The Case of the Resurrected Ghost

[rogueinker]

The Case of the Resurrected Ghost
a Minerva McGonagall Mystery

by rogueinker

Disclaimer: For entertainment and stress relief purposes. All characters belong to JK Rowling save for any plot enhancements I might invent.

Mystery mostly featuring Minerva with a few AD/MM ship moments. I didn't see a Mystery category so I put it here.

PG-13 at most.


Chapter 1


Mold and mildew thrived in the cracks and corners. Moisture clung tenaciously to the unyielding dungeon walls. Iron chains, long forgotten, hung limply from the ceiling. The floor, gritty with sand and dirt, lay unmarked by any living object. The room wore its mantle of neglect with stoic casualness; its deserved solitude disturbed only by the unexpected draft whispering through the corridors finding its random way to this most cursed room at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Few knew of this room's true story and fewer still its location. No living entity sought it out, not even for the wealth of knowledge stored in the room's lone interloper - a desk from elsewhere in the castle occupying one corner. Of ancient mahogany and oak, the desk had an indefinable quality that bespoke of secrets best kept to itself. Though the room had sat unattended by mortal or house elf, dust had yet to settle on the desk's still gleaming surface. Neither were the brass fittings tarnished by age nor loosened by use. The desk defied conventional thought keeping to its pristine condition as if it had only been stored the day before instead of more than four hundred years ago.

The owner of the desk knew of its existence and its place but it did nothing to assure its continued survival. Some things were better left forgotten, or at least, ignored to the best of one's ability. The latter approach was preferred by its owner. Through studied ignorance, decade after decade, its owner convinced itself of its nonexistence, conveniently consigning all past ignominy to the unforgiving past.

As any sinner can attest to, past sins have a way of resurrecting themselves and no amount of penance can dim the original sin's promise of retribution. The owner of the desk had thought its penance paid by time and earthly torment. One fateful day he awoke to realize that his penance had only just begun.


Jagged, unkempt nails dug into flesh turned ice cold. The self-inflicted pain was a cruel harbinger of reality. Callus roughened fingertips grasped the edges of the desk seeking more proof in the face of mounting disbelief. Eyes blinked uncertainly long unused to the natural action. Dark hair hung limply over a long pallid face that still bore traces of a noble lineage desecrated by avarice and ambition. A pink tongue tentatively explored gums, teeth and lips while saliva dripped unchecked down one cheek. Lying prone on top of his ancient desk, Antoine de Neuvilette stared at the ceiling and screamed again and again.

In another part of the enormous castle, a house elf heard the screams and went to investigate. It was a blathering house elf that brought the news to the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress of a crazed man locked inside the hidden room crying in anguish, pulling at the chains and pounding on the desk.

Behind his desk, the Headmaster frowned. "Did he say who he was?"

"More importantly, how did he find himself down there?" interjected the Deputy Headmistress. "Do we have a breach in security?"

The elf drew a deep breath to calm himself before answering. "He ... he said ... there he awoke and there he stays. He must, he says."

"I understand and he is quite correct," Dumbledore rose and headed rapidly towards the dungeons trailed by Professor McGonagall and the elf.

"Kindly slow down and explain yourself, Albus," McGonagall said.

"We have little time to lose, my dear Professor. There is only one thing ... one man that can access that room other than myself. Since he is there now, I can only assume one thing, Minerva." Dumbledore paused at the bottom of the staircase and looked at his deputy. His expression was devoid of any of his usual cheery amusement. "The Bloody Baron is a ghost no more."

Minerva gasped. "Impossible! That kind of magic smacks of ... of ... necromancy, the darkest of our arts."

"Traditional wisdom would agree with you but there is another discipline which is much older, much more powerful." Dumbledore opened the large doors leading to the dungeons.

"Blacker than necromancy?" Minerva asked following Albus down into the dungeon corridors.

"Who is to say, truly, what is black and what is white? Can there not be a gray area where the best of intentions, when mingled with jaded appetites, often result in the most horrific of consequences?"

"Albus, your tone and subject matter worry me."

"I have lived a long time, Minerva. I have learned not to judge anyone too harshly lest I be the one judged." They reached an area of the dungeons warded from student and faculty access. Albus changed the wards to accept Minerva. Together, wands ablaze, they stepped down a short series of steps to the lowest levels of the castle.

"What does this gray art have to do with the Baron?"

"The practice of the art cost him his mortal life."

"Indeed. I had always thought he was consigned to his ghostly existence because of an unforgivable crime."

"If it is a crime of unspeakable magnitude to dabble with the natural order of things, then, yes, the Baron Antoine de Neuvilette did commit such a crime." Albus stopped his explanation. They could hear the Baron's wails echoing in the corridor.

"In Merlin's name, what did he do?"

"It is best that you hear it from him, Minerva." Albus' eyes were sad. "All I will say is that he did what he did for the best of reasons. I cannot find it in me to condemn him outright."

"What reason is worth his life, his very soul?"

"Can you not think of one?" They had reached the door to the small room. Emanating from inside were the sounds of fists hitting wood repeatedly. "What would drive you to commit a heinous crime?"

Minerva was thoughtful for a moment absorbing all that Albus had said and noting the Baron's obvious distress. Minerva gazed at the flaming tip of her wand. "Love."

"Yes." Albus glanced at Minerva beside him. "The baron paid the price with few regrets but it seems that there is more yet to mete out."

Dumbledore said the incantation to unlock the door. As the door opened, the wailing and violence stopped. Baron Antoine de Neuvilette, now a whole man of flesh and blood, stared at the headmaster and his deputy.

Suddenly the baron fell to his knees nearly at their feet. His voice was hoarse as he pleaded, "Headmaster, Professor, you m-m-must help me ... help me to die once and for all."

[rogueinker]

The Case of the Resurrected Ghost

Chapter 2


Professor McGonagall's alarm at such a request was plain. The headmaster bowed and raised the fallen man to his feet. In a voice warm with empathy and kindness he coaxed the Baron to calmness. "Come, to my office, you need food and drink before we talk."

The baron took a step back. "Fate has played its last game with me, Dumbledore! I am mortal again and therefore I have the means to make my final choice. If you refuse to aid me, then I shall find another." The baron looked closely and long at Minerva. "Professor McGonagall, were you in my position, deprived of your love, would you wish to continue an empty existence? Would you let yourself be torn from your heart's desire a moment longer?"

Minerva swallowed but nothing else disturbed the neutral facade she presented. The Baron had been a ghost at Hogwarts for almost its entire history. The ghosts were privy to many things and events in the castle but their discretion was a credit to them. Minerva knew exactly what the former ghost was alluding to. She was not amused. "Were I even so inclined as you postulate, I need remind you that we are not talking about me."

"I cannot lay hand upon myself such is the aegis that hangs over me," pointed out the Baron. "Am I expected to now live out the mortal life taken from me? I am out of place in time, culture and age. I refuse this dubious gift."

"You will waste your second chance, Baron, if you -"

"Waste?! Not I, madam, nay, not I! I have willingly served here for countless years." The baron stretched his arms wide before fixing a hard look at the deputy headmistress. "Unlike you, madam, I acknowledge my selfish self interest to its fullest. Not I for the conscious deliberateness of self sacrifice. There must come a time when one does what one does entirely for one's own benefit and desire."

"And how many were harmed by your actions, baron, because of your one moment of self indulgence," Minerva crossed her arms. "Sacrifice is a difficult thing often without fulfillment but I would rather have that than hurt the one ... the ones I love."

The baron was inwardly shamed by her honesty and vigorous defense of her position. Professor McGonagall was a rare woman, indeed. Unlike her, he had not been able to accept sacrifice for its own sake. He had never been that brave or that strong.

"Antoine, please stop badgering my deputy," Albus advised trying to defuse the tension with humor. "Minerva can out debate any one, especially when her temper is up."

"Albus, please, you exaggerate." Minerva surveyed the shattered man in front of them. A wellspring of compassion grew in her heart for this lost, unfortunate being. If circumstances were different, would she be like him, living on memories and distorted dreams?

"Come to my office, we have much to discuss."

"I cannot leave here, headmaster," said the baron.

"I thought that too but I see no spells about you that would tie you to this place," Dumbledore reasoned.

It was Minerva who made the decision for both men. "Baron, if you are to stride the halls once more, you cannot do so like that. The children would be more frightened than ever before."

The baron stood mute as his dress and appearance was transformed. With a quick spell and a wave of Minerva's wand, the baron's threadbare clothes became new and clean absent of the blood stains that had been his trademark for centuries. His long hair was magically combed back and tied with a ribbon. His face though still gaunt and spare was made clean shaven. Antoine looked down at himself. His hand pressed down on his surcoat over his heart where the bloodstains used to be. His hand rubbed absently over his chest.

Albus motioned for all of them to depart. He ordered the house elf to bring sandwiches and tea to his office. Before he closed and warded the door, Dumbledore took one last searching glance inside. His eyes alighted last on the desk, a testament to love and madness.

The door was closed taking with it the light of the living. Inside, the desk gleamed darkly waiting patiently to be used once more.


Once in the headmaster's office, the Baron de Neuvilette shocked the assembled portraits of headmasters and headmistresses. He bowed low in greeting to them all amidst a cacophony of voices shouting out their dismay and anger.

"Everyone, please, all will be explained in due time. Quiet, now," urged Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall and Baron de Neuvilette took seats by the fireplace. "As you can all see, the Bloody Baron is very much alive."

"Heresy! Blasphemy!" shouted an ancient crone high on the north wall. "He defiles us with his presence. Send him away, Dumbledore!"

"No, Lucretia, I will not. The baron has served his time, if you will. He is no longer the man he once was."

"Decades on the astral plane does not expiate his sins," said a bearded man clutching a worn staff by his side.

"No, Declan, but it also does not mean that he is to be thrown out of the only home he knows of." Albus raised his hands. "Please, please, let the reasons for his actions be our chief concern not the results of them."

The portraits' yells and murmurs subsided. By the fireside, the baron stared fixedly into the fires. He could not blame them for their reaction. In their place, he would likely have been equally outraged. He took the cup of tea proffered by Professor McGonagall.

"The question remains. How did he ... he come back to life?" Headmaster Dippet asked from the west wall. "I thought ghost sentences were for life ... for eternity."

"They are intended to be so," answered Declan. "In my time, it was not unusual to have conditions placed on the sentence. Perhaps such is the case herein."

"It matters not!" shrieked Lucretia. "The longer he stays here the more troublesome that cursed desk will be."

"It has been isolated in the farthest, deepest part of the castle for many decades now, Lucretia. Away from susceptible minds, it can do no mischief," said Dumbledore. Dumbledore took his own chair by the fire. Instead of tea, a steaming mug of hot cocoa awaited him. "Now, baron, let us hear your tale. And that, perhaps, will give us a clue to your unexpected resurrection."

The baron kept his eyes on the fire as he began. "I was born in Burgundy, the second son of a second son. It was a time when muggle and wizard kind co-existed, even so my choices were few. Neither the military nor the monastery held any appeal for me. I had a scholar's aptitude but the passions of an affirmed libertine. For a time, I worked with my family creating furniture for well paying aristocrats, wizarding and not. The work was profitable but I longed for a challenge."

"By chance, an English merchant commissioned me to build some pieces for his wife. Together, we made an investment in some textiles bought in Lorraine and destined for London. At the age of twenty and nine, I decided that it was time to see what I could make of myself in the world. I accompanied my partner to England. It was to be my first sea voyage."

"The crossing did not agree with my spirit, rooted as it was in the soil of mother France. My partner brought me to a healer favored by the wizarding families of England. There I convalesced from mal de mer and the horrid dampness that is England. For all I despise England, I love it too. For it was during my recovery in London that I met Isabel, my Isabel."



A/N: I don't see that many Minerva mysteries. I think she has the traits to be a good detective. What do you think so far?

[rogueinker]

Chapter 3

The baron paused in his tale. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Isabel Parnam was her name. I met her at a gathering hosted by my partner. She had a particular affinity for charms, I remember." The baron undid his high collar and took out a long chain wound around his neck. Dangling on it was a ring. He caressed the ring as he continued. "I cannot say that it was as love described in poems and sonnets for there was nothing remarkable about her - brown hair, eyes of blue and a pleasant face. I had seen far more beautiful women in Paris. But each time she laughed, my eyes were drawn to her and my heart felt more carefree than it had ever felt. Do you understand? How incredible it felt."

Dumbledore nodded. He looked in his deputy's direction briefly before turning his attention back to the baron. Professor McGonagall sniffed discreetly as did many of the female portraits in the room.

"I danced with her that night. She was unpracticed but learned quickly; her natural grace serving her well. I cannot explain ... why I was so drawn to her. I only know that I was." The baron stopped once more lost in memories. When he continued his voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Our first weeks of acquaintance drove me to seek success where I could find it. I wanted to be worthy of her as a man should be before asking for a lady's hand. I found a merchant who consented to purchasing any excess pieces my family may have. Such a transaction would be beneficial to my family and I would earn a sizable commission. I left for France."

The baron buried his head in his hands. "When I returned a month later, my Isabel was no longer mine. She had married the son of a merchant with whom her father did business; an alliance more than a marriage." The baron looked at Professor McGonagall. "Isabel did not know of my feelings. I never intimated my intentions to court her. Perhaps, if I had gone to her father first ... but too long I waited, too long."

"The wiser course would have been to leave England and Isabel. Many times I made plans to leave and each time I would find a reason to stay, if only to see Isabel at the market or at another gathering. My resolve to leave her at peace dissolved when I learned that she was unhappy in her marriage."

The baron rose and circled his chair pausing to stand behind it. "I saw my chance to win her for myself. In the end, I killed her."

"What?!" Minerva exclaimed. She looked from the baron to Albus and back to the baron again. "You said you loved her."

"I did. I do." The baron looked at the ring again. "I sought her out in secret. To my delight, she returned my feelings. Hope swelled my heart at hearing her say so. We met when and where we could - rendezvous under the moonlight, not so incidental meetings at the homes of mutual friends. Months of bliss and despair passed. Isabel and I agreed to end our hopeless affair. The risk of scandal was too great and I could see the toll our affair brought upon her. I would not hurt her for anything. So I poured my energies into my investments and even attended a few women. In time, I opened a furniture concern and had several craftsmen in my employ. But the more successful I became, the more I craved what could not be mine. One day, I saw her heavy with child, of her husband's seed, visiting friends in town. She saw not my observance. I watched from afar for a few minutes, an hour, I know not. A melancholy swept over me. For days thereafter I could not stir myself from thoughts of her or of what, by right I felt, we should have had."

The baron looked around the office. His voice rose to be heard by all. "Do you know what desperation feels like? Do any of you know the helplessness one feels when reaching for that perfect thing that is always beyond your reach? Every grasping attempt hardens your resolve and your heart. Hopelessness turns to need. Then quiet on cat's feet inevitable as the rising of the sun, need becomes obsession. Rational thought is turned irrational. My actions hereafter were wrong by all standard measures we believe in, but still, I cannot repent for the reasons behind them were mine own. By my measure I ... I was only seeing to my happiness. Do we not all seek happiness for our present and our future?"

The baron returned to his chair and slumped down into it. The crackling fire captured his attention once more. "The true scholar in me was given free rein over every book, every tome, every treatise I could find for something to use. Poisons, hexes, curses, charms, yes, I considered them all. Strangely, it was my family that led me to my solution. My father owned a desk. It was, he said, the first piece he had ever made and it had marked the beginning of his prosperity. He always referred to it as his beginning and his end. Only later did I discern his true meaning."

"When we were little, my father would hide treats inside its many drawers. With him always present, my brothers and I would be instructed to think of the treats as our hearts desire. Then, with our thoughts firmly set, we would be sent scurrying to the desk one by one hunting for that which was hidden within. I never found it strange that I always found my favorite sweets, each time without fail. My father was a powerful wizard in his own right and a clever inventor. Many of our own furniture had magical abilities granted to it by his very hands. I thought nothing of the desk's abilities."

"Upon my father's death, the desk was to go to my brother, the eldest brother, but his wife refused to have it. I never learned the reason for her refusal, perhaps, she sensed its power and was properly frightened by it. The legacy then devolved to me. I personally escorted the desk to England where I had by then decided to make my home." The baron laughed ruefully. "Do you know, I ... I even moved into a bigger home so I could have a study to put it in, such was my regard for it then. It became my workplace. I rarely went to the store. I found that my best designs and plans were done on my father's desk. My business thrived and I was forced to hire more workers to accommodate demand."

"It was also at this time that I began to draw landscapes and portraits. Many of them were of Isabel or Isabel and I with our imagined family. It was, I told myself, a harmless outlet to ease my obsession. In dreams and fancies, I could live with her, be with her as I wished. It harmed no one and so I continued. On cold winter nights, I would spend endless hours upon my desk, sketching and wishing for my heart's desire. I ought to have consigned the sketches to the fire but, fool that I was, I lovingly kept them all within the large bottom drawer of the desk."

"It was the last dying days of winter that an idea came to me. In a feverish fit of activity, for three whole days, I secreted myself from prying eyes. I sat upon my desk by sun and candlelight drawing plans that I know now could not have come from my own knowledge. As the plans took shape, my excitement grew ever higher. The taste of anticipation and victory was hot upon my tongue. On the fourth day, plans under my arm, I elicited the aid of my most talented craftsman. It was half a month before he completed my design. For his trouble, I gave him a half year's pay and altered his memories."

"Proudly, upon my desk, I put the new device - the size and shape of a lantern, all hard metal, dials and small turning blades. To this day, I cannot remember much detail of those first heady days of experiment. But the heightened feelings of elation and passion from that time will never leave me. On the seventh day, I steadied my purpose and began to prepare for a future with my Isabel. I bought gold to finance our new life and to buy land upon which we could build our home together. On the eighth day, I used the device with the intent to secure my heart's desire for all time."

The baron stopped completely. Small tears coursed down his cheeks. Dumbledore allowed for a few minutes for the broken man to face his inner demons. After the baron had composed himself, Dumbledore asked in a voice, sad and soft, "What was the device, Antoine?"

"The device of my dreams and nightmares," the baron answered. "You have a better term for it now - a time turner."

[Nerweniel]

Ohhh, not clever to mess with a timeturner I believe ... poor him and poor Isabel, actually. Hope to see a next chapter soon .

Love,

Lies

[ginger newts]

Oh wow, this just keeps getting better and better! That time turner thing sounds bad... Please update soon, I am officially on the edge of my seat to see where this goes.

[Miss Q]

Wow... this is getting better and better!

I must say that I do feel sorry for the Baron and his Isabel...

Please continue!

M

[rogueinker]

Chapter 4

Dumbledore caught Minerva's eye and communicated in that way unique to them his desire for her to abstain from asking questions just then. The baron's revelation had surprised her. Knowing Minerva as he did, he was sure that more than one question was held at bay upon her lips. They were coming to the heart of the story and the listeners had to be patient. Dumbledore knew that the rest of the tale would press hard upon the former ghost. Time does not diminish the pains of memory and regret. It can only add perspective and distance.

The baron sipped his tea and continued. "You are perhaps curious as to how I could have made such a thing. Yes, I drew the plans, had the the device built, placed charms and incantations upon it fulfilling its magical essence and employed it for my own purposes. For those acts I take full responsibility. But I have never claimed theoretical brilliance or even divine insight in its creation. The plans and spells arose from the parchment as rapidly as my quill could write. The very speed was unnatural."

"Are you now saying that you were forced to your actions?" Lucretia asked with a distinct tone of disdain. "I find that unacceptable!"

"No, no! I accept full blame for what transpired. I did so then, I do so now," the baron replied in a strong voice. "But the ... the inspiration for the device did not spring from my mind. It was the desk fulfilling my heart's desire as it did my father's desire for fortune for his family. The desk serves its own ends and cares not for mortal consequences. I believe my father went to his death unprepared. He was a man of conscience and discipline. He would not have been so careless as to leave no warning about the desk's power. But no warning was left, and upon my life from thereon shone an ill-favored star."

"I used the device to go back in time to the point before I left for France. I spoke with Isabel's father and he agreed to our marriage upon my return. I embarked on my voyage with a joyous heart. I made plans to employ my profits for a new home for us." The baron rubbed at his chest. "On the night of my return, there was an altercation at the harbor; thieves come to rob my ship of its cargo. My crew and I fought them off. I was wounded in the chest. I thought it a paltry wound for it bled little from my expectations of such things. At dawn, with only mild discomfort, we sailed back to England. Every day of the journey, cold seeped into my joints and my wound bled more and more, a drop, a trickle, a torrent. We made landfall with me bedridden in and out of consciousness. In my London home, healers eased my pain but the wound had done its damage. With Isabel at my bedside, I vowed I would return and that she was to wait for me. In the last moments of that life, I used the device to return me to the present."

"And what did you find in the present?" Dumbledore gently prodded.

"I took little notice at first but my home seemed shabbier. As I walked the streets to the blacksmith, people shunned me where before there had been greetings from neighbors and acquaintances alike. I was blind to these changes intent as I was to commission the blacksmith to fashion for me a ... a breastplate that I could wear under my clothes. With this I thought to avert the wound that I was fated to receive." The baron shook his head vigorously. "Such is arrogance and hubris born when man thinks to deceive the fates. Who does one deceive more than himself?"

"I gave the smith too much gold but I cared not. I only wanted to return and feel Isabel's arms around me. Two days I slept and rested in my home before the plate was ready. I used the device again. I thought to save time," the baron cackled at this. "to return the night of the thievery and that is what I did. The plate did its work and I emerged unscathed. Elated, we sailed at dawn as before. Our second day was marred by a fierce storm. Contrary to the captain's advice, I ordered the crew to forge on. Wave after terrifying wave beset our craft from port to stern. Buffeted by the winds and taking on too much water, our ship ran aground on the Dover coast. Our cargo was lost. With only a small quantity of gold in my possession I reached London, weeks late. All my hardships faded to nothing as I saw my Isabel waiting for me. She convinced her father to continue with the betrothal as planned. And I, for my part, swore that my misfortune was a thing of the past. I would support Isabel as I had promised. I had little gold but I had my health. I would see to her happiness no matter what work I had to do."

The baron's eyes took on a faraway look. "That moment when a man takes a woman to wife must be heaven on earth. It was for me so when Isabel and I married. The strength of my love paled against the steadiness and faith I saw within her eyes as we shared our vows with each other and all who stood with us that day. She was mine. I was hers and still am."

The baron wiped a single tear away. "But heaven is not for mortals. That is why we aspire to it. I learned my father-in-law's business but the work did not inspire me. I could not say the same for my life with Isabel. Having her in my life, in my arms every night, made the drudgery of day seem worthwhile. We were content until a plague lay a shroud of fear and despair over our town. My aged father-in-law succumbed easily enough. I must confess that his passing relieved me of the tension that ran high between us in the running of the business. I mourned his death but not overmuch. In the early days of the plague I worked many hours remaking the business to what I thought appropriate, in my own way, in my own vision. Assured of no fatherly interference, I was certain I could make a success of the business. My ambition blinded me to the insiduous intruder come settling within the heart of my home. Isabel contracted the plague."

"I tried all I could." The baron covered his face with his hands. "I hired the best healers. I bought the best potions and curatives. Nothing was more important to me than her. I let the business to ruin as I drained it of funds to pay for more healers, the newest palliatives, delicacies to tempt her dry palate. It was all for naught for the fates, no matter my efforts, had decreed what was to be. Nearly a year after our marriage, Isabel died in my arms."

The baron pounded a fist into his chair. "I should have killed myself that night but I did not. Arrogance, that monstrous beast, played tinder to the fires of my defiance as I kissed my wife's lifeless hand and felt her belly where our unborn lay, no longer nurtured, no longer basking in the love of its parents. As I held them, I whispered to them both that I would banish our misery, the winds of plague be damned. With fire burning in my heart, I returned to the present for the second time."

The baron grew silent. His audience spellbound by the tale was equally silent. It was Dumbledore who broke the silence.
"Then what transpired, baron?"

"Please, do not ... do not ask me," the baron shifted back and forth with his eyes shut tight. "I cannot live through it again."

Dumbledore was firm. "You have done so before and you must again. Continue." This last was a command.


A/N: It was asked where this story came from. I had previously done an SS/HG mystery, Of Secret Vices, and thought that it would be a good idea to do one for AD/MM. Vices was styled as an Agatha Christie whodunit. Because the characters are different, agewise especially, I thought a more gothic Rinehart flavoured mystery would suit Minerva.

Also I'm working on being a better writer so I'm trying different methods, styles what have you. Some things work, some things fizzle. BTW I do intend to finish my FFN WIPs, just getting into the swing of things again.

The backstory of the Bloody Baron is my invention and based more on what's in the books than how he is shown in the movies. Inpiration I owe entirely to JK Rowling for her imaginative Potterverse. With material like that, one can't help but be creative.

Enjoy!

rogueinker

[Sensiblyquirky]

This is just wonderful, and I am on the edge of my seat! You are an excellent writer, and I look forward to updates and new stories (can't let you rest, now).



Christy

[ginger newts]

Another brilliant chapter! Keep 'em coming, I can't wait to hear more about the cursed desk.

I'm glad you based the Baron off the books, I thought it was a disgrace how they made him be silly in the first movie. He's supposed to be sort of scary looking. I thought he looked like Captain Hook on crack or something.

[Nerweniel]

Really very well-written and fascinating! Please write a next bit soon, you've got me hooked now!

Love,

Lies

[QuillofMinerva]

Wow I am 100% hooked on this story.

I love how you are writing the Baron and his story is so interesting.

I am looking forward to the update and also seeing how the AD/MM fits in.

Keep up the great work

Clayre xx

[Isabelle]

The baron has quite an impressive story. I like it. The confilct you've created and the bit about the time-turner is awesome. I can't wait for your next part.

Liz

[rogueinker]

Chapter 5

Minerva heard the tone of unyielding command in Albus' voice but she could not help but feel pity for the man sitting opposite her. The baron had suffered much and it seemed that there was more to come. Hands clasped tightly on his lap, the Bloody Baron, Antoine de Neuvilette, prepared himself to face his private infamy one more time.

"I came back to a world that I could scarce recognize as my own. My home was unkempt, the fireplace filled with ash and soot. My furnishings so well made were now decrepit even unsafe. Save for my desk. How unnatural it was, an oasis of elegance in a desert of ruin. That incongruity should have been my first point of reality but my blindness was ever more set in my mind and my heart. A new plan formed in my mind. I would go back and take Isabel away, away from the plague and her family business. We would start anew elsewhere. What need did we have for others? I needed no one but her."

"I went to my store with the intention of securing more funds. To my disappointment, I did not find prosperity. In its stead were a handful of workmen laying about the shop and gambling with dice. I asked why they were not working, one worker, the one who made my device, informed me that there was no wood and no sundry materials and so the lathes and benches sat empty and unused. I looked about my once fine shop before dismissing the workers forever. I was further convinced that my future lay in the past. I had to return there."

Fingering the ring in one hand, the baron continued. "I sold my shop for half its true worth and nearly gave away what furniture was for sale. I then sold my home and all its contents, the desk included. With a small bag of gold, gemstones and medicinal potions, I traveled back to the day before the plague made its presence known. I let events unfold as before while forcing Isabel to take the potions I brought back. Upon my father-in-law's death, I sold the business, despite Isabel's vehement objections. Her tears stabbed at my heart but my conviction was strong. We had to leave and settle elsewhere."

"Leaving her widowed mother behind, we settled in the country, Shropshire, it was. It was far from the stench of the town and the threat of sickness . I set my mind to the farming life. With my bare hands, I built a small cottage with two rooms and a thatched roof. Isabel never took sick and our babe swelled inside her. I felt then that I had escaped the clutches of fate, with my destiny left firmly in my hands. I discounted the seeds of mistrust sown within Isabel's breast by her disagreement with my decision to sell the business and leave town. The business was rightly her dowry and in her eyes I had squandered it needlessly. We quarrelled more and more."

"Dumbledore, please tell the rest," the baron pleaded.

"No, Antoine, it is not my story to tell. You must continue." Albus responded.

"I tended to the farm and Isabel tended to the cottage. The intimacy of our marriage disintegrated in the face of our growing animosity. We came together on the birthing of our child. I held her in my arms despite the midwife's ridicule of my presence by my wife's side. I succored to her when her pain was greatest. I wiped her brow and held her hand through many exhausting hours of labor. She accepted freely the tender kisses I offered to her." The baron inhaled deeply. His eyes took on a haunted cast as he looked at the headmaster and then the deputy. "The intimacy and awareness between a pair is a wonder to behold. Truly, I felt we could surmount anything and anyone. Our quarrels faded away. I could feel the delicate tendrils of trust forming between us once again." The baron looked down on his hands. "My happiness was short-lived. If the birthing rekindled our love then the stillborn state of our child, my son, sealed the destruction of our marriage."

Professor McGonagall wiped a tear from her eye unashamed of the emotions she was experiencing. As comfort, Albus took her hand in his. He stroked and squeezed her hand while she silently wept.

"I buried our son. Philip Samuel de Neuvilette was his given name. He seemed sickly and undersized. The midwife had said his chances of survival were small. I returned to the fields and Isabel ... Isabel was never the same again. She would rage in the mornings and cry a sea of tears in the evening. I hired a maid to see to her needs. I left for the fields before the sun rose and returned after Isabel had cried herself to an unrestful sleep. I stopped seeking the warmth of her body against mine or craving the touch of her hand on my skin. For her part, it was as if I no longer existed. One morning I awoke and Isabel was gone. I looked everywhere but I never found her. Alone, in my cottage, I mourned my wife, my son and my life. A month later Isabel's corpse was found in the river downstream."

The baron bowed his head. His voice was hoarse with emotion. "I have had enemies but to none of them would I wish my travails. That year as winter held its grip fast on the land, I ... I sought solace in madness. My memories of that time are vague, as if seen through a pane of colored glass. I returned to the present. What I hope to accomplish to this day I am unsure. I went back into time twice more. Each time was worse than the one before. No matter my actions, death, always death, were their result."

The baron succumbed to his grief. Oblivious to his surroundings, his body shuddering, the baron wept. Unable to resist any longer, Minerva wrapped her arms about him and shared his pain.

"I did not know the full story," Lucretia said regretfully. "He has suffered much."

Minerva stroked the baron's back. She grieved for his lost family for she well understood his motivations and pain. "We should stop now, Albus. The rest can wait after he's rested."

Uncharacteristically, Albus' next words were harsh and demanding. "No, he must continue. He will finish tonight, now." Albus rose and with some force separated Minerva from the baron.

Minerva protested. "Albus, what has - "

"You will understand in time. I must do this, Minerva. Please take your seat." Dumbledore knelt by the baron. With terse words and no shred of pity, he bullied the man to coherence.

"You're right, headmaster, I started this and I must finish." The baron straightened in his chair. Dumbledore handed him a towel with which he wiped his face. "On my last return to the present, I found strangers awaiting my return, one woman and two men. It was Rowena, Godric and Salazar. They had come to stop my forays into the past. My journeys were ... were, in Rowena's words, disassembling the fabric of time and events, past and future. To protect the future, I had to be stopped. I remember being blinded by a bright light while explaining ... pleading my need to return. When I awoke, I was here, Hogwarts, in Godric's study. I was tied and magically bound to my chair. For some days they explained their reasoning yet I turned deaf ears to them. Seven days I lasted, until their words penetrated the madness clouding my mind."

The baron's gaze was caught in the flames of the hearth. "I was never fated to marry Isabel, Rowena explained. I was never fated to have children. Isabel's line was meant to produce a significant figure of history one day but that could not happen due to my machinations. Isabel Parnam had to live to a ripe old age. That is what fate had written for her. Godric and Salazar had visited the past to make amends but their efforts were fruitless. Isabel died before her time. My machinations had permanently affected the careful balance of time and events, fate and destiny. There was naught any could do to undo the effects save for one thing - Antoine de Neuvilette had to cease existing."

"In my more lucid moments, I sensed in my heart that all Rowena revealed to me was the truth. She was a true and powerful seer. Her dreams had revealed my part in the discontinuity of time. Somehow, I know not how, they found me. I was haunted by the feeling of Isabel's limp body in my arms as she died again and again. I could not give her my love but I could give her life again. I asked for death by my own hand but such was not to be."



A/N: Unlike my normal practice and part of my WIP rehab efforts, I've actually written chunks of this ahead of time, hence the near continual updates. I thought I should at least bring the baron's story to completion.

Enjoy!

[ginger newts]

Man, I don't know whether to feel sorry for him or not. I mean sure he was in pain, but what a thing to do!

I'm really enjoying the fact that you're updating so quickly, I hope this trend continues.

This is so completely intriguing.

[rogueinker]

Chapter 6

The early wizards and witches knew well that some laws of nature must be respected. Tampering with these laws had dire and oftentimes irreversible consequences. One of these laws applied to Time. To those steeped in magical lore, Time was best thought of as a wide tapestry composed of many strands that weaved and twined together. The ultimate design of the tapestry was out of mortal purview. On the tapestry, each strand represented a probability of a future while knots on a strand were key events upon which the forward direction of the strand depended. In this way, a knot out of sequence or one woven in the wrong place could have disastrous effects. One or the other of these mistakes could be undone but, in his misguided missions into the past, the Bloody Baron had committed both mistakes.

"Rowena refused to grant me my death. She was unsure if my death would wreak havoc elsewhere. For days, the three argued about my situation. I know not what occurred between them only that Rowena and Godric were in agreement but Salazar was not. In her analysis, my imminent death would not restore the time strands to their original direction or state. Simply put, my life had become irretrievably connected to the key event of one specific, important individual, Isabel Parnum. Rowena theorized that I had to meet Isabel but I could not form an attachment with her nor she with me. I chose to give Isabel her life, little did I know how painful that would be."

"I returned to a more distant point in the past with Godric as my companion and, in a sense, my minder, to ensure my compliance. I met Isabel at the gathering. We danced. We laughed. We talked well into the night. I never spoke the words of my heart as my eyes beheld her at her most glorious for the last time. After the gathering, Antoine de Neuvilette did not return to France for a consignment of furniture. He never set foot on a boat. I simply disappeared from that time and was brought back to Hogwarts." The baron put his ring back under his clothes. He seemed calmer, almost stoic, after his earlier cathartic outburst of emotion and grief.

"Once here I was presented with yet another gift from the fickle hands of fate. Rowena had a vision. Through that vision, she came to understand that if I had a physical death, Isabel's line would never be. For her line to continue, I too must continue on in some form. An existential paradox was the price for my transgressions. Godric and Rowena searched everywhere for a solution. In the end, it was to me that the solution made itself clear. I demanded I be sentenced to an astral life. In that way, my energies could continue to exist long into the future assuring the survival of Isabel's line."

The baron stirred his tea before taking a long sip. "In an astral sentence, one's body was killed while the soul or life force was held in abeyance, neither living nor dying, simply existing. I died with a spear through my heart driven by my hand. Blood poured out of my wound as a fountain spewing out water in the local square. I felt my spirit disassociate from my body. As if from a great distance, I saw my body breath its last, my hand lose its hold on the spear. It was then I began the first day of my existence as a ghost of Hogwarts."

The baron stood and leaned against the mantelpiece. "To allay my conscience, I told Godric and Salazar about the desk. Salazar was particularly intrigued. They brought it back to the castle. As for the device, I do not know what happened to it. The last I saw of it was when we returned the last time." He sighed. "There, my tale is at an end, Dumbledore, what will you have of me now?"

"I want you to rest, my old friend," Dumbledore rested a hand on the baron's shoulder. "Much has been asked of you tonight. I have asked for quarters to be made ready for you."

The baron was about to take his leave when Professor McGonagall, who had been lost in thought for quite some time asked a very pertinent question. "If your astral existence was tied to Isabel's line, then the fact that you are no longer a ghost means that the need for you to ... to ensure her line's continuance is gone. It begs the question - What has happened to her line?"

"A very good question, Professor McGonagall, and one I fear we cannot answer tonight." said Dumbledore.

"Another question. Does this mean that the significant event or figure that Rowena spoke of has passed?"

"That is two questions."

"And if the event or the person has not come to pass, why was the Baron allowed to regain his humanity?"

"I stand corrected. Three questions."

"Four, Albus. What does all of this mean for us, for the strands of time to which we belong?"

The headmaster shook his head. "I have no answers for you, Minerva. The only certainty I can offer is that for everything in this life, there is a reason and a time."

Minerva looked pensive. "Time, it is all about time."

Minerva went to bed that night pondering the questions she posed earlier. She could not shake the suspicion that the Baron's story had yet to come to completion or that the desk had been fully explained. She had quite the mystery to unravel and she intended to start on it first thing in the morning.


A/N: Ah, the mystery deepens and Minerva is on the trail. Wonder what will happen next.

[ginger newts]

Oh my, such wonderful questions. I need answers! hehe Can't wait to see what Minerva finds out.

[Isabelle]

I'll put a second to that. I need some answers too. Boy, the baron has gone through quite a lot I must say. This is very intriguing. I look forward to the rest.

Liz

[Hogwarts Duo]

This story is absolutely spell binding. I am hooked on it and I, like Minerva, am intrigued and feel a bit of sorrow for the Baron now. Your writing style is refreshing and was part of the reason I was so drawn to read more and more of the story.

[Miss Q]

This is an absolutely fabulous story!!! I am completely hooked! And it's great that you're updating so quickly...

Can not wait to see what happens!

M

[rogueinker]

Chapter 7


The next day's Transfiguration classes were unusual for the class was assigned in class homework. While not unheard of it was more rare than hippogriffs rampaging across the lawns of the school. More than one student commented that Professor McGonagall seemed unusually distracted. She often glanced at the blackboard behind her which was strange in itself for the blackboard was blank. A stack of parchment sat at the corner of desk. As the day grew late, the stack increased class after class.

The headmaster entered after the last class of the day had exited. He, too, saw the now perilously high stack of notes. Minerva had her back to him staring at her empty blackboard. Not wanting to startle her needlessly, he cleared his throat loudly. "Professor McGonagall, are you free?"

Minerva looked at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "I am not free as you are well aware of. This ... this mystery is driving me to distraction. I am sure my students have noticed."

Albus gestured to the stack. "Notes?"

"Yes, items that I need to research, unanswered questions and so forth."

"Minerva, you are not working on this alone."

"Of course not, but you are often gone to the Ministry. Correct me if I am not mistaken but you have no intention of letting the staff know about this event do you?"

"As always you are correct."

"That then leaves the problem to me." Minerva crossed her arms across her chest. Her eyes dared him to contradict her deduction.

"I know that look well, my dear, I will sooner stand in your way as take up the post of Minister of Magic." Dumbledore smiled. "Now, your note this morning said to meet you here after class. What do you need from me?"

"Answers, or at least the route to those answers." Minerva brandished her wand and the blackboard's contents became visible to the headmaster. "Here are the points of connection that I know so far."

On the blackboard were listed : Antoine de Neuvilette, Isabel Parnum, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Desk, the Neuvilette family.

Minerva continued her explanation. "All of these are connected in some way known or unknown at this time. The problem is in how to fit them together so the whole structure forms or indicates a solution. I cannot help but feel that time is of the essence, Albus."

"I agree," Dumbledore perused the list. From his countenance was gone the playful wizard. Standing in that classroom was a worried wizard with brows furrowed in concentration. He was familiar with Minerva's approach to problem solving. When first she came to the school, her methods had puzzled him but over time he came to admire her often ingenious ways. "As I see it, we have all the most pertinent information from the baron in hand so he may be, what is the saying, Minerva?"

"Checked off," she replied. Minerva placed a precise check mark beside Antoine de Neuvilette. "I need more information. Where am I going to get it? We know little about Isabel herself. Rowena left some writings behind but not much. Godric, fortunately, was an avid journalist. I hope to see something in his materials. Salazar, well, I do not wish to delve into his bequests unless I absolutely have to. The Neuvilettes are nearly a blank. That means that Godric is my first key, first clue."

"Shall we examine his journals after dinner?"

"That would be ideal." Minerva gathered her things and they walked out together. "How is the castle's newest guest faring?"

"Disoriented is the best description. He will not be leaving his rooms for a while. I have informed Poppy of his situation."

"Poppy?"

"The baron's wound is not entirely healed. He had pains in the night and this morning he showed me the drops of blood marking his chest."

"How unusual."

"In the extreme. There are mentions, past oral stories more fantastic than true I thought, of resurrections caused by wrongs righted and the victims restored. That does not seem to apply in this case."

"Oral histories. Thank you. I shall add that to my research list."

Dumbledore stopped without notice. He faced his deputy, his face solemn. "Minerva, promise me you will not overwork yourself on this."

"But, the baron -"

"As much as we want to help, we cannot and should not overreach our own grasp. Like you I thought of his problem through the night. Unless I am mistaken neither one us had more than four hours of sleep." Minerva nodded. "Rowena's uncertainty concerns me. I feel that the baron's case is more far reaching into the future, our future, than it seems on the surface. We must treat what we find with the utmost care and impartiality."

"No easy fixes then."

"None."

The two ate dinner in the hall as normal. To any casual observer, they would have seen nothing out of the normal. But disguised as ordinary conversation, the two professors discussed their mystery.



Much later, Minerva sat in her favorite chair in Albus' private study. Here was complete privacy with no prying portraits or other uninvited guests. On her lap was set one of the many journals of Godric Gryffindor. She had found what she believed was relevant to her problem.


From the journal of Godric Gryffindor


The chill of winter has left us for another season. I can feel my fingertips again. The children will be off to their homes for a time. Peace and tranquility shall be my dearest friends. Helga and I have a task ahead of us that would tax the patience of a saint. It is fortunate that no students will be about.

---

Today, the fifth of June, bore witness to a vision by Rowena. She has been pained by aches of the head. Her revelation voiced as like a spirit unfree that weaves a tale, a moral, a lesson true. Its words were of no sense. To my ears, tangled verse it was, crossed with the twisting, twining strand of truth.

The spirit spoke of many things of the very bonds of time being sundered, a heartfelt atonement before true forgiveness was earned through deepest humility. There was mention of a savior lost in the swirling mists before the winds of random luck and self absorbed redemption put him back to course.

My first impulse was to scoff at this but it had an air only then as will out, that and of the many dreamings since, which could only be true. Again came the strand of time. I warrant her fixation upon it be unhealthy. Time is not one to be meddled with. It will take our combined magicks to set things right.

---

Salazar and I agree to disagree on the matter of the new visions. It is our usual resolution to most things. The man is vexing but brilliant. He is an asset to the school. Now, if only his manners were of the more courtly cut. He upsets Helga so. I shall speak to him on the morrow before we leave for London in search of our wandering spirit. Rowena seems certain she may guide us true.

---

We have returned chastened not triumphant. The human heart is fragile yet is the strongest driving force in the universe, this I firmly believe. Justice will not be done nor a peaceful resolve kept I fear. Blood must be shed to appease the angry fates. Rowena and Salazar were in agreement and I must match to that though my own heart grieves. Can there not be a better way? I had thought we had expelled from within us the savage that reacts in fear and ignorance, I am witness here to say that we have not.



Minerva copied the text to a parchment for later review. She scanned the rest of the journal but there was nothing else she deemed important or relevant. She looked to Albus who was flipping through the giant Book of Names. Inside were listed all the magical children in Britain to whom Hogwarts letters were to be sent. It dated back to the time of the founders. "I do not see the prophecy written down. How frustratingly lax. Any luck, Albus?"

Albus turned a page. "No. I do not see a single Parnum in the lists. It was an unlikely possibility seeing as her line took on her husband's name." Albus closed the book and rubbed his weary eyes.

"Godric's entry is somewhat useful. There is something to it. I can feel it." Minerva rose. "But the letters are dancing highland jigs before my eyes."

Albus chuckled. "That is a sure sign that we need sleep. Have a good night, my dear."

"Good night, Albus."

Professor McGonagall placed the journal in its shelf and departed. Albus turned the light off and went to bed. They mystery would still be awaiting them tomorrow but they had made a good start of it today.



A/N: All right, true mystery buffs. I will say that Godric's entries have a double meaning. If you like Dan Brown's DaVinci Code or similar puzzles, then have at it and break the code. Or you can wait for Minerva to find it out, when ever that will be. Enjoy!

[Nerweniel]

*salutes* Lies Marple is ready ;D! But unfortunately she is rather clueless... and eagerly awaiting a next great chapter !

Love,

Lies

[Miss Q]

I am puzzled and intrigued.... and eagerly awaiting your next chapter!!!!!!

M

[Isabelle]

I'll have to ponder this one a little, although I am feeling a bit lazy right now. Maybe I'll sit back and see what Minerva comes up with. This is getting really good. I like how you are developing the plot. It's really sticky. I'm hooked. What can I say?

Liz

BTW, Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code, has to be one of my favorites. I'm looking forward to reading Deception Point and Digital Fortress.

[ginger newts]

Man, and I've been meaning to read The DaVinci Code for a year now! Meaning I don't know what kind of puzzle that is and now I'm annoyed with myself. Hehe, I'm with Lies in Agatha Christie mode.

One question: Why haven't they asked the last name of the man Isabel married and presumably had her children with? Seems important to me...

Another intriguing and well written chapter! Update soon, please. *wanders off to think*

[Kamdra]

Aack! I haven't had the chance to read all of this and you are so far ahead. Usually I'm dying for faster updates but I'm not complaining. This is really good.

[rogueinker]

Chapter 8

Minerva walked into the library during her morning free period. Minerva had yesterday asked the librarian to do some research on family trees namely those of the Neuvilettes and the Parnams. She wanted to see if any progress had been made.

Madam Pince bustled to her side several rolled parchments in her hand. She laid out one of the parchments on a broad table. "I'm sorry I don't have better information, Minerva."

"I was not expecting very much. Record keeping in those days was very sparse and haphazard. Show me what you have, Irma."

Irma pointed at the graphical family tree as she talked. "Let us start with the Parnams. Isabel Parnam was the only daughter of an herbalist of some renown in his day by the name of Ezra Parnam. He was married to Wilhelmina Parnam nee Stanley. They had another child besides Isabel, a son, but he died in childhood. Isabel Parnam married James Matthias Wilton, a textile merchant of some means. James was a great deal older than his wife - 12 years to be exact. Isabel and James had 3 children - Philip, Elias and Katherine. Elias died in midlife with no direct, known issue. Philip married Anne Stewart and moved to Scotland taking over his wife's family's farm and store near Glasgow. Katherine inherited her grandfather's ways with herbs and became a healer. She married a scribner of Welsh extraction Frank Ardweil who took over the textile business."

"So, the Parnam line is ended, branching off to two new lines Wilton and Ardweil. There is issue for another generation then the Ardweil line disappears. Katherine and Frank had four children. The oldest, Tristan, died in a drunken wizard's duel, with no issue. Grace, the second oldest, married a baker Jonathan Pendry. The second son and third child, Daniel, was widowed early but had one child Nathaniel. The last child, Robert, took the cloth. He died in extreme old age in a Benedictine monastery, no issue. Nathaniel married late. His two sons died in the first world war. The Ardweil line ended with them. Now, the daughter Grace Pendry had one daughter Juliana. I have found one source indicating that Juliana was a talented healer near Argyle, but nothing else of her later life. Did she marry or have children? I don't know."

Minerva pursed her lips. She had known that genealogy tracking was tricky but she had expected better results. "And the Wilton line, how did that fare?"

Pince moved her wand to the other side of the tree. "Philip Wilton and Anne Stewart had two children - Isabel, named after her grandmother, and John. Isabel married a storekeeper named Ruald Lester. The last descendant of that line died last year, a wand accident, I believe. John Stewart's descendants remained in Glasgow. They owned the the Glasgow Glassworks. The company was sold to the Malfoys last year by the last of the Stewarts - Rianna Stewart Macleish who died soon after he sale. So, ends the line of Philip Wilton."

Minerva sat down and rubbed at her temples. She could feel a migraine on the way. "Parnam, Ardweil, Wilton, Stewart - all gone. There must be one line left."

"Excuse me, Minerva? One line?"

"Oh, Irma, just a ... to prove my theory I need a descendant of Isabel Parnam."

"Perhaps, if I knew more of this project of yours, I could fine tune the search."

"It's a small project really, not worth wasting your time on. A pet project you might say." Minerva looked over the tree again tracing the children's parental lines one more time. Her finger stopped at one name. "Juliana, Irma. You said that you could find nothing on her. Did you find a death certificate or notice?"

"No, nothing other than that one source."

Minerva inhaled and exhaled slowly. "She's the one, must be. Irma, could you provide me with a copy of that information source for Juliana Pendry?"

"Certainly, by lunchtime?"

"Perfect. And since she was a healer, can you extend the search horizontally to ... to ... I don't know, scientific documents. Perhaps she worked jointly with another healer on something. Farfetched, but we must try everything." Minerva looked thoughtful for a moment. "Irma, what does it mean when a line is no longer traceable?"

"There are various possibilities. Death is the most obvious. Or a marriage not conducted and recorded and therefore cannot be linked back to the parental lines. Or the descendant line becomes diluted into the muggle population. We have difficulty tracing anyone once they lose their magical abilities."

"So, it is plausible that Juliana married a muggle."

"Or a half-muggle," Pince added. "Or a squib."

"Another possibility. Perhaps Juliana broke away from her family, became disinherited."

"Yes, that could be. The family would cease to record her legacy if they regarded her as dead to them."

"Hmm, do you know how muggles record marriages, Irma?"

The librarian shrugged. "I have the barest of ideas, Minerva. My second cousin, Farley married a muggle. He said that he had to register the marriage at his wife's local court."

Minerva considered these new bit of information. She reminded herself to stop by the infirmary as the throbbing in her head was getting worse. She would ponder the Parnam situation later. "What about the de Neuvilette line?"

"That was easy." Irma rolled up the Parnam tree and laid out the de Neuvilette tree. "Antoine de Neuvilette had no issue however he had an older brother Gaston and a younger brother Maxim. Gaston inherited the furniture business. Though not as prosperous as it was in his father's time, he was prosperous enough. His sons sold the furniture concern and with Maxim's descendants became vintners and wine makers."

Minerva gasped. "The Grande Neuvilette brand of wines is theirs?"

"One and the same." Irma nodded. "They began with a small vineyard in the south of France. Overtime, they bought their neighbors and expanded to what they are today. There are two surviving lines in the families of Henri de Neuvilette and his cousin Annalisa Neuvilette Pernoud.''

"For the sake of my curiosity, Irma, what happened to Antoine de Neuvilette?"

Irma rifled through her notes. "Antoine ... here he is. Per the family history penned by Claude Antoine de Neuvilette, one of Maxim's sons, Antoine went to England and apparently died after a prolonged illness. Plagues were quite virulent then. Cholera most likely."

Minerva refrained from answering. "Where did he die?"

"Scotland. Wait, that cannot be correct. He was known to have a partner in London. How did he get to Scotland?"

Minerva became aware of the time. "Irma, I have a class to go to. Thank you so much for the help."

"I ought to thank you. That bit of research added some variety to my day, Minerva," said the librarian with a smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Not at present, but I'll let you know. I have to do some thinking." As Minerva entered her class she said under her breath. "Three keys. Four left."


A/N: Readers, you're seeing the trail of breadcrumbs I started way back in chapter one. Drat! I must make things a little harder.

[ginger newts]

Ack, so many people to think about! *mind spins*

Picking up on the trail you say? Alright, that's it, the gauntlet is down I shall not rest until I figure this out. (Well, okay that's probably a bit of an exaggeration.)

[QuillofMinerva]

I love this style of story and it had left me puzzled and so intrigued.

Cant wait to see the next update and also wondering how you are going to throw in the AD/MM bit

[Isabelle]

Wow, this is getting really good. This part was very interesting. I look forward to the next part.

Liz

[Kassandra]

I'm so glad I caught up but I am clueless. I will have to wait for you to uncover more