Prologue: The Present, United Kingdom
"Kingsley**, surely you're mistaken!"
"Minerva, I wish I were, but it is true: I've just received an owl from the Head Auror a few minutes ago, and he insists that there are eyewitness' reports that the Ever-Locked Room stands open! The Unspeakables demurred to comment, like always…"
The Headmistress' lips disappear into a thin line.
"Does Potter know who…, what lurked in that room?"
"No. He's been told the usual lies about 'love' and whatnot; and, as far as I know, you and I are the only ones still alive that know about the Truce. That's why I've decided to come all the way out here, in the middle of the night, and tell you in person. I don't think I could trust myself to utter these words in any other room except the Headmistress' Office."
None of the portraits on the wall are feigning sleep tonight, as they usually do, well aware of the implications.
"Minerva, take all the precautions that you deem necessary. I'll have Potter mobilize his Aurors and you'll have whatever protection we can afford. I'll go and have the Daily Prophet print some escaped troll story to justify the mobilization of all the Aurors, or something along those lines. Just keep all your students here!"
"Kingsley, please, I'll do whatever is in my power to do, but… You know that we cannot withstand him. If he decides to come, he will come, no matter what we throw at him…"
Both Minister and Headmistress look down at the ancient desk, thinking about the last time that the resident of the Ever-Locked Room came to Hogwarts, one thousand years ago. The secret history makes both of them blanch. Weary with worry, they finally sit down.
"But, did somebody disturb his rest? What happened?"
"I'm in the dark, too. All we know is that he invoked the Truce twenty-odd years ago, and disappeared into the Department of Mysteries and his room. And we thought that it was the last we'd see of him for at least another thousand years… Good riddance to bad rubbish, we all thought."
"But now he's back. Woe to the world… Can we not ever have peace and quiet?"
"Minerva, we've had over a decade to recover since the Second War. I guess our luck just ran out… Look, I must set things in motion. I'll keep an eye out for developments and I'll be in touch. See to your students!"
"Aye, Minister, sir!" McGonogall directs one of her withering looks at the Minister of Magic, reminding him that he had also been one of her students, long ago.
Shacklebolt raises his hands as if to say "sorry", and then he leaves hurriedly.
"You know? I took some exception to being called a liar just now, but it's true: I lied to Harry about the room… Who wouldn't have lied? It's not as if we can go around telling our children that we harbor the worst monster in all the history of the world in the very building of the Ministry of Magic…" The portrait of one Albus Dumbledore, Former Headmaster, is leaning against his frame, his chin on his hand.
"Yes, well, be that as it may, I still need to arrange for the security of the students. I have no choice."
"Neither did Griffindor… It was either the Truce, or the extinction of our kind." This portrait had long, greasy-looking hair, and a very large and curved nose, and his tone of disdain belied his interest in the safety of the students. "So, do what you can: no one could ask anything else from you."
"Right. Thank you, Severus. I just hope Potter, Weasly, and their Auror lot get here soon, so I can concentrate on the castle and leave the perimeter to them. Albus, please tell Hagrid I need to see him right away. Please, have him come directly. I have to wake up the teachers."
But the object of their worries was at that moment flying transatlantic and hypersonic, on his own power, without an airplane, en route to the United States of America.
** Some characters and settings based on J. K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series
To be continued…
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