her seat suddenly.

"And that is while not considering the actual discovery itself! If the Ministry is taking such lengths to conceal this, the artifact is potentially more ancient than the rumours make it to be. Do you know what that means, Ron?"

"No?"

She jumped from her seat. A few Gryffindors looked at her disapprovingly. Hermione sat again. Ron gulped.

"Hermione calm down!"

"Ron! Don't you realize the magnitude of such discovery?" she pointed out to the newspaper, "This artifact that the Ministry is currently trying to cover up is perhaps thousands of years of old."

"So?"

"Ron!" Hermione's tone sounded exasperated. Ron continued.

"We don't even know if this Spinner dude is actually telling the truth. Who knows how hard he was obliviated. He might be spinning a web of lies from his bottom for all we know."

"Obliviated?"

"Yes, Harry. Obliviation is a form of memory charms. Only certified Obliviaters are allowed to obliviate, however. Remember Lockhart?"

"And when did you start to actually believe in what the Daily Prophet publishes, Hermione? After how they treated Harry last year—sorry, Harry"

"No problem—"

"—this artifact stuff might be just them attempting to shift the focus from you-know-who to something less compromising!"

"We have no reason to suspect this reporter, Ron!"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Like we can trust the Daily Prophet. "

Hermione glared at him and Ron raised his hands.

"Hey! I'm just being a little critical, you know."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Critical," she mouthed to Harry. Ron brought another sausage to his mouth. Harry covered his smile with his goblet. It was one of those days, or so it seemed.

"What do you think about the artifact—chest though?" Harry asked, "What might be possibly in it that is so important?"

"Possibly official documents. Records of administrative duties," Hermione said, "They are often what rulers consider essential to whichever community they govern."

Ron looked at Hermione. "Boring," he said, "If it is ancient as this reporter claims, it must contain some kind of a magical object that has an impressive quality to it."

"Think powerful amulets or magical gauntlets—" Hermione rolled her eyes, "Or perhaps an enchanted weapon we can use against you-know-who."

"A little too hopeful, I think," said Hermione.

Ron huffed.

"Well, it would be nice to have a weapon against Voldemort," Harry said, "Or even against Umbridge."

"She gave you another detention, right?" Hermione asked, "You snap out a lot in Defense but even then, I think she is being more than a little unfair to you."

Ron nodded. "If Hermione is saying this, Harry, it almost means she is calling her a b—"

"—Ronal—"

"—h so you are officially off the hook, mate."

"But it doesn't hurt to try to keep your head down a bit," Hermione added.

Harry considered his two friends, and then glanced at Umbridge at the head table, attempting to have conservation with Headmaster Dumbledore, and tried to catch his eye. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he turned back to his friends and opened his mouth.

"I think a magical guide would be awesome. Like a magical book that told you how to deal with toad-like professors or half-snake dark lords."

"Everyone needs an advisor for them to tell them what to do from time to time," replied Ron.

Ron and Harry shared a look and laughed.

"But you two still don't realize the significance of such an artifact!" said Hermione.

"This artifact might be possibly the most ancient artifact the Wizarding world has unearthed recently, and might carry some clues for when the time period it is from! Who knows how this artifact will change the history? The same history we are learning currently?"

Hermione brought her hands to her forehead and sighed. "Oh my! Some of the books in the library will probably be outdated."

She looked at Ron and Harry.

"Oh! But you know what that means?"

Ron felt his blood freeze. He and Harry locked eyes. They both knew what it meant.

"We need to do research!"


"Let's have a look at this closet, shall we?"

The Minister of Magic peered at the large chest once more. It had been a day since they decided to transfer it to behind closed doors from prying eyes. The daily prophet article was bad (but not too bad if it took attention away from the you-know-who and Potter case, right?)

Minister looked at the few remaining wizards. They had gathered around the closet, like him staring at the ancient artifact curiously.

Two wizards stood out. Both with an air of pompous superiority and clashing personalities.

Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor.

It was going to be a long day.

"I decided to assign Mr. Bowmann to this case." as he knows how to deal with this mess...

"Minist—" "Mr. Fudg—"

"Since it seems neither of you are capable of deciding which one of your departments is taking this artifact, I thought a neutral ground would be better."

Both of them fell silent.

"And after we learn the contents of the chest, Mr. Bowmann can decide which department would be more suitable for this artifact. Is this acceptable?"

Mr. Broadmoor grunted. Unspeakable Abbott glared.

"Is this acceptable, I asked!"

"Yes, Mr. Fudg—" "Of course, Ministr—"

"You two can manage it until he arrives, then?" as two consenting adults…

He did not wait for their answer.


Unspeakable Abott and Mr. Broadmoor were staring at each other. The remaining wizards and witches scattered away, leaving them alone with the chest.

"Will we wait until Mr. Bowmann arrives then?"

"I think we can work together until he arrives."

"First we open it."

"Thanks, genius."

Mr. Broadmoor glared at Unspeakable Abbott.

"Call for the Wardbreakers."

"But Unspea—"

"Call for the Wardbreakers." His tone was sharp and crisp. It seemed Mr. Broadmoor would not bow down to her today, Unspeakable Abbott thought.

"Neutral ground, remember?"

Unspeakable Abbott raised her wand to the air and whispered. A small paper plane sprang out of the tip of her wand and bolted. Both Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor watched it swoop and glide away.

"Done."

"Now, we wait."

"Until Mr. Bowmann arrives, then."

Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor glanced at each other, then quickly turned away. Sounds of footsteps were heard a few moments later. A fast pace halted just behind the doors and someone knocked.

"You can come in!"

A young head slipped from behind the door and asked, "Someone called for the Wardbreakers?"

"Yes. Come in. Come in."

The door opened to reveal a young man wearing the standard Wardbreaker uniform: long indigo robes with a magenta shawl. Not an intern then. Unspeakable Abbott wrinkled her nose.

"Good afternoon, Mister. I'm Vincent Broadmoor, the Head of Magical Artefacts," Mr. Broadmoor began, "And this is Unspeakable Abbott," he waved his hands towards her direction.

The young man froze but swiftly composed himself. He extended his open palm towards them.

"Ethan Mathew, third degree Wardbreaker. Nice to meet you." He shook both of their hands but then his eyes hastily darted towards where the large trunk was placed. He shuffled towards it.

Unspeakable Abbott catched Mr. Broadmoor's eyes and gave an exasperated expression. Mr. Broadmoor rolled his eyes. Both of their heads snapped when the Wardbreaker started talking.

"This artifact is the reason why Wardbreakers were needed, I presume."

Unspeakable Abbott gave a sigh but started talking.

"This artifact was found a few days ago," said Unspeakable Abbott, "Because of its delicate nature, we also need a little secrecy." The Wardbreaker nodded. "You must have realized the artifact itself is old—possibly ancient, so we require mindfulness as well as caution."

"Though I have to warn. The wards around the artifact…" Mr. Broadmoor strayed, "…is a little tricky."

All three of them stared at where the large chest was seated. It appeared dormant and yet… The air chilled abruptly and the Wardbreaker shivered.

Eyes watched as they wandered around the artifact. The darkened wood appeared innocuous but the markings of strange creatures and grotesque beasts revealed another picture.

The Wardbreaker raised his wand and whispered, "Specialis Revelio "

All of a sudden, a glaring light and colours unfolded above the chest. Shadows and light displayed intricate knots and twists. Loops of purples and reds and blues and yellows were tangled in a congruous manner.

"Incredible..." the Wardbreaker whispered.

"Can you break it?"

"Break it?" He looked offended.

"But they are…" he gave a long sigh, " …beautiful. "

Mr. Broadmoor cleared his throat and Unspeakable Abbott tapped her foot on the floor. The Wardbreaker continued, "I apologize. It has been a long—a very long time since I've seen wards so sophisticated and refined. They look like a piece of art. It would be a disgrace to unward them…"

Unspeakable Abbott glared at him. The Wardbreaker's face blanched.

" …that has to be done."

The Wardbreaker took a deep breath.

"But I need assistance," he said, "The wards are masterfully crafted and preserve most of its strength and tension despite their old age."

He looked at two wizards standing before him and said, "I need to return to the Wardbreaker's office and assemble a team of Wardbreakers to even attempt breaking the wards and charms placed on this artifact."

Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor glanced at each other.

"I think that won't be necessary," said Unspeakable Abbott.

"We are three skilled wizards. I think we can manage," added Mr. Broadmoor.

The Wardbreaker's eyes widened. "Of course. Of course," he stuttered. He aimed his wand towards the large chest one more time and said, "When you are ready, sir and madam."

Both Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor raised their wands. The Wardbreaker stared at them and cleared his throat.

"I will cast the necessary enchantments to begin the Unwarding Process. Then you should follow my lead. Mr. Broadmoor," he addressed him, "you should cast the Immobulus charm to stall the wards from collapsing onto each other." Then the Wardbreaker turned towards her. "Unspeakable Abbott," he said, "you should cast Relashio to unwind and release some of the tension the wards are going to accumulate during the Unwarding Process."

With a final glance at the two of them, the Wardbreaker started to chant. A few seconds later, Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor followed his lead and started to cast their spells as well. The tangles and loops around the large chest appeared to disentangle but a few minutes later, wards crumbled back to their initial position. Sweat began to build up on their foreheads.

The Wardbreaker recited other spells, which accelerated the unraveling. Light intensified, knots and loops brightening in an intolerable degree. Unspeakable Abbott shielded her eyes with the hem of her robes and saw the other two wizards doing the same. It was radiant. Unbearably.

"How much is left?" she shouted. Her voice came to her ears muddled.

"What?" someone replied. She couldn't see which direction it came from, the light blinding her from anyone and everything.

She shouted again. No one replied. The voices and light continued to rise in a consonance. There was a ringing in her ears, she noticed. It was a cacophony.

Then everything was fading. No. Not everything.

She lowered her robe as the light dimmed. Her vision was blurry as the black spots faded. She looked at the other two wizards, who were in the same state of disarray. The Wardbreaker was inhaling and exhaling heavily and Mr. Broadmoor was holding his hand to his chest.

She and Mr. Broadmoor exchanged a look of disbelief.

"The wards are broken," whispered the Wardbreaker. His eyes darting back and forth, appearing unfocused.

"Thanks for your great efforts, Mr. Mathew," began Unspeakable Abbott but paused after seeing the Wardbreaker's face turning green.

"I think I need to see the infirmary," said the Wardbreaker and abruptly emptied his stomach.

"That would be for the best, I think," Unspeakable Abbott replied. After a quick Scourgify, the Wardbreaker rushed out of the room, leaving Unspeakable Abbott and Mr. Broadmoor alone once more. However, both of their attention was only on the large chest, now remaining without any wards concealing the secrets it held in itself.

Soon enough the lock had been blasted off. Its lid fell back stiffly.

Unsealing the closet revealed… what?

"What's you staring for, boy?"

A senior voice was heard coming from the chest's direction. Unspeakable Abbott raised her head to meet with two mature eyes. Painted eyes. With one pale raised eyebrow.

The painting was referring to Mr. Broadmoor, who was staring at the portrait, his mouth gaping wide open.

"Aren't you gonna say something?" The portrait was now watching her, his eyes peering at her curiously.

"Unspeakable Abbott," she introduced herself, "May I learn whose portrait I'm talking with?"

"Good heavens! At least someone knows how to introduce themselves. Can't have enough manners nowadays, can we?" The portrait was glaring at Mr. Broadmoor.

"Merlin help me…" mumbled Mr. Broadmoor.

"Nobody is helping you!"

"A chatty portrait, just what I needed."

"Well, beggars can't be pickers. I don't see any other chatty portraits around here, do I?"

"Who are you?" Unspeakable Abbott asked.

"Who am I?" he stroked his long snowy beard. "Who am I?" he wondered. A glint appeared in his eyes as he exclaimed, "I am who I am and I am who I was, and I am who I will always be!"

"That settles then," said Mr. Broadmoor, "We are all going crazy."

"That's only you, Mister-I-don't-need-to-make-any-introductions!"

"At least I'm not a senile portrait of an old man!"

"At least I'm not a deranged old man!"

"Hey! I'm not old!"

"You admit you are crazy?"

Unspeakable Abbott pinched her nose.

A sound of a crush was heard from outside the door.

Mr. Bowmann had finally arrived.


A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Any review and criticism are welcome. I'm not a native English speaker so pointing out any mistakes would be appreciated. :)

Next chapter: Demarcation