HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

991-1991

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In many ages past, within the sun-baked walls of what was once the College at Memphis, a prodigious student once asked counsel of the visiting Court Witch:

"What is wisdom, sage one? My tutors speak of it as often as the sunrise, but surely it is a gift for gods only!"

The Witch walked right past the student, but beckoned him over to a nearby stream where a handsome boulder lay partially submerged. Without a word, she ran her staff along the length of the rock's smooth surface. It rippled and fractured, soon sprouting feathers, wings and a prominent beak. A beautiful ibis emerged from the bank, leaving the student astonished.

"It lives," he said, not quite believing his own words as the ibis hopped across the stream. "You know magic beyond the ken of men, sage one!"

The Witch laughed, and to the student's horror, so did the sky.

"I do," she replied, bowing. "And so shall you, in time."

According to legend, that student would later pen the Corpus Hermeticum: a set of pioneering texts on which all European schools of thought are based.

(It might be prudent to preface the remainder of this foreword to clarify that, contrary to popular opinion, we do not set such feats as the benchmark of success in our students.)

In the autumn of 1852, I was afforded the honour to join the ranks of Gryffindor House, one of four established in the memory of Hogwarts School's illustrious founders. Acknowledged for accepting those of great nerve and courage, and revered for turning out some of the most accomplished warriors and revolutionaries in British wizarding history, I found myself altogether misplaced. I ask the reader to envisage a child, not four-and-half feet tall and speckled green by the Pox. Imagine his disbelief upon being told that he, of all wizards, was most suited to sit by the hearth of the great Godric, fabled troll-slayer that he was!

That said child was assigned the fate of spending seven years in the company of future Wizengamot mavericks in Ignatius Prewett and Albus Dumbledore did little to curb his doubts at first (though fierce friendships were made soon enough!).

It must be said that under the master-worked façade and sprawling lawns of legend which comprise Hogwarts' grounds lies a humble origin shared by misfits and malcontents. Not one of the four founders hailed from what one might consider 'noble' stock.

Consider the following:

- a homeless warlock, armed only with a third-hand wand, who memorised his spells by song to compensate for his illiteracy

- the blundering enchanter's apprentice, who carved golems from the earth itself to climb where she would surely fall

- a huntress raised by elves, who learned the True Name of every wood as a consequence of her abandonment

- the travelling Druid, who considered not even the gods themselves to be of his full worth.

Each was gifted - by chance or maybe the Wild itself - with inspiration, just as the young student at Memphis before them. In spite of their faults, they were soon renowned as the greatest magicians of their time. After the Council of the Grand Oak's reunion following a period of bitter blood feuds, the chieftains recognised the need for a standard, well-rounded education in their issue - lest their communities and traditions face the fate of assimilation into encroaching Norman culture... which was, of course, inevitable.

Nevertheless, the patronage of the four founders by the Council has served successive generations up to the present day, many of whom are responsible for immense feats of cultural and magical advancement in Britannia and beyond.

If you are reading this, there is every chance that your child shall accompany us and proceed to do the same.

Professor E.C. Doge, Master of Wizarding Studies