Friends, Britons, countrywizards: lend me your ears, Extendable Ears, Soundoscopes, and Quick-Quotes Quills. What would you think... if I gave you the moon? We have all seen the chaos that has befallen our fair country in these dire times. We have seen wizard turn upon wizard. Brother turn upon brother. Child turn upon elder... and elder upon child. We have seen our institutions, our contracts and covenants, the very bonds between us that we have struggled for so long to build and maintain, tear themselves apart from within. We have not only seen it, but lived it; to it we have lost friends, we have lost family -- to it we have lost ourselves. We have forgotten who we are. We are no longer magical Britain; we are Death Eaters and Order of the Phoenix, we are Hufflepuff and Slytherin, we are not united, we are scattered, we have refused the lesson that our ancestors fought to teach, a thousand years ago. Not even Hogwarts has escaped this scourge. The rivers of blood course between its walls as well, and the light that once dwelt there is clouded by shadow. For too long a bitter potion has been simmering in the cauldron that is Britain, a potion brewed from open threats and veiled insults, ancient inheritance and modern change, money that begets power that begets influence, injustice and retaliation and the emerald green of the Killing Curse. And now that deadly brew is being forced down not only our throats, but those of our children, whom this war has no right to claim. My fellow witches and wizards, a great storm -- no, a hurricane, a typhoon -- threatens all that we cherish. It reminds us that it is our doing. That it sprang out of our contentiousness, our foolishness, our failure to treat each other as people. And even as its unrelenting waves batter at the very foundations of our civilization, it laughs at us, it taunts us. It promises to grind us into dust, we who faced the test and were found wanting. But I say: we will not let it. I say: never again. We will not stand by while the ruins of our society come crashing down. We will not wait, hopeless and alone, for the darkness to devour us. We will not lay down our wands at the feet of those who would rule over our corpses. We will endure, we will triumph, and we will make sure that never again shall so few hold sway over so many. For a terrible fire rages across this island of ours. It threatens to consume the whole world. And the thing to do, when your house is on fire, is to run outdoors. Have you ever looked up at the night sky, and wondered what secrets it holds? The motions of the celestial bodies grant us knowledge of our own lives, yes. But each of those bodies is a world unto itself. And I have gazed upon them with naked eyes. I have seen the graceful dance of rock and ice beyond the orbit of Mars. I have watched the sun rise above the rings of Saturn, felt the raw power in the lightning beneath the endless clouds. I have seen things you would not believe. Things I could not have imagined. Before that splendor, the woes that so trouble us here seem almost trivial -- teardrops, beneath a rainstorm. While we were so caught up in them, the Muggles reached for the stars. But that lofty goal is not beyond our grasp, if we would only try. And try we must, for that is the only way to save ourselves. Our little planet cannot hold us, cannot sustain our innumerable techniques of slaughter. Soon, the power to destroy us all in one blow will rest with a single person. Wizard or Muggle, it matters not. When that day comes -- and perhaps it already has -- there will be no refuge, no haven on this planet that can save you. So we must run outdoors. It was on a frozen moon of Jupiter that I discovered a new kind of herb. It grew quite happily in the deadly conditions, and when I began to investigate its properties, I discovered that it would have an interesting effect on wizards and Muggles alike. When I returned, I brought some of it with me. Also on that long-dead moon, I discerned traces of human presence, some thousands of years ago. I have thought much about it since. Perhaps the people of Atlantis, when they departed, stopped there for a while. Perhaps it was they who created the herb. Perhaps we are only following in their footsteps. To survive, we must leave this planet. To survive, we must spread beyond the reach of any enemy. My fellow witches and wizards: to survive, we must settle among the stars, and I give you a golden path to the stars! I give you Omnis Mundus Spatiomagus! The ritual will be complete... now.