Support System

Chapter VIII -- Wind and the Mountain

**

On this freezing December night, the start of Hanukkah incidentally, Claire knelt before Carl Pruett's nameless grave. A frontrunner to Rowena's Justifiers, Carl had died a fierce warrior -- but most of all he'd died Claire's only brother. His unidentified tombstone rested here at spooky Dune's Burial, an isolated graveyard in the snowy Scottish mountains remote Hogwarts. Either way this particular burial place would never attract many visitors though, as it was merely the Ministry's designated disposal for 'undesirables' (i.e. former Azkaban inmates). Depressingly, thus, the truth was Dune's Burial perfectly fitted geographical banishment. Although aware of this, Claire had treaded uneasily during her first visits; now upon her third visit, disturbingly, she felt positively trickled by ghosts haunting the land...

In fairness, tonight was an exceptionally difficult visit for Claire: Carl was missing his twenty-fifth birthday. Inevitably, that Carl was dead six feet beneath her, and that she officially now had no family whatsoever, were painful realities which the occasion made tart. So, although she usually found it pointless to address the dead as if they could hear, Claire desperately found herself despairing, "Oh Carl, I miss you so much! I can't handle that you died in vein!" Inconsolable crying overwhelmed Claire to the point that she couldn't have said anything more had she tried. Though Claire felt a bit abashed, it was her true belief that crying like this over Carl's death could never be inappropriate; right now as a matter of fact, staying this way forever felt perfectly reasonable to Claire. Carl's death was going to be her eternal heartbreak, of that she was too sure.

It started when Roger (currently in Azkaban) impersonated one of the recent Azkaban escapees, the adjutant Death Eater named Antonin Dolohov: to impede on this violation of justice, Roger kidnaped Dolohov in Knockturn Alley in late-June, privately incarcerated him, and then, by use of Polyjuice Potion, pulled off being this minion of You-Know-Who's. After nearly two months of spying, Roger found out that Narcissa Malfoy was being pre-planned to impersonate her son, Draco, and infiltrate Hogwarts! Alarmed, Roger quickly regrouped with the other Justifiers for ideas, which was when Carl's reckless plan to attack the Hogwarts Express on September the first came up...

Every other Justifier save Roger was appalled by the idea, considering the pitiful chances of arresting Narcissa. Disregarding the concerned majority, Carl and Roger pretentiously tried stopping the train full of students; unsurprisingly, they'd stupidly made themselves look like a threat to the students even though they really only sought out the hidden Death Eater aboard. The consequences were expectedly devastating, with Carl dying and Roger being sent to Azkaban for a minimum of ten years once convicted (and he obviously would be)!

Claire felt guilty for being secretly mad at Carl and Roger, but she just couldn't get over how imbecilic they'd been. After all, the damage leftover was so severe it forced the remaining Justifiers to accept that they were unprepared for avenging Carl's death and Roger's false imprisonment right now. This conclusion was pretty rock-solid since they were losing more with Roger and Carl than just amazing duelers (as if that wasn't enough); in turn, the loss of both young men meant losing two of the founding Justifiers, too! The predicament forced Jane, the last remaining founder, to lead them solo, consequentially making them completely unprepared to take justice back into their hands (present-day anyway). Thus, despite her heart's desire to free Roger and avenge Carl's death, Claire was determined to face reality, and that meant not trying anything too soon -- otherwise she would end up repeating the boys' rashness!

Quietly, Claire Pruett, the youngest of Rowena's Justifiers, closed her eyes in appreciation of this horrendous, unsacred vital memory for a long moment. Finally reopening them, she toughly wiped away her last tear and exited through the cemetery's fenced gates. Determination, loyalty, vigor and morality drove her altogether for the first time since that devastating September day. She felt more serious about this new trod for justice than about any beforehand, for of course the vow to her loved ones was most sacred...

Shivering as she left behind a trail of footsteps, Claire Pruett felt ready to choose death before defeat as she whispered, "Somehow I'll bring them justice -- and very soon, too."

**

At Hogwarts, it was going to be a festive Halloween not unlike any other before. But whereas the annual huge banquet feast was set to go as always, for the first time Harry, Hermione, and Ron had another engagement: remarkably, the trio had been invited to attend a ball at no place but the Ministry of Magic! And as it so happened, the ball was apparently such a high-class, exclusive event that they couldn't receive their invitations through ordinary owl post. Instead, on October first Professor McGonagall told the three at breakfast to come to her office after classes to discuss an "important matter."

The trio had exchanged apprehensive glances the moment McGonagall went away, and spent the whole day preoccupied about it. Unsurprisingly, once Double Charms, their last afternoon class, finally ended, Harry, Hermione, and Ron argued the whole way to her office about what they could have possibly done wrong. But in stark contrast to their expectations, Professor McGonagall greeted them cheerily as they entered and actually beamed across her desk once they seated before her. Receiving such a warmhearted welcome from their strictest teacher/disciplinarian absolutely stunned them.

Noticing their bewildered looks, McGonagall even let out a bubbly little laugh before politely reassuring, "You're not at all in trouble, you three, so you can settle your nerves." Smiling, McGonagall patiently waited for their relieved sighs and released shoulder tension. Once cued, she almost excitedly explained, "I have been instructed by the Minister of Magic, Amelia Bones herself, to personally deliver these formal invitations into your lucky hands. She was quite insistent about inviting you, as a form of commendation for 'honorable heroics', as Minister Bones worded it."

Ignoring their completely astonished faces, McGonagall pulled three small, tan-colored envelopes off a plastic holder on top of her desk, and handed one to each of them. Confused beyond belief, the three accepted their own envelopes, which were easily separated by the full name on the envelope's center, addressed in playful red writing. On the top-left corner a sizeable stamp read in black ink, "AUTHORIZED BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC." It only stunned the trio more, who slowly looked back up at McGonagall with perplexed glances that begged for help.

Only Hermione, however, spited embarrassment and bravely took the initiative to ask the first question. "Professor, please, I don't think any of us have any idea what this is about. Sorry if I'm mistaken, but I don't believe we were to expect --"

"We definitely weren't," Ron clarified sharply.

"Ron!" Hermione irritably tried, half-patient, but was again interrupted.

Professor McGonagall mediated a dismissive wave of her hand. "Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, no need for a ruckus! Just go on ahead and open your letters, then read the first line together. Then you'll see. And yes, for sure this should be quite the surprise," McGonagall directed gently, and upon seeing how they fearfully hesitated, added reassuringly, "Don't you feel pressured to follow my instruction by, I dunno, sometime prior to the new millennium,? Never you mind ... I suppose I'll partly break the surprise, How about if I let you know there is only delight addressing those inscriptions, would that relieve your hesitant glances? Let me just say you three shined like "true" Gryffindors during those life-and-death situations! Courageousness, loyalty, brave determination -- it's that I am most proud of you for!"

Ron, Hermione, and Harry exchanged lightened-up, newly-curious looks and opened their envelopes all together. Folded inside each was a single half-sheet of fanciful, soft parchment. A half-tidy penman had handwritten an impersonal message in awkwardly cartoonish-like, bright-red ink; the childish font scheme too was, however, in-synced with the green-stained image below it, an interestingly hubris parody depiction of the great big fountain sculpture in the main hall at the Ministry: here the superior-size witch and wizard both sported an ugly unibrow, awkwardly were bulging their eyes, and had lopsided smiles that showed hideous brown teeth; most funnily though, the wizard was dressed in a pink flowery dress while the witch wore a bow-and-tie tuxedo! The humorous re-illustration made them chuckle as the image of the real grandiose sculpture, a giant in size, intimidation, and overwhelming gauntness, stingingly resurfaced. At the Ministry main entrance, the disturbing hierarchy's exploitative symbol -- picturesquely showing the wizard as "most superior" and the house elf as "most inferior"-- probably only ever humored those, for lack of better terminology, "Lucius Malfoy kinds."

They had no time or use to daydream about such 'wondrous' things, though. Urgent to uncover what this all was really about, the three sixteen-year-old friends looked candidly at one another, though wavering in their manner still. Then, with the helpful cue of McGonagall's encouraging nod, they anxiously started reciting their identical invitations together:

"Dear lucky wizard or witch,

The Ministry of Magic is proud to invite you to the 160^th Halloween Heaven! Most of you are aware that you have been honorably selected as deserving of what to most wizarding families is to-die-for: this piece of parchment is a first-class ticket delivered to just twenty-five people total each year. On October 31, 1996 newly-sworn Minister, Amelia Bones, personally wishes that you imbue your honorary admission to Halloween Heaven anytime from 7:30 PM to 12:30 AM, in which partygoers can enjoy the centerpiece costume ball, a heavy-course feast, and walkthrough the secret "Haunted Departments" of the Ministry! Individual costume & confirmation letter required for entry. [Please note that absolutely NO He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or Death Eater costumes are permitted; any invitee who decides to show in such a costume will be immediately removed from the festivities for the remainder of the evening.]

For security purposes each invitation will explode if possessed by impermissible outsiders, so please keepsake this parchment. NO INVITATION, NO COSTUME = NO ENTRY -- NO EXCEPTIONS! On October 30^th, lastly, instruction on arrival & will be delivered one day prior. Non-mandatory RSVP or questions must be sent back with our Owl now, as correspondences are disallowed now 'till the thirtieth, imbuing to confidentiality code. Once again, it is our sincerest hope that you attend the Ministry of Magic's 150^th Halloween Heaven!

With utmost sincerity--"

"...Yes, yes ... well, are you excited?" Professor McGonagall demanded eagerly, cutting their voices off.

Harry, Ron and Hermione felt similar mixed emotions that all together left the trio nervously smiling at McGonagall for a dumbfounded moment. Of course, yes, Ron reckoned it definitely was great to be receiving an honor independently his for once (as opposed to Harry's golden spotlight like usual); in turn, yes, Hermione wasn't resentful that her mind was already streaming through many possibilities on how to make a perfect impression; and undoubtedly, yes, Harry was irritated above all else because he felt like these expectations were forcing him to walk right into more unwanted "celebrity" attention.

But most of all, Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained significantly mystified, like walkers on a dark path of periled unknowns. Alas, Hermione was first to break the silence, nervous that their odd reaction was upsetting Professor McGonagall, whose lips were thinning dangerously. "Professor, please, I don't understand why we've been invited," Hermione said as politely as possible, confidence shrunken. She pleadingly eyed the boys fast.

Harry and Ron nodded agreeably, although Harry awkwardly spoke first. "Yes, Professor, that, and also, I don't reckon I've ever heard of this ball --"

"Blimey, me either," Ron admitted plainly.

Professor McGonagall appeared at loss for words, stunned in disbelief. "For Heaven's sake, don't be deluded in modesty! Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, the two of you are on the honorary guest list for your noble actions during the attack on the Hogwarts Express; and yes, you too, Mr. Potter, deserve commendation for your perseverant survival and brave escape from that God-forsaken dungeon. You made sure to live to convey the truth about Snape, that he was the covert traitor increasing the madness of things --"

Harry felt a cold pain strike his chest at mention of that torture chamber, almost unable to stop from shuddering. He couldn't bite his tongue, interrupting, "But that was Tonks and Lupin who saved me!" He made a fist and pressured his fingernails into his palms.

McGonagall rolled her eyes irritably. "Mr. Potter, are you trying to convince me you've becoming barking mad? It's not a competition, heavens! This is a grand, rarely bestowed honor, and I will be highly disappointed if you turn down the Minister's endeared wish to repay you." She surveyed their intrigued, swaying glances, tentatively watching them.

It was Ron's turn to speak up. "Err, so ... what are our arrangements going to be with us getting there? You know, with the case of Harry and all will we do it differently than their twenty-four hour notice thing?" Ron blushed red as ever, trying to conceal his eager excitement.

Professor McGonagall was taken aback momentarily, sighing deeply in a fast recourse to relief. Then she noticed Harry and Hermione giggling delightedly at Ron, their facetious smirks silently knocking his terribly conspicuous happiness about their invitation. And amazingly, for once that eagle-eying, uptight character of her usual self softened upon the lucky sight of them content; harped by an all-or-nothing impulse, Minerva McGonagall let her hair down and joined in the laughter. Funny enough, the offhand sight of Professor McGonagall outwardly enthusiastic shocked them vehemently. Instantaneously, shock had them speechlessly gawking with their mouths hung open stupidly; for the first time ever in her life, humor, not suspicion, came from experiencing three eagle-eye stares upon her.

All four laughing individuals nevertheless found this strangeness worked well as a doubly rewarding end to their meeting. Hence, once they made their final leave out the door, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were each slightly, well, psyched.

If only they knew.

**

Chapter IX - Support System

**

Harry, Hermione and Ron were all happy to report that they left Double Potions nowadays feeling far less grumpy. With Snape conveniently "missing" without a trace, Dumbledore obviously had been forced to draft a replacement Potions teacher. The new recruit, Professor Jane Brooks, was a warmhearted, conscientious witch in her mid-thirties who previously worked as a senior forensics examiner for the Ministry of Magic. Although Brooks was arguably overzealous about assigning a high volume of homework, overall her method was superior to, as well as quite unlike, that of her predecessor, infamous Snape. For instance, she specially was one-hundred percent dedicated to her students, and as such never seemed annoyed when someone begged her to re-explain something. Rumor had it Brooks was a Ministry spy but Harry doubted such independent zeal belonged to an undercover informant of Fudge's sort.

Indeed, the woman's ambition was perfectly impressionable since day one, as a matter of fact, when she energetically made a vow that astonished Harry's small class of prospective N.E.W.T. takers: "I will surpass my predecessor's very improvable N.E.W.T.S. success rate by far. I am vehement that each and every one of you excels at that ultimate examination! In other words, in my case that means I'm on a trod to make your O.W.L.S. flounder in comparison to your prospective N.E.W.T.S.! Doubt me as some of you may, all I ask is that you give me everything you've got while enrolled in my class." Brooks confidently finished her speech with a brush of contained laughter, even adding offhandedly, "I guess we will have to wait and see if I've reckoned a fool of myself, won't we class?" At the time Harry thought she wasn't conscious of the thirteen dumbfounded glances returned to her, but that was until he learned these past few weeks that their new professor was just uneasily dismayed.

Nevertheless, today Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat distracted in her class because of one pertinent, totally unrelated fact -- it was Halloween! Alas. Professor Brooks was no less ambitious during Double Potions however, not surprisingly, lecturing in-depth about Veritaserum for a two-hour duration that seemed to go on all afternoon. On a normal day the topic would probably strike Harry's interest quite a bit, considering he'd witnessed the serum's effects on Barty Crouch Jr. personally. Given the special circumstances however, all he could think about was the Ministry ball as the hours ticked away. He'd been feeling detached from the world all day, oblivious to everything beyond his apprehensive mind.

Frustrated, Harry, completely inattentive of Brooks' undeterred speech, cynically wondered, 'Maybe if there was something more to go on than the silly invitation and our last-minute directions, my whole mind wouldn't be full of dread right now!' He felt ridiculed by the total lack of information in these two letters, especially since the three of them were probably the youngest and most noticeable guests expected.

Even Hermione looked unusually pressed to focus, the fist under her chin forcing her eyes to strain up at Professor Brooks. Ron, on the other hand, dozed off inattentively with his head on top the pillow of his folded arms. Honestly, if it weren't for Hermione eagle-eyeing him, Harry's "note-taking" (i.e. making unorganized scribbles of Brooks' lines across the blackboard) wouldn't even be happening right now. Indeed, whilst in this current frame of mind, Harry Potter had Hermione's invasiveness and Brooks' blackboard fondness to thank, for both made his unprocessed note-taking a reality. At the very least, such messy scribbles proved Harry achieved more than nothing by showing up!

Daydreaming, Harry kept getting offended by the annoyance of Professor Brooks' loud tone, only to then stupidly remember that they were supposed to be silent for her, not vice versa. He almost chuckled at himself for it, offhandedly bothered by his professor's overreaching, assertive voice. "...Remember, Veritaserum is NOT allowable in all criminal trials. By general rule of thumb, its estimated 3 % inaccuracy rate must be weighed to each case by the appointed judge's discretion. Second, do not ever forget that Veritaserum must be administered live before the jury while trial is in session; such became a mandate only in recent history though, upon the High Wizengamot court's ruling--" She stopped speaking briefly as she took a piece of chalk and began writing on the board. "... It is crucial that you memorize the precept behind that monumental ruling, class! Thus, for only our own benefit, please copy the official statement exactly as I write it on the blackboard -- 'Pre-depositions of Veritaserum are likelier to have error, and therefore are no longer admissible at trial as of the current date, 1 September 1956.'

Professor Brooks paused to let them write. Once her anxious students finished, she smilingly continued, satisfied with their conduct. "Lastly, arguably principle is how a defendant cannot be forced to take Veritaserum or any other subduing substance whatsoever. Don't ever forget the individual's right to not self-incriminate!" Harry looked up at Brooks after no one laughed at her joking tone, and then watched as she surveyed the room for overtly confused students. When she spoke again she may have been slightly less guarded. "Understand? Please ask any questions that you have. I know Veritaserum is commonly thought to be a lot more cut-and-dry than it really is. Far too many sorcerers unwisely idealize the concept of a truth serum without appreciating its imperfect practicalities. I guarantee you it will be a major part of the N.E.W.T.S."

But silence, silence, silence was all that followed her words for the umpteenth time this afternoon.

In fact, her non-responsive students droned to merely stay awake. After the awkward quiet prolonged much too long, despite Brooks' thin-lipped staring Harry daringly took a look around at the twelve other students; all the sudden, he then instantly felt way less guilty about paying no attention today: everyone around him looked like clones in their inexplicable disinterest and weary appearances. The scene frustrated their professor just enough apparently. Brooks sighed loudly before shocking them all with a half-reluctant announcement. "Alright, alright, I see all your bored faces! Your minds obviously are far too invested in festivities to stay attentive right now, hmm? Fine, off you go then just this once! Consider it my Halloween treat to you all. Don't you DARE get used to it, though." But as the bored students moved from expressing shock to utter delight, Professor Brooks couldn't help smiling placidly at her freed students.

However, while everyone else jumped to scurry off before any second-guessing could happen, Brooks stopped Harry, Ron, and Hermione in their tracks very seriously. "Pardon me you three, but I must ask you very kindly to stay behind for an important word."

**

Narcissa Malfoy was undergoing the strangest experience of her life to maintain her covert oversee of Hogwarts: beyond the spectrum of shock and belief as it was, Narcissa was nevertheless actually impersonating her own son, sixteen-year-old Draco! It was no doubt a disgusting but undeniably genius method of self-concealment, especially since she knew Draco so well. Although at first both Narcissa and Draco were infinitely revolted upon receiving this twisted order of the Dark Lord's, things had admittedly been pretty smooth since term started. Not a soul had raised an eyebrow of suspicion regarding the actions of the supposed "Draco Malfoy" - not once!

'Till very recently, Narcissa was quite content with the tidbits of information she'd gather weekly for the Dark Lord. But as of these last few days in October, however, the new rumor accurately swarming the hallways was one of outrageous importance to her lord: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were all attending the Ministry's annual Halloween ball, an event so exclusive the guest list was likely short of fifty. This outing was so significant because Harry hadn't even left the castle to go to Hogsmeade for Merlin's sake thus far into term, no doubt at Dumbledore's overprotective insistence. Therefore, it was obviously so that the ball created a one-and-only potential opportunity for Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters to seize an infiltrative lead and re-arrest Potter for good.

Three days ahead of the event, Narcissa felt personally assured the rumor was real now that numerous sources corroborated it for her. Eagerly, she wasted no time to send her master an owl on account that the glory of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters was at potential stake. Despite the enticing news, Narcissa Malfoy knew the announcement needed to come across powerfully, because all the same something as minor as lukewarm wording could depress the Dark Lord's reception. Therefore, the excited Death Eater chose her words and tone cleverly, finalizing a proofread version for sending. All in all, the news of restorable success was delivered in safe and blessed words with Narcissa's highhanded signature.

**

Master of mine,

I'm risking sending this but not without care for your forewarnings about the possibility of Owl interception. Reprovingly, I didn't withhold sending this urgent message because a crucial development regarding Harry Potter recently surfaced: the word is Potter and his Weasley and Granger friends are all invitees to the Ministry's annual Halloween ball. Importantly, Dumbledore has Potter isolated to the castle nowadays, not even permitting him to visit Hogsmeade! I of course haven't spoken with the boy first-hand but the rumor, I can assure you, absolutely is true. Even before the secret reached the entire Slytherin Common Room, I myself had already overheard two Gryffindor boys Potter's year discussing it in hushed voices. And at the present time, three days before Halloween, it seems the secret is no longer secret at all, because the entire school is rampant with jealous discussion over it. Besides, the subtler low-profile Potter assumes each day leading up to Halloween makes it obvious for my studying eyes...

With all that said, my lord, I must beg that if you are in agreement that this poses an opportunity to reclaim Potter into our custody, reply ASAP. Accordingly, directions on how guests are to enter the Ministry are top-secret, and hence not sent 'till the night beforehand. If I am to somehow retrieve that information, it's paramount that no moment is wasted before I have your approval to formulate an executable plan - it won't be easy.

With sincerest of intentions,

Narcissa Malfoy, most loyal servant of thee the Dark Lord

**

Professor Brooks was slightly taken aback by how standoffish, how so defensive her three students appeared before her. Judging by their unreadable blank stares, Brooks was certain the trio believed they were in trouble. Reassessing her approach in light of their reproachful demeanors, Professor Brooks surveyed across them calculatingly before speaking half-gutturally. "I should start bluntly by confiding in you something that must never leave this classroom: that apparent 'attack' on the Hogwarts Express wasn't what it appeared to be." All three bewildered students looked beyond suspicious now. Brooks, gulping, continued quickly to preempt all interruptive protest. "I know this because they, like myself, were part of Rowena's Justifiers. We are an independent coalition of talented wizards and witches that repair static injustices in the wizarding community.

Believe it or not, WE kidnapped Fudge and kept him in our custody for the full duration in which he was 'missing'. The boys stupidly of course failed at the train mission on what in truth was a truly devastating September first." It was stunning to watch their robust, "tough-as-nails" professor battling away tears with only mediocre success. As much as the three (Hermione especially) wanted to not fall to her hypothetical entrapment of some demented kind, the realness to her tone was tangible; never before had the woman looked so emotionally driven.

All three teens looked beyond intrigued now, but Hermione again challenged Brooks first with reasonable doubt. "But who, who on earth was on the train that could at all have been on your list of injustices to 'repair', as you interestingly put it?!" Witty as her assertive tone sounded, Hermione was unable to withhold her lips from trembling as a nervous tick ruptured her stance.

At this Brooks' expression faded palely, tainted by something close to fear. Sighing, she said quietly, "Narcissa Malfoy."

Hermione, Ron, and Harry, incredulous as ever, uttered shocked noises before altogether exclaiming, "WHAT?!" The jagged astonishment of their voices made real their half-disbelief, half-belief, intensifying an already contentious atmosphere.

Brooks, startled by their unexpected outcry, slowly lowered a raised flat hand as a gesture that they keep their voices down. "Shh!" she warned not unkindly. The three looked sort of funny with their embarrassed looks as everyone let silence pass for the next several moments; they quietly listened for human noises nearby, a moment which left the trio, who hadn't even considered the possibility of unwanted company, spooked. But to their relief, no premonitions were anywhere remote of hearing range.

Immediately, the stiff tenseness in Professor Brooks' shoulders decreased considerably. The storyteller took a long deep breath, mustered all her energy at heart, and continued persisting to persuade them. "Outlandish as it sounds and is, I reckon there's barely time to prevent the serious consequences of having her, a Death Eater, at Hogwarts. See, the horrid woman has been infiltrating Hogwarts these past two months of terms believe it or not in her own son's body...The wonders of Polyjuice, eh?" Brooks conveyed disgustedly, an especially bitter acid trickling her tone.

All three of her listeners felt their jaws unstoppably drop as the rest of their bodies froze in shock. Their faces were so beyond animate with incredulousness, with defensive denial upon hearing such a depraved suggestion; their eyes appeared ready to bulge out while their eyebrows looked permanently raised. For several moments the three uncontrollably ejected indiscernible utterances of surprise as Brooks' repugnant claim fathomed through them. How taboo the trio found Draco's mother for assuming her teenage son's body; the idea of it sank Hermione, Harry, and Ron to minor nausea. In fact, the nefarious concept crossed each of their minds for a split-second as somehow incestuous. In a way, though, they tried exhibiting an under-reaction considering the suspiciously unorthodox nature of Brooks' accusation, even for Polyjuice pretexts. They couldn't be so liberal with trust.

Alerted, Brooks waved a warning hand, another reminder to not freak out in loudness; luckily, she felt her cheekbones relax quickly once her listeners began calming down gradually. Readily, Brooks took a throaty gulp and continued informing the amazed, intently curious trio. "I've sensed a dark feeling lately every time I catch the eye of "Draco Malfoy", hence his mother obviously. There's been something extra suspect in those sinister, fixed eyes this past week, and it's very inferable what that could be about." Her tone sounded graver the more she spoke, transcending enigmatically.

In a second the three teenagers caught on to Brooks' puzzle, bursting out all together, "THE BALL!"

**

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