There had been a mini uproar since Crouch was killed, Hagrid found Brooklyn and Harry standing over Crouch, and called on Dumbledore.

Security had begun investigating the mystery, but classes continued on normally, and Brooklyn himself stood guard outside the Divination classroom, he had been hired by Dumbledore to stay watch over all of Harry's classes, in case the one who attacked Crouch would want to kill Harry.

Before this happened, he had received a visit from his friend, Brody, who told him all that had happened at the Second Task, and Brooklyn thanked him for saving Harry from the Grindylows when he couldn't.

"It was nothing, my friend. Least I could do for your brother," he said in a playful voice, grinning. "If you need more of my help here, just call with this," he then said, holding out a small conch shell. Brooklyn took it, putting it into his pouch, grinning back, grateful for his new friend's present, whenever it came in handy.

Now, as he stood outside the Divination classroom, Brooklyn stared absentmindedly at his gift from Brody, simply thinking, until he heard a scream, startled, he quickly went up the ladder, where he saw Harry lying down on the floor, clutching his scar, as if he woke from a bad dream. Everybody including Trelawney was staring down at Harry, looking scared. Annoyed with their lack of help, Brooklyn stormed over, kneeling down.

"Harry!" He called, shaking him, until he snapped out of it, staring up at Brooklyn, eyes round with fear, a hand over his scar.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked worriedly, coming over to help hold Harry up. "Yeah, just need to go to the Hospital Wing," he muttered, but gave Brooklyn an anxious look that clearly told him that Harry needed to see Dumbledore,

But Trelawney looked over dramatic once more.

"My dear, you were undoubtedly stimulated by the extraordinarily clairvoyant vibrations of my room!" She cried. "If you leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further than you have ever—."

Brooklyn interrupted. "All my brother needs is a headache cure!" He hissed, glaring at the old fraud who seemed affronted by his sudden outburst, but still eyed him with curiosity, and he groaned, she still obviously saw him as a Seer, of course that would never happen!

The gargoyle guided Harry down, and they went not towards the hospital wing, but to Dumbledore's office.

"Was it that dream again?" He asked Harry, who nodded.

"It gets more real every day, Brook. And I keep seeing her with him, smiling whenever Voldemort tortures Wormtail, as though she enjoys seeing humans suffer. It's horrible!"

Yeah, that's Demona for sure, Brooklyn thought grimly, praying she and him wouldn't cross paths anytime soon!

They arrived at the entrance, where Harry tried several different passwords, until one, Cockroach Cluster let them in, and they could hear voices from within the office.

"A man has died here, Fudge, and he won't be the last! You need to take action!"

"I will not! At times like these, the Wizarding World looks to its leaders for strength, Dumbledore!"

The Minister is actually here? Brooklyn was surprised, as they listened in, hearing them in a heated argument.

"Then for once, show them some!" Came Dumbledore's hot reply. The brothers glanced at each other, worry on their faces. If Dumbledore and the Minister were arguing, this was bad news.

"The TriWizard Tournament will not be cancelled! I will not be seen as a coward!"

"A true leader does what's right, no matter what others think."

Before Harry could knock on the door, it opened for them, for Moody had somehow known they were out there. But how? Was his mechanical eye somehow able to see through solid doors? Guess Brooklyn could say that was pretty cool.

Fudge turned and beamed at the sight of them. "Ah! Harry and Brooklyn! So great to see you two again!" Brooklyn nodded in response.

"We can come back later, Professor," Harry then offered, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"No need, Harry. The Minister and I are done, we'll only be a moment. You two will wait?"

"Sure," Brooklyn then said, as the three men left, leaving the brothers alone in the office. Brooklyn had only been in this magnificent room three times, but never got the chance to fully explore it without the Headmaster there. He walked about, admiring the many strange instruments clicking and whirring. He imagined Lexington going crazy over these machines, testing them to see how they worked and chuckled at the image.

He noticed a portrait of an elderly man dressed in Slytherin robes who seemed to be asleep, but Brooklyn knew otherwise, he was probably listening in. When he moved closer and saw the name, Phineas Nigellus Black, the Wizard peeked open his eyes, and glared.

"Just move along, gargoyle! My portrait isn't something to stare or gawk at! Unless it is important, mind your own business!"

"Sorry," grumbled Brooklyn, turning away. "Old coot," he whispered silently. Phineas jerked sharply. "What was that, young scamp?"

"Nothing!" Called Brooklyn innocently, as he moved away quickly to the other side of the room, where Fawkes's stand was.

The Phoenix cooed happily at the sight of Brooklyn, who grinned and stroked him.

"Hey, you," he greeted gently. Fawkes squawked and nuzzled his head against Brooklyn.

But then he heard a cabinet opening, and Brooklyn turned to see Harry on the floor, staring at what was coming out, a strange stone basin.

"What did you just do?" Brooklyn asked. Harry just shrugged, eyes round as the basin came closer.

"I dunno! I only tripped, fell against these doors, and now this strange basin is coming out!"

The gargoyle stared at this basin, which appeared to be full of silvery substance of either liquid or air made solid. He moved closer, Harry staying near him in case it was dangerous.

Brooklyn continued to stare at the strange silver stuff, that was swirling endlessly in the basin. Curiosity was telling him to touch it and find out what it felt like. Harry gripped his arm.

"Brook, I dunno if you should touch that stuff," he said nervously.

"Come on, it really doesn't look so dangerous, I'll only do it quickly and pull it out," Brooklyn then said. Harry sighed and nodded, for he too felt that urge of curiosity, too.

Taking a breath, Brooklyn trailed his hand along the substance, which felt cool and smooth. That's when something weird happened, an image formed inside, that looked like a dungeon or a courtroom. Before Brooklyn could mention this to Harry or pull his hand out, the office gave a lurch, and they were falling right into the basin headfirst through the silvery stuff, down and down into cold darkness.

They came to rest in a strange room, on a bench high above others there, with a stone ceiling. Brooklyn was shaking slightly from the experience, Harry still holding his arm. What had happened? Where were they?

He saw a lone chair with chains in the middle of the courtroom, and many wizards and witches in dark robes and hats filing in, carrying notepads and quills, too. But nobody had noticed a 14 year old boy with a red gargoyle suddenly falling into their midst.

Brooklyn then saw someone he knew all too well: it was Dumbledore sitting right next to them, watching everything down below.

"Professor?" Harry gasped, but Dumbledore didn't seem to hear him. Harry tried getting his attention. And while he did, somebody then walked through Brooklyn as though he was made of air. Brooklyn shouted out in surprise, feeling his own body that still felt solid. But then he recalled when Tom had shown him the memory of Moaning Myrtle dying, but Myrtle couldn't see him or feel his presence.

Oh great, not another memory! Brooklyn groaned inwardly, before pulling Harry away from the image of Dumbledore.

"There's no point in trying, Harry, we're in a memory," Brooklyn murmured to his brother, who's eyes went as round as his own.

"But where are we?" Harry asked. Brooklyn shrugged. "I don't kn—." Then, his face grew pale, as he saw something terribly familiar enter, and they were carrying somebody in their decaying hands.

Dementors. Brooklyn felt himself shivering, despite them being in a memory and he couldn't feel their presence, he still hated those things. Harry had taken a hold of his hand. They would sit this out together, whatever happens.

The prisoner was looking faint as the dementors placed him in the chair, and the chains lit up gold and wrapped around his arms, holding him there. Then the dementors left the room, the door shutting.

That's when Brooklyn recognized the man in the chair: Igor Karkaroff, who was staring around at everybody nervously. He seemed much younger in this memory, too.

"Igor Karkaroff," called a familiar curt voice, and Brooklyn spotted Crouch who was the head of the trial. He was glaring down at the man with hatred.

"You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."

The gargoyle watched Karkaroff try straightening himself in the chained chair. Did he really want to help? Or was he only wanting to escape Azkaban?

"I have, sir. I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I-I know that the Ministry is trying to round up the Dark Lord's supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can…"

But Brooklyn felt like he couldn't buy this guy's words. And something still nagged in the back of his head: how did he become the Headmaster of Durmstrang in the first place?

He suddenly heard a familiar growling voice saying, "Filth." Turning his head, Brooklyn spotted Mad-Eye Moody. But he didn't have his magical eye, instead having two normal ones. Brooklyn figured this trial happened maybe a year or two ago. But he could tell that Moody really hated Karkaroff.

"Crouch is going to let him out," Moody breathed quietly to Dumbledore. "He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names. Let's hear this information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors."

Dumbledore had made a small dissent noise through his nose.

"Ah, I was forgetting, you don't like the dementors, do you Albus?" Said Moody with a sardonic smile.

He isn't the only one, Brooklyn thought silently, clenching his hands as he remembered what was underneath their hoods, one that still disturbed his dreams alongside the nightmares of being controlled by Voldemort.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. I have for long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures."

"But for filth like this…" Moody said softly.

"You say you have names for us, Karkaroff." Said Crouch. "Let us hear them, please."

"You must understand," said Karkaroff hurriedly "that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy…he preferred that we - I mean to say, his supporters - and I regret now, very deeply, that I counted myself among them -"

"Get on with it!" Sneered Moody. Brooklyn himself wanted to hear the names of who was with Voldemort, too. He only heard of two, Bellatrix Lestrange and Peter Pettigrew.

"- we never knew the names of every one of our fellows - He alone knew exactly who we all were -"

"Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, from turning all of them in," muttered Moody.

"Yet you say you have some names for us?" said Mr. Crouch.

"I - I do," said Karkaroff breathlessly. "And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely -"

"These names are?" said Mr. Crouch sharply.

Karkaroff drew a deep breath.

"There was Antonin Dolohov," he said. "I - I saw him torture countless Muggles and - and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."

"And helped him do it," murmured Moody.

"We have already apprehended Dolohov," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after yourself."

"Indeed?" said Karkaroff, his eyes widening. "I - I am delighted to hear it!"

But he didn't look it. Brooklyn frowned at his scared features, he guessed that he was probably best friends with this Dolohov person. One of his names was worthless.

"Any others?" said Crouch coldly.

"Why, yes… there was Rosier," said Karkaroff hurriedly. "Evan Rosier."

"Rosier is dead," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."

"Took a bit of me with him, though," whispered Moody to Brooklyn's right, who now noticed the chunk of his nose missing.

"No - no more than Rosier deserved!" said Karkaroff, a real note of panic in his voice now.

Brooklyn eyed the dementors who were standing waiting at the door, and knew that the next set of names this guy was gonna throw at them will also be worthless.

"Any more?" said Crouch.

"Yes!" said Karkaroff. "There was Travers - he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber - he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"

At the name, Rookwood, Couch had reacted sharply.

Ah, so not all the names were worthless, thought Brooklyn, watching Karkaroff closely who knew he had struck gold.

Rookwood?" said Mr. Crouch, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. "Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"

"The very same," said Karkaroff eagerly. "I believe he used a network of well placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information -"

"But Travers and Mulciber we have," said Mr. Crouch. "Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide -"

"Not yet!" cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"

He really looked panicked now, and was sweating.

"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"

Brooklyn froze at this, for he knew Dumbledore trusted Snape, but did he know that Snape was once a Death Eater?

It would seem so as Crouch spoke again.

"Snape has been cleared by this council," said Crouch disdainfully. "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."

"No!" shouted Karkaroff, straining at the chains that bound him to the chair. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"

Dumbledore had gotten to his feet.

"I have given evidence already on this matter," he said calmly. "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."

"Very well, Karkaroff," Crouch said coldly, "you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime…"

Mr. Crouch's voice faded. The dungeon swirled into darkness, and Brooklyn continued to keep holding Harry's hand, wondering what was happening now.

The dungeon returned, and it was filled with even more people than at Karkaroff's trial. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Mr. Crouch. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands. Brooklyn eventually saw why she was crying, and he noticed how gaunt and gray Crouch looked now.

"Bring them in," he said, and his voice echoed through the silent dungeon.

The door in the corner opened yet again. Six dementors entered this time, flanking a group of four people. Brooklyn drew in a sharp breath at the sight of all those dementors, his heart thumping loud in his chest as he trembled. This reminded him of when 100 dementors attacked them, and even though they were still in the memory, he didn't want to be anywhere near them. He wanted to get out of this place, no matter how important this information was.

Harry noticed, he too felt the same, as he kept a hold on Brooklyn's hand.

"Just hang in there, Brook. This is probably the last memory." Brooklyn nodded numbly, still staring at the dementors and the people they were bringing in.

The Dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne; and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his strawcolored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat whimpering into her handkerchief.

Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face.

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous -"

"Father," said the boy with the straw-colored hair. "Father… please…"

"-that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," said Crouch, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice.

"We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror - Frank Longbottom - and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-"

"Father, I didn't!" shrieked the boy in chains below. "I didn't, I swear it. Father, don't send me back to the Dementors -"

"You are further accused," bellowed Mr. Crouch, "of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury -"

"Mother!" screamed the boy below, and the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to sob, rocking backward and forward. "Mother, stop him. Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!"

Longbottom...Neville… Brooklyn thought, still somewhat petrified by the presence of the dementors, but now realizing why he never saw Neville's parents and only his grandmother, they had been tortured to insanity by these people. He felt sick. They were as bad as Demona. Perhaps worse…

"I now ask the jury," shouted Mr. Crouch, "to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!"

In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap, their faces full of savage triumph. The boy began to scream. "No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!"

The Dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys' three companions rose quietly from their seats; the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"

Sick pervert, Brooklyn growled quietly, now guessing that this evil woman was Bellatrix. How could anybody like that monster human? It was despicable! They had no freaking idea what he had gone through being forced to do Voldemort's bidding. But these people liked it, and that disgusted him greatly. The rest of his Clan would agree, too, and throw them in a trash bin.

But the boy was trying to fight off the Dementors, the gargoyle watched as he could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet, as the woman swept out of the dungeon, and the boy continued to struggle.

"I'm your son!" he screamed up at Crouch. "I'm your son!"

"You are no son of mine!" bellowed Mr. Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly. "I have no son!"

The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed.

"Take them away!" Crouch roared at the Dementors, spit flying from his mouth. "Take them away, and may they rot there!"

"Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!"

Just when Brooklyn felt like he was going to throw up from this scene before him, he and Harry felt a gentle hand on their shoulders, and it was Dumbledore, he could see them.

For the Dumbledore on Brooklyn's right was watching Crouch's son being dragged off by the dementors, and the Dumbledore behind them had a concerned look on his features.

"I think it is time to return to my office, you two," he murmured quietly, and Brooklyn sighed as he felt the scene dissolving at last, rising up until they were safe back in the office. He now wished he never touched that stuff in the first place, and longed to forget about the second trial.

Dumbledore explained to them about the stone basin called a Pensive, that held his thoughts, but Brooklyn could care less now, all he wanted to do was go to sleep and forget.

Harry then mentioned the dream he had to Dumbledore, who advised him not to dwell on it so much, with the coming of the Third Task and all. He then bade them good night and wished Harry luck for the Third Task.