Chapter 3: A blank entry

Hours earlier.

The light of dawn appeared endless, nigh omnipresent to the freshly woken villagers of Hogsmeade. Heads of brown and blonde marched out onto the cobbled streets, their steps drowsy yet full of purpose. They all possessed a role in this fresh town, whether it be simply manning the nearby pub or keeping a lookout over the horrific forest that encircled them. Every person had a purpose, though that didn't stop them from dreaming, from being curious.

One person, in particular, a portly man with a head of fiery red hair, could be seen daydreaming from his position as a lookout, his eyes that bettered be focused upon the encircling embankment of monochrome trees found themselves lost, fixed upon something else, something that hadn't existed even a year prior. A silhouette, a far-gone object that appeared blurred despite the apparent closeness.

It looked out over the little village from its perch atop the nearby hill, one not even a mile away, as though mocking them for their diminutive size and lack of people. It was a castle, a hulking mass of a building, one that towered over the land with high peaks courtesy of its many spires and inconceivably high rooms. It cast a shadow over the village with its presence, though not a physical one but rather one of curiosity. The mysterious building oozed an aura of wonder and mystery. It was magical, just like their little town.

It drew the eye of many and the minds of many more. Countless unanswered questions revolved around the castle's origin and, in particular, its eccentric occupants. At night some would hear distant noises, bumps in the infinite darkness, and flashes of magical light that seemed to momentarily illuminate the vast sky above. Wizards lived there, just like them, yet they were different. They were stronger. They did not cower in fear about being exposed, about being discovered, nor did they hide their insane power. They took pride in their gift, unlike them.

'I wonder if the rumours are true?' The portly man inwardly questioned, 'That the castle's going to open up in a couple of days, and as a school no less, one with the expressed purpose of gathering and educating all the magical youths in Britain.' The man continued, his gaze momentarily shifting from the colossal mass of stone that stood proudly before him towards the town's centre, where he saw an abundance of children. Their ages varied. Some were young, barely toddlers, while others looked to be in their late teens, with scraggly facial hair that didn't befit someone of their grandeur, of their abilities. Yet, despite having such a wide age gap, all these children possessed one trait in common, they were magical, graced with the gift of god they could perform miracles with a mere flick of their wrist.

A wide array of coloured bolts shot from the tip of the children's hands, courtesy of what looked to be a whittled stick that the man knew to be nothing more than a wand. They were unruly. They performed magic without a second thought, as though their gift was little more than a means to entertain themselves.

'Yeah, right…' The man inwardly scoffed. To him, the concept of educating these youths was simply laughable. Wizards were different from the rest of humanity. Their gift made them too prideful, they were merely creatures that thrived off their own hubris, and these children were the perfect example of such a fact, for, from the corner of his eyes, he saw one boy with a head of shaggy black hair mess up a spell, the jet of red light that should have been expelled from his wand was a disgusting orange in colour, it did not possess the intended effects the child wished it to have as the moment it collided with a nearby girl, her face exploded into a mass of putrid bile. Puss oozed from every orifice, from every pore her skin possessed. Its thick consistency, akin to that of slime, quickly caked her face in its many layers. Her vision began to blur, obscured by the encroaching ring of sickly yellow gunk. She couldn't see, nor could she breathe. Her mouth had been sealed shut, her lips glued to one another courtesy of the disgusting liquid. Still, instead of helping the afflicted girl, the children that surrounded the boy merely mocked him; they berated him for his poor spellwork and his misuse of magic. They bullied him and tormented him to the point where tears were shed and vows were uttered. It was only then, after hearing the boy's desperate plea did they decide to help the suffocating girl with a quick counter jinx.

At such a scene, the man could only sigh. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence amongst his kind. Spells go wrong all the time, especially when performed by immature youths. In his opinion, magic shouldn't be used until one could fully understand the scope of their power, just how dangerous their gift truly was. Perhaps that was why he objected so readily to the idea of these children attending the nearby school, or maybe, just maybe, there was another reason, one that sent a shiver down his spine at the mere thought. 'Well, let's just hope they don't have to interact with those types too much, with those horrible…purebloods,' The man inwardly scowled, sending a deep frown at the castle that loomed in the distance.

The halls of the castle were silent. Deafly so. Not a single footstep echoed in the empty place that would later be a bustling hotspot for wizardkind. No ghosts haunted the halls, nor did a poltergeist attempt to vandalise the barren land. Not even the slightest semblance of life could be found in the expansive castle, no matter where one looked. Whether it be in the freshly built common rooms that shone in a multitude of colours corresponding to the founding wizard's wishes or the massive great hall, whose roof appeared enchanted to reflect the very dawn sky that shimmered obscured up above. No one could be found, that was, as long as one steered clear of one particular room.

A room guarded by an enchanted gargoyle that aimlessly stared down the hall in wait of no one, the spiral staircase that loomed behind it remained obscured by a vanishing wall, and it was up these stairs that one would find a hotspot of life. Four silhouettes sat around a round table made of the finest mahogany, their faces obscured by shadow. Only their vibrant garments could be seen, highlighted by the flickering light of a candle.

"I've never seen something like this before…" A man cloaked in a thick garb of red and gold mournfully commented, a hand piled with jewellery made by the finest goblin craftsman lay palm open for his saddened head to rest upon. His voice was gruff yet disturbed. It shouldn't have been this way. It shouldn't have sounded like this. His usually charismatic and boisterous tone had been left by the wayside after stumbling upon the harrowing news.

"I didn't think this was possible…." From a woman draped in a vibrant, radiant yellow emitted a concerned call. She couldn't believe this, were her eyes deceiving her? Could this have been a trick, a malfunction caused by their poor use of magic? No, that wasn't possible. The woman knew that she and her colleague's creation was a flawless masterpiece that would almost certainly remain in use for as long as this castle stood. So then why, why did it tell such a harrowing tale? Why did it display such a thing?

"What a poor child," Next came the solemn call of a woman in blue. She, like the rest of her colleagues, couldn't believe what the object that rested in the centre of their magnificently made table projected, what the scroll told. An insignificant piece of parchment. To the rest of the world, the object that lay before them may have looked like such a useless item, but to the four founders, such a statement couldn't be more wrong, for upon the usually blank piece of paper now shone the names of countless people. The names of wizards, those who possessed and have used magic whether consciously or not, the identity of every wizard in magical Britain could be found here, whether it be the great Godric Gryffindor or even a wild William, but not just names were projected, both ages and locale alike were also recorded, to the very millimetre, the four founders had the ability to observe and track everyone in their little nation. And it was upon this parchment that the great wizards saw something that made their bodies tremble with mournful horror.

Emboldened in gold, shone…nothing, no name was highlighted by their creation, yet it still shimmered. To the side remained listed an age and place, but there was no name. It was a blank entry. A child existed who had not been labelled, who had not received a reason to exist. Names contained power. They attached one to this mortal realm, gave them an identity, something to rely on, to lean against in trying times, and this child lacked one. The life they must have lived was something the four founders could only tremble at, even the great man dressed in green put aside his hatred for a mere moment to pity the nameless child.

Still, that wasn't all that the parchment highlighted in its embossed gold light. It too revealed the child's age and whereabouts, a notion the great leaders would have rather remained oblivious to, to have hope in their hearts that the nameless child was at least safe, yet what they read crushed these hopes.

(Name:........- Age:10- Sex: Male - Location: Hogsmeade forest, by a little lake in the centre of the woods)

What the parchment displayed was a horrific reality check, for the boy was not safe. In fact, he was the very opposite of safe. His life was in mortal danger. The four founders couldn't understand how but the boy had somehow managed to not only stumble his way into a forest that the nearby occupants deemed a forbidden land, but he had somehow lived to tell the tale, at least for the moment. He had wandered into the centre while somehow avoiding an almost certain death. Just how many near misses must he have experienced, how bruised was his body, was he even capable of movement? The four founders would rather not know, but they knew one thing, they needed to move. Someone had to go and rescue the child to save a future student.

Glances were exchanged amongst the occupants of the table, the eagle eyes of the headmasters appearing to stare into one another's soul, irking them, urging someone to take action. It wasn't like they were reluctant; in fact, at least two of the four occupants were more than willing to take the plunge and go. It was just a matter of who. Who would rescue the boy, who would he owe his life to? At such a premise, a twinkling light began to glimmer in the red-draped man's eyes. He liked the premise. He was valiant, foolhardy, the type of man who would rush head first into danger without needing a reason, and it just so happened the boy provided him with a valiant excuse to fuel his hero complex.

His hair stood on end at the mere thought of rescuing the boy. He wanted to go. Still, before he could even open his mouth, someone else had already taken the plunge, someone the man expected to remain a bystander in the argument until it reached its logical conclusion, for she was not someone so hot-headed to make such a bold declaration.

"I'll go," With an apathetic tone, the woman in blue spoke, her hawklike eyes fixed upon the occupants of the table as though urging them to rebuke her claim, yet none did. They were too astounded. The logical Rowena had vowed to save the child, the woman whose only focus in life was the magic she studied, and the daughter she harboured had volunteered to depart to the nearby forest. Such a decision was irrational. It made no sense, yet none could argue against it. What were they to say, 'This is not in your nature,' that simply wasn't a sound argument, for human nature was a very fickle thing. This could simply be one of the mother's sparse whims, and who were they to deny her wishes, besides it wasn't like she'd be in any danger. Her skill already eclipsed the creatures of the forest. They posed no threat to her, so, with a solemn nod of the head, the occupants could only relent to the woman's wiles.

"If there are no objections, shall I drop the anti-apparition ward?" Rowena quizzically questioned, though the answer remained as plain as day.

"Go ahead" The man in red mournfully sighed with his head hung considerably lower to the point where it almost pressed against the rich mahogany round table. With the man's solemn words, Rowena pulled out what looked to be a rich orange stick. Though all knew it to be a wand, one made of the most delicate acacia, it was relatively long yet stubborn and unbending, an aspect befitting that of its master whose bullheadedness was only rivalled by her beauty, possessing a core of banshee hair, the wand was truly a frightening object to behold.

With a mere flick, the castle trembled as though something was moving, something heavy. It scraped against the ground with a horrific distant screech that echoed across the empty halls with little to no resistance. Though the founders showed no adverse response to the noise, this was merely a side-effect of the rushed construction of the ever-evolving castle.

Seconds passed in which the horrific howl of the moving object remained the sole thing anyone could focus upon, that was until it stopped, and silence reclaimed its rightful place amongst the castle's desolate halls.

"I'll be going then," Rowena off-handedly stated, not even bothering to spare her "Friends" a second look before her figure blurred and contorted, becoming a shapeless mass of blue and white that floated in the air, until with a loud *pop* the mass vanished. All that remained in place of the gorgeous woman was an empty, unoccupied, blue throne.