Is it possible to love someone who has been dead for thousands of years?
An Arch Magus of the ancient council of eight, cut down in her prime by assassins looking to destabilize the magical world, created a fail-safe in the event of her death; a magical journal, imbued with part of her life essence, able to communicate with anyone who writes in it with a strong enough magical will.
Harry Potter, head of the Department of Mysteries, has made it his job to answer both mundane and magical mysteries, somewhat of a departure from the previous head, who thought muggle fairy tales of mages and magical kingdoms of ancient times to be nothing but overactive imagination.
After excavating a hidden castle near Nice, France, he stumbled upon a weathered journal, with no words or identifying marks other than the initials F.D. Intrigued by the unfamiliar but overwhelming taste of the magic imbued in the little book, Harry took it upon himself to personally investigate the journal and to find out who exactly F.D. is. After months of frustrating rituals, scrying attempts, and even soaking the thing in a tub of water imbued with his own magical essence, Harry was it his wit’s end. In a fit of petulant annoyance, he scribbled the words, What the bloody hell are you? Onto the first blank page of the journal.
Never would he have expected the words, temper, temper, Mr. Potter. Is that any way to greet an Arch Magus? To be scribbled in neat cursive right below his blocky writing.