Chapter Twenty-two: The Castle on Parliament Hill

Malfoy was a spoiled rich kid. As such, his father had bribed the quidditch team into accepting him by buying them all expensive brooms to make up for his son's lack of talent. Money could buy everything these days. Hurrah!

Only now, the number of brooms seems to have decreased by two. Oh, the sorrow.

"These brooms are pretty awesome!" Bridgit laughed, flying through the air.

"The Slytherins will never know they're gone! Or if they do, I don't care!" Cora giggled, smacking into an eagle.

Like Fabio, she was unharmed.

"So, where does the map say to go?" Bridgit struck up useful conversation.

"Well, the map says it's somewhere in London, so I figured we'd follow the Hogwart's express tracks to get there and then ask for help." Cora laid out the beautifully simple plan.

"What are we going to do for money? We have ten dollars Canadian, no British pounds and no sickles, galleons or bungley-boos from the wizard currency side of things. This might take a while and we'll probably want to eat." Bridgit prompted, feeling a little rumbley.

"You'd be surprised how much money those idiots from Slytherin kept in their lockers." Cora gave a smug grin of triumph.

"Gee…I hope that no one notices that we're missing." Bridgit mused.

"Of course they will! We're awesome. It will be like the sun has gone out from their pathetic little lives." Cora crowed.

"Well, it's not like we'd miss anything in classes. Snape's kind of dead right now." Bridgit reasoned aloud.

"Yeah! Don't worry, we should get to London in a day or so, so even if we are missed, we won't be gone too long." Cora braced herself for the journey.

The continents shuddered under a darkened sky as flocks of birds flew about in a frenzied flurry. Horses screamed in terror, beating their hooves against small children and spiders weaved messages in their webs that read: the apocalypse is coming. What was the cause of this clamor? What bizarre event could invoke such mayhem?

The authors are preparing to write about Harry Potter and what he is doing instead of their "awesome" "Original Characters". May the gods have mercy on us all.

In the day following the quidditch incident, the students were strangely apathetic. After all, crap like that happened all the time at Hogwarts and this time the only casualty had been everyone's least-favorite teacher. All in all, the general consensus was that it came out to be a positive experience in the end. Harry Potter, however, was having trouble enjoying the moment.

"I find Bridgit and Cora's disappearances odd enough but, why are you here?" He asked sir Cadogan very pointedly.

"Why, to protect your very essence, young prince." Cadogan replied.

"JHFGSDKHFKHDFGKJDLHK!" Rainbow Sunshine Baby Laugh the third screamed and attacked Harry.

"No, Baby Laugh! Bad girl!" He hit his male horse on the head with his lance.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" The pony collapsed into a heap on the floor and sobbed.

"Could you please just…leave me alone?" Harry pleaded.

"Never fear, young Prince! I shall look after your needs and protect you from harm! Quickly, we must away to potions to save you from an untimely detention and the ravages of ignorance!" He cried, abandoning his insane horse and whisking Harry off to the dungeon.

"Hey Harry, could I be your new lab partner? Hermione said Ron is her partner now. I need one just in case the new teacher is like Snape and will unleash his fury on me for the most trivial of inconveniences." Neville whined.

"Gee Neville, Ron never told me-"

"Halt, young knave! You must keep at least one lance's breadth away from the young Prince at all times. I shan't have any sneak attacks!" Sir Cadogan exploded.

"But then, how shall we be lab partners?" Neville wrung his hands nervously.

"Yeah, Neville's my friend…sort of… and I don't think-"

"I'LL be your lab partner! I shall make the best potions you have ever seen!" Sir Cadogan puffed out his chest.

"I hate you.' Harry growled.

"Good morning, class. I am your substitute potions teacher. My name is….Mister Flansberg." He wrote his name out on the board.

"Ah, it's too late in the year to learn another teacher's name. I'll just call you…replacement Professor Snape." Malfoy volunteered aloud.

"…Uhhhhh."

"Excuse me, professor." Hermione piped up to spare him having to deal with Malfoy any further.

"Ah, it's just mister Flansberg. I-I don't have a PHD or anything like that." Mr. Flansberg muttered.

"Well, that makes you grossly under qualified." Hermione snorted, then turned to talk to her precious Ronny-kins.

Why did I have to be a teacher… Mister Flansberg griped to himself. I hated teaching health, hated drama even more, chemistry was abysmal and now I'm teaching magic weasel children who hate me. Yessir…this is not a distinguished career at all.

"Well, due to the nature of your past teacher's injuries, he wasn't able to leave any lesson plans or curriculum or anything useful, so I was thinking that today we should make him some get well soon cards, since Madame Pomfrey informed me that no one has ever visited him or even given him flowers after his injury."

"There's a reason for that, Mr. Flansberg." Harry offered darkly.

"Yes, well, I need time to come up with some lesson plans, so you'll just have to do it anyway. Have fun." He sighed and flipped through the textbook. "If it's any consolation, I won't proof-read them."

No….no….no. These potions are all so dangerous! And the students all seem so stupid. There's no way in hell I'm going to let them do any of these. I'll just have to think of something else for them to do.

"Duuuuh…crayon." Replacement Crabbe announced, sticking it up his nose. "Get well soon, proseffor Snake."

"Here Replacement Crabbe, I'll help you." Replacement Goyle chimed. "I've already finished mine, so I have spare time to help the needy."

Replacement Crabbe dully noted a shiny, sparkly card with flowers charmed on it that moved in a warm summer breeze.

Hermione crossed her arms, scowling darkly.

"What does he think we are, six year olds?" She muttered.

"Hey, look at my card." Ron beamed, drawing a deformed monkey with a crayon.

It had an arrow pointing to it labeling the primate a "Professor Snape".

"Ron, I can't believe you'd intellectually debase yourself like this." Hermione snapped.

"You're right…I should fix that." Ron drew an arrow through its head.

'Dear Professor Snape', Harry wrote, 'I realize clinging to life is difficult, so if you feel the need to succumb to the darkness I won't hold it against you.'

Malfoy smirked, not planning to follow the rules of replacement Professor Snape.

'Dear sir,' he wrote in girly writing, 'if I told you you had a nice body, would you hold it against me? From, Hermione.' He laughed at its sheer brilliance.

"What ho!" Sir Cadogan revealed a lumpy and misshapen-looking paper mache horse. "This spiritual guide horse shall enter his subconscious mind and whisk him away to safety."

"Mr. Flansberg, I think we're all done making cards. What should we do now?" Neville raised his hand.

"Cripes! Already? Oh, alright then. Break into teams of four and make up a skit about famous historical moments that involved potions. Your skits should give us the historical setting as well as information about the potion. No actual potions, potions ingredients or potion-like substances may be used at any time during your skit." He gave them an assignment. "So, chop chop! Get cracking." He clapped his hands.

"What the hell is this rubbish?" Hermione growled.

"Hooray! I love potions now!" Neville wept tears of joy.

"Finally, I can express my inner soul through the medium of theatre. Now all can learn of the sensitive boy lurking within this hallowed frame." Replacement Goyle sighed.

"Yeah…I'm not going to be in your group." Malfoy edged away from his lacking lackey. Har har.

Sammy and Reagan sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at their respective lunches.

This is it! Today is the day. I will finally ask him out and then I'll know for sure. No more second-guessing! Sammy steeled herself.

Yum! This pudding is really good. Reagan smiled.

"Ummm…hey, Reagan?" Sammy began, painfully awkward.

"Yes?" He gazed at her with the full intensity of his beauty ray.

"Uh…it's your birthday, so I, uh, got you this present…you know…for your birthday." She handed him a small envelope.

"Oh! I wonder what it could be." Reagan opened the envelope and smiled in delight. "Tickets to Mozart's 'The Magic Flute'! How did you know?"

"I've always known of your love of opera." Sammy smiled in forced aloofness.

This is it! The right moment. I must ask him out now before anything could possibly go wrong.

"Oh, Sammy! You're my best friend in the whole world!" Reagan threw his arms around her.

"Ah….yes." Sammy died A LOT on the inside.

Well, I guess that's it then. He only wants to be friends. Her inner self started crying.

"Although," He let her go for a moment and looked at her almost appraisingly, "I have been thinking lately that maybe we could be more than friends. Would you like to make the opera a date?" Reagan asked.

Sammy only stared at him in stunned silence.

"Yes!" She shouted quickly so that he couldn't take it back.

He smiled, "It's a date then!"

The two returned to their breakfast, both glowing a little more than before. Sammy ate her breakfast with much gusto.

This is the best oatmeal EVER! She thought in order to cover up her tears of joy. Constant vigilance!

"Hooray! It's London…or least the edge of." Bridgit cheered as the tracks headed into a more urban setting.

"Okay, let's land and walk into town." Rose suggested, keeping in mind the segregation between magic and non-magic folk.

They landed on the tracks and, with a broom over their shoulders, they continued walking until they reached the train station. Escaping from said train station was laughably easy. Ha ha! One poor man did ask them if they had just come out of the brick wall. They told him no and he was both satisfied and relieved. Wandering around London and following a map, they happened upon a Zellers.

"Wow. I didn't know they had these in the UK." Bridgit raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Hooray for globalization!" Cora cheered. "Let's go inside for a snack."

Entering the store, the two were greeted by a small army of employees.

"Customers!" They gasped in amazement.

"Good afternoon and welcome to Zellers. As you can see, we're getting better and better everyday, just like the commercial says. Why, we've started cleaning the store regularly and have been trying some of that customer service. Would you like some customer service?"

"Uh…no."

"Oh. Please? We're so lonely."

"Back away…" Bridgit muttered under her breath.

The two bolted from the store, never to be seen there again.

"I'm not hungry anymore. The terror that ravaged my belly has made me feel too scared to eat." Bridgit huffed after they had gotten the safe distance of two kilometers away from the Zellers.

"Well, I guess we should just head for Castle Mount Snakepit, then." Cora muttered, pulling out the map again.

The two embarked on an epic, half hour journey by foot before they reached the location where the map indicated Castle Mount Snakepit would be. Not surprisingly, it wasn't there. In fact, the building occupying that space was the British Parliament Building.

"What the crap is this?" Cora demanded. "The map said it's over there. Why isn't it there?"

"This might be a little late for this question, but really, if it was in the middle of London then why would no one have found it yet? Obviously Severedhead was given a dud map because he sucks." Bridgit sighed. "I guess now there really isn't much we can do for Snape."

"Yeah…I guess so." Cora began pondering.

"What should we do?" Bridgit asked, being conscious that Cora still might want to look around for a bit.

"Let's go shopping." Cora decided. "And while we're out, we'll get Snape an afterlife present like the Egyptians did for their dead people."

"Uh…that was only for important dead people." Bridgit corrected her friend.

"BURN!" Cora laughed.

"Well, if you really want to shop so much, this map says there's a magical shopping district behind this dumpster called Ransack Avenue. But, if memory serves, don't you usually have to do something special to get in?" Bridgit eyed the dumpster, wondering what magical secrets it held.

"No, you just push it out of the way." A tall, thin man offered as he passed them.

"Oh. Okay then." Cora shoved it out of the way.

Ransack Avenue was far from majestic. In fact, it was far from rubbish. It was downright crappy.

"Let's just go in here." Bridgit muttered in embarrassment, heading into the first shop she saw that wasn't made of cardboard.

"It's just like back home." Cora fondly recalled her street urchin days. "Bridgit, look at the prices! The savings! The savings!"

"What ho, there young ladies!" The cheerful salesperson of the structurally sound shop greeted them. "And welcome to Gallivanting Pots Megastore! My name is not important, but my savings are! See this one here," he pointed to a gigantic cauldron, "owned by a little old lady. She only drove it on Wednesdays to worship Satan. It's practically new!"

"Wow! A Gulliver-class gallivanting pot! You don't see those everyday!" Cora admired the hunk of iron.

"Ah, I see the young miss is already familiar with the wonders of gallivanting pots." The man simpered. "Obviously a lady of class."

"Tee hee!" Cora tittered. "You tease."

"Uh…what?"

"Sorry, that's my unworldly friend who hasn't heard of these. She's never kissed a boy." Cora explained.
"Ah, I see. Well, gallivanting pots are an economic product for today's family on the go. They double as both a potions cauldron and a method of transportation." He hopped into the cauldron and it putt-putted around the room very slowly. "It doesn't get very high off the ground, but its thick cast iron armor will protect you from most-sized dogs."

"Well, I do worry about dogs," Cora admitted, "but what about bigger and more dangerous things, like, say, reindeer?"

Prompted into another marketing speech, the man prattled on.

"Oh yes, well just for this week we have a special. Buy an Odyssius-class cauldron and get our new horse cannon half off. That's practically free!"

"Blimey!" Cora grinned. "I am practical and I like free! How could I pass up a deal like that? I'll take two!"

"What are you doing?" Bridgit hissed.

"Trust me." Cora winked.

"Trust you? Are you mental?"

"Right. That'll be thirty sickles, twenty galleons and eighty-nine bungley-boos."

"Uhh…how about twenty-eight sickles, twenty galleons, forty bungley-boos and ninety spangledywhackers?" Cora haggled.

"You drive a hard bargain, but I'm in a pickle myself." He pointed to the loan shark standing beside him, taking out a thumb-breaking device. "I'm practically giving it away!"

Bridgit and Cora, not wanting to witness a mafia-style execution, quickly paid the man and hopped into their Gallivanting pots. With a gentle putt-putt, they meandered out of the shop and down the avenue.

"Do you really want to go into any of these shops? They all look like rubbish heaps." Bridgit griped.

"Well…I guess most of them aren't much to look at. Oh hey! Let's check out that one!" Cora pointed to Ethel and Maurice's Head Emporium, which, by Ransack Avenue's standards, appeared well-to-do. "We can get him a nicer face for the afterlife!"

"Well, I concede on the grounds that Snape will probably die and it would be tacky to come back empty handed."

"It looks like there's parking over there." Cora pointed to a closet full of brooms.

"Awesome!" Bridgit shoved her cauldron in, knocking all of the brooms over.

"Yay!" Cora added, breaking all of the brooms. "Cauldrons rule!"

She charmed their cauldrons to say "Honk if you want to die".

They strolled into the large, Safeway-esque store. Once inside, they were consumed by the soullessness of consumerism.

"Look! It's double-coupon day! I can get this large baked ham for next nothing with the purchase of half a chicken carcass!" Some fat lady marveled at the ham and chicken department.

"Ooo! I'm checking out the pirate head section!" Cora tore through the store headed for aisle eleven.

"Hmmm…I bet I'll think better on a not empty stomach." Bridgit mused.

She sauntered up to the deli counter oh so casually.

"I say there, fair food technician, do you have any free samples?" She prompted a random employee.

"Uhh…these are heads. Human heads. You don't eat them." He looked uncomfortable.

"What? Then why are they shaped like chickens and hams?" Bridgit recoiled in fear.

"Some people really like ham."

"Well, I think I'll just mosey on to the import section then." Bridgit ran away to aisle thirty.

"This one's too scurvy." Cora sighed. "This one has scurvy." She tossed the head back onto the shelf and all of its teeth fell out.

"I like this one with the eye patch, but what kind of stupid pirate has dreadlocks?"

She picked up another head with a tentacle-lined mouth.

"It's perfect!" She smiled. "Now…how much is it- Nine hundred sickles? I could form my own cauldron gang and terrorize Eastern Europe for that kind of money. Forget the honest route. I'm gonna do a little five fingered discount." Cora sulked off.

"Hmmm…I guess Snape would probably like green more than red, so…I'll get the green Power Ranger head!" Bridgit lifted up the beautiful import head and helmet.

Then she looked at the price.

"On second thought, his head right now is perfect for him. May they both rest in peace." Somewhat deflated, she sat at the front of the store to wait for Cora.

A suspicious young lady walked past her and approached one of the courtesy clerks.

"My, it's a sunny, sunny day." She commented.

This is Britain! Bridgit took instant note. It's never sunny in Britain. What's wrong with her?

"Verily. And my how the larks sing, but only in the Czech Republic." The courtesy clerk replied.

"Would you like to play a sporting round of checkers?" The woman smiled.

"Yes. Do come in."

The two walked off towards the back of the store.

"That was not normal, even taking into account British slang." Bridgit sensed that something was amiss. "But I'm too hungry to care."

So she kept sitting in her plastic chair.

"Kick, kick, kick the grate, sneaking in the store." Cora sang as she kicked in a grate covering a ventilation shaft. "When will bad guys and mega-corporations learn? If you make it big enough to crawl through, it's like you're giving away the merchandise."

She hefted herself up into the shaft and replaced the grate behind her.

"Oh, how this young Canadian girl fell into a life of thieving when faced by Britain's heinous price gouging." She bemoaned her imagined fate, ignoring her long history of petty theft.

She shuffled ably through the vent, her years of training finally paying off. Again.

"To ****Snakepit." Cora barely made out all of the words spoken, but the ones she did hear certainly peaked her interest.

"Time to spy." She quietly announced.

Crawling along, she came to another vent and peered down into a back room for employees. She instantly noticed one person not clad in gross polyester.

"What ho. That woman is non-uniformed and therefore should not be allowed in the employee lounge. Something is amiss!"

"So, anyway, once you get to the Binary Byte café, you order the stuff on the menu that no one would ever order." A man was explaining.

"And you're sure it will be obvious." The woman prompted.

"I promise. It's basically the exact same food, just charmed to look disgusting to discourage those who think it might be a joke. When you get to the desert menu, just say the secret code."

"Secret code? This all seems to be a somewhat ridiculous way to keep people out."

"To date, no undesirables have ever gotten into Castle Mount Snakepit."

Yep, Cora was definitely in the right place. And for once, at the right time, too.

"When asked if you would like the bill, reply 'no thanks, I left it in my other pants'. The waiter will then give you the special after dinner mints, that will allow you to see the entrance." He explained.

"And this security system works?" The woman asked dubiously.

"Well, yes. But our Lord is most unhappy with its silliness, which is why he has hired you, a security expert, to come up with another one, preferably involving riddles, traps and pits with spikes in them. You know, real magic security. He wants it installed post haste because rumor has it an operative was captured by that cur Dumbledore. Who knows what he has already revealed?" He wept into his beard at the mere mention of his master's enemy.

"Well, in that case I had better get going. My presentation with a miniature model will take at least three hours alone, much less improving the castle's security." She sighed, tucking important rolled up documents under her arm.

"Good luck, junior lieutenant." The Deatheater made a weird salute.

"I shall have it." She returned it.

Cora used her awesome photographic memory to memorize the dumb-looking salute and the exchange words she assumed were customary. That would come in handy some day.

"Forget about Snape's head. I've got to infiltrate that castle to find the serum." Cora muttered, backing away from the vent.

She knew that there had to be a serum both for the sake of extortion and stupid people getting accidentally poisoned. She figured that that explained why the Daily Prophet had reported on a man who saved a puppy from a house fire and then promptly died.

She managed to emerge from the vent unseen and tried to replace the grate in such a way that it wasn't too obvious that it was hopelessly smashed. Being somewhat successful, she ran around the store looking for Bridgit. She eventually found her cohort sitting at the front of the store in a plastic chair.

"Are you really going to buy a head from here? They're so expensive." Bridgit held up her tiny money pouch.

"Forget that! We have bigger beans to fry!" Cora quietly and vaguely explained what she had learned.

"Well, forget buying a head! From now on the only evil empire I support is Wal*mart." Bridgit rejoiced in not having to cheat on her one true love. Oh how she missed being a junior sales representative scout and her seventy-five merit badges.

"Quickly, Robin! To the bat pots!" Cora shouted, running from the store.

The two hopped into their cauldrons and puttered along meaningfully towards where the map said the castle should be: Parliament!

"Wait! Wait! Wait wait wait!" They heard a strange, hoarse voice barking after them.

"They're on to us!" Cora cried.

Bridgit wheeled around to see who was following them.

"It's worse than you think!" She shrieked.

Following them at a loping run and gaining ground quickly was a large, black dog.

"Wait! Wait!" The dog barked.

"Dear God! The animals have learned to speak. Quickly, we must kill him before it spreads to the others!" Bridgit pulled her cannon into firing position.

"Fire phasers, Mister Worf!" Cora shouted.

The dog skidded to a halt, looking mortified.

"Arrrrrrrrgh!" Bridgit yelled, firing a plasma blast at the large, black dog.

It slammed into the dog's hind leg and Bridgit and Cora suddenly smelled hotdogs.

"Why, why why?" The dog whimpered, lying incapacitated on its side.

"Now to finish it!" Bridgit said coldly.

"Wait! You can't kill it. It's a marvel of modern science. It may one-day cure cancer. Could you live with yourself if it became your fault people got cancer?" Cora talked her friend down from the finishing shot.

"You're right." Bridgit agreed. "Then I'd have to patent my name to replace the word 'cancer'. That would be horrible. Telling someone they're dying of face bridgit just doesn't have the same impact."

They puttered off then, leaving the wounded animal to die. The large, black dog wept to himself as he lay on his side, hurt that his efforts to help had come to this. Sometimes being an animagus wasn't as convenient as one would think.

"Thank you all for coming to this sudden staff meeting." Dumbledore nodded in acknowledgement to everyone present. "I am relieved to say that Severedhead has been picked up by the Ministry without incident, so now, Severus, your life is no longer in danger." Dumbledore looked towards his chair and found it to be empty. "Ah yes, the poison." He deflated slightly. "May Anubis ignore your freakishly shriveled heart."

"Speaking of freaks…I haven't seen Bridgit and Cora recently. In fact, they've missed my class for two consecutive days and I just haven't the slightest clue where they could be." Professor Summersong batted her eyelashes.

"Oh yeah…they left us a note two days ago saying they were going to go look for the cure." Sammy piped up.

"Why didn' yeh' tell us?" Hagrid's beard gargled.

"Eh. We figured it would be a nice vacation…for the rest of the school!" Sammy smiled.

"Ba-zing!" Reagan giggled.

"Anyway, I'm sure they'll be fine. It's Britain I'm worried about." She waved it off.

"Very good then. As a final announcement, to ease inter-staff tension we are going to start an intramural bowling league. If you have a preferred team mate, please speak now."

"I want to go with Mr. Hagrid." Flitwick waved his tiny, tiny arms.

"In the interests of a monopoly on power, I'd like to go with you, sir." Professor McGonagall piped up, sidling in all nice and close.

"I'm going with Hoochie-mama!" Sprout hurrahed.

"I told you to stop calling me that." Madame Hooch growled. "Just because I didn't get my doctorate in magicology doesn't mean you can treat me like dirt."

"I want Madame Pomfrey." Professor Binns suddenly exclaimed.

Summersong gasped sharply. That only left Trelawney! Unless…

"I…I want Snape on my team!" She quickly interjected before Trelawney could send the electrical impulses to induce speech.

"But then who shall I team with?" Trelawney asked after five minutes of silence.

"I came prepared for such an occasion. After the death of our last janitor, the late Mr. Filch, I anticipated the need for Mr. Chatterton." Professor Summersong took out a wind-up pair of chattering teeth.

"I say! How delightful." Trelawney clapped her hands together in amusement.

The teeth chattered in response and Trelawney's face looked a little more flushed.

"I think he likes me." She murmured, somewhat bashful.

"Well, that wraps up this meeting. Miss Hellstorm, Mr. Starsinger, would you care to join us for a post-meeting nosh?" Dumbledore offered.

"Uhh…no thanks. We have an opera to get to." Sammy dodged having to play designated sober to a group of drunken British wizards.

"Are you sure? Opera's always so much better when you're drunk." Dumbledore winked in mirth, belying his experience.

"We're fine, sir, thank you." Reagan smiled politely, not wanting to see any of them with their inner inhibitions removed.

"Right then! More of Madame Rosemerta for me." He smiled lecherously.

"Boo hoo!" McGonagall quietly sobbed.

Sammy and Reagan quickly retreated from the meeting. The rest of the teachers quietly stood and shuffled out. Professor Summersong waited behind and, when she was finally alone with Dumbledore, she turned to him, her eyes blazing with a need. A need to know. The truth.

"Headmaster, can I have a moment of your time?" She asked.

"Just one and not a moment more. Goodbye." He turned and walked into the wall.

"That act's getting old and it's not going to work anymore. I have suspected for some time that you may have been keeping something from me." She pressed.

"Ah, I see." He suddenly became less doddering.

"It…has something to do with her, doesn't it? With Bridgit." Carefully she broached the subject.

"Perhaps, but I feel it is not time for you to know." Dumbledore released a heavy sigh.

"And who are you to decide that?" She demanded sharply.

"Please, Tigerlily. I ask you as both a friend and colleague to trust my judgment. You will know when the time is right." He sagely offered.

"Is this about trust? Do you not trust me?" Summersong asked, somewhat affronted. "I thought I'd made up for my past by now. Hell, you trust Severus and even I wouldn't do that!"

"I suppose it has become a matter of trust. Your lack of trust in me. Boo hoo." He dabbed at his eyes with the crusty end of his beard.

"But I want to know!" Summersong snapped, slamming her hands down onto the top of the table.

"That, is why you fail." Dumbledore stole a famous line and retreated back into his self-contrived senility as he backed out the door.

Fuming, Summersong kicked a chair over. She then raised her fists to the ceiling.

"Damn youuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"