~~The Book of Abraham the Mage~~

by Paimpont

...

Summary: When three Hogwarts students are found murdered and clues point to the involvement of a sinister secret society, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon goes undercover as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Assisted by Harry, Hermione, and his old flame Professor Septima Vector, Langdon unearths deadly ancient secrets that may illuminate the origins of magic itself. (Harry Potter/Da Vinci Code crossover)

Warnings: Murder, violence, some swearing, rogue symbology and rampant conspiracy theories, some Harvard-bashing. Romance Robert Langdon/Septima Vector and Harry/Hermione.

Setting: Mostly Hogwarts during Harry's 6th year, with excursions to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Mostly canon-compatible, except for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher.

...

~Prologue~

Finally! The fabled book of Abraham the Mage is mine at last. Its powerful ancient secrets have been revealed to me, and me alone. Everything is going according to plan. The Spear of Destiny will soon be mine.

My loyal servant at Hogwarts has removed every last obstacle that stood in my way. The murders were a little melodramatic, but at least he did not hesitate to do what was necessary. Perhaps I will reward him when all this is over. Or perhaps I will kill him, just to be safe. I have not decided yet. Perhaps he senses my thoughts, for he has seemed nervous around me lately. At least he recognizes true power when he sees it. The rest of the wizarding world trembles in fear of that ludicrous poseur who calls himself Voldemort. Tom Riddle was always given to melodrama, and I have watched his little charades with amusement. Oh, why must evil always be so terribly ostentatious? "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" and his "Death Eaters"! No one, except my loyal servant, has any inkling that the so-called Dark Lord is simply a pawn in my game, a minion of the true master of magic. I do not give myself pretentious names; I do not commit random acts of violence simply because I can. I choose to linger, unknown and nameless, in the shadows, until the time is right.

Riddle (I refuse to call him by that other ridiculous name he has given himself) has been nervous lately as well. He is not just afraid of me, which he should be; he is worried (of all things) about Harry Potter, and about the prophecy about the two of them that shattered at the Ministry of Magic. Frankly, I am growing tired of listening to his endless ramblings about the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter! I find myself laughing at the idea that the boy poses a threat to anyone. I know Harry quite well, of course, and never once has Harry begun to suspect my true character. Honestly, I don't think the boy is all that bright, although he does seem to be born under some sort of lucky star that has protected him thus far.

But not even Harry's lucky star can protect him from what is coming...

...

~Chapter One~

In which Professor Langdon sees an old friend, learns a thing or two about magic, encounters a snarky potions master, and discovers one of the uses of dragon's blood.

"Magic," said Robert Langdon, looking out over the packed Harvard auditorium, "is nothing but a symbol. Magic is not a mysterious supernatural force, a well-defined set of ritual practices, or a collection of utterances or spells in obscure ancient languages. Magic is merely the name a particular culture gives to those beliefs and practices that lie outside the accepted social and religious norms. Magic is a symbol of everything a culture rejects and fears - in short, "magic" is nothing but a symbol of otherness."

The audience applauded enthusiastically as the professor finished his lecture. Several distinguished scholars and eager young students came up to him afterwards and asked questions.

But eventually, even the most ardent students had dispersed, and there was only one person left in the auditorium, a dark-haired woman who lingered in the back. Something about her struck Langdon as familiar; had he perhaps met her at one of the many scholarly conferences he attended?

As he put his papers away in his briefcase, she came up to him and said softly: "Hello, Robert."

He recognized her then. It had been twenty years since he had last seen her, but he would never forget that soft musical voice.

"Septima? Septima Vector?" He stared at her for a moment. She has not changed at all, he thought. She is just as lovely as she was the day she broke up with a foolish, self-important young man twenty years ago.

He reached out and hugged her, and to his relief, she hugged him back. Perhaps twenty years was, after all, too long to stay mad.

"Septima! How wonderful to see you after all these years!" Her hair still smells like flowers... "What are you up to these days? Are you still teaching at that exclusive boarding school in some remote area of Scotland?"

"How well you remember, Robert!" Her smile was as enchanting as ever. " Yes, I'm still teaching at Hogwarts. I've been quite happy there."

Langdon was still amused at the name he had first heard when they had parted twenty years ago. Hogwarts! The British have a thing for odd names, don't they? he thought to himself.

"And you have become a Harvard professor," she said softly. "I see your name in the papers sometimes: Robert Langdon, the famous Harvard symbologist, solves yet another mystery..."

He laughed, both embarrassed and pleased that she knew of his reputation.

"As a matter of fact," she said quietly, "that's why I've come to see you, Robert. Terrible things have been happening at Hogwarts, you see..."

"Terrible things-?"

"Murders." Her voice had sunk to a whisper now. "Apparently, a secret society of some kind is involved... The headmaster is deeply concerned. Normally, he would never consent to bring in an outsider, but when I told him about you, he was quite intrigued."

Langdon tried to picture in his mind what the headmaster of a school with an absurd name like "Hogwarts" would look like, but his imagination failed him.

Septima Vector put her hand on his arm. "Could we go somewhere and talk, Robert? Some place private?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. Let's go back to my place. I don't live too far from campus..."

As they headed out of the now empty auditorium together, he couldn't help asking: "So, what did you think of my talk?"

Septima Vector smiled and shook her head a little. "Magic is nothing but a "symbol of otherness"? I think we have a great deal to talk about, Robert."

...

"Nice wand collection." Septima Vector studied Professor Langdon's living room wall with a slight smile and accepted the glass of wine he offered her.

"Thank you." He poured himself a glass of wine as well and lit a few candles. "I've collected quite a few interesting artifacts while doing research for my book, The Semiotic Spell: Magic as a Symbol of Alterity."

"Yes, I've read you book, Robert."

"Have you?" He was half hoping for a compliment - it had been one of his most critically acclaimed works, after all - but Septima remained silent, studying the wands displayed on the wall intently.

"Ever tried any of these?" she asked softly.

He laughed. "Oh, yes, I waved them about a bit, but I'm afraid nothing magical happened."

"Can I try?"

He smiled. "Of course. I would recommend the ivory one from Burma; the man who sold it to me swore it was a genuine magical wand."

"An ivory wand? Seriously, you paid money for that?" She put her wine glass down on the table and shook her raven hair out of her eyes. After a moment's hesitation, she reached for one of the plain wooden wands. "I think I will try this one."

He watched in amusement as she grasped the blackthorn wand and held it out in front of her. It should have looked a little odd, he reflected, an elegant modern woman in a dark business suit holding a magic wand, but somehow it didn't. Perhaps it was the warm flickering light of the candles falling softly over her lovely features that made her look like some medieval enchantress, or perhaps it was her hair; the raven locks cascading down her back made her look like she could very well be a witch from a bygone age...

"Are you ready, Robert?"

"Absolutely."

But he wasn't. Nothing could have prepared Robert Langdon for the sheer impossibility of what happened next. Septima Vector gave the blackthorn wand a little flick and said softly: "Avis!"

And suddenly, Professor Langdon's living room filled with birds, magnificent birds of every imaginable color, real birds... Wings fluttered, small beaks pecked at the precious rare books on his shelves, and a cacophony of chirps and trills broke out.

"What-?" Robert Langdon staggered backwards and sank heavily down onto the sofa. A little blue bird settled on his arm and plucked at his tweed jacket. He stared at it, mesmerized.

"Are you all right, Robert?" Septima Vector's voice seemed to come from somewhere far away.

He stared up at her. Slowly, he shook his head.

"Finite incantatem!" She waved the wand again, and the birds flickered and dissolved, leaving nothing but a few stray feathers behind.

Robert Langdon sat completely still for a moment. Then he reached for his wine glass and emptied it in one gulp. "What... what just happened, Septima?"

"Magic," she said sweetly. She sat down next to him on the sofa, and he stared at her as if he was seeing her for the very first time in his life.

"Magic..." He felt dizzy. "So... So that means that you are a..."

"A witch. Yes."

"And all my painstaking research, all my internationally acclaimed work on magic, which demonstrates conclusively that magic is nothing but a symbol is..."

"Wrong, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Robert." He felt her hand stroking his hair, and he remembered that she used to do that, long ago, whenever he was upset. The gesture still felt comforting to him.

"And how long... have you been a witch?"

She smiled a little. "I have always been a witch, Robert. You can't become a witch, you see; you are either born with the ability to do magic or not. I discovered that I could do magic when I was very young, but it was not until I got to Hogwarts that I learned how to control my magic."

"Hogwarts? The boarding school? The place where you work?"

She nodded. "Yes, exactly. The place where I'm currently employed as a Professor of Arithmancy. It's no ordinary boarding school, but a school for witchcraft and wizardry. I went there myself as a child, at eleven, and I stayed there until I was seventeen."

"You went to a school for witches and wizards?" Robert Langdon whispered. He wondered if he was dreaming. "And then you came to Princeton?"

Septima Vector smiled. "Yes. Then I came to Princeton as a college student, and I met you."

Their eyes met, and Langdon felt himself blush a little.

"But why didn't you ever tell me, Septima? All those times we discussed magic, and I insisted that there was no such thing... You could have told me, you know."

She shook her head. "Oh, we are not supposed to tell anyone about our abilities. We try to keep our world a secret from the Muggles, from the non-magical population. We don't want another era of witch-hunts, do we?"

He tried desperately to process what she had just told him. Magic was real, witches existed... And there was still a little blue feather on his arm to prove it. But the witches and wizards were a secret society of sorts, keeping the secrets of their powers to themselves... He looked at her, perplexed. "But then - why are you telling me now?"

"Oh, Robert." She sighed. "I had no choice. We need you, you see. Nobody can make heads or tails of the terrible things that have been happening at Hogwarts. Perhaps you, who have solved such bizarre and complicated mysteries in the past, can help us discover what is going on. Will you help us, Robert?"

Langdon could not quite shake off the odd feeling of unreality. Perhaps, he reflected, none of this was real... Perhaps he had lost his mind, perhaps this was all a hallucination of some sort... But even if this was a bizarre delusion, it was a hallucination that promised magic and mystery. And the company of a very lovely witch.

He smiled. "Of course I will help, Septima. Tell me everything..."

...

A few hours and several glasses of wine later, Robert Langdon had learned a great deal about Hogwarts, its four houses and its magical curriculum, about wands, broomsticks and floo powder, the strange sport of Quidditch, the Ministry of Magic, dragons and basilisks, a dark wizard whose name should not be uttered, and a sixth year student who was believed to be "The Chosen One".

He shook his head, dazed. "That's quite a tale, Septima!" he said softly.

Her dark glance met his. "Perhaps it is," she said quietly. "But the strangest is yet to come..."

She hesitated for a moment before she continued. "The new semester started five days ago, at the beginning of September, as always. All the students and teachers had arrived, including the new potions master, Professor Slughorn. Professor Snape, the previous potions master, had agreed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts instead; it has always been his secret ambition to do so. The new students had been sorted into their houses, and everything seemed normal. And then..." Her voice trembled.

"And then what?" asked Langdon gently.

"And then this." She pulled something from the pocket of her suit jacket. Langdon leaned forward to see. What was this?

It was a photograph, but it was unlike any photo he had ever seen. It appeared to involve digital technology of some kind, for things seemed to move about in the picture.

"It's a wizarding photograph," explained Septima Vector, smiling a little at his baffled expression. "People and objects can move around in wizarding photographs, you see. This is taken in the Ravenclaw common room."

Langdon looked carefully at the picture. It showed a large airy room, tastefully decorated with blue and bronze tapestries. The curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze from the open windows, and a piece of yellowed parchment moved about on a table. There were three people in the picture as well, but they did not move; they lay terribly still in the middle of the photograph.

"Oh, good God!" Langdon turned his glance away from the photo, sick at heart. "Were they...students?"

Septima Vector nodded silently.

"Who are they?"

Professor Vector's voice shook as she answered: "They were all Ravenclaw students, in their sixth year. Mandy Brocklehurst, Morag MacDougal, and Sally-Anne Perks..."

She buried her face in her hands. "Those poor, poor girls!" she whispered. "What kind of monster could possibly have done this?"

Langdon forced himself to look more closely at the gruesome picture. The three girls were obviously dead, and they appeared to have been stabbed to death by something long and sharp. A thin sword, or a spear, perhaps? They were lying side by side, as if the murderer had purposefully arranged their bodies neatly after death.

He swallowed, hard.

"Were there no clues as to the identity of the murderer? No fingerprints or..." What kinds of traces did witches and wizards leave behind? "Er... spell tracks?"

"Spell tracks?" A shadow of a smile flitted across Septima Vector's face. "No, nothing like that. But look at the piece of parchment in the photograph, right there on the table."

Langdon squinted and tried to make out the tiny letters on the fluttering piece of parchment. He read hesitantly: "Lancea et clavus."

"Does that sound familiar to you?"

He drew his breath deeply. "Yes, of course. Lancea et clavus domini... "The lance and nail of the Lord"... That's the famous inscription from the fabled Lance of Longinus, the Spear of Destiny. Legend tells us that this spear was the one that pierced Christ's side during the crucifixion. The Lance of Longinus, the most famous relic of them all, after the Holy Grail itself... The lance was rumored to be a magical object of tremendous power. Many spears were thought at different times to be the true Lance, but many believe that the one kept in the Holy Roman Empire was the real one. The emperor Charles the IV added a golden band to this spear that bears the famous inscription, identifying it as the "lance and nail of the Lord". In the 15th century, the emperor Sigismund moved the spear, along with the other sacred treasures of the empire, to his new capital in Nuremberg. Later, during the French revolution, Nuremberg was under attack by the French, and the city council of Nuremberg decided to send the sacred lance to Vienna to keep it safe. When Austria was taken over by Germany in 1938, the lance was yet again returned to Nuremberg. In fact, conspiracy theorists have long speculated that Hitler started World War II for the sole purpose of getting his hands on the Spear of Destiny. After World War II, the spear was recovered by U.S . troops, and General Patton eventually returned it to Austria. It is currently on display in a museum in Vienna, but the spear in the museum is rumored to be a fake; many believe that the real Spear of Destiny was stolen along the way and hidden somewhere by a secret society devoted to protecting it."

Septima Vector smiled faintly. "You certainly know your conspiracy theories, Robert! Yes, that is more or less the story of the lance as it is remembered in the wizarding world as well, except that our legends tell us that Charles the IV, who was a wizard himself, displayed a copy of the real lance among his treasures, while the true Spear of Destiny was safely hidden somewhere at Hogwarts. At least, that is what I read in Hogwarts: A History when I was a student. An interesting enough legend, but no one has ever found the true spear, to the best of my knowledge. But look more closely at the piece of parchment, Robert; I'm afraid you've misread it."

Langdon bent over the photograph again. Ah, he could see it now; Septima was right. That was not a u but an i. Clavis, not clavus.

"Lancea et clavis... Not "the lance and the nail", but "the lance and the key". Clavis, a key that opens a door, or the key to a secret code..."

"Lancea et clavis," said Septima Vector softly, "is the motto of a secret society that once existed in the wizarding world, The Order of the Black Raven. The society is mentioned in our history books, but it is thought to have died out long ago. Little is know about the Order of the Black Raven, except for a few curious pieces of legendary lore. The members of the Order were all members of the House of Ravenclaw, which includes some of the most distinguished wizards through the ages. The members of the Order were sworn to secrecy, and very little is known about the mysteries the Order guarded. But there were rumors that they were the chosen guardians of an ancient magical artifact of immense power: The Spear of Destiny. The secrets of the spear and of the order itself are said to be recorded in a lost codex entitled The Book of Abraham the Mage."

"The Book of Abraham the Mage?" Langdon frowned. "I am familiar with the name; it's a fabled alchemical treatise that is rumored to have belonged to the French alchemist Nicolas Flamel."

"The rumors are entirely true, Robert," said Septima Vector quietly. "The codex did indeed belong to Nicolas Flamel at one point, although it predates him by many centuries. Nicolas Flamel was a great wizard and a superb alchemist; it is hardly surprising that rumors of his abilities began to reach the Muggle World as well. These days, the Ministry of Magic is very careful to prevent any rumors of wizarding activities from reaching the Muggle population, but they were considerably more lax about these things back in the Middle Ages."

"Don't tell me Nicolas Flamel went to Hogwarts as well..." said Langdon weakly.

Professor Vector smiled. "Of course he did. Nowadays, young French witches and wizards attend Beauxbatons, a magic school in the Pyrenees, but in the 14th century, when the school in France was still quite new, many French wizarding families chose to send their children to Hogwarts instead. Flamel was in Ravenclaw House, and it is possible that he himself was a member of the Order of the Black Raven. But at some point - no one know precisely when - the Order of the Black Raven fell apart. Apparently, some of the members had begun to dabble in the dark arts, and others were deeply concerned by this. There are rumors of a brutal murder that was subsequently hushed up, and the order was never heard from again. That is, until three days ago, when a piece of parchment bearing the motto of the Order of the Black Raven was found next to the bodies of three murdered Ravenclaw students."

"Has there been an investigation into their deaths? Has the police -?" Langdon hesitated. Is there such a thing as wizarding police? he wondered.

Septima Vector sighed. "The bodies were found by a house-elf shortly after dawn. No other students were up yet. The house-elf notified the headmaster immediately, and the headmaster contacted the Ministry of Magic. Normally, they would have shut down the school immediately if something were to happen to one of the students. They remaining students would have been sent home until the culprit had been caught. But there is something very, very odd going on here, Robert..."

Septima Vector got up and began pacing restlessly back and forth in Robert Langdon's living room. "You see, the Minister himself insists that the murders must be hushed up, and that any investigation must take place behind the scenes, without the students or their parents knowing anything about it. I don't know why... The bodies of the three unfortunate girls were removed, and their families notified privately by the ministry, but the other students know nothing of what happened. Apparently, a rumor has been spread among the students that the three girls were expelled due to some unidentified misbehavior. The headmaster had a heated argument with the Minister of Magic, but to no avail: The Minister insists that Professor Dumbledore must keep everything secret and handle the investigation himself, with the aid of the teachers. And then I thought of you-"

She flushed a little. "Professor Dumbledore is as brilliant as he is unconventional. He agreed that your expertise on secret societies and your experience with solving mysteries more than makes up for the fact that you are not a wizard. I came to see you with his blessing, hoping to bring you back to Hogwarts with me."

Langdon smiled. "Of course, Septima. I would be glad to offer any help I can." A sudden thought struck him. "But won't the students wonder why this... what was the word? Muddle?"

"Muggle."

"Won't they wonder why this Muggle, who is not supposed to know anything about the existence of magic, suddenly starts roaming about their magical school?"

There was a mischievous glint in Septima Vector's dark eyes as she answered: "Of course not, Robert. Professor Dumbledore came up with the most ingenious idea, you see. Professor Langdon, I am here to offer you the position of teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

"What?"

"Professor Slughorn is in on the plan; he will leave Hogwarts due to a sudden illness, and Professor Snape will resume his old job as potions master. Which will leave the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher open..."

"Septima..." Langdon shook his head, slowly. Had she taken completely leave of her senses? He knew a great deal about the occult from his years of research, it was true, but teaching it, to real witches and wizards? "That's absurd, Septima. I don't have any magical abilities. The students will discover that on the first day. They will never believe that the headmaster hired a... a Muggle teacher..."

"Not a Muggle, Robert." Septima's eyes glittered. "From now on, you are a squib."

He gaped. "A squid?" All right, perhaps he was dreaming, after all.

She giggled. "No, a squib. A person from a wizarding family who is born without magical abilities. It happens, you see. Squibs, unlike Muggles, know about magic and are familiar with our world. In theory, there is no reason why a squib could not become a Hogwarts professor. There may be some initial resistance from some of the students, of course, but you do have rather extensive theoretical knowledge of magic, and I dare say our students could learn a thing or two from you. What do you say, Robert?"

"I..." There were a great many things he could have said, sensible and rational things. But when he looked into the dark eyes of Septima Vector he couldn't think of any of them. He sighed. "Oh, all right. When do we leave?"

"Tonight. We can still catch a late flight to London. You won't need to pack much; Dumbledore will have robes and things ready for you when you get there."

"Right. I'll just grab my laptop and my cell phone."

"Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you about that. None of those things will work once we get to Hogwarts."

"What?"

"Too much magic in the air."

"Sounds like the title of a cheesy love song."

She laughed. "I'll give you a few books to read on the plane. You will be able to catch up on Hogwarts, A History and a few essential volumes on Defense Against the Dark Arts during our flight. Thank God for your photographic memory."

"And once we get to London, how will we travel to Hogwarts? By broomstick, I assume?"

"Oh, don't be absurd, Robert." There was an undeniable twinkle in her eye now. "It would take us a day and a half to get there by broomstick, and you are not an experienced flier."

What? Witches are still flying around on broomsticks, then?

Septima went on. "I will give you a map of Hogwarts and its surroundings as well. You should study that while we travel."

"No broomsticks, then?"

"No. Another Hogwarts professor offered to pick us up in London and drive us to the school. Severus Snape."

"The potions master, right?"

Septima Vector nodded. "Yes, the potions master." She hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding: "And also my ex-husband."

Robert Langdon's heart sank.

...

Langdon regarded the dark-haired man who met them at the airport in London with a great deal of dislike. It wasn't that the potions master was handsome exactly - his hooked nose was too large for that, and his skin too sallow - but he had a sort of dark, brooding elegance about him that rubbed Langdon the wrong way from the start. A wizard? He didn't look much like a wizard. No long beard or flowing robes; he was dressed in black jeans and white silk shirt and looked, Langdon reflected bitterly, more like a misunderstood poet than a potions master.

"So, you must be the famous symbologist. How very... interesting." Something about Snape's frosty voice suggested that he wasn't terribly enchanted with Langdon either, and Langdon felt his spirits lift a little. Perhaps Septima's mysterious ex-husband was jealous of him. The thought cheered him up immensely.

"The symbologist and the new Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," put in Septima softly.

Snape looked Robert Langdon over with a slow, lingering glance and shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Ingenious," he said glacially. "What will our eccentric headmaster think of next? Instead of preparing the students to defend themselves against the Dark Lord and his followers by means of traditional spells and defensive magic, Dumbledore hires a Harvard symbologist to... to what, exactly? Teach them how to Deconstruct the Dark Arts? Vanquish the dark forces by writing a series of biting essays on hegemony? Well, the Dark Lord will certainly not see that coming... This way, please. I'm parked right over here."

Robert Langdon and Septima Vector followed Snape to his car in silence. The potions master's car turned out to be a rather lovely vintage black car adorned with a silver griffin emblem.

"What kind of car is this, Professor Snape? A Vauxhall Wyvern?" Best to keep up a pleasant conversation; the drive to Scotland was a rather long one.

The potions master nodded curtly. "Yes, it's a 1949 Vauxhall Wyvern Hybrid."

"A hybrid?" Langdon frowned. "What's that?"

Snape sighed and rolled his eyes ever so slightly. "It runs both on gasoline and magic. These cars were originally made for wizards who wished to be inconspicuous when driving among Muggles, but they have also become popular among Muggle collectors, I understand. Of course, the Muggles are not aware that the car is a hybrid; they merely drive it around using gas alone."

Langdon could not help but admire the sleek curves of the black car and its glittering chrome details. Yes, he could well imagine Muggles collecting cars like this...

"I wonder why the manufacturers called this model the "Wyvern"," he mused. "The symbol depicted on the car is clearly a griffin, rather than a wyvern or any other kind of dragon."

Snape shot him a contemptuous glance. "As I said, the car was originally made for wizards, Professor Langdon. The car is obviously not named after the symbol depicted on it, although this may be difficult for a symbologist to grasp. I told you it was a hybrid car. It is named after the fuel."

"The...fuel?"

"Yes, the fuel." Snape opened the front passenger door for Septima, but she chose the back seat instead. Robert Langdon hesitated, then sat down in the front passenger seat next to Snape. "The headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore, has quite a knack for ingenious inventions. He was the first to discover all the twelve uses of dragon blood. Wyvern blood is very popular in hybrid cars."

"Ah."

Robert Langdon closed his door and glanced at Septima in the rear-view mirror. She was snuggled up in the back seat, eyes closed, apparently ready for a long nap.

Snape started the car's engine, and it sprang to life with a little snarl.

"Now, Professor Langdon," said Snape silkily, "perhaps you would be kind enough to enlighten me: What the hell is symbology?"

Robert Langdon sighed. It was clearly going to be a very long ride.

...

Six hours later, just as Snape's sarcasm had turned to the possibilities of implementing a postmodern potions curriculum, their conversation was mercifully interrupted by Septima Vector.

She suddenly sat up straight in the back seat, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and whispered: "Robert! Look, we are almost there! Normally, Muggles aren't able to see Hogwarts, but the headmaster was able work some special spells before your arrival..."

The landscape outside the car windows had grown wilder and more rugged in the last hour or so; mountains rose in the misty distance, and the moors were covered with clouds of dark purple heather. They turned a bend in the road, and a deep blue lake came into view, and beyond it...

Robert Langdon drew his breath sharply. Magic. There was no other word for it. The ancient castle rose out of the mist, grey and primordial, as if had grown out of the wild landscape itself.

Septima Vector touched his shoulder lightly, then leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Langdon."