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Just and obscure idea that came to me the other day. I would love some feedback on this. And if anyone has a name fro this child, please, I need suggestions. I managed to get away with it in the Prologue, but I'm going to need a name eventaully *digs through mythology books*

Title is also suject to change, just a wroking title for now.

Also: SPOILER WARNING!

Do not read this if you have yet to read HBP or have no idea what happens in the book. I will not be held accountable if somehting gets ruined for you.

Premise: Starts at the last chapter of HBP. The girl's family is charged with the job of finding, studying and safekeeping of powerful artifacts like that of the Hogwart's founders. It has been teh inherited quest to find and collect all eight fo the great founder's artifacts.
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Each of the four founders of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry each left behind two great artifacts. There were other things left behind, of course. But those eight were the crown jewels, not just of Britain, but arguably all of Europe. Each has been blessed with powerful enchantments, but like all things of great power, they can be both magnificent and terrible if ill-used. That is often the case with ancient items: how often are they double-edged?

The Hogwarts founders were not the only ones to leave behind some object of remembrance. Beaubatons, Durmstrang, it seems every founder of every school has left at least one thing behind in their vanity.

Egypt's School is the most extreme example of this tendency. The tombs of the founders and the school itself is filled with thousands of objects left behind ranging from the enchanted coinage to staffs of dizzying power, all bearing the mark of the founder.

Close behind Egypt's grandeur is the South America's and the ancient pyramids and schools of the native civilizations. They, too, have left behind a myriad of artifacts, second only to Egypt. How curious that the our habits and tendencies reflect the Muggle world.

North America has the least amount of talismans from the past centuries. Their native people had not the Mayan and Aztec sense of splendor, but lived simply and close to the natural earth. By the time they were colonized, the enchantment of artifacts for 'vain' reasons had since gone out of style by the standards of the European wizards. The Salem Witch Trails only emphasize the need to distance ourselves from the Muggle world and leave no trace of our existence behind, which included object enchantment.

There are always exception, of course. The colonial South Colonies of Britain were most like the aristocratic Old World. The South's tendency to mimic Britain led to the creates concentration of enchantment in any of Britain's colonies. Nor was the Southern colonies alone in the making of powerful objects; they were merely the leader. The States have some of the lowest count of great artifacts per school, but it is the only place were one can find great shamatic amulets of talismans of the pre-Columbian era. The States also sport the greatest number of schools of any one country (a total of six) and its sheer number of Academy’s ensures that it is not the last country in terms of artifacts.

It is hard to say who indeed holds the fewest talismans. The Middle East, while containing many treasures, is in such strife that excavating the artifacts is nigh impossible and the shifting political lines and powers make it so that so many are lost or destroyed. It is hard to say how many remain intact, but while the area is a gold mine, it is also a minefield. The same holds of true of Africa and the Indies. Treasure-hunters are advised to take great care.

But the area of the fewest created great artifacts most likely belongs to Canada, who was sparsely settled in its early years. Many children that went to study wizardry went sought to the States or across the ocean to Britain. Since then, two schools have been set up in the Canadian region, one in Quebec, for the French-speaking Canadians and one for the rest of the English-speakers.

The founder's of the Oriental Academy’s have left their own treasures, great in power, quantity and accessibility. Isolated Japan has some of the most unique artifacts in all the world.

And yet, it is my opinion (an I admit I could be biased) that it is the artifacts of my homeland, of the Hogwarts' founders that are the greatest in the world. For who else but Britain had the benefit of firsthand teaching by the great Merlin and the teaching of the wise druids? (some would argue that each culture had magicians of similar caliber, but I disagree).

Nonetheless, it is the school of my homeland that ultimately holds my attention. Three of the eight are locked securely in my family's manor. Two were passed down the family line and yet another became an heirloom by way of my great-great grandfather's adventuring youth. Two rest safely in the walls of the school itself. Indeed, they have never truly left, though not for lack of trying on my family's part. The last three are my family's greatest shame, for we have not the faintest idea of where they are located. In the span of less than a decade, all three vanished from my ancestor’s careful watch.

I have thought, from my own personal experiences with the man, that the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore knew something of the missing three. It has been a general consensus that Dumbledore knew more that he let on, and he let on that he knew a great deal.

But Dumbledore is dead. I sit at his funeral, along with my fellow classmates, ministry officials and dozens of others both human and non, that have come and pay their respects to perhaps the greatest wizard to have lived since Merlin himself. And with his death, is the death of all the knowledge and wisdom he took with him to the grave.

I cannot bring myself to cry. It is not out of meanness or spite, or any other general dislike of the man (unlike Dolores Umbridge, who I am sure is here only because she has to be). What I did see of the man, I rather liked and while I am had over the death, I cannot find the tears within me, try as I might. I feel strangely detached from the scene, like it was some picture show or through a veiled mist. I cannot help it and I know it's horrible, but I feel disconnected and my sadness is the type were you feel grief only because you know you must. It doesn't feel like any of this is real.

But it is real. I see the affirmation in in Dumbledore's chosen prodigy. He is crying and holding a red-haired girl. It is difficult to so who is supporting who.

I feel a pang of jealousy that know one has ever held me like that, but it soon passes and I am left with my thoughts and plans of where to go from here.

The wrapped body ignites into white flame. I get up from my seat and slip out quietly as the people around me shriek. I cannot stay here any longer. No one notices.

I wrap my cloak around me, feeling cold all of a sudden, though it is late June and the sun is shining bright.

There are footsteps behind me. Someone else has slipped out, someone is walking along the familiar path that leads to Hogsmeade. The village looks like a ghost town, with everything closed down. Not even a dog is barking. No birds chirping. Perhaps they too, are in mourning.

"You left early."

The man that has followed me has taken advantage of my stillness and finally caught up to me.

"As did you."

"I'll pay my respects properly in private. He'll understand. I just could stay in that crowd a moment longer."

"No, nor could I. I seems we are together in our desire for isolation." The barest hint of a smile reaches my lips as the old man and I begin to walk the path of the village together. He is watching me, with those blue eyes of his, so familiar and yet so strange.

"What are you going to do now?"

I pause, considering. "Well, for starters, I think you should open up your pub. I want a drink."

Most interesting, mellon nin. Brilliant opening for any story. I can only hope this story continues, for you know I will read it every time you come up with a new chapter.

Rock on!

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