Dusty Death

Summary:

A mystery plagues Hogwarts during Harry’s (now AU) fifth year. Though it is a different type of mystery.

Disclaimer:

No one belongs to me…. Just playing with the creations of the great J.K Rowling!

Rating:

Pg 13 – Implied Violence

Genre:

Mystery/Romance

Author’s Note:

A mystery can’t be complete without a murder of a hated character! And we all hate ONE person who appears in the fifth book, right? Oh, by the way…. I got most of this chapter from the fifth book, but have changed some of it just for this story. Enjoy! And don’t worry, you won’t have to guess who-dun-it. You’ll see what I mean XD.

Chapter 1:

A Term Cut Short

            According to many of the students at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Defence against the Dark Arts class was usually the best one to attend and participate in. But with the entrance of the dreaded Dolores Umbridge, the class had become another History of Magic class, which was famous for an opportunity to catch some missed slumber.

            Though few went as far as one person in the hatred towards this new, seeming Ministry puppet, teacher. Harry Potter was one of the more … wide open Umbridge-haters.

            After attending their first Divination class, which involved interpreting their made-up-on-the-spot dreams, the two of them left the class in quite low spirits.

            “Do you realise how much homework we’ve got already?” Ron grumpled as they climbed down the ladder. “Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we’ve got a month’s dream diary from Trelawney!”

            Harry groaned at this long-winded reminder from his best friend. But Ron wasn’t done it seemed.

            “Fred and George weren’t wrong about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any….”

            Though he stopped when they entered to musky room which was usually filled to brim of life and relaxation. For some reason, when Harry gazed at their new Professor wearing the same fluffy pink cardigan from the night before he had the strange image of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an equally, if not more, large toad.

            The class took their seats silently, everyone felt uneasy because of the new teacher since they do not know what level of strictness she was at. Though knowing the Ministry….

            “Well, good afternoon!” She said, putting her nasty fake smile on for the whole class to cringe at.

            A couple of mumbles of “good afternoon” could be heard around the class. Harry, Ron and Hermione were not among them, since they of all people knew just how wicked the Ministry’s many employees could be.

            “Tut, tut,” The Professor said. “That won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge’. One more time, if you please. Good afternoon, class!”

            “Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” They chanted back to her while she waved her hands as if she was conducting a full orchestra. Harry could hold back the spite in his voice.

            “There, now,” she said. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, if you please.”

            Many class mates exchanged gloomy looks; the order “wands away” had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found even remotely interesting. Shoving his wand back into his bag, Harry reluctantly pulled out his eagle-feathered quill ink and parchment while Umbridge tapped her wand against the blackboard quite sharply.

            Harry watched as words appeared on the face of the board as if someone were writing them right there. To Harry, who had already seen this technique used many times before now, he couldn’t help thinking how weird this scene would seem to a Muggle individual.

            Defence against the Dark Arts

            A Return to Basic Principles

            “Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?” Professor Umbridge stated as the words on the blackboard finished etching themselves. She turned to the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.

            “You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, course of Ministry-approved defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, if you please.”

            Yet again, she rapped on the board. The first etching vanished, to be replaced by their first of many notes titled “Course Aims”.

            1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

            2. Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

            3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

            For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had finished copying the note down, Professor Umbridge asked, “Has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

            There was a dull mummer of assent throughout the class.

            Here we go again…. Harry couldn’t help thinking wryly.

            “I think we’ll try that again,” Umbridge said. “When I asked a question, I should like you to reply, “Yes, Professor Umbridge”, or “No, Professor Umbridge”. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

            The class obediently answered to the fly/toad hybrid, “Yes, Professor Umbridge.”

            “Good,” she said. “I should like you to turn to page five and read “Chapter one, basics for beginners”. There will be no need to talk.”

            Leaving the blackboard, Professor Umbridge settled herself in the chair behind her desk, observing them all closely with her pouchy toad-like eyes.  Harry turned to the fifth page of his copy and begun to read.

            Not five seconds after beginning, Harry was beginning to think this class was dreadfully dull. He already felt his concentration slipping away, finally realizing that he had read the same line (Defensive magic is, as its term says, used as a last resort when your life may be hanging by a thread.) Finding playing hangman with his best friend beginning to bore him even more than he already was, Harry begun to survey the classroom. And found something quite interesting.

            Hermione wasn’t reading. Instead, her hand was in the air while she stared fixedly at Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely elsewhere. The spectacle, most would downright admit, was so fascinating that the rest of the class stopped reading the first chapter of Slinkhard’s Defensive Magical Theory.

            With the whole class dismissing the lesson, Umbridge could no longer ignore the spotlight of the classroom. “Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” She asked as if she had only noticed the spectacle.

            “Not about the chapter, no,” Hermione answered truthfully. Harry found it simply fascinating that Hermione was right here and neglecting the chance to read a book. Maybe he should pay more attention to her….

            “Well,” Umbridge replied coolly. “We’re reading just now. And it seems like you are disturbing the rest of my lesson.” Harry could hold back a snort which, thankfully, Umbridge didn’t notice. “If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.”

            Though as she looked down towards the piece of parchment lying on her desktop, the class was once more drawn to Hermione, “I’ve got a query about your course aims.”

            The toad raised her eyebrows. Harry could have sworn that her eyes took on a shade of red at that moment, though when he begun to investigate further, he found them quite normal, grey almo-

            “And your name is?”

            “Hermione Granger,” she answered properly.

            “Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are laid out perfectly clear if you read through them carefully enough.” She said in a voice of determined sweetness, as if she were holding back her spite.

            Hermione, as always, was extraordinarily blunt. “Well, I don’t. There’s nothing there about using defensive spells.”

            Harry distinctly saw many people peer over at the three jaggedly written points on the board. It seems as though the writing takes after the caster even when she’s too lazy to write it in herself…. He thought dryly.

            “Using defensive spells?” Harry’s eyes were drawn to the toad, unfortunately. Umbridge spat out a pathetically sweet laugh that made goose bumps appear on Harry’s skin. “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?”

            Ron was, of course, not as subtle with his rousing hatred towards Umbridge. “We’re not going use magic?!”

            “Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr-”

            “Weasley,” Ron muttered sharply, thrusting his hand into the air.

            Smiling wickedly once more, Umbridge turned her gaze elsewhere, thus smiting him quite thoroughly. Her eyes narrowed on the other hand in the air, the only Hermione Granger.

            Of course, she always raises her hand. Harry said to himself in his mind. She’s probably the only one that doesn’t need a reminder.

            “Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?”

            “Yes,” She said calmly, though Harry could hear how even her tone was now that the prospect of using no magic was upon them. “Surely the whole point of Defence against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?”

            Umbridge’s tone was as even as Hermione’s, though far less pleasant to hear, and not just because Harry liked the words that came out of Hermione’s mouth better…. “Are you a ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?”

            “No, but-”

            “Well, then,” Umbridge interrupted while leaning back in her chair, dropping her quill onto her desktop defiantly. “I’m afraid you’re not qualified to decide what the “whole point” of any class if then. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free wa-”

            Harry didn’t know why his temper had bubbled up to this, but something inside of him stirred when she had said: “Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study.” Harry had met with some Ministry employees and, of course, clever wasn’t even close to being the first adjective he’d use to describe them while it would be for Hermione Jane Granger. “Well, what use is that?” He said loudly and provokingly. “If we’re going to be attacked it won’t be in a-”

            “Hand, Mr Potter!” Professor Umbridge seemed to sing scathingly.

            Thrusting his hand into the air, Harry felt as though he wanted to punch her face inward. Their new Professor promptly turned away from the trio’s table to find her next victim.

            “And your name is?” She said to Dean Thomas.

            “Dean Thomas,” Oh, how appropriate, Harry thought irreverently.

            When Dean said nothing for a mere second, Dolores Umbridge felt it appropriate to prompt him viciously. Of course, it was her way of catching him off-guard and th- “Well, Mr Thomas?”

            “Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” he mumbled and Harry was reminded of Neville’s timid behaviour for a fleeting second. “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk free.”

            “I repeat, do you expect to be attacked during any of my classes?”

            “No, but-”

            Professor Umbridge talked over him. “I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in the class.” She paused to give a nasty laugh the made people other than Harry shiver. “Extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

            Harry’s earlier impression of Dean was dismissed as he entered a “rage phase” which Harry had entered and left many times this year. “If you mean Professor Lupin, he was the best we eve-”

            “Hand, Mr Thomas!”

            And for the rest of the period, the spotlight shone from peer to peer, until it finally landed on Harry. Who caused the argument to shatter entirely, with the subtle truth of Voldemort’s return and how the Ministry refused to acknowledge the truth!

            Because of this, Harry had Hermione’s voice stuck in his mind while he stomped down towards McGonagall’s office. Of course, it was only appropriate for Hermione to warn him while he trounced on and on about Voldemort doing this and Voldemort killing that.

            And then, when he finally reached McGonagall (after positively screaming at Peeves) she only lectured him about keeping his mouth shut and his tone even when speaking with Umbridge. It was one thing to hate her, and it was entirely another thing to act on that hatred. Apparently, anyway.

            “Potter,” McGonagall said sternly, bringing him out of his reverie. “Use your common sense! You know where she comes from, you must know to whom she is reporting.”

            Before Harry could reply, the bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson. The next second brought the familiar sounds of students trouncing onto their next classes all over the castle.

            McGonagall peered at the note Harry had presented to her at the beginning of this meeting. “Says here she’s given you a detention every evening this week, starting tomorrow.”

            Harry swallowed the ginger newt McGonagall had given him earlier, finding the constrictions in his throat to be rather unpleasant. “E – every evening?!” He repeated, horrified. “But, Professor, couldn’t y-”

            “No, I couldn’t,” McGonagall said flatly.

            “But-”

            “She is your teacher, Potter.” Harry could sense that McGonagall was, at least, somewhat stressed by this prospect. “And has every right to give you detention. You will go to her room at five o’clock tomorrow for the first one. Just remember: tread carefully around Dolores Umbridge.”

            “But I was telling this truth!” The Boy-who-lived cried out, not believing that this was possible. “Voldemort is back, you know he is; Professor Dumbledore knows he is-”

            “For Merlin’s sake, Potter!” McGonagall’s stress reached its zenith as she straightened her glasses (she had cringed when Harry said the Dark Lord’s name). “Do you honestly think this is about truth or lies? It’s about keeping your head down and your temper under control!”

            Standing up, McGonagall’s nostrils were wide and her mouth very thin. Following suit, Harry stood up, knowing he had touched a nerve. More like killed a nerve, he couldn’t help thinking.

            “Have another biscuit,” she said, waving her hand impatiently at the tin on her desk.

            “No thanks,” he replied coldly. His views of McGonagall had dropped considerably in this short amount of time.

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped.

            Finally giving in, Harry took one and politely thanked her, thinking it smart to dismiss his cold tone.

            “Didn’t you listen to Dolores Umbridge’s speech at the start of term feast, Potter?”

            Harry froze as he was about to put the biscuit in his mouth. “Yeah,” he was desperately trying to remember Hermione’s summary of the speech.

            “There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle,”

            “Was there?”

            “How about: “progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged?” or “pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited?”

            “Well, what does that mean?!”

            “I’ll tell you what it means, it means the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.”

            “Yeah, she said … err … progress will be prohibited or … well, I meant that… err … the Ministry’s trying to interfere at Hogwarts.”

            After he said this, McGonagall eyed him closely for a mere moment, then sniffed, walked around her desk and held open the door for him.

            “Well,” she said with a slight smile as Harry begun to leave the room. “I’m glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate.”

~*~

            Dinner in the Great Hall that night was not a pleasant experience for Harry, Ron and Hermione. The news of his shouting match with Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts’ standards. He heard whispers all around him (even from Ginny and her small crowd of fourth year Gryffindors, which halted when Harry glared at her, thus causing her to blush furiously) whilst he ate with Ron and Hermione.

            “What I don’t get,” Harry said through clenched teeth, laying down his knife and fork (his hands were shaking too much to hold them steady), “is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them….”

            Hermione sighed, laying down her own utensils. “The thing is, Harry, I’m not sure they did,” she said grimly. “Oh, let’s get out of here.”

            To this, Ron looked at his half-finished apple pie with a longing in his light blue eyes, but followed suit. Harry grimaced as all the faces of the Great Hall followed them as they left their dinner behind.

            “What’d you mean; you’re not sure they believed Dumbledore?” Harry asked Hermione as soon as they reached the front landing and waved their greetings to Ginny as she zoomed by from the library doors.

            “Look, you don’t understand what it was like after it happened.” She answered quietly. “You arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric’s dead body … none of us saw what happened in the maze … we just had Dumbledore’s word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you.”

            “Which is the bloody truth!” Harry said loudly.

            Hermione’s tone was weary, but softly spoken. As if she just wanted Harry to know her frustration with his temper. “I know it is, Harry, so will you please stop biting my head off?” Harry nodded, mumbling an apology as Ron rubbed his stomach with the same longing look on his face. “It’s just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you’re a nutcase and Dumbledore’s gone senile!”

            Rain begun to pound the windowpanes as they strolled along the empty corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry felt as though this one day had lasted an entire week, and the depressing part was that this was the first day. Glancing out in the rain as they turned into the Fat Lady’s corridor. There was still no light in Hagrid’s cabin.

            “Mimbulus mimbletonia,” Hermione said, before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the familiar hole behind it and the three of them scrambled through it.

             The common room was almost empty; nearly everyone was still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself from an armchair and trotted to meet them, purring loudly and soothingly, and when Harry, Ron and Hermione took their three favourite chairs at the fireside he leapt lightly on to Hermione’s lap and curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted from their first, hectic, day.

            “How can Dumbledore let this happen?!” Hermione cried out suddenly, making both Harry and Ron jump and Crookshanks leap off her lap, returning to his original armchair. “How can he let that … that terrible woman teach us? And in our owl year, too!”

            “Well, we’ve never had great Defence against the Dark Arts teachers, have we?” Harry asked, relaxing now that Hermione wasn’t directly screaming at either Ron or him. “You know what it’s like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job; they say it’s jinxed.”

            “Yes, but to employ someone who’s actually refusing to let us do magic! What’s Dumbledore playing at?” Hermione countered, now ripping at the arms of her squishy armchair which Harry thought, a mere moment ago, was her favourite reading chair in the entire school.

            “And she’s trying to get people to spy for her,” Ron said darkly. “Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who’s back?”

            “Of course she’s here to spy on us all, that’s obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?” Hermione snapped angrily.

            Oh no…. “Don’t start arguing again,” Harry said wearily as Ron was about to counter with some other insult directed at Hermione. “Can’t we … Can’t we just…. Let’s do the homework, get it out of the way….”

            Without verbal consent, the three of them gathered their schoolbags and took out their respective Potions notes with blank parchment. Harry begun to notice people filing into the common room, now that dinner was obviously over. A couple of younger Gryffindors eyed him coyly and when he stared right back at them with a frown on his face; one squeaked and dashed towards the girls’ dormitory.

            “The properties … of moonstone … and its uses … in potion making….” Ron muttered as he wrote jaggedly across the top of the parchment. “There,” he underlined the title, then looked up at Hermione expectantly.

            “So, what are the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion making?”

            But Hermione wasn’t listening; she was biting her lower lip quite furiously. Harry noted that she was deep in thought (hopefully, for Ron’s sake, about the properties of moonstone) and quickly shushed Ron, though he felt his gaze move back to Hermione as she fiddled around with her quill.

            He had never really noticed these little habits of Hermione as she thought about … whatever Hermione Granger would think about. But now that he saw her….

            Quite suddenly, she dived back into her bag and pulled out two, what looked like woolly objects and placed them neatly on the table in front of them. She stood up and admired them contently.

            “What, in the name of Merlin are you doing?” Ron asked cautiously, as if afraid for her sanity.

            “They’re hats for the house-elves,” she said briskly as she put her Potion notes away.

            Harry noted this interaction, even as Ron continued to gaze at the woolly objects (now covered with parchment). “Hermione, what’s wrong?”

            “Hmm?” She looked back up at Harry, her honey coloured eyes gazing right at Harry’s face.

            Harry found himself frozen, much like he would be whenever he encountered Cho Chang, but this was Hermione…. His best friend. Quickly, Harry tore his gaze away and asked the question again, finding himself fumbling with the simple words. “Her – Hermione, what’s wr – wrong? You’re putting away your notes.”

            Ron looked up at this comment and noticed that she was putting away her notes. “No!” He said. “I need you, Hermione! I can’t finish this … this stupid essay without you!”

            “Well, too bad. Look it up in the bloody textbook if you want.” She swung her bag over her neck, securing it over her shoulder. “I – I’m afraid I can’t concentrate right now…” She quickly turned around and made her way towards the girls’ dormitory.

            Harry watched her walk, the briskness that was Hermione far gone.

            “Bloody hell…. Something must be eating her up, eh? She actually swore.” Ron said wistfully as Harry continued to watch her back. “Well, Merlin knows I can’t do this without her. I haven’t a clue what you’re supposed to do with moonstones, have you?”

            “What?” Harry turned back a bit too fast and cracked his neck; he rubbed it, trying to sooth the pain that had suddenly burst there. “Oh, no … no clue….”

            Ron eyed him suspiciously. “Now you’re acting weird…. Hey, you know Hermione didn’t even notice Fred and George over there!”

            Harry turned to where Ron was indicating and found that he was right; Fred and George were currently testing one of their products on several scared first years with Lee trailing after them with a clipboard.

            “Bugger, she’s out of it….” Ron said, packing up while Harry watched a first year gulp down one of the sweets and promptly pass out. Lee recorded something on the clipboard and Fred winked at Harry.

            “They’ll be alright,” Fred said, putting another treat into the hanging mouth of the first year. “Tell Hermione that, will you? I’m surprised she didn’t thunder down on us like she usually does…”

            Harry thought about the entire day now that Ron had bid him goodnight and Fred had gone back to his duties. He was curious to figure out what exactly was wrong with Hermione that day. He eyed the two hats on the table, covering in bits of parchment.

            He swiftly pulled off the bits of parchment, tossing them in a nearby waste bin which devoured the papers scrumptiously. At least they should know what they’re cleaning up…. Harry found it quite dirty in tricking the elves into freedom. Harry found that Hermione had taken the whole House Elf issue quite … to the extreme. He guessed that seeing Winky’s condition after her dismissal from Mr. Crouch set her off quite badly. Though he could understand where she was coming from, having set Dobby free only … three years ago.

            Sighing from the prospect of finishing no homework today, he packed his stuff and followed Ron up to the dormitory, taking one last glance at the girls’ dormitory and seeing Parvati and Lavender, giggling at something Harry didn’t want to know about, entering.

            Thinking quickly, Harry dashed towards the two girls. “H – hey, Parvati!” He hoped that Parvati had forgotten about the whole Yule Ball thing, but knowing her grudges towards boys….

            “Harry?” She said curiously, stopping Lavender with a hand. “What’d you want?”

            No, guess she hasn’t forgotten. “I – I was just wondering if you could … you know….” She eyed him warily. “Ask Hermione something…”

            “Oh, I knew this was going to about her!” Lavender squeaked irritatingly. “She’s all that Harry cares abo-”

            “Shut up, Lav.” Parvati said sharply, cutting her off. Thank, Merlin! “What do you want me to ask her?”

            Harry opened his mouth to say something, but found nothing coming out oddly enough. He had formulated a plan in the three seconds he was on the winding staircase marking the entrance to the boys’ dormitory, but now he had completely forgotten it. “Err … umm … Oh, just ask her ... what was eating her up today, alright?”

            “Oh, was she more bitter than usual today?” Lavender said icily.

            “Yeah, you could say that.” Harry answered coolly, and then turned once more to Parvati, thankful for her cooperation. “Can you be subtle? No mention of me…?”

            Parvati nodded. “Alright, Harry. But you owe me, alright?” Harry smiled slightly and bid the two of them goodnight before going to his own bedroom and promptly falling asleep.

~*~

            “That will be enough, I think Mr. Thanes.” Dolores Umbridge said coolly as the second year rose from his desk and presented his wrist to her. “Hmm….” Umbridge observed the markings etched within his skin, seeing the words she had asked him to write quite clearly. “Very well, you may go. And if I catch you out once more…”

            “Yes, Miss.” He said, lowering his head as he left the room as quickly as possible.

            Umbridge quickly tided up her desk and slung her bag over her neck. She realized that she had nothing concrete for Fudge and was worried about her first message to him. Hopefully he’d understand that this was her first week at the school, though she simply knew that he would be pleased that she had managed to snag Potter into detention every evening this week.

            Stepping out of her office and waving her wand idly to shut and lock the door, Umbridge made her way towards her sleeping quarters. As she whistled an unfamiliar tune, she thought about what exactly she was going to write in her weekly letter to the Minister. After all, it was always a good idea to be ahead of the game!

            As she turned the first of a few corners (somehow she imagined Minerva charming the hallway like this just for her), she ran into…

            “Isn’t it passed yo-” Umbridge begun to scold.

            The student glared at her with eerily dark eyes. A wand was poised towards Umbridge.

            “Is that … necessary?” Umbridge said uneasily, yet the student continued to remain mute.

            “You are going to harm him….” She said threateningly and slowly, as if the student was trying to let every word sink into Umbridge’s mind concretely. “For that, you must die….”

            Umbridge dropped her books in surprise, her notes mixing up as she backed away slowly. “H – him…?” Umbridge was beginning to think this was a Death Eater in front of her, but to her extreme surprise Ginny Weasley lowered her hood, revealing her dark blue eyes.

            “I can’t let you harm him….” She said once more, stepping towards Umbridge.

            “N – now, Ginny…. Is … Is this really necessary…? Think about it….”

            “I have, Umbridge. For years I have.” Umbridge was confused, how could Ginny have known about her for ye…

            “I have wasted enough time.” With a deep breath, Ginny Weasley cast the one spell no Weasley has cast before. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Author’s Note:

There you have it! Now, you might think that this will be boring that we KNOW who did it. But I’m quite a big fan of Law and Order’s Criminal Intent. Which shows you, basically, who performed the crime and the rest of the show is about the two police men/woman attempting to find out who actually did.

That’s basically what I’m trying to do here, but I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve. It wouldn’t’ be a bad idea reading this chapter over again, if you know what I mean XD.

Please review with comments!