a/n: (tackles everyone) Did you miss me! I missed you!

I was gone for a number of reasons, none of which I feel like going into detail about on here. But I'm back now, and I missed you guys a lot! This chapter and the one after it were originally all one big, gigantic chapter, but I decided it was too long. It has been split in two to make it easier to read and organize. Chapter 4 still needs a bit of editing, but will be coming soon after this one. No lies this time.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I own the socks on my feet. Yay?

Chapter 3: Another Reunion

Claire and Robin walked boldly up to the great metal door. Both found the symbol engraved upon it very intriguing, but what was even more curious was that there was no doorknob, doorbell, or any other type of device to aid them in entering.

"What do you think we're supposed to do?" Claire asked, tracing the symbol with the tip of her finger.

"Beats me," Robin said, shrugging her shoulders. "Try something."

Unable to think of anything incredibly creative, Claire just placed her hands on the door and shoved with all her might.

"Clever," Robin said sarcastically. "Scoot over, I'll help you—"

However, Claire didn't think staying near the door was a very good idea. A bright blue ring surrounded her right hand where it was touching the steel. She tried with all her might to pull it free with her left hand, but it remained there as if glued to the surface.

"Robin, don't touch it!" Claire shouted wildly.

But too late, Robin had already begun to shove at the door. She, too, seemed unable to remove her right hand from the metal that was glowing a brilliant shade of aqua around her fingertips.

"Don't panic," Robin said, though her own voice shook slightly and her eyes were darting around in their sockets. "This is probably how it works—don't worry—"

Suddenly, the girls heard a cool voice, speaking as clearly as though someone was standing right beside them.

"Claire Marie Woods," said the voice with an efficient air. "Age fourteen years, twenty-six days. Previously inhabited Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Present for hearing with the High Council."

The area around Claire's hand changed from blue to red. Then the voice spoke again.

"Robin Beatrice Gregory," it said. "Age fourteen years, three months, ten days. Previously inhabited Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Present for hearing with the High Council."

The metal around Robin's hand glowed red as well. The girls exchanged an apprehensive glance. Many clicking noises rang through the air, as if the door was unlocking itself. Finally, the metal surrounding their hands changed color a final time to bright violet, and the door opened just a crack, waiting for them to enter.

Claire pulled her hand away quickly, relieved it hadn't been cut off or stuck to the door forever. As soon as her breathing returned to normal, she turned to Robin and grinned.

"Beatrice?" she said with a laugh.

Robin scowled and retorted, "Oh and Marie is very original! Yeah, never heard that one before!"

Both clutching their right hands in their left, they turned their attention back to the door. There was time enough for a sharp breath and a nod before the girls pushed it open the remainder of the way and stepped inside.

"Wipe your feet on the mat, please, ladies," said the voice that had spoke to them a moment before. "The matinence staff is not too thrilled with the way you people parade in here with your muddy sneakers."

Claire was thinking of anything but the state of her shoes. It appeared they were just inside the main entrance to S.M.O.G Headquarters, and there was a great deal to look at. In front of them was a large, semi-circle, glass desk at which many women (some, by the look of them, not much older than Claire or Robin) were busily scribbling notices, punching keys on typewriters, and answering shrilly ringing phones, all dressed in a bright blue blazer suit with S.M.O.G.'s logo on the breast pocket. The walls appeared to be made of the same stainless steel as the door and they were covered with posters that said cheesy phrases like "What the author writes is the fan's delight!" or "What's a good read without a good reader?" Several doors lead off of this main foyer, colored bright blue, and many different sorts of people were passing in and out. There were also a large assortment of animals wandering about; birds, cats, dogs, everything Claire had ever seen in a zoo, and more. A man carrying several fish in a bowl passed by, Claire gaping after him.

"Excuse me, missy!" said the voice again, sounding annoyed. "Your shoes!"

Claire focused on closing her mouth and turning around. She saw that she was being addressed by a very, very short man. In fact, he was the smallest man she had ever seen. He was dressed in the same rather violent blue blazer as the secretaries and sitting atop a very high stool so that he was about the average person's height, though his little legs did not even reach over the edge of his seat. He was staring around at a great many keyboards and monitors, some of which appeared to be cameras that showed what was going on outside the fortress. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail with a matching blue ribbon and he wore an expression of great disgust.

Claire tried to talk, but all that came out was a sort of babble that neither Robin nor the little man seemed to understand. Rolling her eyes, Robin shoved her aside and took the reigns.

"Sir, we're here for a hearing with the High Court," she said.

"I know!" said the little man stoutly, pointing to one of his many screens. Upon further inspection, Claire saw that he had two files open—one with her name and one with Robin's, complete with photographs, birthdates, medical records, pet peeves, and even (she blinked a few times to make sure she read it properly) toothpaste preferences. It was like her entire life was documented on this computer file.

"I'm sure you do know, sir," Robin continued. "You seem like the type of person to know many important things, like—"

"Indeed!" said the man in the same impatient tone.

"Well, sir, I was wondering—could you perhaps tell us where we're supposed to go? All I was told was how to get the Headquarters and I'm sure the Council has been waiting to see us for a very long time…"

It wasn't until then did the little man actually met their eyes, tearing them away from his precious monitors. He studied each of their faces carefully, and then began mumbling to himself, scrolling down on the screens containing the girls' files. Suddenly, he seemed to find what he was looking for. He looked up at them, smiling rather evilly.

"A long time, indeed…" he said, showing off many gold teeth. "Well, young ladies, I suggest you go up to the front desk. They will address you in matters such as where—troublemakers are to go."

Robin thanked him, grabbed Claire by the arm and dragged her forward towards the desk, leaving the little man cackling himself into the hiccups on his stool and almost plowing over a very frazzled looking woman who was trying to lead a battalion of leashed newts across the foyer.

"This place is nuts," Claire commented, feeling slightly dazed.

"I have a feeling we haven't seen the half of it," Robin replied. "Here we go—excuse me, ma'am?"

Robin was addressing a woman with white, frizzy hair who was punching keys on a large typewriter behind the glass desk. The phone sitting at her station had rung as soon as Robin had opened her mouth to speak.

"S-M-O-G for all your fantasy fantasies, Belinda speaking!" she said with the speed of an auctioneer. She listened momentarily and rolled her eyes. "No, no, Woodrow, I've already you—the badgers aren't needed until next week! And by the way, someone from your department needs to get down here and clear off these ridiculous talking trees; they're annoying the ferrets—"

Robin coughed impatiently. "Excuse me, ma'am, but could you tell us where—?"

"NO, Woodrow!" The woman banged a many-ringed fist down on the glass desktop, making Claire and Robin step back in alarm. "The boss said no more dwarves, they are far too fluctuant—!"

"EXCUSE me!" Robin half-shouted.

While Robin continued (rather frivolously) to get the secretary's attention, Claire was having another look around. Talking trees? Ferrets? Dwarves? What kind of place was this?

She was watching as two small people with bright pink hair darted past, trying to cover their heads as they ran through a door on the opposite side of the room when something strange caught her eye. There was a potted tree with legs walking slowly across the hall. Claire cocked an eyebrow at it, watching its progress with mild interest. Was this one of those talking tree things that the secretary was yelling at Woodrow about? No—then why was it still in a pot? How strange…

"Kids these days—no patience, no patience," muttered Belinda the secretary, slamming the phone on the receiver and looking up over the tops of their heads. She took a sharp breath and added, "For Pete's sake, put that plant down, boy! The last thing you need is to wreck the décor with all the trouble you're in!"

The tree Claire had been watching seemed to sigh in defeat. As the pot slowly descended to the floor, the torso of a boy appeared. He was dark-haired and tall, with a pair of watchful, golden yellow eyes. Though she knew it was rude, Claire stared at him as he tried to shove his way through the nearest door. Those eyes…there was something oddly familiar about those eyes…

And then it hit her like a bucket of ice water in the face.

"Aquinas! " she said in surprise. She shoved Robin aside and interrupted Belinda at the desk, "Hey! Hey, is that boy's name Aquinas? That one over there pushing that man with the cart out of the way?"

She pointed him out, though it wasn't terribly difficult, seeing as the boy was causing quite a scene, using many desperate and somewhat violent means to get people out of his way in his attempt to go through the nearest exit. Belinda squinted through the crowd and nodded, "Yes, yes, Aquinas Smith. He's an Observer here. You've met, I take it?"

"Yeah, but—but why is he human And—oh good Lord, what is he doing! Hey, Aquinas! HEY!"

The boy was clearly keen on not being spotted, going as far as to dive straight into a cart full of mail to hide. Claire, however, would not be thrown off so easily. A sudden fury was coursing through her veins; she could scarcely hear for the blood pounding in her ears. She ran straight through a crowd of kids and began throwing papers out of the cart in her hunt for the boy hidden beneath them, much to the dismay of the mailman.

"Excuse me, young lady, but if you'd be so kind as to step aside—" he was saying, attempting to turn the cart away and go back the way he had come.

"Where are you, you little—AHA! It IS you!" Claire exclaimed, grabbing Aquinas by his messy hair and pulling him out of the cart with strength she never knew she had.

"Lemme go! Get off!" the boy was saying, trying to pry her fingers from his scalp.

The mailman shrugged and said, "I tried, Aquinas. Sorry."

"That's okay, Rich. I appreciate the effort," Aquinas said, wincing in pain. "Let go of my hair, you imbecile! I just brushed it not two minutes ago—"

"Why didn't you ever tell me!" Claire snapped, cutting him off. "Why didn't you ever tell me about the Headquarters! I had no idea—!"

"And this concept is new to me how, exactly?" Aquinas said scathingly, glaring through the pain. "Seriously, let go—!"

Claire began to shake her captive.

"Do—you—have—any—idea—what—I've—been—through—you—piece—of—"

"Claire, what are you doing! Let go of him!"

Robin hurried to the scene, prying the boy free while staring at Claire with reproachful eyes. Claire never once took her eyes off him, giving him a look to send shivers down the spine. He, however, merely brushed the dust off of his shirt and began readjusting his hair.

"Why are you attacking people?" Robin asked, sounding like a mother whose child was misbehaving in a department store. "If it was to make a good impression, let me assure you that it is not helping."

Claire blew a strand of hair out of her face and continued to leer at the boy, who was trying to fix his pell-mell hair style to no avail. She had absolutely no idea why she was suddenly furious with someone who had once been—at least to some extent—her friend. Perhaps it was just nice to blame someone other than herself.

"Robin, don't you know who this is?" Claire said. It came out as sort of a low growl.

Robin sighed and turned towards the boy, studying his features carefully. It wasn't until she caught his eyes that she jumped back in surprise.

"Whoa! Aquinas!" she said, surprised. "You know, I thought you'd be shorter."

"I wonder why," Aquinas replied, glaring about at all the employees who were staring in their direction. "The Observatory department is, shall we say, less than fond of me. They always give me completely ridiculous guises whenever I go into a story. I remember once they made me a flea—I'm still hearing wise cracks about that one."

He took notice of Claire's expression and cocked an eyebrow. The resemblance of her once feathery friend was uncanny.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to come at all," Aquinas said with mild interest, as if the weatherman had wrongly predicted thundershowers. "It probably would have been better for me if you hadn't, actually." He turned his attention to Robin. "I was at least expecting you to get here sooner."

Robin adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and explained, "I had to find Claire first. I didn't want to come alone, and neither did she."

"You mean if I had even known what the Headquarters was?" Claire spat.

Aquinas ignored her.

"What time did you get here?" he asked Robin.

"About five minutes ago," she answered. "Do you know—?"

"That means the trial will be starting in about three minutes," Aquinas said, staring at his watch. He reached up and finished placing strips of hair over one another, so that it looked as if he had just stepped out of a wind tunnel. It was supposed to look messy, but, being Aquinas, it was oddly neat. The look suited him.

"Follow me, I'll show you where to go," he said.

He set off across the atrium, Robin and Claire hurrying along after him. They followed him through one of the many blue doors into a stone hallway with artificial torches on the walls. It was as if they were in a completely different building.

"What's going to happen at the trial?" Claire asked, her anger replaced almost immediately by nerves. "Are they just going to ask us questions? I bet that's it—I mean, they can't…they can't punish us, right?"

Robin wasn't really listening. As they walked down the hall, people in blue blazers stopped and stared, and the moment the girls and Aquinas had passed they began muttering to each other behind their hands.

"They won't punish you," Aquinas answered, continuing to maneuver his way passed gawking people.

"What do you—?"

"Why is everyone staring?" Robin hissed. "Is there something pinned to my back?"

"Let's just say you guys are somewhat famous around here," Aquinas answered, waiting for a gaggle of girls to get out of his way. They stared through narrowed eyes as the trio passed. "I mean, anyone would be if they almost got the program shut down."

"What?" Claire said in surprise, watching over her shoulder at the sneering girls, all dressed in the S.M.O.G. uniform.

She took notice of something else.

"Hey, Quin, how come you don't have a blazer?" she asked, pointing to his jeans and t-shirt. "Not very professional of you, now is it?"

That did it.

"Look," Aquinas said sharply, spinning around to face her so quickly that Claire ran right into him. He caught her by her elbows and glared into her eyes. "This is serious business, okay? Every word you say in here involves consequences, so for once in your life, I want you to think before you do or say anything . Your words could effect more people than just yourself. We're not playing games any more. Do you understand?"

Claire nodded mutely, heart working overtime to send fear to every part of her body. Sure, Aquinas had been angry with her before, but he had been less than a foot tall then. He was much more frightening now that he was a normal size and had reposable thumbs.

"Good," Aquinas said, releasing her and continuing on his way, Robin and Claire trying to keep up. "We'll all be tried at the same time, so don't lie. Just keep your story straight and to the point. Here we are—"

Aquinas stopped at the end of the hallway in front of two large oak doors. Another short man in a blue blazer was sitting on a stool, taking notes on a clipboard that looked larger than he was.

"We have a meeting with the Council," Aquinas informed him.

He looked up sharply, but continued scribbling at his notes without looking down at the clipboard. Claire noticed he was missing the paper by a clear inch.

"The full Council?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"You heard me, pal," Aquinas said testily.

The short man let out a long, low whistle and said, "I don't even remember the last time we had one of them! Must've been a clear—oh, I don't know—fifty, sixty years—!"

"As fascinating as this history lesson is," Aquinas said, sounding much like the little owl Claire remembered from two years ago, "we are going to be late if you don't let us pass. So why don't you write our names down on your cute little notepad and let us through? By the way, it helps if the pen is actually on the paper."

The little man looked down at his notes and started, realizing he had just written half a paragraph on the clipboard instead of his note paper. Scowling, he took down their names and admitted them through the doors. Throwing one last glance over her shoulder, Claire noticed he continued to watch the three of them long after they had passed.

Beyond the door all was pitch black, except for a spotlight that was shining down upon two, straight-backed chairs in the center of the room. Aquinas made a gesture that told the girls to sit. Claire lowered herself nervously into the seat beside Robin, who was squinting around in attempt to see their surroundings. But it was pointless; all was consumed in darkness.

"Don't be nervous," Aquinas said, sounding nicer than he had since their less-than-pleasant reacquaintance. "I mean, they haven't lobbed off someone's head in about—oh—three hundred years, maybe? But, of course, that could always mean they're getting restless for some violence—"

"That's enough, Aquinas," Robin said. Claire gulped audibly. "We're going to be fine. Claire hasn't even had a chance to show you what she brought with her. It's amazing, it might even get us a second chance—"

"Pardon me, did you just say second chance?" Aquinas said scathingly, cupping his hand around his ear as if he hadn't heard her correctly. "Look kid, I don't know what sort of dream world you're living in, but in this business any sort of chance is rare and second chances are most certainly prohibited. And you seem to be forgetting that this would be her third chance." He pointed an accusatory finger at Claire.

"Would you give it a rest?" Claire hissed. "You're acting like I did something to personally offend you—"

"No kidding," Aquinas answered.

At that moment, a plump man in a feathered hat stepped out from the darkness in front of Claire and Robin. Aquinas sat in a chair against the right wall in the shadows, crossing his arms and legs while jiggling his foot in an agitated manner.

Claire turned her attention to the round man in front of her, who reminded her of Tweedle Dee.

"All rise for the Honorable High Council!" he sang out in a comical voice.

Claire and Robin rose nervously to their feet, wondering what was to come.

a/n: DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAAaaaa! The trial is to come—what will happen? Why is Aquinas so angry? Will the girls really get their heads lobbed off? You don't have to wonder for very long, for the next chapter will be up within a week.

(hugs everyone) I missed you guys!