a/n: (fidgets into the room, coughs nervously) Hi there. Okay, please don't kill me before I have a chance to explain why I was gone for—er—several months.

Originally, I had this chapter all finished in less than a week. Then I realized I had forgotten an important detail (and I mean VERY important detail!) that I had to go back and rework into the chapter. However, at that point, I had sort of lost my gusto to work on this fic because (fidgets again) well, I've been working on a story of my own. It sounds silly, but everything is really falling into place with it. So, while the iron was hot, I put all other stories on hold and worked on my sad excuse for a novel. I'm still working on that, don't get me wrong, but I was feeling more and more guilty as time went on for just leaving you guys where I left you.

So. Here I am! (smiles weakly) I really hope you guys understand where I'm coming from. I'm serious about writing, more serious about it than anything else. That's why I'm taking the time to work on my own stuff. Please forgive me, I'm back into fanfiction and I'm going to be updating this story more often—probably not an every week sort of thing, but I want to finish it. It bugs me just sitting on here with all its loose ends. So, I apologize from the bottom of my heart, really, sincerely, and I hope you accept it and enjoy chapter four with all the kinks worked out! I love you guys, thanks for having the patience to deal with me and read my stuff!

Disclaimer: If I had a nickel for ever ounce of love in my heart for Harry Potter, I just might be as rich as the woman who DOES own the boy. But alas, love does not count as money in this world…damn it.

Chapter 4: The Trial

Another spotlight clicked on, and directly in front of them they could see the outline of a long judge's bench. Three tall figures in long robes entered the room from the left and right, and a final figure entered from the center. All walked silently to their seats in an orderly fashion, stomping their feet in sync as they turned to face the defendants. As Claire thought back on the experience later, it would have been a lot less intimidating if she could have seen more than just their silhouettes.

The seven Councilmen stood stock-still for what felt like hours, but finally pulled out their chairs and sat down in a perfectly synchronized fashion.

"Be seated!" said the plump court attendant.

Claire, Robin, and Aquinas did as they were instructed and waited. Finally, the figure seated in the center chair spoke.

"This is case number five hundred seventy-one," read the booming, male voice. "Will the defendants please rise and state first, middle, and last names for the Court?"

Claire and Robin stood again, Claire's legs feeling oddly like jelly as she spoke.

"Claire Marie Woods," she croaked.

"Robin Beatrice Gregory," her friend replied, slightly stronger.

"Very well," said the same voice. "The clerk will take down these names and read the list of offenses for the Court."

The plump man rose again from his seat in front of the bench. He cleared his throat and pulled a long scroll from his pocket, which dropped to the floor as it unrolled. Claire felt her stomach churn unpleasantly.

"Woods and Gregory," he said, "are charged with the following offenses: making direct contact with main characters in the book Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban; changing events that took place in Harry Potter in the Prisoner of Azkaban, ultimately leading to changes in the books Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix; changing the romantic interest in a main character in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban—"

"Oh, I do hate that one!" said a different voice from the judge's bench.

"I agree," said someone else, sounding somewhat grim. "But then again, I'm not one for love." He sighed. "Oh, my Annabelle!"

"Oh, give it a rest, Eddie!" said another, sounding more cunning than the first. "I've been listening to you moan about that stupid girl for the last one hundred and fifty years! Besides, she was thirteen years old and you were related! That's a little perverted, my friend—"

"And you are really one to talk, dear Geoff?" said the first voice, sounding offended by the man seated down the bench from him.

"Oh, come now, everyone loves a little scandal—if you know what I mean—"

"The Council will remain in order while the clerk is reading the list of offenses!" shouted the man in the middle, sounding irate.

Claire chanced a glance at Robin, who was staring up at the judge's bench, wondering if this was some sort of a joke. Leaning around Robin, Claire saw Aquinas slap his palm to his forehead as if embarrassed. She grinned. She could hardly see this theatre troupe sending them off to the chopping block. She hadn't wanted to believe it, but maybe they did have a chance after all…

The clerk cleared his throat and continued, "As I was saying…oh dear, now I've lost my place…Good gracious!" He began skimming hurriedly through the long scroll in his hands.

"Please get on with it, Gustov," said the Head Judge once again.

"Yes, oh Honorable One!" said Gustov, finding his place at last at the bottom of the long list. "—causing the death of a character in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban; and finally, for changing the factional world by causing the discontinuation of the Harry Potter series."

All was silent in the court room. Claire swallowed.

"Lights, please," said the Head Judge.

Two spotlights ahead illuminated the judge's bench, and Claire tumbled over her chair in shock.

"Claire, you look like a fool!" Robin hissed, grabbing her arms and wrenching her to her feet. "Stand up!"

"But—oh my God!" Claire said in a shaky voice. "It's like the living dead!"

Everyone seated on the high bench could be recognized from some English text book the girls had seen over their educational career. But…no, surely she was dreaming now…

But she couldn't be! The name plates clearly read from left to right—John Milton, William Shakespeare, Jacob Grimm, Mark Twain, Wilhelm Grimm, Geoffrey Chaucer, and Edgar Allan Poe.

The man in the middle, Twain, shook his head and said to the defendants, "Never, in all my years on the High Court, have I seen such offenses as these to the world of fiction. Never."

The man second from the girls' right, Chaucer, made a rude noise and laughed.

Twain furrowed his bushy brows and said, "Yes, Geoff? Would you like to make an intelligent comment?"

"Of course not, that would be silly!" said Chaucer. "I was merely laughing at you, Sammy boy! 'All my years on the High Council…' Please! I've been here nearly 400 years longer than you have and you don't hear me gloating about it for dramatic effect!"

"Me thinks thou doth protest too much," commented the man sitting second from their left, Shakespeare.

"Cork it, Shakes," said Chaucer.

"That's really quite enough!" said Twain, banging his gavel in attempts to bring some sort of order.

"This is all very much rather depressing," said Poe with a sigh. "Oh sweet angel known as death, come and rip me from my seat and take me off to sweet salvation!"

"Oh, Eddie, don't be so morose!" said Chaucer, ruffling Poe's hair and patting him on the back. "Lighten up! Honestly it's like you're stuck inside those grotesque romances of yours! You should take a leaf out of my book and just put it behind you. I mean, c'mon, I'm not about to start speaking in rhyme—"

"You know, all of this does remind me of the time, on the Big River, when the tide was rising along with the panic on board my steamboat—" said Twain thoughtfully. "I say! Have I ever told you what she was called? Beautiful name—"

"YES!" shouted everyone on the bench rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

"These trips down memory lane are far too cheerful for me," said Poe with a sigh.

"Hear hear, good man," said Jacob Grimm.

"I agree," said his brother, Wilhelm. "All happy tales should end in a bit of peril or death! I say, it adds for a bit of dramatic effect—"

"I couldn't agree more, my dear brother," said Jacob.

They all continued to talk and banter and argue until a sharp whistle rang throughout the room. Claire and Robin turned to see a livid Aquinas on his feet, trying to get the High Council's attention.

"I hate to break up this ever-loving circus act here," Aquinas said, stepping into the spotlight to speak. "But may I remind all the mature adults present that we are here for a trial, not a high school reunion! Let's move on, shall we?"

Every eye of the Council was glaring in Aquinas's direction, who bravely folded his arms and stood his ground.

"You are in enough trouble as it is, Mr. Smith," said the man on their far left, Milton. "I suggest you be seated and let us proceed with the trial before we deal with you."

Aquinas raised his hands in mock defeat and returned to his chair. Claire was starting to feel nauseous from all the excitement.

Milton stood and said, "I, for one, agree with Samuel. I have never seen such a list of offenses."

Claire blinked and turned to Robin.

"Who's Samuel?" she asked.

Robin rolled her eyes and said, "I guess you don't pay attention in school, either. Twain was a penname—his real name was Samuel Clemens."

"Oh…right," Claire said, turning back to the judges.

"The Council will now proceed to question the defendants, one at a time," Twain said, resuming some air of order. "William? Do you have anything to add thus far?"

Shakespeare merely blinked and said, "I will speak daggers to her, but use none."

Twain looked confused. Chaucer snorted behind his hand. Poe perked up at the word "daggers."

"Well, that's—er—good, William. Very good…" He coughed once. "That being said, I will pose the first question."

"Why do you always get to go first!" said Jacob Grimm

"Yes yes, I agree, you do always have to be in the lime light," said Wilhelm Grimm.

"Lime…I say, that reminds me of a time, back in the days when I was merely a school boy in good ol' St. Louie—" Twain reminisced.

"ENOUGH!" shouted Milton, banging his gavel as well. "This is ridiculous! I will pose the first question."

"I think he has some hidden anger issues," Poe muttered to Chaucer.

"Yeah, tone it down a little, Johnny boy," said Chaucer.

Milton shot them a nasty look and replied, "If you think I can't take all your little comments after all the nonsense about my work being 'devil worship,' then let me assure you, you've thought wrong. Now, for goodness sake, shut up."

He turned to the girls and proceeded with a lecture while Chaucer stuck out his tongue and Poe snuck a long drink from something in a flask under the bench.

"I am familiar with your case, Woods and Gregory," said Milton, "and I can scarcely believe that two of our so highly-esteemed Bestowers would grant such a pair of irresponsible girls such a Gift as the one granted each of you two years ago. The Harry Potter books were enjoyed by all, but now they remain merely a pleasant memory of those who were inside the story at the time of its destruction. I must say, when we all heard the news, we seriously considered closing down the program altogether."

Claire, though cut down by his harsh words, was enlightened by the comical air of the trial up to this point. She boldly stepped forward and asked permission to speak.

"On what grounds!" Milton said angrily.

"Please," Claire said. "I'm afraid I don't really understand how—how this all works. Why is it we can remember and no one else can? How can we remember that there were two other Harry Potter books besides the three that came before J.K. Rowling stopped writing?" She paused before she added, "Sirs?"

All looked at one another before Twain spoke.

"All who had been given the Gift to visit the world of Harry Potter were, shall we say, witnesses as you proceeded along the road of sure destruction," he said. "Though they may not have been present at the time that the books were officially ruined, all could see the effects you two were having on the plot. They, alone, maintained the memories of reading the fourth and fifth Harry Potter books."

"So, you're saying because they were inside the story—like we were—they can remember, too?" Claire asked.

"Precisely," answered Twain. "Now I must ask that you refrain from all questioning until we have finished—"

"Just a couple more," Claire continued. "If it's not too—er—rude of me to ask, how can you be here? I mean…aren't you all—er…"

"Dead?" Chaucer finished lightly.

"Well—yeah!" Claire said.

"Oh, how I wish!" Poe said with a dry sob.

"Oh, no, my dear girl," Twain said with a wave of his hand. "Great literature never truly dies, you see. It lives on because people will read it until the end of time! Therefore, we are given the power to continue living here at the Headquarters, helping young ones like yourselves to grow up loving the world of fiction through the chance to visit the worlds you love. We, that is to say the seven of us, are members of the High Council because we were deemed the" —He puffed out his chest proudly— "best writers in all of fiction history."

Robin tilted her head and asked, "How come there aren't any women on the Council?"

The seven Members exchanged uncomfortable looks.

"Well, many have been trying to gain a seat for years," Milton answered, "but it will take a few more fans to allow them to serve on the Council. For example, a certain Dr. Tolkien has been on our backs for years over the matter—"

"Really?" Robin asked, looking excited. "Is he here somewhere? Gosh, I'd love to meet—"

"Wait—so you allow people to go into other stories besides just Harry Potter?" Claire interrupted. The concept had never even occurred to her before. "Like what?"

"Oh, the most popular or more modern fantasy tales," Twain said, enjoying this little interview far too much. "The Lord of the Rings is still a very common choice, and we've recently approved Gifts for the stories Artemis Fowl, A Series of Unfortunate Events—"

"I most enjoy those stories," said Poe, looking happy for the first time. "They're so full of…misfortune!"

"Yes yes, we know, Edgar, now please! I was talking!" said Twain, continuing on. "Let's see, where was I…oh yes, and our next considered approval is going to be The Bartimaeus Trilogy along with—"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to interrupt you, Samuel," said Milton, looking irritated. "May I remind you that we are supposed to be questioning the defendants, not the other way around?"

Claire stepped back to her place as Poe spoke up.

"May I ask the name of the character you so ruthlessly murdered?" he asked.

Robin took this one, stepping forward and saying, "Remus Lupin—but we didn't murder him, per say. We caused his death by being present in the Time-Turner sequence."

"Do you think I am easier to be played than a pipe!" Shakespeare said, slamming his fist onto the wood.

"Yes, I must agree with Billy here…I think," Chaucer said plainly. "In other words, you killed him. And he was not supposed to die, correct? He hasn't been killed by the author, has he?"

"No, he hasn't," said Wilhelm Grimm. "Unless his death was to be in the final novel, then no, he should be alive and well inside the story."

"To be alive is to be unwell!" said Poe, who was beating the tips of his fingers with his gavel. "This is all to much for me! The destruction of fantasy! Good heavens, could I use a drink—"

"Will someone do us all a favor and just stab this party animal over here?" Chaucer demanded. "Grimms, that's your area of expertise. Get one of your silly talking wolves to come gobble him up."

The Brothers Grimm looked offended, but were silenced by Milton, who sent them all a glare across the bench.

"So, Remus Lupin was killed because you were present in the story and the final two novels have disappeared from existence," Milton said, ticking the offenses off on his fingers. "There are still quite a few more offenses that need to be accounted for." He picked up a piece of paper and lifted a monocle to his eye, reading, "Changing the romantic interest in a main character. Which one of you is responsible for this atrocity?"

Claire felt the heat rising in her neck as she stood, trying to keep herself steady. She could feel Aquinas's harsh stare from across the room.

"I did," Claire said.

Chaucer began to applaud her.

"Way to spice things up a little!" he commended. "Surely you got the idea from my very own Wife of Bath? It sounds like her sort of sport—"

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Shakespeare commented.

This appeared to be the final straw for Poe, who burst into tears.

"Oh, cruel world! How could you smile upon these characters so unkindly?" he sobbed into his arms. "Why must they suffer the trials of love as I have! Why? Why? Why—"

Chaucer popped him over the head with his gavel.

"It is no wonder the author decided to discontinue the story," said Jacob Grimm, reading through his papers as Milton marched down the bench and began to wrestle the gavel from Chaucer's hands. "Romance often has a larger role to play as stories progress. With that ruined, I say, how could she continue down her story board? I don't believe I could have if someone got between Cinderella and her prince, for example…"

"—or Snow White and her prince—" said his brother.

"—or Sleeping Beauty and her—"

"MOVE ALONG!" Twain shouted. "You're moving slower than Huck on his raft, and it was nothing but a few twigs strung together with a bit of twine!...Say, did I ever tell you—?"

"Yes!" the Grimms said together.

Twain sat back, looking disheartened.

"Still," said Wilhelm Grimm, smiling ruefully as he read through his own notes ("Where am I…?" said Poe dreamily, watching Chaucer and Milton continue to wrestle for the gavel), "not many people can say they received their first kiss from Harry Potter!"

Claire covered her burning face with her hands. Aquinas chuckled, enjoying her torture. Robin wore an expression of one who had something unpleasant shoved under her nose.

"To hell with you!" Milton exclaimed, giving up his battle with Chaucer and stomping back to his seat.

"Well you would know all about that, now wouldn't you, Milty?" Chaucer spat, adjusting his clothes.

"I FIND IT UNECESSARY," Milton shouted over him, "to continue on! We are all familiar with this case, we know the offenses back to front, and I think it is safe to say we can make a well-formed decision as to what should come from this—"

"Wait!" Claire said, panicking at this sudden demand for a verdict. "Please—don't we get a chance to defend ourselves?"

"What's to defend?" Chaucer asked, patting his gavel lovingly. "You went into a story, destroyed it, and made no means to repair it. It's an open and shut case, if you'll pardon the pun."

"That's not true!" Robin chimed in, jumping up beside Claire. "Claire has made an effort—she's got it all worked out! Show them, Claire."

Claire thrust the notebook up in the air, hand shaking slightly. The judges stared at her blankly.

"You think we are impressed by this paper bound together by a thin strip of metal?" Twain said, adjusting the bifocals on his nose as his moustache twitched in irritation. "Yes, they were after our time, but we're not that far behind on things, young lady—"

Claire and Robin rolled their eyes.

"It's not the notebook itself you should be happy to see," Claire explained, thrusting the notebook at the Tweedle Dee clerk. "It's what's inside I think will interest you."

The clerk took the notebook, looked at it uncertainly, and then tossed it up to the judge's bench where Twain snatched it out of the air. His six fellows all gathered around him, reading over his shoulder as he flipped through its contents. All was silent for several minutes. Claire was too worried to summon hope, so she summoned her remaining courage instead.

"As you can see," Claire said, voice still shaking a little as she placed her hands on her hips, "I've spent the last two years going through the books. I know them even more completely than I knew them before. I know every, single detail that needs to be changed in order to restore the books back to their full glory."

"Surely, that's impossible."

It wasn't one of the judges that made this skeptical remark, but Aquinas from his chair off to the side.

"Actually, it's quite possible," Claire replied. She turned back to the bench. "All I need—"

"All we need," Robin corrected.

"Yes," Claire agreed. "All we need is a chance."

Twain removed his glasses and looked at the other six judges. A few shrugged. A couple sighed. Poe looked at them through crossed eyes. Claire held her breath…

"This is all well and good," Twain said at last, "however, I find that you two are untrustworthy. You can't go back into the books."

"Please," Claire said, "you don't understand. I promised—" Her voice cracked with suppressed emotions. "I promised I'd fix it."

"Oh, pish posh!" said Wilhelm Grimm defiantly. "Just because you promised you're little fictional boyfriend you'd return does not mean we are going to up and change our minds!"

"I'm not talking about Harry," Claire said, shaking off the insult. "I'm taking about Paulette Griggs, my great-grandmother."

The faces of all seven Councilmen lightened considerably, all turned to each other and collectively released a different sort of sigh.

"Dearest Paulette," said Twain. "I do remember her quite well—always willing to listen to my tales of the River and boyhood! Such a kind heart she had."

"Great sense of humor," said Chaucer, sounding serious for the first time all day.

"Fit to be a queen!" agreed the brothers.

"All that glistens is not gold," said Shakespeare with a smile.

"It was the last thing I ever said to her," Claire said, feeling suddenly desperate. "Please, don't make me break this promise."

A moment of silence. Then—

"We will need a moment to confer," said Twain.

The judges moved together in a tight circle, murmuring quietly. Occasionally, Claire caught a snatch of their conversation. "What could possibly…" or "..too irresponsible…" and "That one will be on your head, not mine…"

At last they turned to face the girls.

"We have reached our verdict," Twain said. "William?"

Shakespeare stood up, adjusted the ruffled collar underneath his judge's robes, and said, "Fair is foul, and foul is fair!"

Everyone stared.

Twain cleared his throat and said, "John, will you elaborate for the Court?"

Milton rolled his eyes, but obeyed nonetheless.

"You, however irresponsible you have proved yourselves in the past," Milton said, shooting daggers down the bench, "will be allowed a final—that means one—chance to repair past errors."

Claire and Robin leapt to their feet and cheered, hugging each other in celebration. They'd done it…!

"HOWEVER," Milton said loudly over their shouts of glee, "there will be certain conditions you must abide to, and the moment something goes wrong, you will be removed from the stories—for good."

"Understood," Claire said, smiling with triumph.

"Very well," Twain said. "We shall meet again tomorrow to agree upon the terms. Now, that is settled, and the two of you must read the latest installment before the clock chimes midnight, seeing as that is when the time limit will be up."

"I'm sorry," Robin asked. "Latest installment?"

"Of the series of course!" Twain said. He held up two thick books with green covers. Claire's heart skipped a beat. Could they really be what she thought they were? Was such a miracle even possible…?

"They would have come out today, July the sixteenth, if you two had not made a mess of things," Twain explained.

"So that's why we had to get here today?" Claire concluded.

"Yes," Twain answered.

Claire and Robin looked at each other with wide eyes, neither one willing to believe such a wish could come true.

"But—how did you guys have a copy of them if they were never even written!" Robin asked. "The story was discontinued!"

"That is a secret of the SMOG headquarters, and one that is not for you to know," Milton said seriously, clearly still upset about the Council's decision.

Claire thought she was about to burst with happiness, a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she think she would get to see another Harry Potter book. And yet, there it was, just barely out of her reach…

"Now, Mr. Smith here," he gestured to Aquinas, who stood, "will take you to the Reading Wing before he is to stand trial himself."

"Aquinas is having a separate trial?" Claire asked, smile slipping slightly.

"As an Observer, Mr. Smith should have conducted himself in a more commanding and responsible manner," Jacob Grimm explained, "and there are certain other rules he should have followed. Seeing as this is not the first time Mr. Smith has been in trouble, we see it fit that he be tried separately."

"Take the girls off, Smith," Twain said sternly. "They've only got about nine hours remaining to finish the story."

"Yes sir," Aquinas said sadly, rising to his feet. "C'mon you two, let's go—"

"Wait," Claire said, turning back to the judge's bench. "Listen, Aquinas had nothing to do with any of this—"

"Claire—" Aquinas began.

"It was all my fault, Robin had nothing to do with it either but Aquinas was always trying to talk me out of it—"

"Claire—" Aquinas hissed.

"Please, I'm not going back in without him—can't he be tried the same as us?"

"Come on!"

He grabbed her by her collar and dragged her out through another door.

"Sheesh, you never know when to shut up, do you?" Aquinas said. "Don't you know I could loose my license over this?"

Claire fell into step beside Robin, feeling light-headed from all that had just happened.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, I might never be allowed to go into a story, ever again," he answered, "or work here at all for that matter."

Claire felt a tidal wave of guilt consume her. She stopped walking and stared at her old friend.

"Aquinas, I—I didn't—"

"Of course you didn't," he said scathingly, grabbing her arm to pull her along their way. "You never do. All I know is this place is all I have, and you've done enough damage. Just let me deal with it myself."

The rest of their journey was a silent one, all the way up several flights of stairs to a completely white hallway with a few welcoming lights twinkling beside doors with large silver numbers. The entire time Claire was torn between remorse for what she had caused and excessive amounts of excitement over the book in her hands.

"Room four for you, Robin," he said, directing her through a door to their left, "and room three for you."

Robin didn't need telling twice. The door of room four was slamming in Claire's face before she had time to blink, and Claire distinctly hear a whoop of excitement as the lock clicked in the door jam.

Claire turned to Aquinas, hugging the book in her arms like a long-lost friend. Now that the book she never thought she'd see was enveloped safely in her embrace, she felt overwhelmingly relieved. They had a chance now, and more importantly, they had hope again.

"So," she said, attempting to lighten the mood, "is this the room where 'troublemakers' go?"

Aquinas did not return her smile. He narrowed his eyes and looked away. Claire felt her heart sink a few more notches. They had always bickered, her and Aquinas, but he had never been so upset that he would not meet her eye. She'd really done it this time.

"You only have a few hours left to finish that," he said monotonously. "I suggest you get in there and start it."

Claire frowned.

"Aquinas," she said, "I'm not lying. I really didn't know. If I did, I would have been here in a heartbeat."

He said nothing, but Claire ceased to care; she was fighting a losing battle with the boy and the book was calling to her. She looked at the title: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. She couldn't wait to find out what it meant, what it was all about…

"I'll be out here when you're done," he said.

As Aquinas seated himself on the floor, Claire turned the knob to enter room number three and shut the door smartly behind her.

It was the perfect room for reading. Soft lights hung on the walls and a fire was crackling merely in the grate. The entire floor was made of a floaty, almost liquid-feeling material. As Claire flopped down upon it, it seemed to mold to the shape of her body. Claire could scarcely remember ever being so comfortable.

At last, Claire turned to the book sitting beside her. Suddenly, every problem, every worry that had formulated in her mind since her return from Hogwarts seemed to fade away. Today, at this moment, Claire was just another kid reading another Harry Potter book. She was normal again.

A smile like none she had smiled in two long years spread across her face as she opened to the first page.

It was nearly midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind…

"No…It can't be…No!"

Her heart was pounding in her chest like the sounds of a mighty battle drum. She knew what was coming—could see it coming a hundred pages back—but that did not increase her capability to accept it.

And then it came, the unimaginable—

"Snape!" she gasped, her eyes wildly darting across the page. "No, he can't have! He—he can't be!"

Oh, but he was…

A bell chimed somewhere. Three sharp raps sounded on the door.

"Time's up, Claire!"

The door swung open. Light from the hall flooded the room. Claire looked at the intruder through a curtain of disheveled dark hair, clutching the book to her chest.

"Please tell me you finished?" Aquinas said, looking anxious.

"Don't worry, Aquinas," said another voice, Robin's. "She did."

"And how do you know that?" Aquinas hissed over his shoulder. "You haven't been in here! For all we know she could have just sat here hugging it the whole time. I wouldn't put it passed her—"

Claire looked up at Robin, whose eyes looked as bloodshot and face as tear-stained as her own.

"If she hadn't finished, she wouldn't look like shit," Robin explained.

"Gee," Claire sniffed. "Thanks."

The sniff turned into a lung-racking sob, tears cascading down her cheeks. Their mission now seemed suddenly impossible. How was she, Claire, supposed to rearrange the story into this disaster? How could she do this to them—to Harry? How had two years of worrying led to this…?

It just wasn't fair.

a/n: DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAAaaa! So. Will Claire be able to pull herself together? What kind of rules are going to be set for them to go back into the story? Was Aquinas punished? You'll find out in chapter five, coming your way soon.

Second Disclaimer: I do not own any works/lines used in this chapter by the following: John Milton, William Shakespeare, Mark Twain, The Brothers Grimm, Geoffrey Chaucer, or Edgar Allan Poe. I just didn't want to put this up top because…well then you'd know what was coming, silly! If you haven't studied these guys yet, then no doubt this chapter wasn't as amusing as I intended it to be. I apologize if that's the case.

And for the record, I'm madly in love with all the works of Shakespeare, Poe, Milton, Chaucer, and Grimms. I hate Twain with a bloody freaking passion. Just a personal note there.

Hope to see you all in chapter 5! If you want me to email you when it's posted, let me know via review or email.