A week of difficult and steady work, a week of relentless research, and the several attempts it took to convince Cameron to come to St. Alban's made Dennis yearn for a relaxing weekend. For two days Dennis reminded his parents not to talk about anything magical in front of Cameron unless they wanted to be raided by the Ministry of Magic. It led to some tensions, yet none of it ever focused on Cameron in particular. Saturday morning arrived, as did the train from Nottingham carrying Cameron Vall. On Sunday morning a train rolled back to Nottingham with a seemingly very pleased young man.

"Wasn't he just wonderful," his mother said after Dennis and his father returned from taking Cameron to the train station. She laid out a light lunch for them. "You seemed fond of Cam, Duncan."

"Surprised me, that's for sure. And you didn't know he knew that much about cars, Denny?" His father responded in a pleasant manner.

"Not 'til he started talking to you, Dad. Never came up before," Dennis told him while he waited his turn to take some slices of bread. "Mum, Dad, thanks for making Cam feel welcome. He wasn't lying when he said he had a good time."

"Didn't take a lot. You found a very nice young man, and a plumber as well. That could come in handy in the future," Jill Creevey said with a note of finality.

"I'm not dating him just in case loo backs up."

His father started chuckling.

"So, this is serious and not just extended snogging?" His mother inquired.

"Mum!"

His parents started laughing, and his father said: "I guess it's the same in each generation. Remember when your Pa asked what my intentions were toward you, and he wasn't talking about playing snooker."

Duncan and Jill Creevey giggled in a way that made their son's face turn red. He understood what they meant, he simply did not want to think about it in any capacity. Dennis reached for the mustard to put on his bread.

"Denny?" His father said his name.

Dennis looked up at his father while his mother went after the roast beef.

"I…" the man started, breathed through his nose rather heavily, adjusted his sitting position, and made a small frown. His face then relaxed. "Denny, you looked happy while Cam was here. Haven't seen you smile or laugh that much in a long time. He's a nice lad, Cam is, and he seems to like you an awful lot."

"Yeah," Dennis sighed the word and smiled.

"And it was fun going fishing with you again. Cam was shite with a rod, but you remembered. You both seemed to enjoy yourselves."

"Duncan, language," his mother automatically said about a certain word as she wrangled a slice of Cornish yarg cheese onto the layers of roast beef.

"Forgot how much I liked fishing. Shame we didn't catch anything," the young man mumbled while arranging his sandwich.

"In the middle of the day? Denny, the fish hardly bite at that time. We should've waited 'til evening."

"Not on your life. I'd been cooking all day. You'd wreck the meal," the matriarch of the small family protested. "But it was nice to hear you had a good time. You and Dennis should go fishing more often. Wouldn't mind a fillet of fresh-caught trout."

Dennis nodded his head and said: "Not a bad idea, Mum. What do you say, Dad?"

"You're going to have make time for it. You've done a fair bit of trotting 'round these last few weeks, and I know part of it was going off to see Cam."

"You do remember it only takes me 'bout ten seconds to return from Nottingham if I apparate to the Ministry station first?" He reminded his father.

Duncan Creevey's face went through a rapid shift in expressions. He finally settled on a mix of annoyed and impressed. Dennis did not show any emotion as his father decided on one countenance, who also worked on completing his sandwich.

"Well, that is something," the man mumbled. "Not sure how you can keep from talking 'bout or doing… magic 'round Cam and his friends. Pretty clear he has no idea you're a wizard."

Dennis shrugged as he chewed on a mouthful of food. The mustard and yarg added the right bit of creaminess and tang to the roast beef. He took a sip of the Fanta Orange his mother put out for him. Although his parents allowed him to have an ale or beer in the house, it weakened his control over magic. He also saw how others act when drunk at pubs, and Dennis did not like that look.

"Actually, it's pretty easy," Dennis responded. "I never bring my wand with me when we head out someplace. Sure, there's some non-verbal magic I could do, but I'd have to have a reason. Then it's just a matter of controlling my emotions."

"That why the lights were flickering last night during dinner?" Queried his mother.

"Yeah. Cam was rubbing his foot on my leg."

He watched his parents glance at each other.

"Honestly, how it is any different from your relationship?" The young man inquired.

"S'pose it isn't," his father more or less agreed. "Seeing you with… another bloke is a lot different than just knowing it. Makes it real, if you take my meaning."

Dennis nodded.

"Remember the first time Colin came home and showed us what he learned at school? Even you looked surprised when he got that piece paper to fold itself into that bird shape and fly around the room," his mother raised an excellent comparison.

"Good point, Mum."

The family ate for a little while. The Colin effect took momentary hold. Dennis helped himself to some crisps from the bowl set in the middle of the table. The meal felt like he sat in a pub, except he could hear his own thinking. However, he preferred homemade pub crisps, but he would not complain about the Walkers. As he contemplated the various brands of the snack food, a tapping against the window near the rear door sounded. They each looked into the direction of the noise. A small brown owl with a letter in its beak clung to the tiny windowsill. Dennis stood and went to the door after snagging a piece of meat from the tray. The owl gladly made the exchange, all but inhaled the roast beef, and then silently flapped away.

"Mister Odpadki says I got the day off tomorrow. Didn't get the regular routes finished with all the special work we did last week," Dennis said, half-reading the missive aloud, as he walked back to the table.

"Well, aren't you the lucky one," his father teased him.

"Want to trade me a day of work?" He asked.

"Son, I'd eat my own boots first after a rainy day at the dairy rather than face some of what you do. I know you keep telling us it's not dangerous, but some of it sounds hinky."

"Not dangerous," Dennis replied even though he and his employer came up to the edge lethal once or twice. "Witches and wizards are an odd lot, and they make all sorts of trouble for themselves. They'll get deep into something 'fore they realize they're making a mess of things or a huge mistake."

"That what you're going to do?" The lone woman at the table questioned her son in a serious tone.

"No, Mum, I'm not. There's still a lot of regular magic for me to figure out before I go swan diving into the more complex branches. I'm fine with charms and transfigurations. I like… usable magic: magic that can help people. I showed you that map from Nottingham. That's more my speed," the wizard rejoined in a thoughtful manner.

His words appeared to appease his mother, and Dennis saw his father's head bob a few times.

"And what I'm doing for Lord North doesn't even come close to dangerous. It's more like… like… like a book report. I'm just trying to sort out what really happened almost two hundred and fifty years ago," Dennis told them after deciding to go a step further. "I'll probably never figure this out, but at least I got to help reunite a man and his daughter."

"That's a lovely thing you've done there, son," his mother stated in a sympathetic voice.

"Aye, Denny, you did a nice piece of good there," his father agreed.

"I just wish I could make sense of it all. I'm missing something important somewhere. I can feel it, but I can't see it. There aren't enough clues and neither Thomas or Lucia can give me any help."

The notion continued to plague Dennis through the meal and followed him to his room after he helped with the cleaning. He sat at his small desk, purchased when he still attended a local public school, and spread his research out around him. An effort to create a timeline of events did not yield anymore information. Time and again he returned to his handwritten notes from the various interviews he conducted with Lord North and Mrs. Hughes, his daughter. Sometimes Dennis wished he could own or use a computer. He heard about databases that people used and, although he knew next to nothing about the technology, it seemed to aid finding patterns in information.

"I'm done for now," he sighed and sat at the dining table with his desert that evening. "Think I might head back to the archives in Nottingham to see if I missed anything thing in the old constabulary records… but they all thought he died of natural causes. They didn't do an investigation."

"Denny, you've said all along you might hit a dead end, and maybe this is it. Even your friend Lord North said you've done more than he could've expected. It's an old, old case. Like you said: someone went out of their way to hide facts, and it looks like they did a first rate job of it," Duncan Creevey told his son before shoveling more bramble gelato into his mouth.

"It's just not fair," Dennis made one of his favorite complaints.

"World's not often fair."

"No, it isn't. Lot's of surprises in life, and sometimes it turns on the most insignificant event. You haven't even found a proper motive for why someone wanted to do in the Earl of Nottingham. Pretty bold move, I'd wager, even for back then," his mother added.

"True, true, Jill. It'd have to be someone who had access to him… someone he didn't suspect… someone close he'd trust."

"And whoever did this had magic. Back then they'd get tortured or killed for being a witch. Even today you're kind don't move around in the open, Dennis, so the culprit must've worked in disguise. Your father is right, love, you need to find the real motive behind this, otherwise you're just chasing down dark alleys," his mother concluded.

It astonished Dennis yet again how his mother's love of crime and detective shows on the television influenced her day-to-day thinking. It even seemed to infect his father to a small degree. However, they did manage to boil the case down to the essentials. Unfortunately, Dennis came to those same conclusions over a week before. He sighed and finished his desert. All the while his brain wrestled with the mysteries surrounding Lord North's murder.

Dennis departed early the next morning before his father left the house. He grabbed a milk bar for breakfast and told his parents he planned on visiting archives, libraries, and long-deceased earl. His mind simply could not give up the hunt for Thomas' killer. Despite remaining shrouded, Dennis felt he lurked around the edges of the truth. It simply required more digging and thinking.

"Alright," he said to Thomas and Lucia when he arrived on the promontory, "we're going to go through this again. I'm going to write down every little detail you tell me. I missed something, and I think between the two of you I can sort it out."

"Your perseverance is admirable, Dennis," Lucia quietly said in the early morning light that did not entirely wash out her features.

"And you're going to answer, Mrs. Hughes, while I watch your father. We're going back to the night of the murder."

Dennis listened for a second time while Lucia talked about the night of her father's murder. She repeated all she could remember that proved to be scant little since she did not actually witness the events. She spoke from assumed knowledge. However, Dennis accurately transcribed her words. The sun rose over the mountains in the east, spreading more light across the highlands. Hogwarts began to glow as the marble and sandstone of castle began to reflect the rays. The Norths became harder to visually discern.

"Okay, that's what you told me before," he confessed to the ghostly pair. "Now, was there anybody new around? Someone you didn't know?"

"Mister Creevey," Lord North spoke up. "In my duty as Earl of Nottingham I frequently met or associated with people I hardly knew. Some, not at all. My chief task came in managing the business, fields, and herds of Nottingham. I interacted with fourteen main tenants, at least two dozen smaller lessees, more itinerant field laborers than I could ever count. Merchants and artisans of varying stripes came through Nottingham during all seasons as needs want. I could not begin to list them all."

"But you knew, at least by face, the person who killed you!" Dennis exclaimed.

Thomas became like a statue.

"Any cattle on your estates?" The young living man inquired.

"We dealt mainly with White Park and Hereford," the spectral man heaved the words with relief. "White Park were exceptionally good for providing a lean, robust meat, and clean, thin leathers."

"Lucia, this truly is up to you to remember some detail of the people your father saw on a daily basis," Dennis pleaded with the woman. "Think of the tenants and the workers. Was there anyone you new who showed more often than others?"

"I so sorry, Dennis, and it grieves me so to tell you I seldom met with any of my father's associates. In my day, a lady of my status would not mingle with common field hands and laborers, and it hardly bares mentioning I would never meet with the tenants. All of that remained in the hands of father and Uncle Richard," Lucia nearly quailed the words.

"Lucia, it's okay. It's all right. Times were different then… and it just goes to show how out of my depth I am," he tried to comfort her as the woman's distress grew.

"Dennis?" Thomas said his name.

Dennis glanced at the man.

"In all the years you studied at this venerable school, did you know all the names of the students in advanced years or, as you advanced, the lesser years?"

"No, can't say as I do. That's a fair number of people," he admitted.

"Now, during the years of Voldemort's rise," and Dennis marveled at the way Thomas fearlessly said the name, "were all his spies and ne're-do-wells revealed either before or after the battles?"

Dennis shook his head.

"Should you venture to write a history of that period, would rely on only a few sources or would you cast your net wide in search of choicer and little know facets?"

"So, you're saying I'm too fixed on what you and your daughter know?" The young man raced ahead.

"Perceptive of you," Thomas rejoined and nodded his head. "Since it is abundantly clear at this juncture the two principal parties cannot lend you the details you desire, perhaps it would better suit your endeavors too examine the broader picture. I believe the expression is 'losing sight of the forest for the trees.'"

"Never quite got that one."

"You are letting the details and your personal attachment to them blind you, Dennis. Step back and consider the whole."

Dennis bobbed his head as he took in the advice.

"Also, and I cannot provide you specifics even should you ask, but there is one avenue in this you ignore to your greater frustration," the former Earl of Nottingham said very slowly and in a very pointed manner.

Lucia shifted her gaze from her father to Dennis.

"Avenue?" Dennis mumbled in confusion.

"It is an attribute we share in common which Lucia does not."

"What? Are you saying you're gay?"

Lucia gasped and snickered.

Thomas started to chuckle, shook his head back and forth, and replied: "While I believe I would find myself in esteemed company, no, Dennis, that is not the facet about which I speak."

"I believe my father means magic," the woman chuckled the words.

"Oh, yeah. That goes without saying, doesn't it?" Dennis replied and felt a bit embarrassed.

"Apparently not," Lord North answered through a smile.

"Yeah, I get it."

A gentle breeze came up from the loch as more sunlight peaked over the hills and warmed the valley below. Birds chirped and the insects started to take wing. Far below the giant squid surfaced for the first time. The ripples darting fish dotted the watter as the enormous freshwater cephalopod began a search for breakfast. Rattles and thumps issued from the castle as the stones absorbed heat from the sun.

"Mister Creevey. What do you think the chances are I would be only wizard or witch in and around Nottingham?"

"We already know one snuffed you, so… ooh, I see," Dennis began to say and switched mental tracks as the pieces snapped together in his mind. "But I already checked the constables reports from back then, but there wasn't an auror office in Nottingham. The Ministry was still pretty new then."

"But not the Wizard's Council."

Half an hour later Dennis sat in Professor Flitwick's office enjoying a cup of tea with biscuits. The man still wore his formal attire, although he shed his jacket when he invited Dennis to sit and talk with him. The waxed mustache curled against either cheek, and the spectacles reflected the light from stained glass window, a new feature since the war, and the myriad of lamps spreading a cheery glow throughout. The oddly broad yet pointed face, a mix of goblin and human if one actually cared to study the visage, never lost its inquisitive or intelligent cast.

"Sounds like you've been busy these past few weeks, Dennis," the diminutive professor said in a pleased voice.

"The job, a boyfriend… I think, and this investigation have kept me going, Professor. I feel different," he quipped.

"I'm glad you secured employment in a field you find interesting, and I never once really thought about magical trash before. I imagine that gets tricky."

"Mostly for me mum, and she won't do my laundry anymore. Keeps on having a go at her."

Dennis and his mentor shared a chuckle. They sat in cushioned wingback chairs. A small ottoman sat before the professor's chair so he could rest his feet. Between them a rather ornately carved pedestal table stood and on which the tray carrying the tea service got placed. Further down on the floor an area rug bearing the crest of the Ravenclaw House kept the cold from the floor stones at bay.

"Professor, I'm sorry I haven't visited as much… and I've been here a few times…"

"Nonsense, my dear boy. Nonsense!' Professor Flitwick animatedly interjected. "It does me good to hear you are so engaged in your life now. It even sounds as if your situation at home is beginning to sort itself out."

"It is. Mum and Dad were really nice to Cam and seemed to like him. I like him," Dennis provided another detail.

"Seems more than like to me. New love is so exciting!"

Dennis felt his cheeks grow warm, and the asked: "But… what about him being a muggle?"

"Good gracious, Dennis, haven't you figured out how many muggle-magical pairings there are in this world? You are by no means the first and certainly will not be the last wizard or witch who falls in love with a muggle. Be sensible. Keep your magic contained. Someday if this… or any future relationship with a muggle looks permanent, notify the Ministry," his friend advised him.

"Notify the Ministry? The Ministry of Magic?"

"Mmm," the professor said as swallowed a mouthful of tea. "Even before the war the Ministry found ways to deal with situations like yours. You'd be amazed how fast a witch or a wizard can turn dark when told they can't love whom they choose. Read your history on Grindelwald. One of his appeals sought to eliminate the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy to allow open magical-muggle trysts… although many doubt he meant it. He wanted to subjugate muggles: not free them."

"You know, Professor, I've spent almost more time in libraries and archives since I got out of school than I did while in school!" Dennis humorously griped.

"Ah! And now you seek learning to further yourself. While you were here, at least I tried to show how make do for yourself once you left these halls. Your real education, Mister Creevey, has just begun!"

Dennis and his former teacher, now his friend, eyed one another. They sat within the comfortably appointed rooms given over to the permanent charms instructor. Ravenclaw royal blue and silver became the predominant color scheme. On a shelving unit behind the professor sat an assortment of bric-a-brac and oddities often associated with wizards. On the few times he visited the man's private suite during his school years, Dennis often wondered about the items. Now, he forgot about them as he engaged in meaningful conversation. He started to grin, and the professor did as well. It dawned on Dennis he brought more good news than bad to share with his mentor. He smiled.

"And that," Professor Flitwick said and pointed to the young man's mouth, "is because?"

"School seems ages ago, Professor. I think it's 'cause I not just sitting in my room at home thinking about the past all the time. The funny part is I've got Peeves to thank for this. He's the one who sent me to talk to Thomas," the younger wizard explained.

"Yes, Peeves. Professor McGonagall asked me to ask you about his history as you know it. She also told me what you said to her… about many things, but on Peeves I agree with you. If he is happy with his lot, who are we to say otherwise even if it does annoy us on a daily basis."

"Thank you. I'd hate to have to tell you no about something."

"I would never ask you to betray a friend, Dennis."

Professor Flitwick, nearly alone of all the teachers at Hogwarts, seemed to understand the young wizard and the old poltergeist did, indeed, become friends. The professor never warned Dennis away from forming a relationship with Peeves as many others did. While he established many fine associations with other ghosts and paintings in the castle, Peeves stood out from the rest. Try as he might to pester Dennis to madness, the poltergeist also shared valuable pieces of wisdom – perhaps in a calculating and cold method – Dennis could use to stave off his detractors. More often than not, the once lonely teenage wizard got entertained by Peeves' wild antics and even wilder tales. Moreover, the spectral man also seemed to gain something from the friendship.

"It's his story to tell when he wants," Dennis quietly stated as he did to everyone who asked.

"May I tell you something else people need to consider when dealing with Peeves' type?"

The younger man nodded.

"Excising a poltergeist is a far different matter than removing a ghost. Peeves, if the Sorting Hat is to be believed, began as a ghost. However, when he became… rambunctious, they tried to exorcise him. In doing so, they transformed him into a poltergeist because he came to think of Hogwarts as his true home," Professor Flitwick explained in a serious tone. "If they try again with him in his current form, he could… mutate into a demon. I think Peeves feasts on the stray magic around Hogwarts, and, as such, I fear they would turn Peeves into a dangerous monster."

"I understand," Dennis rejoined in a grave tone.

After a few solemn seconds as the information sank into Dennis' brain, his mentor said: "Now, you said you had another question for me, Dennis."

"Yes, I do," he replied and shook his head a little. "How find out which witches and wizards were located in any area two hundred and fifty years ago?"

"The Census Veneficus. It's been run every year for the last six hundred and twenty some odd years, and they still run it today. It's an accounting of most witches and wizards, except the dark ones. They tend to avoid the census, but some still makes the rolls. You might also want to look into the Decennial Magus Annales the Wizengamot publishes each decade. It's a chronicle of events in our world, and a prime source most historians use," the little man informed him.

Dennis blinked in surprise. He never heard of either publication, and it seemed to him they should be made known to students. The professor stared at him for a second.

"You can find copies at the Ministry library, Dennis."

"Why didn't they tell me about those? I even asked for historical sources and directories!" Dennis grumbled.

"When you see the volumes, you'll understand."

Two hours later he stood in the Ministry library staring a rack that ran for twelve meters containing all of the books in the latest edition of the Decennial Magus Annales. When asked if he could see the copy covering 1760 through 1762, the librarians gazed at him as if Dennis lost his mind. They then explained he would need to go to Holgate Park in York where he would find the Ministry of Magic Library Annex Catacombs. Dennis learned the library annex reached seven stories beneath the ground and spread out over five acres. Three full floors, they told him, got dedicated to past editions of the Decennial Magus Annales. He could also find past editions of the Census Veneficus, but they could not guarantee all volumes would be present.

Dennis got a map of the Holgate Park area, and then went in search of the apparition platform sigil listing. He never fully realized the sprawling nature of the Ministry of Magic, and it gave him insight as to how Voldemort gained access to so many parts of the Ministry and the United Kingdom on the whole. Only the Flue Network proved more complex than the apparition station system. He found the sigil, and it allowed him to make the jump to the library annex in York. Dennis also discovered the annex could only be accessed via apparating, which he found odd.

"Hello?" Dennis shouted when he arrived at what appeared to be a front reception desk. "Hello?"

His voice echoed around him. Magical sconces cast pools of light along the vast corridors that ran both north and south along with east and west. The black marble flooring absorbed the light without fully reflecting it. The shelves stood three meters from floor to ceiling. Dennis could see the spines of books and some of the chains that held them in place. Unlike the library at Hogwarts, he would not be automatically protected against aggressive and dark tomes. He strolled along the front desk looking for any form of instruction. A single inlaid bronze ring with the words 'Touch Wand Here for Assistance' carved in the loop adorned the stone counter top. He carried out the action.

Years before on the television, prior to when his and his brother's magic caused it to short circuit and the cathode ray tube to implode, Dennis saw a program about lighthouses along the coastal waters of England. The program discussed how modern navigation using global positioning satellites rendered foghorns superfluous. The show played a foghorn recording. Dennis got what he considered a good example of a real foghorn when a deep sound bellowed around him and nearly set loose his bowels at it reverberated through his body. It sounded three times, and he could hear it carrying down the various aisles.

Moments later a broom zoomed over head while the rider exclaimed: "Here now! What'cha got to go and do that for?"

"I yelled," Dennis replied as he jiggled one finger in an ear canal to restore his hearing, "but no one responded. Then I saw circle there and did what it said."

The elderly man scowled at him. His robes flapped about his legs and provided a relatively disgusting view when seen from underneath. Dennis tried not to look and stare only at the face.

"Could I get some assistance, please, sir?"

"With what?"

"I need to review at the Decennial Magus Annales for 1761 and the Census Veneficus for the same year," Dennis stated.

"They're on different floors. Bring a broom with you… or flying carpet?" The wrinkled man inquired while scrutinizing him.

"No one told me I needed to bring one."

"Figures. Always leaving out the important part," the grizzled fellow grumped. "Hold on. We got loaners. Let me get one."

It made sense to Dennis as he stood and waited. His eye kept returning to the brass circle in the stone, and he felt like touching his wand to it a second time. However, he did not bring a set of clean clothes with him, and it seemed certain repeated exposure to the call system would force him to soil his pants. His body continued to vibrate from the monstrous thrum. About two minutes after the clerk departed, he returned towing a rather sad looking broom next to him. He released it. In awkward jerks it floated downward.

"It can be temperamental, but it works. It's got a listening port near the tip of the handle. Just shout the name of the book you're looking for, and it will do its best to take you to it," the seemingly completely unembarrassed man said from the broom floating two and half meters from the floor.

"What do you mean do it's best?" Dennis asked since it seemed an important point.

"It gets tired if has to go for too long. You'd better take the lift to the second floor first… or the stairs."

"And what floor is the Census on?"

"Sixth. Below this one. Might want to take the stairs coming up. The lifts get lazy on the way up and like to take their time. You might get stuck here for an extra two or three hours."

Before Dennis could ask any further questions, the man zoomed away. Once more he toyed with the idea of using the call horn. Deciding against it, the young wizard carefully climbed aboard the very old Shooting Star. It barely seemed to hold his weight. Then Dennis climbed off and went in search of the lifts. The directional signs on the walls did not do a good job delineating between book sections and physical services. The use of the revelio spell proved even more useless as it caused his wand to point downward and spin in a circle when looking for the elevators. After hunting around for a few minutes, he cracked the code of the signs and found the lifts.

Each floor Dennis passed lay in eerie silence. When the lift shuddered to a halt on the second sub-level and the door grudgingly opened, he stepped out into a darkened corridor. The magical sconces flickered to life and shed their wan light on the black marble floor. Dennis' ears strained to pick up even a single sound, but only the echo of quiet greeted him. He climbed onto the shaky Shooting Star. It barely held him aloft.

"Seventeen-sixty-one Decennial Magus Annales," he said loudly toward the handle of the broom.

Following four weak shudders, the broom began to move. It flew at a fast walking clip. While it became a little frustrating, Dennis got to see the library in greater detail. He also got completely lost as the broom turned several times and stair-stepped its way toward the destination. He passed stacks and stacks of the twelve-meter long racks of shelves, each rack containing one Annales edition. He also saw shelf upon self of commentary and other related historical works. The place smelled like dried out vellum, and it began to tickle the back of his nose and throat. The fact the Annales were non-magical in nature meant he did not suffer passing through randomly magically charged areas. It took almost ten minutes before the broom came to a limpid halt and sank to floor as if perishing.

"Huh, it worked," Dennis said as he scanned the main brace rail with the date carved into the wood every three meters.

The rail also contained a month indicators. He immediately went to the section designated for September. Then Dennis stood and considered what to do when faced with the equivalent of eight five-thousand page volumes. His brain reminded him he already created spells for searching through large books. His wand appeared in his hand. Then Dennis retrieved his pen and a scroll of parchment and kept them at the ready. He spread his arms out in either direction and touched his wand to massive tome.

"Illuminare page pernumero Thomas Lester Jonathan North," Dennis incanted.

Within the September section several pages glowed, but others in various other portions before and after September also lit up. Above his wand a list of page numbers appeared, each annotated with Thomas' name, appeared. Dennis quickly recited the copying spell. His ballpoint pen skittered across the parchment preserving the information. Dennis decided to read the September information first. He flipped open to the first illuminated page, and his eyes immediately began to goggle. The very first sentence presented information he never knew. Dennis eyed his roll of parchment. He put it away and pulled out the thick notebook of spiral bound college-ruled paper. Then he made an adjustment to the copying spell so it would use a smaller sized font. He then set about learning some of the true history of Thomas Lester Jonathan North, Earl of Nottingham.

Dennis exhausted three hours copying and reading the entries in the 1761 Decennial Magus Annales. He began to fear his ballpoint pen might run dry. It still produced legible script even by the end of massive copying job. His brain felt both mushy and overstuffed with new information, much would require greater scrutiny when he got home. He stowed his material in his backpack, grabbed the Shooting Star from where it nearly lay on the floor, and held out his hand with his wand resting on his palm.

"Revelio exit stairs," Dennis said after concentrating for a few moments. He then started to walk and follow the direction his wand indicated. He arrived at the stairs faster than it took to find the Annales location.

The wide staircase made from the same green marble used at the Ministry led the upward for half the story distance, and then a switchback took him up the second half. The automated torches sprang to life as he got near. However, darkness both led and trailed him. As Dennis made his way along, he agreed with the librarian the broom would never survive travel through the stairwell. Years of practicing self-defense and training with ghosts and paintings in other combat skills left Dennis very fit. Working with Mr. Odpadki in waste removal continued that trend and toned his muscles. Thus, four flights of stairs did not tire or wind him.

At the top of the stairs, Dennis mounted the broom. In a clear, loud voice he said: "Seventeen-sixty-one Census Veneficus!"

It took thirty-four seconds before the broom began to move. As it traveled, and Dennis did not even bother to try to remember the trail, he pondered what he knew about brooms. He never got called on to play for the house quidditch team, so his interest in flying brooms fell on the pedestrian side. Cleansweeps, Comets, Firebolts, and Nibuses remained fairly popular, he recalled. Dennis knew little about them outside of the names, and he knew other brands and models existed. His pondering took him all the way to the stacks were the Census volumes got stored. When Dennis got off the broom, it flopped to the ground and rolled over. It seemed uncertain whether it would fly again any time soon.

The shelves filled with the Census Veneficus stared at him. The spines got decorated with the year in Roman numerals. Dennis grunted in frustration. He pulled out his notebook and pen, and then sat on the floor. It took him several minutes to transpose the year from Arabic numbers to Roman numerals. He check it over three times to make certain he got it right.

"Okay, M is one thousand, D is five hundred… add C for one hundred, and another C. L is fifty plus X for ten, I for one. MDCCLXI," he mumbled to himself as a final check, It sounded right to him.

He stood and started scanning the books and breathed a sigh of relief when he located the volume. The librarian at the Ministry of Magic library seemed to think editions might be missing. When Dennis began to remove the volume from the shelf, he almost dropped the book. The sheer weight of it made his arms sag and wobble. Instead of trying to carry it to a desk, Dennis set it on the floor. It felt like it weighed five stones.

"What the bloody hell?" Dennis quailed when he flipped open the cover and examined the table of contents.

The Census book presented a dizzying number of cross-reference listings. It organized witches and wizards by gender, age, location, height, weight, blood (although Dennis discovered this meant ethnicity), wand wood, wand core, wand length, shoe size, hat size, glove size, robe length, number of children, number of living children, number of deceased children, number of magical parents, number of muggle (although the book called them 'nonmagi') parents, region of claimed birth, region of actual birth, region of death, region(s) of false death reports, region of consistent habitation, region(s) of wizarding law infractions, number of reported sightings, and on and on. The table of contents, although the book termed it Order of Numerics, ran for over one hundred and seventy pages. The tables of data filled another one-thousand, three hundred, and fifty-five additional pages.

Dennis spent forty-one minutes narrowing his search and honing his spell to limit the hits to only Nottingham and those witches and wizards living in or who passed through at the right time. Much to his tired astonishment, the list contained the names of fifty-four people. The results made the young wizard angry. He copied the information, including some of the data points he thought might come in useful. Dennis then spent a minute adjusting his searching charm to list only the unique names appearing in the Census and a total count. The results shocked Dennis.

A lowly number of 21,866 sat at the bottom of the list. Dennis vaguely recalled the British population during the American revolt in 1776 hovered somewhere around seven million. He guess the population in 1761 to be between five and six million. It did not take a mathematical wizard to see the magical population in England existed far below one percent of the total population. Dennis recalled Professor Binns talking about the systematic hunts for witches and wizards (called warlocks at the time) throughout the centuries that decimated the magical population. It led to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. It helped stabilize the population. He knew a fraction over a million magical persons, excluding the magical races, lived within the British and Irish Isles.

"Maybe we do need the secrecy laws," Dennis muttered to himself as he contemplated the numbers. "Maybe, but what about these fifty-four people."

He looked at the list. Thomas' name got counted among them, and it labeled him as the Earl of Nottingham. Thus, fifty-three people remained. One of them must be the murderer, the young wizard thought to himself. Regardless that his eyes felt burned out of his head after four hours of non-stop research in the dark halls of the library annex, Dennis thought of more information searches he needed to do in order to confirm suspicions, as suggested by Professor Flitwick. He levitated the book to its spot on the shelf. Then removed the previous year's edition.

After compiling a list from 1760 and one from 1762, Dennis used them to sort his 1761 list into two columns: people who lived in Nottingham and people who did not. Forty-seven of the original group seemed to be residents of the town since they appeared on all three lists. Of the remaining seven, four never visited Nottingham either before or after their 1761 appearance. Dennis knew he could further winnow the group if he used the staggeringly broad data collected in the Census Veneficus. He would save that for another day if Thomas could not identify his murderer in one way or another. The young wizard set about putting away the books, stored his now precious lists of suspects, picked up the lifeless Shooting Star, and headed for the stairs after using the revelio spell.

Food became the first priority, so Dennis decided to head home. He also wanted to review all the information he collected in order to form a coherent story he could present to Lord North. The jumps from apparating stations to his house took him less than a quarter of a minute. His mother started when he popped into the living the room. She sat on the couch reading a couple of new magazines.

"You look gray," his mother said and started to set aside the reading material.

"You'd be gray, too, if you spent five hours in the Ministry of Magic Library Annex Catacombs in York. Seven levels below ground each the size of stadium field, and no bloody decent lighting. What's the point in that? It's a library," Dennis grumbled more from hunger than form any actual dissatisfaction. The biscuits he ate with tea in Professor Flitwick's rooms long since stopped sustaining him. "Gonna make a sandwich, Mum."

"Dinner's at six-thirty," she reminded him as she following him to the kitchen.

Dennis set his backpack at the door entrance and went to work crafting an enormous ham, cheese, and tomato sandwich. His mother complained he would ruin his appetite for supper, and he could smell some aromas coming out of the oven. While he prepared his meal, he told his mother about his talks with Thomas and Professor Flitwick. She stayed uncharacteristically quiet while he describe the library and the books he searched, and she also poured him a glass of cold tea. His small story led both of them to the dining table. They sat across from one another.

"That's some impressive investigating, Dennis," his mother complimented him right when he took a big bite of his sandwich. "You know some clever folks."

Dennis chewed, swallowed, and said: "Cleverer than me. Thomas told me what to look for and Professor told me where to look."

"And?" His mother prodded.

"And I'm thinking it's a good bet we might've found the bastard who killed him."