Et Cetera

Report on London's Witch Fashion Week
By Callisto Riddle

There was big security around in London this week as our yearly London Witch Fashion Week came around again. Stars included the 'Singing Sorceress' Celestina Warbeck, wearing a superb jet black, floaty, off the shoulder little number in chiffon from her own collection, and Cassandra Vablatsky in a sky blue mini-robe with hefty silver belt and boots by Madam Minnie Malkin's aptly named collection, 'Minnie Wonders 2002'. Surprises included the 'Albus 4 Hogwarts' range by Professor Albus Dumbledore himself, showing students in Hogwarts robes with a twist, such as the surprisingly trendy punkish dragon hide ensemble (for Care of Magical Creatures) and a floaty, shimmering mother of pearl robe with pink and mauve stars encircling the waist (for Charms). Professor Dumbledore's Celtic design for History of Magic was also greeted by mass applause, and it is hoped by many, including Hogwarts students themselves, that Professor Dumbledore's designs will continue to be a feature in future Fashion Weeks across the globe. Unfortunately for his students, Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, has made it clear that the robes from Professor Dumbledore's collection will not be tolerated in Hogwarts ("What on earth could they be thinking of?") although (thanks to a well placed Silencio hex from a harassed-looking Professor Minerva McGonagall) students AND teachers may wear them during weekends and half term.

The new 'Vampiress' collection, by the Irish international Chaser Catriona McCormack, was not such a success, although many of her famous friends were there at the opening and the famous Chaser modelled one outfit herself. The collection had very few designs in it, and those that were there seemed to solely include blood red, dead white and jet black, high collared robes with extremely low necklines. As every magical fashionista should have observed by now, Gothicism, as it was called, was last popular in the Middle Ages, and unlike a lot of Muggle fashions it should have become evident by this time that this particular trend has gone and is NEVER coming back. Finito, OK?

Moving swiftly on, the one nasty occasion occurred on Tuesday with a dragon dung-throwing incident from one Narcissa Malfoy. Ms. Malfoy appeared to be upset at her rejection as model from the Madam Malkin collection, on the grounds that she looked as though she had dragon dung under her nose (always knew there was a reason behind the expression) and a growing resentment at her Jennifer Lopez-esque ways (muggle readers will understand what I mean). The final confrontation came, says my mole, when Ms Malfoy was refused her demand for a house as her dressing room, with the comment that she "did not want to share a dressing room with a lot of common, down at heel Mudbloods". As Madam Malkin herself is Muggle born and extremely proud of it, perhaps this complaint was just a little badly worded. Oh, don't you just hate those blonde moments, huh?

Gilderoy Lockhart's collection was sadly missed by his one remaining fan (NOT me, I assure you), while an anonymous contributor's 'Biker's Chic' collection, solely in dyed dragon hide and metal, was hailed with applause as "being some of the most radical designs for years", as a certain Daily Prophet reporter put it. Certain students at Hogwarts may know the unnamed designer, but that's all I'm saying.

Oh well, signing out for this week! Callisto Riddle.

Why DO People Do Things Like That?
By: Lexi Maxwell (Not Maxwell for long...)

Yes, this is indeed my question. I know, infinite question, but still, an interesting topic. Humans are, well, in no way perfect, contrary to the belief of Gilderoy Lockhart. Sometimes, someone comes along that you believe are perfect, someone that just sweeps you off your feet...

Today, when I walked into the office everyone stopped and stared at me. The Smart-Aleck in me coming out in the best of times, I waved energetically at Peggy, the receptionist, who, in an amazing show of warped emotion, burst into tears. A little background, Peggy is basically a robot with no care or feeling for anyone. I was unnerved. I went on with my normal routine...checked my mail (bills, why do I get bills at the office?), walked into my office, and began to write a pointless and sad article due to the shock of my sister's wedding. It gave me writer's block.

It hit about noon, and I pulled out my lunch, began to eat, and guess who runs into the door (literally, face first)? Wonder Boy...in dress robes. Uh, this day had exponentially gotten weirder...

How nice of him, to come have lunch with me! Not in his plans...exactly. All he said was "Come with me" and grabbed my arm. Out the door I went, half eaten sandwich and all. Oh, good, so a blindfold should make things all better, right? All I remember in that period of time was him grabbing my hand. We drove for hours...and hours...and I couldn't see a thing. When he finally stopped, I knew it was dark...it had to be. He ran to the other side of the car, opened the door and, thank the Lord, took the blindfold off, to reveal a house. It was the house everyone has always dreamed of. Slightly Victorian...it was gorgeous, and why was I here. "You'll see". Goody.

"Go to the porch". Okay...It was dark, and the porch light was on. So, here I go, la dee dah, why is there a letter on the door? It said 'Read Me'...I had to oblige. I read it, and realized why Peggy had gone into tears.

Here I go again, excuse me **TISSUE**. Thank you. So, back to the scheme, I finished the letter, and turned around to tell WB that he was insane. What could top this off? To find him on his knee with a velvet box in his hand. Get the picture?

So, here I am, finding myself in my sister's shoes...I don't believe I've ever seen so many white things. Let's answer the question now, why do people do things like that? No one really knows. Maybe, maybe it's because they're insane, or maybe it's because they're perfect. Maybe, just because they can. Why can't there be more people like this in the world, who will call the office and ask if they can give someone half a day off because they have a 'plan'? Why not? Well, my answer? WHO KNOWS?

Sorcerer's Secrets: Part One
By: Nathan L. (AKA Nathan Potter)

Prolouge
"They're advancing!"
"Well we can't stop them"
"Just use your Elloje!"
"I'm almost out of energy!"
"Is there no hope?"

* * *

The King of Alodia had for some time been engaged in a struggle. The struggle for world domination, which in most cases is the root of evil. Yes he controlled three of the five kingdoms, but it wasn't enough. He needed to conquer all.

The Circle of Magic had thus far prevented this. The Mages, Sorcerers, Enchanter, Seers and Aprentices had stopped him. Using their advanced magic, beyond the ordinary man's ability to produce small sparks and mist. Plus their advantage of the silver blood line gave them the ability to use their Elloje; a creature with advanced strength, magic, intelligence, and speed that they customized for themselves. Everyone in the Circle of Magic had their own unique ellojea, that was modeled after their own personality and being.

The struggle of the Ninth Tower against the Circle and the kings' men, the Forbidden, almost seemed one sided. But with a special herb, the Forbidden began to send the elloje into a deep sleep. Without their Ellogea, the Circle began to lose power.

When word reached the King that the fourth continent of Atlantis was conquered, he filled with joy. That is not a good thing for an evil king. He wanted more slaughtering. He decided that the part of the Circle that was captured would be killed by magic, the slow and steady sparks of a hundred men.

The next morning, the kingdom awoke to screams of pain.

Six thousand years later a boy of the twenty second century awoke to a terrible dream of murder. He sat up abruptly, the screams still ringing in his ears, walked to the window and peered out at the forest that surrounded part of his house, all 500 acres of it. Deep in the woods a light flashed then abruptly went out...

Me in a Wedding Store: Recipe for Disaster
By Lexi Maxwell

Yes, it's that time of year again. It's the time of year when people ask other people to marry them...no, not me. I'm not the one getting married, my sister, Lindsay, is. Did you think I'd actually do it? Well, let's set the scene for the story. Nartura Avenue, yesterday, my sister more excited than a child eating candy on a sugar high.

To give a little history, this was the fifteenth store we had been to, and none of them produced a bridesmaid gown that made me look quite like that pumpkin my sister was shooting for. We had come close, but it was only a pale orange, not quite fluorescent. We had gone into the store, and immediately the salespeople started to help us. They made a mistake, first, by picking me to be the bride. I 'nicely' told them no, that Lindsay was, but by that time, it was too late. Lindsay was furious, and so was my mother. Lindsay's friends just gaped at me, as if I had done something so astronomically horrible that I shouldn't be allowed to attend the wedding. Whatever.

We had begun to try on the dresses (Lindsay already had the wedding dress), and, of course, I have to be the black sheep. My hair is now white-blonde and chunked red, so I suggested a nice simple dress. God forbid. The first dress was a lovely fluorescent orange, with blue flowers and ruffles all over. Safe to say it clashed with everyone, but Lindsay was insisting that we were 'beautiful strangers'. I wish I was a stranger...but moving on. The second, just a sheath to the ground with a classy looking gold 'ghetto' chain around the waist, and yes, in orange. Lindsay has the BEST taste in clothes (SARCASM ALERT). I looked like a freak, and so did her friends, who had begun to see my point. Orange went with nothing, especially at a wedding.

As said in my last article, I am a smart aleck, and had to voice my opinion with the last dress, a gold lame with orange rick-rack accents. Yeah, it looked really good, and Lindsay had to pick this one, even after I voiced my not-so-enthusiastic attitude. Her friends had also said that we all looked hideous, and Lindsay had again said, "Too bad."

A word of advice to those of you who will become brides or grooms in the next few months. Orange and gold are NOT appropriate wedding colors. Bridesmaids have feelings too. Black sheep do not really care if you don't approve of their manner of dress, hairstyle, boyfriends, or anything else for that matter, even if they are your only sister. One last thing, if you see a bride dressed in gold with orange roses, bridesmaids looking miserable, and an ape-like groom...RUN FOR THE HILLS!

The Advantages of Smart Alecks
By Lexi Maxwell

Me: THE biggest smart aleck in the world. Wonder Boy: Also a huge smart aleck. Every smart aleck kidnapped in the past few months, not killed. Do we see a trend here? Let's just take a few instances of kidnappings (yes, I do know these people, which helps me hone my smart aleck skills)

Lyly Tomson- Seventh Year, Head of House, Head Girl, Cheerleader, Straight A's, All-Star Quidditch Seeker, Mentor, Smart Aleck. Kidnapped by an "unknown" (riiiiiiiiight) Death Eater, and lived. Why? Because she stood up to her attacker with her smart mouth, and though injured, made it out alive and well.

Abby Potter. Very similar story...smart aleck also. Lived. Lindy Jameson. Not a smart aleck, but indeed the nicest girl that ever lived. Kidnapped, died. I cried for an hour...she was sooo sweet.

Now, granted, I'm not pushing anyone to be a smart aleck, but it seems as if being a smart aleck (a good one, mind you) equals being clever? This is just a subject that Wonder Boy and I talked about this morning...what do I say? What's my true opinion? Hell hath no fury like a kidnapped smart aleck.

Judging a Book; What You See Isn't Always What You Get
By Lexi Maxwell

Lately, ever since the recent unfortunate events involving YWK, we see so many more people that we would never think of trusting. I grew up in the era of no fear. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone! We would never have to worry. We were wrong...and when things like this happen, you get street smart at an alarming rate.

At 5' 3 1/2", red hair, and green eyes, I just look like an easy target for any Death Eater. I tend to forget that I am not invincible, and I have occasionally forgotten my wand (if you call every other day "occasionally"). I learned of my horrible mistake about a week ago. I was in a robe shop in Diagon Alley, just trading some Christmas Gifts that were around 400 sizes too large, when a man behind me said to me in a very gruff voice to, "Hurry your stupid butt up, woman, I have more important things to do." He repeated this for much too long, and in a horrible fleeting moment, I turned around and began to tell him off. It never occured to me that he might be anything but an honest wizard. Oh, how I was wrong.

As I finished, red faced and my temper gone bad, I watched him pull his wand out. What I saw horrified me, a *tattoo*. He had the Dark Mark.

"You'll take it back, or suffer the consequences. Don't push me," He said to me, his wand no farther than an inch from my face. I froze. What do you do in a moment like that? Like a moron, I had left my wand on my dining room table, again. He was just about to kill me (he had already said Avada), and I heard the most wonderful voice in the world.

"You'd back away from her if you know what's good for you," I heard someone say softly right behind him. I had not heard that voice in all my life, and then all that is evil in the World broke loose. Kudos to me, I started a brawl. Finally getting my brain back to reality, I ran for anyone from the ministry, and had Mr. Dark-Mark-with-an-attitude hauled out of there. Going back to thank my savior, I realized my worst fear. Long hair in a ponytail, a pierced ear, he would have not looked any more out of place in a Rock Festival than here. Me and my sweater vest, went up to him and braced myself for the worst, a weird man whose appearance matched his personality. I guess I was on a roll that day, because yet again, I was wrong.

I do not think that there is a nicer man in the world today. He was brave enough to stand up for someone he didn't know, and to a Death Eater about to cause a death at that. He didn't have to keep fighting this guy even as I stood there in utter disbelief. I didn't know what to say again, as he stood there bleeding from 4 different parts of his face, and a gash across his knuckles. Death Eater boy started spouting threats and obscenities at Wonder Boy, as I have come to call him, and I realized how badly he was hurt, at my expense. Enough said, I took a medi-witch course in school.

Moral of the story- 1) DO NOT EVER FORGET YOUR WAND AT HOME. 2) Death Eaters can be hard to identify in a crowd, and last but absolutely not least, 3) A lot of people today look like Wonder Boy, and are mean like I had originally thought. However, there are people who are great, generous, nice people like he was. We should appreciate this people on the odd occasion that they do come along, thank them for being wonderful people. They may have odd reactions at first, but guaranteed they appreciate it all the same.

Interview with H. Potter

By Alexi Firebolt

Q : So how do you feel about the movie?

A: Um, strange; it captures some prospect of whats to come but it leaves out quite a bit of stuff plus some places it was quite iffy.

Q; How does the wizarding community feel about the movie?

A: Some people feel it leaves lot's of stuff out. Some just want to exploit imagination, most just hope that stories of hope will help keep some imaginations open.

A Very Special Person
by Isabella Jynx

NOTE: I KNOW that this isn't an update on the wizarding world, but I'm submitting it anyways)

There are two really good qualifications for being a columnist. 1. You've got to like writing and 2. You've got to be loyal to your paper. Don't just do one and abandon your post! When I was 5, in kindergarten, of   course I didn't know how to write so I told it to my teacher and she wrote it down. I've been a writer ever since, and because of my love for Harry Potter I came to this site.

However would this site be here if not for one person? Someone who gets piles of e-owls and answers every single one (she certainly answers   mine :) and I love it)? Who continues her site even with so much work and keeps a fanfic on top of that? Megora McGonagall that's who.

Now I'm not trying to become editor's pet, and I'm not trying to be the best columnist, but I want to thank Megora McGonagall a whole ton. She   admires every article (even if someone takes another person's IDEA, thank you whoever wrote the Rouximous article after I wrote the tree cat article, wink wink :) i know it's jealousy but no one take my ideas!)

Megora, we really appreciate all your work and hope for a bigger, better site. Without you this daily prophet wouldn't be possible. We love you, Meg.

Isabella Jynx
and all the other witches
and wizards who write for this site

Have a Very Wizard's Christmas!
by Hannah Hedwig

AH! It's that time of year again, when we celebrate the day Jesus was born. Suddenly there is a rush to shopping centers, especially Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Children are peeking at presents, grown-ups are putting up decorations, and of course, everyone is waiting for the jolly arrival of Santa Claus. Well, allmost everybody. There are many other holidays that people celebrate around this time. Two of the most popular are Hannaka and Kwanza. The people who celebrate different holidays are happy too. So every one is having a great time. Well, most people. What about Voldemort? Surely he doesn't like holidays since he doesn't like many other great people. Santa Claus will never give him presents, just a lump of coal. And who does he have to send him a holiday greeting? NOBODY! Well Voldemort, if you are reading this, here's a message for you: bah humbug!!!!!! You did it to yourself.

So whatever you celebrate Christmas, Kwanza, Hannaka(the list is endless), HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Witches, Wizardettes, Sorceresses, OH MY!
By: Lexi Maxwell

There has been a lot of talk about what witches should be called "Officially" lately. Witch, Wizardette, Sorceress, and about a million others that just make everyone's day harder. We all know that this started by a group of Witch Liberators. Why? To start a fight with Ministries across the globe. Well, I am frankly tired of it, of not going anywhere without meeting waiters, cashiers, shopkeepers, all who are afraid to call me by any name. This is my "Official" take on the hysteria.

First, let's look at Wizardette. Not so bad, except that I feel like a back-up singer to Merlin and the Magical Men. Okay...this makes a lot of sense. If you look at it from a Witch Libber's point of view, this name is slightly more degrading than any other name I have heard. It comes from the root "wizard". Then you add "ette", which means female in an odd, twisted sort of way. When added together, this means "Magical Man Woman". THIS MAKES NO SENSE. I give it a thumbs down.

Next, Sorceress. I don't mind this one, although, when looked up, the proper meaning of Sorceress is, "Witch with extraordinary, advanced, or amplified powers, more commonly called a Really Powerful Witch." This title is given to a precious few who can actually hold it out. Maybe...1 in a 1,000,000. Sorry ladies, this one is shot down for lack of, well, logic!

Lastly, Witch. What is so wrong with this name? We've held it for centuries, and there's no horrible background attached. Sure, there were witch burnings. No witch was killed! If you're worried about the Muggles, I ask why. We don't have 4 sisters each, one for the North, South, East, and West. We aren't green normally. We don't wear pink chiffon with sequins, gems, a starred wand, and an exceptionally large hat all the time. We don't have Muggle friends named Dorothy and Toto who hang around with a scarecrow, a lion, and a tinman. It is not nessecary for us to click our heels together 3 times and say, "There's no place like the toilets, there's no place like the toilets, there's no place like the toilets," every time we need to use the restroom. I don't mind this name, despite Muggle stereotypes. I am a REAL witch, and can prove it at will. Frankly my dear, I don't give a darn what you call me, as long as you aren't looking for a fight!

The Mediating Sword
By Caerwyn Gwilym

Every year, I charge myself with a quest to the forgotten corners of the world, seeking what I lack and mending my weaknesses with the spirits, cultures, and memories of others. Traveling incognito as a muggle journeyman, I seek truth in their legends and myths, looking through the eyes of their holymen, and seeing the unimaginable wonders of the past. So close they are to our secrets, and yet so humble they are in mind and body. Their stories; myths and fancies to them, but history for us are woven with wonder, and laced with mystery, but all hold a truth deep in their shrouded veils of mysticism. From the kappa that stalks the streams of Japan, to the fearsome tarrasque of the African jungles, muggles have met with magic more often than they may wish to believe.

In the light autumn, my quest took me to the mystic far east of China, a land hidden away in tradition and folklore, where legends abound, not only among the muggles, but also of wizards, great mages, dragons who cooperate with humans, mysterious forces of bodily magic practiced by monks, and even of wizards who hurl magic with no need of a wand. True or not, these stories led me to my greatest adventure yet, and still, they held nothing compared to what I would encounter in the Middle Kingdom.

Having good friends in the Chinese Bureaucracy of Magic, I was able to avoid unneeded complications and made my way, like any good tourist, to the Great Wall. Enjoying my time there, and with full intentions on returning to Beijing, I toured much of the countryside. However, while traveling the Yellow River, my eye was drawn to a quaint village in the distance. Deciding to mingle with the natives, I only intended to converse with the villagers, and to enthrall myself in their tales of old. A young man by the name of Wu Shen Jian changed everything when he asked a question with pure wonder in his voice: "Are you of the magical people?" Immediately following the question came an unnaturally awkward silence, and after what seemed to be an eternity, Shen Jian was shooed away by the elders, and was told not to speak such foolishness to a guest. After some pondering, I decided to ask around among the elders about the boy. Reluctantly, they unraveled a gloomy past.

After a long period of fertile soil, abundant rainfall, and beauteous weather, a mysterious event occurred. Most of the elders concur that it was a meteorite that struck not far from the village, spreading a fire that nearly engulfed the town. Shen Jian's parents and many others were killed in the fire. The villagers grieved their dead, rebuilt their town, and moved on. The boy, however, spoke of dragons and strange men and a great battle in the mountains. Believing he was stricken with grief for his parents, his grandmother sent him to the nearby monastery for fear that he may slowly lose his mind. Eight years he spent in their cloister, working in the monastery in return for training and education. He had returned two years ago to live with his grandmother and work in the village.

But as any man living within two worlds does, I looked further, and sent an owl to my esteemed colleague in Bureaucracy of Magic inquiring for the historical records of the Shensi province. The letter that I received brought me to a profound state of contemplation. The truth now unfolds, and it read like this:

5:25AM February 13, 1987: Unrecorded Chinese Fireball spotted in the Hwang river valley.
9:18PM February 15, 1987: Reported attack by Chinese Fireball on village of JinSung.
9:23PM February 15, 1987: Wizard, Registered Animagus Li Songbo intervenes, killing the Chinese Fireball
9:57PM February 15, 1987: Five Bureau Agents sent by apparation to JinSung.
10:32PM February 15, 1987: Memory charms over JinSung complete. All 126 surviving citizens accounted for and charmed.

The next day, I decided to speak with Shen. When I asked him what he could remember from eleven years ago, he apologized for the previous night, and hastily left. Curious and mystified, I asked to stay in the village on the pretense of studying the landscape and was gladly welcomed. Over the next few days, I then became extremely frustrated with the boy, who rejected my inquiries and refused to speak about anything in the past. I decided to see if I could coax him into cooperation with a sensing spell (oddly enough, the use of magic on muggles by investigators and reporters is legal when deemed necessary by the CBM). To my surprise no visible effects occurred, and my magic simply seemed to disperse and fizzle. Even more suprising, Shen did not run, like so many other muggles have when encountering magic. He stood, wide-eyed, probably not in wonder, but in realization. The following days were probably the most profound, yet most rewarding time of my life.

First, I had thought that the wizards had passed over the child when they applied their memory charms, yet, my own magic was denied by him. Fearing the opportunity would be lost, I pleaded with him to stay and listen to what I had to say. So I sat down and he did likewise, and for what seemed to be days, yet was only thirty minutes, we stumbled our way around, I did not know how to approach him, and he not knowing what I wished to know. Our stuttering about eventually was lost to comedy, as our incoherence was apparent. Breathing a sigh of weariness, I resigned to my last resort, placing my trust in his hands. Looking around stealthily, and finally determined the absence of eavesdroppers, I quicky cast a speach charm on myself, and began once again at my attempt with the newly gained lingul advantage. And so it was that through this now mystified and fanciful boy that another tale was unraveled.

Within the walls of the monastery, since the age of six, he would wake and bed as the sun did, cleaning and cooking in the morning, studying in the afternoon. When he had time, he was allowed to watch and learn the martial arts of the monks, and for this, he eagerly finished his chores. I myself have been trained in the fighting arts, studying karate for more than five years under one of the greatest of sensais, and yet, this boy exceeds any expectation I have ever had, or ever dreamt of having. He had quickly surpassed many of the monks in the monastery, and when he moved, it seemed that he became the way and the art. He explained that when he was young, when the men came and made his people forget, he still had an image in his mind: A man, the savior of the town, leaping into combat with the great wyrm. "He seemed to fly with grace and perfection, yet raging with fury, and I swear I watched him as he reached oneness with himself," explained Shen. The man then became the very semblance of his art, an eagle who rose up into the air, perched perilously upon the serpent's head, and suddenly, the vision was gone, but the man still clutching the dragon's horn, plunged a stave into the wyrm's head, and shouted over the screeches of the dragon strange words, almost laughing. The serpent's eyes became bright, and his mouth and nostrils filled with a silver light, and at once, like a solid ray of quicksilver, a gleaming raptor burst from the great wyrm, spread its wings, soared into the heights. In the next moment, he saw not man nor apparation, but two birds dancing upon the wind.

Finally, the harsh winter and domestic demands drew me back to the homely land of the west. I hope to share my findings with the entirety of the wizarding world, and further the lessening of the gap between wizard and muggle. The latest news of muggle-wizard interaction provides a single ray of hope, allowing my finding of Shen Jian, this magic-resistant boy, to pass safely and unadulterated into the wizarding world.

What I Don't Know Won't Hurt Me
Greg Cho

Hey, don't get me wrong, I love Harry Potter, I really do. If I didn't, would I be spending my Sunday morning writing this article? I think not. But the thing is, sometimes the Harry Potter books depress me. And no, they don't do this because they make me forget to take my medication, or remind me of the time my cat died when it tried to eat a book, its because they're just too magical. Granted, the book is about a boy with magic powers, but the problem is that no matter what I believe, people will tell me that this magic world doesn't exist. And that's really the problem with people. They're persistent. I mean, I'm 17, an age where my elders tell me I should be preparing for college and my peers talk about cars, girls, and music. Thus, very frequently do I hear, "No we can't talk about Harry Potter," or, "You can't go outside like that!" Every time, too. Persistence, man.

And it is this persistence that society has that really creates the only drawbacks to the Harry Potter series. When I read about sitting on the shore of the lake, watching the giant squid drift by while birds chirp and flowers are blooming, I can't help but feel bad that this place does not exist. This may be in part because I'm sitting in my room listening to my neighbor mow the yard, but sad nonetheless. When Draco Malfoy casts a spell that hits Hermione and in a flash, makes her teeth grow and she starts crying, I feel sad that I might never see someone cast a spell at all. And really, the only reason that I cry when I read this is because the last of the potato chips I was eating are in crumb form and are spread across my shirt. Why should I be sad at these things? Because I know there is a shortage of beautiful places in the world? Because I know magical spells exist only in books? Well, if that's why, then I wish I didn't know these

things. But then, I also wish I was a ninja.So really, what can I do to turn this depression I feel into something

positive? Because I can't know if the magical world really exists. I can't know that if I search long enough, I'll find a babbling brook flowing from an enchanted forest to a waterfall. I can't know whether I'll shoot sparks from

a piece of wood if I find the right words. I can't know whether I'll ever see a phoenix or a dragon or even an elf. But I can close my eyes, and just believe that the Ministry of Magic is doing a really good job at keeping things hidden. And I can believe that I don't know how to get to Diagon alley because I wasn't born with that wizarding gene. And besides, if people knew these things, why would anyone ever get lost in a book? And people don't know them, so I'll be happy with that blissful ignorance to the ways of the world, as long as these questions go unanswered.

Now back off or I'll use my ninja powers on you.

HP4 Analysis: The Portkey
By Lumen Dei

It was as if Rowling herself had leaned out from a back page and whispered, "You are enjoying yourself immensely, but think 'how odd it would look.'" This is part o f her genius: no reader, be he Muggle or wizard, ever sits with her nose wrinkled up over the "oddness" of it all. At one and the same moment it seems the most natural thing possible and yet wholly wonderful. "Wonder-full" in the sense that the reader is just that: full of wonder.

But why does it make me so happy? Reading about the latest advance in technology never brings with it the slightest tingle of joy--computerized cars that remind you in a squeaky tone hat you didn't close the left rear door properly, genetic cloning of sheep with an exuberant promise to man that he is next in line. No joy, only an eerie uneasiness as pages of Brave New World flip over in my memory. Why is it that the stupendous marvels of modern technology don't bring the least shadow of a smile? Is it because I am the most Muggle of Muggles there ever was: The answer came in this chapter: The Portkey.

The portkey, still another way to travel in the wizarding world where adults are apparating left and right while three year-olds scoot around on miniature broomsticks. Wish I had one of those for my too-fat cat. The portkey is presented as a masterpiece of wizarding technique to assist the under-aged and those who flunked their Apparition exam to travel safely and in groups. There is another side though. Unlike Apparating, broomsticks, flying carpets, floo, powder, hippogriffs and other magical methods of transportation, this one is controlled by a person other than myself. And what was meant to be a convenient, "high tech" way of travel mutates into a tool of abduction, into a trip that ended in Cedric's death.

Which explains why I react so differently to the two: Rowling's world of magic and the "real" word of modern technology. When I take into my hands the portkey of a Harry Potter book, I have nothing to fear. This wonderful woman's world is one where goodness and truth still reign as supreme values even if there are evil individuals who try to crush such values beneath their feet. But modern technology? Dr. Alan Jacobs, professor of English at Wheaton College, gives an extremely penetrating analysis of this question: are we more threatened by the "magic" of Rowling than we are by the unbridled technology of the West?

" For both magic and experimental science are means of controlling and directing our natural environment (and people insofar as they are part of that environment). C. S. Lewis has made the same assertion: [Francis Bacon's] endeavor is no doubt contrasted in our minds with that of the magicians: but contrasted only in the light of the event, only because we know that science succeeded and magic failed. That event was then still uncertain. Stripping off our knowledge of it, we see at once that Bacon and the magicians have the closest possible affinity. . . . Nor would Bacon himself deny the affinity: he thought the aim of the magicians was "noble."

It was not obvious in advance that science would succeed and magic fail: in fact, several centuries of dedicated scientific experiment would have to pass before it was clear to anyone that the "scientific" physician could do more to cure illness than the old woman of the village with her herbs and potions and muttered charms. In the Renaissance, alchemists were divided between those who sought to solve problems—the achievement of the philosopher's stone, for example (or should I say the sorcerer's stone?)—primarily through the use of what we would call mixtures of chemicals and those who relied more heavily on incantations, the drawing of mystical patterns, and the invocation of spirits."

"At least, it seems to us that the alchemists can be so divided. But that's because we know that one approach developed into chemistry, while the other became pure magic. The division may not have been nearly so evident at the time, when (to adapt Weber's famous phrase) the world had not yet become disenchanted. As Keith Thomas has shown, it was "the triumph of the mechanical philosophy" of nature that "meant the end of the animistic conception of the universe which had constituted the basic rationale for magical thinking." Even after powerful work of the mechanistic scientists like Gassendi the change was not easily completed: Isaac Newton, whose name is associated more than any other with physical mechanics, dabbled frequently in alchemy."

"Perhaps the most important question I could ask my Christian friends who mistrust the Harry Potter books is this: is your concern about the portrayal of this imaginary magical technology matched by a concern for the effects of the technology that in our world displaced magic? The technocrats of this world hold in their hands powers almost infinitely greater than those of Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort: how worried are we about them, and their influence over our children? Not worried enough, I would say. As Ellul suggests, the task for us is "the measuring of technique by other criteria than those of technique itself," which measuring he also calls "the search for justice before God." Joanne Rowling's books are more helpful than most in prompting such measurement." Alan Jacobs

Yes, most helpful. Perhaps they are the most helpful books for "children" in the last one hundred years. There isn't a Muggle, child or adult, who cannot benefit for this portkey.

Lumen Dei

HP4 Analysis: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes
By Lumen Dei

Let's sub-title this one: "Finding Your Family". That will come as a surprise to some and a sure shock for the press. Be that as it may, this chapter is a vital nexus for the entire book. Having sworn not to climb again on to my orange crate -- a dangerous venture given the extra pounds I have gained in the process of writing this common man's commentary, i.e. hours spent staring at a blank sheet of paper-- I will refrain from reviving past resentments against critics who complained about the book's "slow take-off". After all, what can one say about this piece of punctilious primness: "Up to this point, Rowling has done quite well in rehashing previous plots for the benefit of those who may not have read the earlier entries. She is less successful this time around. Revisiting old turf seems to have been laborious for her and my have the same effect on readers; at times I couldn't help silently urging her to get on with it and proceed to the events of the present volume." Washington Post. More maddening yet: "The opening 200 pages of the fourth Harry Potter volume could have been trimmed by half...but hang in there kids, because when this tale finally takes off, it goes everywhere you want it to." John Mark Eberhart, Kansas City Star. Conclusive proof of the mass media's abysmal lack of philosophical powers...uh, not to mention a certain lack of imagination!

The Goblet of Fire is the book of initiation, the first tentative and timid steps into the adult world. "Rites of passage" is part of the favored nomenclature for the experiences that form Harry's initiation process. For me it will be fascinating as this commentary unfolds to examine what are the true "rites of passage", often different from those commonly listed in the reviews. However the individual reader may define them, this chapter and all that it presages spotlights the absolute prerequisite for a safe passage: belonging to a family.

Harry's passage into the Weasley family lays the needed human foundation as he begins to build his adult personality. The innate need that the human heart has for a family is a thematic fugue in all four books. I had -mistakenly- thought it reached a crescendo in book three where the orphaned boy ran pell-mell through the night impelled by one burning desire: to glimpse the "echo" of his father--expecto patronum. But the Goblet far surpasses it, and the fugue expands in intensity and volume.

No matter how often you duck the flaying knives or wipe away the remains of the ricocheting potato that scored on your nose, the chapter breathes the comfortable feeling of the common home, of the commonplace. Ah, the commonplace. The place where a person can be just that: common because he is loved. In a true family no one has to be exceptional to be accepted and the exceptional are always accepted. Bit of a paradox, but it is the defining quality of "family".

This chapter is not a waste of 13 pages were JK Rowling catches us up on the past and drops a few names and facts that pave the way for the future. It is here that Harry finds his family, and having come home, he is enabled to go out and face --as we all most face in our fractured, post-modern society-- the black surge of despair that erupts from those who never came home. Voldermort, the orphan boy, orphaned only because his father has abandoned him. Barty Crouch, unwanted by his father, yet loved by his mother. People who never came home. Or did they come home? One cringes at Voldemort's hollow boast as he stands on his father's grave, "But look, Harry! My TRUE family returns." Voldemort surrounded by his Death Eaters in a forsaken graveyard: that must be the dysfunctional family of the millenium! Or Barty Crouch's pathetic assertion, "I will be his dearest, his closest supporter...closer than a son." The word "dearest" on the lips of a mad man, a murderer, would be bizarre if it weren't an echo of the child who failed his rites of passage.

The family -- source of first impressions, ones that penetrate deeper than any scar, and the forge where one can mold all he has received into a human personality. Twice Voldemort speaks to Harry and his "family" of Death Eaters about the Old Magic and Ancient Magic that have saved and protected Harry. Old Magic, Ancient Magic, and in both instances it was channeled through family members: Harry's mother and the Dursely's. Yes, Finding Your Family is the real title of this chapter. It may well be the real title of Harry's life....

Lumen Dei