Dr. Sharpe banged on the High Table, and conversation in the Dining

Hall utterly failed to cease.  "Attention all students," she lilted somewhat softly.  

"Backseat goosing is now illegal at Hogwarts.  Dr. Shaufman was not caught

smooching with President Rawlinski in the High Tower last night.  The fall play is

not canceled.  And as of tomorrow morning, boys will not be allowed to go to

the bathroom unattended by me."

            If conversation did not exactly cease, at least it suddenly recentered 

itself around the desired subject.   Several hundred students suddenly stopped

talking about the Quodpot match and began saying things like, "What did the

principal just say?"  Several hundred other students were unable to provide them

with anything more useful than, "Something about Dr. Shaufman becoming

President of the High Tower's bathroom," and as a result, a sort of worried hush

fell over the Hall.  At the Cantica House table, Brittany Johnson drummed her

knuckles on her spoon impatiently.  Bizarre announcements were Dr. Sharpe's

favorite way of getting the school's attention, and she often strayed from the

subject at hand.

            "That's better," said Dr. Sharpe sweetly, as several hundred gray-robed

students finally stopped saying, What?  "Now, as I was saying, it has been

suggested by Dean Ghast that in light of yesterday's events, the boys of

Hogwarts should forfeit their rights to use the bathroom.  I am referring, of

course, to this afternoon's absolutely inexcusable vandalism of the main first-

floor boys' restrooms.  Those facilities, as many of you doubtless have noticed,

are closed until further notice, for which you may thank your ingenious

classmates."

            A shocked silence failed to follow this announcement.  "As this is the

fifth incident of this since September," continued Dr. Sharpe crisply,  "I feel

compelled to resort to extreme measures in order to curb this new fad for

exploding toilets.  Though neither Dean Ghast nor I will personally be

accompanying every boy in this school to the bathroom, watching as he does his

business, washes his hands, and morosely shuffles out without damaging

anything, boys will be required to sign in every time they enter and exit the

Facilities.  Only one boy's bathroom will be left open on each floor, and that will

be patrolled by a castle ghost.  This situation will continue until we are all satisfied

that no more bathrooms will be vandalized." Here she paused and allowed an

amused twinkle to creep into her eye.   "I do hope that something will develop

on this case that will enable us to return to normal.  Anyone who helps the faculty

and the administration on this matter can rest assured that House Points will

reflect this aid.  I should also add that any further incidents will result in severe

punishments for the entire school.

            "Enjoy your dinner."

            The Cantica House Common Room rang with girls' giggles.  "I don't

believe it!" squealed KeKe Del Nero.  "This is the most hilarious thing I've ever 

heard!  Whoever heard of ghosts being put on potty patrol?"

            "Well I don't think it's funny in the least!" howled Marcus Kwan.  "I

had to go in the middle of Charms class and I ran into a trick staircase.  I had to

run up six flights of stairs to get to the nearest open bathroom and it took me

twenty minutes to get back to class and then Mr. Knabb used me for a

demonstration because he thought I was ditching."

            Brittany and KeKe giggled.  "Well it's your fault anyway," said Brittany. 

"How come guys always trash things?"         

            "Who says it was guys?' shrieked Marcus.  "For all we know it could

have been girls!"        

            An icy voice from behind them disagreed.  "Girls don't trash.  Girls

paint their names on furniture and carve messages on walls.  Rude messages, of

course, but specific messages.  Girls try and leave their mark on something

lasting, while boys leave their mark by preventing things from lasting.  Besides,

Dean Ghast has already determined that the ruffians in question were boys from

Carmena House.  She just doesn't know which ones."

            It was Theodosia the Water Wife, the Sylvia House ghost, who had

silently glided into the room and taken up a position by the fire.  "Home from

potty patrol?" asked Brittany sweetly.

            "You'd better believe it," grumbled the Water Wife.  "Eternity never

seems so long as when you're wasting your time signing boys into a bathroom. 

You'd think they could find enough gentlemen ghosts to do the dirty deed, but

nooooooooooo, they have to bring in the ladies too.  I've never been so

disgusted in my entire death."

            "Well, at least Dean Ghast is off everyone's back about it," said KeKe. 

Dean Hepseba Ghast was the Dean of Students, and everyone was deathly afraid

of her.

            "Everyone's but mine," snorted Theodosia.  "'Theodosia, have any of

those little rascals mentioned anything useful?'  'Theodosia, have you seen

anything suspicious?'  Have I seen anything suspicious, indeed!  Does she expect

me to be watching them, by chance?"

            Dean Ghast, regrettably, was not quite off everyone's back about it. 

About two weeks later, Dr. Sharpe banged on the High Table again.  "Attention,

everybody.  First of all, I want to thank everyone who's offered me their help in

the past week.  Thanks to you, we are a good deal closer to catching the culprits. 

However, it still seems that some of our number still find full bladders to be

extremely funny, and have now gone to work on the boys' bathroom in

Christopher Tower.

            "Needless to say," Dr. Sharpe went on darkly, "I am losing my

patience with this never-ending saga.  But since there is also the issue of Artistic

Expression involved and I do not want to be accused of limiting my students'

freedom of expression, I have asked Miss Conrad to replicate these gentlemen's

work in the main case of the Rotunda.  This truly artistic but rather whiffy series

of displays will grace the Rotunda until the culprits volunteer themselves or are

volunteered by Nameless Others."

            Next to Brittany, KeKe was having a mild fit of the giggles.  "She can't

be serious!" hissed KeKe.  "She has not put that stuff up in the Rotunda!"

            "I think she may be serious," said Brittany.  "The Rotunda was closed

as I was coming down to breakfast, but the stench in the hallway was rank."

            "Finally," added Dr. Sharpe, "I very much regret to have to make

good on my earlier threat, but until Someone owns up to these deeds, you may

all consider Winterfest to be as good as canceled."

            Four long tables exploded into noise.  "No way!" shrieked KeKe. 

"No way!  That is the meanest, nastiest thing I have ever heard.  She can't cancel

Winterfest!"

            "Does she think that someone is going to paint toilet art on the ice

sculptures?" wailed Gloria Glendower.  "What is this supposed to accomplish

besides make the rest of us sorry we were ever born?"

            "This is the most unfair thing I have ever heard of!" spluttered

Brittany.  "Does she think we're all going to go on a massive manhunt and magically

find out who did this so Winterfest won't be canceled?"

            "Straight up!" snorted Angela.  Angela was the Cantica House prefect. 

She was also Brittany's first cousin, and the combination of these two factors

made her, as far as Brittany was concerned, one of the most annoying people on

the planet.  "She knows perfectly well that at least fifteen little clans of students

are going to dub themselves The Heroes That Saved Winterfest and won't rest

until they've dragged a couple of jailbirds to her office and won a hundred

points for their house.  Look at what happened last year.  The school has a little

ghost problem, she cancels Winterfest, and whap-bam, those seniors discover the

secret of the tapestry, find the magic ring, invoke its hidden powers, and rescue

the school."

            "That was totally different!" snapped Brittany.  "Those ghosts were

threatening to kill people and they were going to cancel Winterfest and send us all

to Texas for security reasons.  That wasn't supposed to be a punishment!"

            "Sure, it was different," grinned Angela.  "But it worked, didn't it?"

            "Okay," said Brittany determinedly.  "Numero uno, they did the

Christopher bathroom, so they must be in Christopher House."

            "Not necessarily," contended KeKe.  "They may have the Christopher

password.  Everybody tells their friends the passwords.  Gloria has, like, every

password that was ever invented.  Besides, who would trash their own

bathroom?"

            "All right then," said Brittany.  "Take two.  They're in Carmena House

like the Water Wife said, 'cuz Christopher House trashed Carmena House in

Quodpot yesterday and somebody wanted revenge."

            "That's just a guess!" grumbled KeKe.  "For all we know it could be

totally wrong!"

            Brittany sighed impatiently.  "Look, are we going to find

these guys or not?"

            "Rikki?" called KeKe.  "Rikki, are you out there?"

            The waves of Wizard's Bay smacked angrily into the rocks at the edge

of the Hydroquidditch field, but there was no sign of the deceased

Hydroquidditch champion, the Silver Seeker. 

            "She's not here," said Brittany.  "She's probably up in Carmena Tower

somewhere.  Sheez, I'm cold.  Let's go in-- aaaaaaagh!"

            The Silver Seeker shot right through Brittany's chest and zoomed

playfully around KeKe's head several times before coming to a stop over the

bay.  "Tally-ho, and all that sort of thing!"

            Brittany glared at the little ghost as KeKe doubled over laughing. 

"You'll have to try a little harder next time if you want me to actually fall and

smash my head on the rocks," she snarled.  "And I warn you, my ghost would

kick your ghost out of Wizard's Bay."  Rikki, like Theodosia, was a water ghost.

            "Plenty of room in the bay for us all," said the Silver Seeker sweetly.

            "I swear, you're going to kill somebody one of these days," muttered

Brittany.  "No wonder they haven't put you on potty patrol-- they're probably

worried you'd stuff someone's head down a toilet."

            "I would if I could!" sang Rikki cheerily.

            Rikki was unusually mischievous for a ghost-- her human form alone

evidenced that she was a true ghost and not a poltergeist-- but despite her

frequent pranks and morbid sense of humor, she could be a girl's best friend if

you caught her in the right mood.  She was especially helpful to girls who played

Hydroquidditch, and thankfully, KeKe was a reserve player for Cantica House.

            "Listen," said KeKe.  "We need to talk to you.  You're the Carmena

House ghost, do you have any idea who's been trashing the bathrooms?"

            "Boys," said the Silver Seeker helpfully.

            "Thank you," snorted Brittany.  "I think the entire school has figured

that out by now.  Are they specific boys, do you suppose, or just general spirits

of maleness?"

            "They're Carmena boys," grinned Rikki.  "And they're junior boys. 

And there were four of them."

            "'Junior' as in sixth-year or as in pint-sized?" asked KeKe eagerly.

            "Pint-sized with squeaky voices," clarified the ghost.  "Everybody's

saying the guys are seniors, but there's no way these pimple-faced infants have

ever seen fifteen."

            "Oh, you saw their faces, great!" cheered Brittany.  "Now who were

they?"

            The Silver Seeker looked a little peeved.  "It was just a figure of

speech.  Of course I didn't see their faces, they had their hoods on.  Most people

who run around the school at night try not to be recognized."

            "If you knew they were up to no good, why didn't you follow them

and wait till they took their hoods off?" probed Brittany.  "If they were from

your house and everything!"

            Rikki burst out laughing.  "If I knew they were up... to.... no... good...."

she chortled.  "That's precious.  Dearest chuck, I have been haunting this school

for two hundred and fifty years.  Do you know how many students I have seen

slinking about these hallowed halls at night, staging their little midnight rescues

and playing their pathetic little pranks and kissing in empty classrooms and

overthrowing Dark Wizards?  And do you know how little it pays for me to

interfere?"

            "Okay, so we're off to a good start," said Brittany encouragingly.  "We

know they're Carmena boys and we know they're at most fourth-years."

            "Great," said KeKe.  "That leaves us with only seventy-one suspects!"

            "Will you knock it off?" howled Brittany.  "At least we're making

progress.  Now we have to look for clues."

            "Let me get this straight," sighed KeKe, "We're going to go back to

the bathroom that they flooded and wade around in the raw sewage to see if they left

fingerprints?"

            Thankfully, the girls were spared this unpleasant task, since the doors

of the first-floor boy's bathroom were quite irrevocably locked.  A cry of,

"Alohomora!" from KeKe only caused the keyhole to make rude noises at them.

            "What on earth did they do that for?" whined KeKe.

            "What on earth are you peanuts doing over there?" called a voice.

            Both girls jumped.  Angela was striding towards them, her many

bracelets jangling with a noise they should have heard a mile off.  "That

bathroom is locked, and it's a boys' bathroom."

            "We know it's a boys' bathroom!" snapped Brittany.  "And we know

it's locked.  That's why we're here."

            Angela gave them a knowing wink.  "The game's afoot, eh?"

            "Whatever," said KeKe.  "Do you know how to neutralize the locking

spell they've put on here?"

            "Nope!" grinned Angela.  "This one they want to keep locked.  But I

wouldn't worry about it if I were you.  Dean Ghast has already been over this

place.  If I were you, I'd do your sleuthing up in the Rotunda."

            "Has anyone actually been in the Rotunda since this morning?" asked

KeKe, wrinkling her nose.

            Brittany rolled her eyes.  "Has anyone actually gone near the Rotunda

since this morning?"

             Angela gave them a knowing wink.  "Only three little first-years

carrying magnifying glasses.  Better hurry, or they'll find the suspects before you

do!"

            The hallway leading into the second-floor Rotunda was quite deserted,

and neither KeKe nor Brittany had any reason to wonder why.  The stench

coming from the main circle was foul, and it was easy to see why a reasonably

comfortable study spot had now suddenly become rather unpopular.

            "That's absolutely gross!" grimaced Brittany, pinching her nose.

            KeKe pointed towards the far wall of the Rotunda.  "No, that's

absolutely gross!"

            Miss Conrad had dutifully replicated the bathroom vandalism on the

walls and floor of the Rotunda, and for a fleeting instant, Brittany almost

sympathized with the grouchy Dean of Students.   "Okaaaaaaay," she mumbled

abashedly, "So we're not just talking about a couple of dungbombs here.  Sheez,

no wonder Dean Ghast is going up the walls."

            KeKe's face was a mask of disgust.  "I don't know what Dr. Sharpe

thinks she's doing here.  These clowns obviously want to trash the school, and

she's, like, giving them publicity.  There's no way they could have done so much

damage to the Rotunda on their own, and she goes and does it for them!"

            "She's just trying to punish the school," grumbled Brittany.  "Nasty old

witch."

            "That's just it!" insisted KeKe.  "It's not like Dr. Sharpe to waste time

punishing the school when she's trying to find the people who did it."  She rolled

her eyes in disgust.  "That's it, I can't take this any more."  She pulled out her

wand and exclaimed, "Fragrantia!"

            An overpowering smell of lilac filled the room.  "That's better," she

snorted.  "Now remind me again what we're doing here?"

            "Returning to the scene of your crime, maybe?" barked a boy's voice.

            KeKe and Brittany glared disparagingly at the three first-years who

had just entered into the Rotunda.  KeKe was opening her mouth to say, "Get

lost, shrimps!" when one of them kicked the one who had spoken and hurriedly

said, "Knock it off, Harve!  You're not Cyrus Centauri.  Maybe they know

something."

            "I'm Hal," said the third one hastily.  "And this is Harve and this is

Peri.  Have you found out anything about the dorks who did this?"

            "Well," said Brittany distrustfully, "They're Carmena boys, they're no

more than fourth-years, and they have no taste.  What about you?"

            "We've found out that they have a rhyming dictionary!" said Peri

brightly.

            "A what?"

            "A how?"

            "A rhyming dictionary," repeated Peri.  "No boy could have done that

without one."

            "Done what?" repeated Brittany, with much irritation.

            Harve snorted contemptuously.  "What do you think, geniuses?  The

poem!"

            "Poem?" repeated the girls.

            "They haven't even found the poem yet!" laughed Harve.

            KeKe finally lost her patience.  "Get lost, shrimps!" she snarled.

            The shrimps looked rather miffed at this. "Come on," said Hallee to

her friends.  "We have to go tell Dr. Sharpe to search Carmena House for a

rhyming dictionary before she goes to bed."

            "Dweebs," said KeKe in a superior fashion, as soon as the three small

figures had disappeared down the hallway.  "What do they think they're doing?"

            But Brittany had gone over to the slicked floor and was examining it

carefully.  "What did they do?" she was mumbling to herself.  "Mix stinksap with

oil of skunkweed?"  She extended a trembling foot over the mess, but thought

better of it and stayed where she was.

            "What are you doing?" griped KeKe.

            "I'm looking for the poem those weirdoes were talking about."

            "Oh, for Bob's sake!" KeKe snorted.  She waved her wand over the

slick and said, "Beckaehu!"

            The muck on the floor conveniently parted itself, leaving a reasonably

bare path for them to walk on.  "Wait a sec," said KeKe.  "It's not clear yet." 

She performed the spell a second time.

            "It's okay," said Brittany, "There's enough floor for us to walk on.  We

can just go around those patches."

            "Why won't they go away?" fumed KeKe.  "And why are those

puddles not running into each other?"

            "They do seem kind of weirdly shaped," mused Brittany.

            "Like symbols or something," agreed KeKe.

            And then both together, "The poem!"             

            The oily letters were very difficult to read, but Brittany performed a

brief Glowing Charm, and that made them quite easy to pick out.

       CHRISTOPHER SUCKS.

       MARRERO SUCKS TOO.

       THEY'RE GOING TO EAT SEWAGE BY THE TIME WE'RE THROUGH.

       TELL THE COPS AND THE ROBBERS,

       WE'RE THE FAB FAB FOUR,

       WE'RE GOING TO DO 7 AND WE MAY DO MORE!

       MIX SOME ICE CASTLES

       AND SEVEN DADA,

       YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO FIND US SO HA HA HA!

            "It's a riddle," said Brittany softly.  "A riddle about who's done this.  If

we solve the riddle, we'll know who they are."

            "Charming," groused KeKe.  "Well, assuming there isn't a giant sphinx

hidden in the dungeons, can we just accuse the most obnoxious, over-educated,

self-absorbed boy in the school and get it over with?"

            They spent another quarter of an hour checking the walls and ceiling

of the Rotunda, but no more clues were in evidence.

            "The freshening spell is running out," said Brittany warningly.  "We

should go."

            "Yeah," said KeKe.  "And we have early Defense Against the Dark

Arts tomorrow."

            "How do we know that those little dweebs didn't plant the poem for

us to find?" asked KeKe, as they climbed the stairs to Cantica Tower.

            "Simple!" grinned Brittany.  "If we hear at breakfast tomorrow that

Dr. Sharpe searched Carmena Tower for a rhyming dictionary, we know they

didn't do it."

            "Now the art of countering object curses," lectured Mrs. Cassus, "Is a

very complicated one.  Who can tell me why we cannot study this as a single

lesson?"

            Twenty sleepy faces ogled her disinterestedly, and storm clouds began

to brew around the teacher's face.  "Has anyone even looked at chapter seven?"

she probed irritably.

            The class nodded dully.  "Well then?" snarled the old witch.  "Any

ideas?  Come on people, it's eight in the morning!  Shake a leg!  Get the lead

out!"  She pulled out her wand and rapped her desk sharply.  "Wake up!" she

barked.

            A small yellow sunburst exploded out of the teacher's wand, and the

class suddenly sat up and took notice.  Hermes Pinkowski put up his hand and

offered, "An object curse is specific to the object, so the curse blocker has to be

specific to the object too."

            "That is correct," replied Mrs. Cassus.  "Object-oriented hexes are

object specific, and in order to counter the curse, you must counter its specific

effects.  If someone has hexed an object to animate itself, your counter-curse will

be different depending on the nature of the object and what it has been hexed to

do.  For example, to prevent stone from misbehaving, you must use an

architect's stabilizing spell, and for wood you must use a quiescence spell,

whereas for metal you may use a regular Still Charm.  Who can tell me what you

would use for ice?"

            "A freezing charm?" suggested someone.

            "That is correct," affirmed the teacher.  "And for plastic?"

            KeKe scribbled frantically Stone: architect's spell, Wood: quiescence

spell, Ice: freezing charm.  "Brit," she whispered.  "What was that one for metal

again?"

            "It's all in the book," mumbled Brittany distractedly, and KeKe saw 

that her parchment read only:

            Marrero = Cassius Marrero, star player on Christopher Lions

            Christopher sucks = Carmena Beavers fan

            Beavers team members???

            fab fab 4 = 4 guys

            going to do 7 = they're going to do this 7 x

            This means they're planning to do one more after this one

            ice castles???

            dada?????

            "Do you have any idea about the last bit?" asked Brittany in an

undertone.

            "Will you knock it off?" hissed KeKe.  "We can do this later!"

            Mrs. Cassus' icy voice drifted across the classroom. "Is there a

problem, girls?"

            As they shuffled abashedly out of Defense Against the Dark Arts,

Brittany and KeKe had the satisfaction of seeing Taylor, the Carmena House

prefect, dragging the two first-years Harve and Peri down the hall towards Dean

Ghast's office.  "You utter morons!  Breaking in to other students' rooms! 

Going through other people's stuff!  Never mind detention, Helen Pinkowski is

going to turn you into frogs when she sees what you've done to her room!"

            "You don't understand!" wailed Peri.  "We were trying to help!"

            "She had the book!" insisted Harve.  "She's guilty!  She's the one you

should be arresting, not us!"

            Taylor's voice drifted down the hall.  "Way to accuse the captain of

the Quodpot team.  What are you, spies for the Lions?"

            "You don't really think Helen Pinkowski was in on this, do you?"

asked Brittany, as they went up the stairs from Defense Against the Dark Arts to

History of Magic.

            "Don't be ridiculous!" snorted KeKe.  "She may be the Carmena

Quodpot captain, but she's a senior and she's practically six feet tall.  There's no

way Rikki could have mistaken her for a fourth-year.  And don't forget the tiny

little detail that she's a girl and we're looking for guys."  She paused.  "Brit, how

many guys are there on the Beavers?"

            "The Quodpot team?" mused Brittany.  "Six, I think."

            "Oh well," sighed KeKe.  "If it had been four, that would've been an

easy in."

            That evening in the Common Room they drew up an Official Fact

Sheet.  Three of the six male Beavers were sixth-years or older, and of the rest,

one was a two-hundred pound bull who was hard to miss in any circumstances. 

"They're either Beavers or Beaver fans," agreed KeKe at last.  "And if they are

Beavers, it's Rex Wu or Nelson Peasegood.  Do either of those guys go around

in a gang of four?"

            "I wouldn't know," answered Brittany.  "I don't know them

personally.  What do you think that last bit means?  What is dada?"

            KeKe thought hard. "A father?  A philosophy book?  Maybe a

fanfare?" she suggested.  "You know, dat-da-da! or something."

            "An ice castle with a fanfare of trumpets?  Seven fanfares?" pondered

Brittany.  "It all goes together, I guess, but it doesn't make any sense.  And it

doesn't bring us any closer to solving the riddle."

            "What do they mean by ice castle?" KeKe offered.  "Is it a real one or

a metaphor or something?  And when they say 'ice' do they mean real ice or

glass?"

            Brittany contemplated that.  "I don't know," she decided.  "Hogwarts

Castle isn't glass, and there aren't any glass buildings anywhere in the Hidden

Valley area, as far as I know."  She paused and added, "Glass buildings are really

kinda Muggle."

            "There aren't any ice castles in Hogwarts either," KeKe pointed out. 

"Of any size or shape."

            "Well, there are ice sculptures at Winterfest," grinned Brittany.  "But I

hardly think those qualify."

            KeKe looked up sharply.  "Wait a minute.  Ice sculptures at Winterfest. 

Maybe this is why Dr. Sharpe is threatening to cancel Winterfest!  Maybe these

guys really are trying to trash the Winter Ball!"

            Brittany was just opening her mouth to answer when Marcus

wandered over.  "Hello, ladies," he grinned.  "Studying for tomorrow's

Humanities quiz?"

            "The quiz!" shrieked Brittany.  "Oh no!  I totally forgot about the

Humanities quiz!"      KeKe hurriedly stuffed the fact sheet away.  "Oh man, we

are so dead," she groaned.  "It's Magical Arts from the early modern to the

present, right?"

            Marcus looked disappointed.  "Yeah.  Um, do either of you know

what the defining characteristic of the modern period is?"

            The hunt for the Fab Fab Four was quickly forgotten in the haste to

cram for the Humanities quiz.  And after the Humanities quiz came the

Astronomy project, and after the Astronomy project came the History test.  A

full week passed before either KeKe or Brittany had time to give more thought

to the riddle.

            "Come on," pestered Brittany.  "This is important!  Winterfest is only a

week away, and if we don't find them soon, it won't matter anymore."

            "Go away," grumbled KeKe in a friendly manner.  "This essay is due

on Wednesday, and Cassus already has it in for me for talking in class."

            Brittany plopped herself down on the armchair next to KeKe and

spread out the Fact Sheet conspicuously on her lap.  "So the ice castle bit may be

referring to Winterfest, and 'seven dada' is presumably what they're planning to

do at Winterfest.  That much we're guessing but we're not sure.  The question is,

is the 'seven' in the last bit referring to the fact that it's their seventh stint or is it

something else entirely?"

            KeKe didn't answer, so Brittany sat and pondered it herself.  After a

while, she offered, "It probably means something else entirely, because it seems

to refer to 'dada.'"

            "Honestly, Brit," sighed KeKe, looking up from her essay, "I really

haven't a clue."

            "Hey, you two."  Gloria and Marcus had just entered the Common

Room.  "Are you guys doing DADA, by any chance?"

            Brittany looked up sharply.  "What did you just say?"

            Gloria appeared puzzled.  "I said, are you guys doing DADA?"

            "Oh," said Brittany sadly.  "I thought you said 'dada.'"

            "DADA," repeated Gloria.  "As in, Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

As in, essay due on Wednesday.  As in Chapter Seven Test on Friday.  As in, do

either of you guys have any idea how to block an object-hex on a piece of

clothing?"

            "Wait a minute!" shrieked Brittany.  She scribbled hastily.  "That's it! 

D-A-D-A, Defense Against The Dark Arts!  We're used to dropping the 't.' 

That's what it is!  We never thought to look for an acronym."  She paused.  "But

what's 'seven' got to do with it?"

            An expression of annoyance passed over Gloria's face.  "I said,

Chapter Seven Test on Friday."

            KeKe threw down her quill.  "Brit, I've got it!  I think I've figured it

out!"

            "You've figured out how to break a hex on a scarf?" asked Gloria

eagerly.

            "No, the riddle!" cried KeKe triumphantly.  "I think I know what

they're talking about."

            "Okaaaaaaaay," said Gloria, perplexed.  "I have obviously missed the

important part of this conversation.  I'll go ask Elaine."

            KeKe had pulled out her copy of Mildred Bracegirdle's Guide to Curses

and Cursebreaking and was flipping through it eagerly.  "Over here!" she pointed

proudly.

            Brittany followed the line of her friend's finger. It was the first section

in chapter seven, the introduction to object-hexes, the fourth example.  "Ice!"

exclaimed Brittany.  "It lists the spell for how to break an object-hex on ice!  So

the riddle isn't about what they're planning to do, it's how to stop them!"

            KeKe nodded excitedly.  "They must be planning to hex the ice

sculptures at the Winter Ball to do something nasty.  Or disgusting.  Or both."

            A small nagging doubt asserted itself in Brittany's mind, and she gave

voice to it.  "Does anything about this seem too obvious to you?" she wondered. 

"That we just happen to be looking at this book?  We're not the only Defense

Against the Dark Arts class in the school, you know.  For all we know, it could

be Chapter Seven of another book entirely."

            KeKe thought about this for a minute.  "No," she mused slowly. 

"No, it couldn't.  Because first- and second- years use those Brynne Field Guides,

and those are arranged in alphabetical headings, not chapters.  And the fourth-

years use those Lockhart books that only have five or six sections apiece.  And

all the upperclassmen have those millions of little subject books that are too short

to even have chapters.  We're the only Defense Against the Dark Arts class

whose book has a seventh chapter.  And remember, the stanza talks about ice

castles, and the bits about object-hexes on ice certainly makes more sense than

anything else we've come across."   

            "What are the seventh-years doing in that class now?" probed Brittany. 

Then, answering her own question, "Arachnoforms, I think.  Nothing remotely

to do with ice castles.  I guess we've got the closest thing there is."

            KeKe nodded.  "My question is, what has any of this to do with the

Beavers and the Lions?"

            Brittany considered this for a minute.  "If I had to make a guess," she

said slowly.  "I'd guess that they were planning to curse one of ice sculptures to

go after Cassius Marrero."

            "That makes perfect sense," agreed KeKe.  "Especially if the Lions

beat the Beavers at the Quodpot finals that morning.  And you know what else

this means?"

            "What?"

            KeKe put on her most serious Sleuthing expression.  "Ten to one

they're third-years like us.  Because it occurred to them to use our book as a

reference.  It's not certain, of course, but it sure is likely."

            "This is so great!" chattered Brittany.  "We can go tell Dr. Sharpe that

we've found them!"

            KeKe slowly closed her book and put it away.  "But Brit," she

murmured, "We haven't found them.  We know what they're planning to do, and

we can guess how old some of them are, but we have no idea who they are. 

And since Winterfest has been canceled, they won't even give themselves away by

doing it."

            A look of terrible disappointment spread over Brittany's face.  "But...

"She began.  "But..." she tried again.

            "So," said KeKe, with dark triumph, "Since it's not really all that

pressing, can it wait until I've finished my essay?"

            Brittany's first instinct was to storm angrily out of the Common

Room, but there wasn't any place else she particularly wanted to be, and the suits

of armor along the corridors were trained to scold students who were

wandering aimlessly around after eight o'clock.  So she slumped down next to

the fireplace and began to pick lint off her robe in the most petulant manner she

could contrive.  She tossed the lint into the fire and had the satisfaction of

watching it incinerate immediately.

            "Hey, girl!"  If anything could make a good bad mood worse, it was

an appearance by Angela.  "Why the long face?"

            Brittany glowered.  "We almost had it," she mumble, "But then it

turned out to be nothing."

            "What," asked Angela lightly, "The whole 'Operation Save Winterfest'

bit?  Don't worry about it.  Nkiruka Armenelos turned in the guys a few hours

ago."

            Brittany looked up in horror.  "What did you just say?"

            "Turned in!" repeated Angela brightly.  All done!  Nothing to worry

about!  Large party event on schedule as before."

            "How...?" began Brittany weakly.  "How did she figure out who did

it?"

            Angela shrugged.  "Apparently she was going out with one of the guys

who did it.  And he dumped her.  So she ratted him out.  And his friends and

all."

            Brittany threw back her hair.  Her eyes snapped viciously.  "That is the

biggest load of horse-puckey I have ever heard!  She... she... she got dumped,

and so she told on her ex?  How on earth did they know she was telling the

truth?  How did they know she wasn't trying to get her ex in trouble just because

she was mad?  And how did she know who the other guys were?"

            Angela shrugged again.  "Who cares?  They confessed."

            The good news was announced at breakfast the next morning, and the

whole school cheered to hear that Winterfest was back on again.  Preparations

for the Quodpot Championship, Snow Carnival, Christmas Pageant, and Yule

Ball began at once, and Carmena House received ninety two points for Nkiruka's

"fine work."  But somehow Brittany's dejected mood refused to lift.

            Even after all her whining, KeKe too seemed very disappointed that

they had failed to solve the mystery.  "It's not fair," she kept mumbling.  "We did

all that work and Niki Armenelos gets all the credit.  She gets a hundred points

and goes off to the ball with the Quidditch captain, and what do we get?"

            Angela clapped a hand on KeKe's shoulder.  "Don't be so down

about it.  You did your best."

            "Get lost, lizard-breath," grumbled Brittany.  "Fat lot of help you

were."

            Angela bit her lip and looked pensive, which was quite unusual-- she

usually took pride in ignoring her younger cousin's insults.  "Listen...  I'm not

supposed to be telling you this..." she began.

            "Know-it-all!" snorted Brittany.

            "And it certainly is more than my job's worth to spill the beans, so I

won't, but... but... you keep on the case."

            "What do you mean?" asked Brittany, inwardly cursing Angela's

cousinly attitude.  "They're found.  End of story.  Sinis.  Finito.  Khattam-shud."

            "Just don't give up so easily," said Angela mysteriously.

            "Listen," sighed KeKe, "If you're so in the know, why don't you just

take care of whatever-it-is yourself?"

            Angela drew herself up to her full height and assumed an expression

that said quite plainly Beneath all the bracelets and tattoos and eyeshadow and nail polish, I

am a witch who knows what she's doing.  "Because I am a Hogwarts prefect," she said

calmly.  "And I have enough to do running after the lot of you without worrying

about a bunch of screwballs who aren't even in my house."  She turned on her

heel and glided off (Brittany thought) as dramatically as she could.

            "What was that all about?" snorted Brittany.

            KeKe, however, was nodding sagely.  "There's something going on. 

Dr. Sharpe doesn't seem to have told everyone the full story.  The prefects are in

the know, but not the rest of us.  And they're not supposed to tell anyone else,

because... we're not supposed to know.  But... I think Angela has just told us that

someone or something is still out there to be caught."

            "I think Angela's a pretentious twit," countered Brittany.

            Nevertheless, they kept their eyes open.

            The first clue that all was not as it should be came with the updated

cast list for the Christmas Pageant.  There wasn't one.

            "That's bizarre," mused Brittany.  "The other Fab Fab Four jailbirds

are all getting shipped home before Christmas, but they've let Max Miggs stay. 

Stay and have a huge role in the pageant!  What's he been pulling?"

            "Or who," snorted KeKe.

            Brittany giggled.  "He's probably spit-shining Mr. Wattlefling's shoes

every morning before breakfast."

            KeKe looked thoughtful.  "You know, Brit," she remarked, "If I were

Mr. Wattlefling, I wouldn't want any one of the Fab Fab Four anywhere near my

show if I could help it.  They've already threatened to trash the Winter Ball, and I

wouldn't put it past them to pull something at the Christmas Pageant.  Those

kind of guys will do just about anything to get attention."

            "You've got a point there," agreed Brittany.  "And I bet there are

probably twenty understudies who'd love to replace Max.  He's a great

performer, but he's not indispensable or anything."

            "So what's Mr. Wattlefling's problem?" reflected KeKe.  "Why does

he want Max so badly and why have Dr. Sharpe and Dean Ghast let him keep

him?"

            Brittany had no answer, and the girls ambled pensively past the

auditorium and out onto the lawn towards the Herbology greenhouse.  They

were just turning into the doorway when Brittany stopped short.

            "Look where you're going!" spluttered the good-looking

upperclassman who ran into her.

            Brittany ignored him.  "KeKe..." she murmured.  "What if Dr. Sharpe

and Dean Ghast let Max stay on the show because he's innocent?"

            KeKe halted, causing the upperclassman to swear.  "How do you

figure?" she inquired softly.

            "We have only the word of Armand Shamirian's pissed-off ex that

those three other guys were the ones helping him.  What if... what if... Max Miggs

wasn't one of the real Fab Fab Four but... he confessed in order to shield one of

the real guys?"

            KeKe bit her lip.  "Why on earth would he do that?"

            "Because the other guy was on the Quodpot team," declared Brittany,

speaking the words as they occurred to her.  "Because if it was Rex Wu or

Nelson Peasegood and they were found out, they'd be thrown off the team and

that would probably ruin Carmena's chances to win the school championship.  If

Max Miggs is a Beavers fan, he might very well take the heat himself and let the

jock get off just for House Spirit.  Any other Beavers fan who knows the real

story will be buying him butterbeer for months-- especially if they win because of

him."

            "That's a pretty shaky theory you've got there," objected KeKe,

shaking her head doubtfully.  "We haven't got any proof of any of this.  If Max

really is innocent, why was he hauled up with the rest of the guys?  And if Dean

Ghast knows he's covering up for someone else, why have they let Winterfest go

forward while the last vandal is still out there?"

            "It all fits!" insisted Brittany.  "Max was one of the guys who was

fingered, but Dean Ghast investigated and found out that he was innocent. 

Which is why Angela told us to keep on the case, 'cuz the last member of the Fab

Fab Four is still out there.  And Dr. Sharpe... Dr. Sharpe hasn't canceled

Winterfest because she's in the same position we are.  She knows there's one guy

out there but she doesn't know who... and she's hoping he'll give himself away by

trying to start something at Winterfest!  Don't you see?  If he tries to curse the ice

sculptures to go after Marrero, someone can catch him!"

            But at this point the bell rang and the girls had to dash into the

greenhouse before Prof. Ollivander could chide them for tardiness.

            "Come on!" insisted Brittany.  "Get your cloak and let's go!"

            KeKe looked up from Morbellie's Lexicon of Magical Fungi.  "Where are

we going?"

            "We have to be back out at the greenhouse by the time the fourth-

years are ready to leave, so we can catch Niki Armenelos before we go to

dinner."

            "And we need to do this why?"

            Brittany sighed in exasperation.  "Because we need to know how sure

she was that Max Miggs was one of the Fab Fab Four.  If he's innocent, then

everything else follows."

            KeKe reluctantly closed her book and shuffled to her feet.  "I seriously

don't know about this, Brit.  This really is a long shot.  And what if she was sure

and then she was wrong about it?"

            "We have to try!" said Brittany, in her best morale-boosting tone.

            Darkness had already fallen as they made their way back out towards

the greenhouse.  Prof. Ollivander's fourth-year class was just breaking up for the

evening, and the girls were easily able to spot Nkiruka's elegant figure wending its

way across the lawn.  "Hey, Armenelos!" screeched Brittany, cutting across the

grass.  "Can we talk to you?"

            The older girl peered suspiciously into the gloom and sized up Brittany

and KeKe with frosty disdain.  "About what?"

            Brittany cut to the chase.  "Max Miggs.  We were wondering if you

really..."

            KeKe added more diplomatically, "We were on the case and

everything and we're totally impressed that you caught the Fab Fab Four and

totally glad that life is back to normal, but now we're trying to figure out why

Dean Ghast is only busting three of them."

            Nkiruka did not stop walking.  "I don't know anything at all about

Max Miggs," she asserted flatly.  "I didn't bust him for squat.  All I did was hand

in those little weasels Shamirian and D'Agosta.  They ratted out Miggs and

Weatherfly themselves."

            "So we only have their word on it that Max Miggs was one of the

other two!" ruminated Brittany.  "And I bet that they got time off for good

behavior out of that."

            "Theirs and Max's and Bill's," said Nkiruka disinterestedly.  "They

confessed, remember?  I hate to be a party pooper, you know, but it's over." 

This last was said with pointed finality.

            "Um, okay," mumbled KeKe hastily.  "Thanks!"

            "See!" said Brittany triumphantly.  "It all fits!  Armand Shamirian and

Sebastian D'Agosta got fingered, and they ratted out Bill Weatherfly but they

tried to cover up for their jock buddy.  So they accused Max and got him to go

along with it so that the Quodpot team wouldn't lose one of their best players

right before the finals.  Only Dean Ghast found out that Max was innocent and

didn't bust him."

            KeKe threw up her hands in frustration.  "Brit, that's all very well, but

it's just conjecture from start to finish!  We don't have a single shred of evidence! 

And just why do you think Dean Ghast went to the bother of finding out that

Max was innocent if he went ahead and confessed?"

            Brittany refused to be dissuaded.  "Maybe he had an alibi or

something.  I don't know.  I'm new at this detective biz."

            "Alibi!" snorted KeKe.  "What, you think he was in class the evening

that they did the Christopher House job?  He's in the same classes as all the other

Carmena third-years.  He has the same amount of evening time as the... as the...

as... the..."  She trailed off with a look of Great Epiphany on her face.

            "...Rest Of Us," finished Brittany helpfully.

            "No!" squealed her friend.  "Don't you see?  Max Miggs does not have

the same amount of evening time as the rest of us!  He's the star of the Christmas

pageant.  He's been up to his ears in rehearsals for the last month."

            Brittany's mouth fell open.  "KeKe, you're brilliant!" she gasped.

"Anyone who looks over the schedule in front of the auditorium can see that

Max Miggs was rehearsing the evening after the last Quodpot game!"

            "Not so fast," insisted KeKe.  "We haven't seen the schedule yet.  He

could have been free that night, for all we know.  Or he could have been

ditching."

            But Brittany was already running back towards the castle.  "I just know

you're right!"

            "Three weeks ago Sunday?" repeated Mr. Wattlefling in his cheery

way.  "He most certainly was.  He conjured up the donuts during the break. 

Stayed around afterward making nice to one of the lighting operators until nearly

midnight, as I recall  Why?"

            "Because that was the night when the bathroom was broken into," 

explained Brittany.  "And we just don't think that Max did it."

            "And we know that they were done and out before eleven because

that's when Hugo Blackwell went in and found their calling cards," added

Brittany.  "If Max really was in rehearsal until midnight, 

then he can't have done it."

            Mr. Wattlefling beamed at them.  "Oho, so you've come to that

conclusion, have you?  Well, I can't say that you're the first.  May I ask why you're

taking an interest?"

            KeKe's mouth opened and then closed with a snap as Brittany kicked

her ankle.  "We're just interested," she said sweetly.  "We're always interested in

what Max is doing."  It was an unwritten law at Hogwarts that information was

rare and precious and not to be wasted on the likes of teachers.

            "I see," smiled Mr. Wattlefling.  "Well, good luck to you!"

            "Awwwwright," growled Brittany in her most determined manner,

spreading out the parchment on the Common Room table.  "Here is the

schedule for Winterfest.  Now if you were a boneheaded teenage boy trying to

curse the ice sculptures, when would you do it?"

            KeKe was still carrying on.  "I just can't believe it.  It seems so bizarre. 

But everything fits!  It has to be right!"

            "Will you knock it off and help me think?" snapped Brittany.  "We

may be right, but fat lot of good it will do us if we don't catch him."

            "Who put beetle eyes in your cereal?"  KeKe ambled over from the

fireplace and flopped into a chair.  "Calm down, willya?  We've come this far. 

We'll catch him."

            "The question is, can we catch him without spending eternity sitting in

the Great Hall shooting sparks at each other waiting for Mr. Guilty to show up?"

            KeKe rubbed her chin thoughtfully.  "Let's do this logically.  If we're

right, the last lone member of the Fab Fab Four is on the Quodpot team.  He'll

be with the team all morning up to and through the game.  And if they win, he

won't be able to slip out of his House without fifty people jumping on him and

pouring butterbeer down his robes.  And then there's the ball and everything."

            "So, in between the Quodpot game and the ball, you're saying?"

            "I don't know," admitted KeKe.  "He certainly could be able to slip

off in the afternoon.  It's just that he might get mobbed by screaming fans or

seen by... Brit, they're setting up for the ball all afternoon!  There's no way he

could get into the Great Hall without being seen by Mrs. Cassus or Mr. Perkins

or somebody on setup duty!  Think about it.  These guys have pulled off six

flawless jobs since September and they've always done it when no one was

around to catch them.  They can't be planning to pull this off on the afternoon of

Winterfest.  It's just too dumb.  Too many things could go wrong."

            Brittany slowly turned around, leaving the parchment busily to roll

itself up.  "That's true," she reflected.  "It is too dumb.  But if they don't curse

them then, when would they?"

            "When do Miss Conrad and Mrs. Cassus finish the ice sculptures?"

deliberated KeKe.  "Are they in storage for a period of time before they're set

up?"

            "Haven't the foggiest," sighed Brittany.  She paused for a minute and

added, "I see what you mean though.  We'd probably better find out."

            "Hey Marcus!" 

            Marcus Kwan looked up from his playing cards.  "Whazzap?  You

want to play winner?"

            "No thanks.  Work to do.  Hey Marcus, do you know where the

decorations for Winterfest are stored?"

            Marcus shook his head.  "No clue."

            "Or when they're actually finished?" Brittany pushed.

            Her friend snorted.  "Knowing Conrad, the last possible second.  I

swear, that woman procrastinates worse than I do."

            Brittany brightened.  "That's true, actually.  Well, that's a relief. 

Thanks!"

            "In the northeast dungeon," said Angela.  "Why?"

            "We're tracking down the Fab Fab Four," explained KeKe.  "We think

they're going to curse the ice sculptures in between the time when Conrad

finishes them to when they're moved out into the Great Hall on Friday."

            Angela raised an amused eyebrow.  "Oh really?  Overcoming the

rather crippling fact that they're all already scrubbing Dean Ghast's windows with

a toothbrush or gone entirely?"

            "Not all of them!" said KeKe proudly.  She put on her Great

Detective expression and launched into a detailed description of their findings.

            "There you are," said Brittany, sticking her head into Angela's room. 

"Good news."

            "Come on in, Sleuth-Girl!" grinned Angela.  "Your little friend has

been telling me about the Diabolical Plot you've uncovered."  Brittany glared-- as

far as she was concerned, prefects fell into the category of "informationally

underprivileged."

            " --and so the last lone guy is still planning to send the ice sculptures

after Cassius Marrero and we're going to stop him!  Pretty clever, hmm?"

            "You guys crack me up," laughed Angela.  "I swear, in a few years

you're going to be wearing little Cyrus Centauri Detective Agency pins and

offering to solve cases for 25 knuts."

            "Oh, knock it off!" said Brittany irritably.  "You're just jealous because

we solved the mystery and Big Fat Prefect You didn't have a clue."

            Angela actually reached over and patted Brittany on the head.  "That's

right, Brit.  Green-eyed monster of jealousy, that's me.  Grrrrrr.  Aaaargh."

            Brittany jerked away.  "You think you're so great!"

            "Not as great as Clever Little You!" smirked Angela.  "Did it ever

occur to you that this entire thing was too easy?"

            "Whaddaya mean too easy?" thundered Brittany.  "We've been on this

for a month!"

            The bejeweled prefect sighed.  "Brittany... have you ever stopped to

think... what kind of pranksters leave a message containing information on how

to catch them?"

            "It wasn't information on how to catch them," insisted KeKe.  "It was

about their next job.  And they didn't exactly sign it or anything.  It's not like it

wasn't in code."

            "A code you broke without too much difficulty," Angela pointed out. 

"So as far as you're concerned, these guys, after trashing the bathroom, left a

'coded' message with details as to what they were going to do next and just how

to prevent the terrible catastrophe?"

            "Well, yeah," Brittany snorted.  "I notice you didn't get that far."

            "Forget about me for a minute," her cousin argued.  "Think about

what you've just said! These guys who have been pulling this nonsense all year

have suddenly decided to go around telling people what to do to screw up their

next prank?  What on earth would possess anyone to go around leaving

messages-- coded or otherwise-- telling other people how to bust them???  Do

they actually want to get caught?"

            Brittany was not to be daunted.  "It's an intellectual game.  Right now

they're feeling so amazingly secure that no one can ever find them that they

amuse themselves writing up coded messages and laughing at the administration

who can't decode them."

            "It's the criminal not cleaning up the evidence because he feels that

justice poses him no threat," chimed in KeKe. "Everyone knows that."

            Angela smacked her forehead.  "You girls sound like those three little

first-years, I swear.  Wouldn't it be a lot more sensible for these people to feel

amazingly secure and sit around laughing at the administration without this

'intellectual game' nonsense?  Seems to be they were doing pretty well without it!"

            "Who said anything about sensible?" cried Brittany triumphantly. 

"We're dealing with the criminal mind here!  Sensible hasn't got anything to do

with it!"          

            "Is there something I can help you with, Miss Johnson?" asked Mr.

Perkins kindly, slipping into the hallway and closing the door behind him with

pointed finality.

            "I..." said Brittany, trying and failing to catch a glimpse of the

Christmas decorations which Mr. Perkins was so successfully obscuring.  "I just

wanted to know if you had the time to go over some of the cheering charms we

were doing on Monday.  I've being trying them and trying them and I either get

hysterics or nothing.  But it's not important-- I mean, it can wait if you're busy."

            "I'd be happy to go over those charms with you, Brittany," said Mr.

Perkins hurriedly.  "It's just that I'm very busy with Winterfest preparations at the

moment... can you stop by again Thursday evening?"

            "Jacob!" came a feminine voice from up the stairs.  "Jacob, can you

get the door for me?"

            "I'll help you, Miss Conrad!" called Brittany.  She scurried up the stairs

and pulled open the iron door to reveal an enormous canvassed object on a

floating platform, followed by a harried-looking blonde witch with a wand in

each hand.

            "Thank you, Brittany," said Miss Conrad distractedly, directing the

floating platform down the stairs.  "Watch the door."

            "How many more?" called Mr. Perkins from below.

            "Seventeen!" replied Miss Conrad.  "Don't get too comfortable."

            "Can I help you, Miss Johnson?" an icy voice inquired.

            Brittany resisted the urge to salute the imperious Dean Ghast, who

was peering down the staircase in a particularly suspicious way.  "Just asking Mr.

Perkins a questions," she squeaked.

            "Mr. Perkins is busy," the Dean pointed out coldly.

            "He said to come back later, so that's what I'm doing," explained

Brittany, inching up the stairs in what she hoped was an inoffensive manner.

            "What's her problem?" Brittany joined KeKe behind a pillar as soon as

Dean Ghast had turned the corner.  "You'd think we were the ones plotting

something."

            "Um, technically we are plotting something," KeKe reminded her.

            Brittany glared at her best friend.  "We're the good guys, remember? 

So Thursday night's a go.  They'll be down there night and day until then."

            Someone knocked six times on the dungeon door, breaking the

nighttime silence.  "Who is it?" whispered KeKe.

            "Open up, you turkeybrain!" hissed Brittany.  "It's me!"

            KeKe pulled the bolt back, and Brittany skittered into the northeast

dungeon.  "How'd it go with Conrad?"

            "I'm here, aren't I?" giggled KeKe.  "Nice lady, but a few bats short

of a belfry.  How'd it go with Perkins?"

            "I'm so cheered I could mascot the entire Quodpot league," Brittany

grinned.  "The National Cheer Squad ain't got nothing on me.  More

importantly, he has no idea we're here.  And now for the moment we've all been

waiting for!"

            KeKe rolled her eyes.  "The moment where we sit down in the cold

and the dark and wait for ten hours for some yutz who may not even bother

showing up?"

            The cheering charms had long since worn off, and hair-braiding had

lost its appeal.  The two girls sat side by side on the floor in sullen silence.  "Are

you asleep?" whispered Brittany.

            "Yes," KeKe grumbled.

            "Do you want to play Boticelli?"

            "No."

            "Do  you want to search the room again?"

            "What for?"  Three and a half hours of sleepless waiting suddenly

exploded.  "Why are we even here?  This is the biggest waste of time!  We're

sitting in what's got to be the coldest dungeon in the school waiting for some

screwball who isn't going to show up!"

            "He is too going to show up!" insisted Brittany.  "Who said that

midnight is, like, the witching hour or something?  He could be waiting for Dean

Ghast to go to bed, or whatever.  You said it yourself, this has to work!"

            Keke stood up.  "Brit," she said coldly.  "Get real.  We're not heroes

and this isn't some detective story.  This is real life, where your pet theory of the

month doesn't work just because you say so."

            "Hey!" snarled her friend.  "It was your theory too, remember?  Don't

try dumping this all on me.  You've been as into it as I have!"

            Brittany stood up as Keke tossed her head contemptuously and started

to walk away.  "Where do you think you're going?" 

            "Up to bed," growled Keke.  "This is the dumbest thing I have ever

done.  If you want to sit here playing Boticelli with the walls, be my guest,

because I'm--"

            Directly behind her, something went thunk.

            "Someone's in here!" hissed Brittany, whirling around in fright.

            "Shhh!" whispered Keke furiously.

            Brittany pulled out her wand.  "Do you think he heard me?" she

mouthed.

            Keke waved her hands admonishingly and made a move as if to pull

the cover off the nearest sculpture.  Brittany, in a flash of apprehension, seized

her arm.  "What if it's been cursed already?"

            "Shhh!"  KeKe shook herself free but did not lift the canvas.  She

peered suspiciously into the gloom and took several steps in the direction of the

noise.

            Behind her, Brittany gave a muffled squawk.  KeKe shot her a glare. 

Clearly somebody had failed Stealth and Ambush 101 and it wasn't her.

            "Something brushed my arm!" chittered Brittany.

            "Will you shut up?" mouthed KeKe irately.

            Brittany was now waving her wand like a blind man's stick.  "I swear,

something just brushed up against my arm!"

            KeKe turned to swat her, but just at that moment, something cold

yanked her wand out of her hand.  "Ai!" she cried, flailing uselessly at the

darkness.

            In a few seconds of blind melee, Brittany's wand found KeKe's nose

and KeKe's hand connected with Brittany's stomach.  "Stop it!  Stop it!" yowled

Brittany.  "It's me, you moron!"  She extricated her wand and pointed it over

KeKe's head.  "Frigus objec--"

            "No!" shrieked KeKe.

            "What is your problem?" snarled Brittany.  "These things are cursed!"

            KeKe tried to steady her voice as she rummaged in her robes for

something.  "We don't know what they're cursed with.  We're not just going to

randomly start throwing spells at them, are we?

            "What's so random?" hissed Brittany.  "We know it's a freezing charm! 

What have we been doing these past few-- oh for god's sake, put that dumb

thing away!"

            KeKe resolutely held out her Spellchecker.  "We need to check."

            Brittany sighed in aggravation as the little device beeped and whirled. 

"KeKe, what part of the clue has failed to sink in here?"  The Spellchecker turned

green and began to glow.  "See?  What did I tell you?  It's already--"

            Brittany's mouth fell open as KeKe triumphantly held the box up for

her to see.  The little window read Escalation Charm.

            Brittany's voice sank to a weak whisper.  "They're not cursed?"

            KeKe's smug grin was rapidly fading into worry.  "If you'd have

performed that freezing charm, Brit, the whole room would have gone totally

arctic."

            The girls exchanged fearful glances.  "We could have totally--" KeKe

began.

            Something whisked past Brittany's back.  Did it ever occur to you that this

entire thing was too easy?  Before KeKe could say anything, Brittany raised her wand

and screeched, "Revelare!"

            A lot of things happened at once.  All the canvas covers flew off the

ice sculptures.  All the casings flew off the extinguished torches in the walls.  Both

girls' robes flew up over their heads, momentarily smothering them in Hogwarts

grey.  And somewhere behind them, a boy's voice swore.

            "Hell's bells!" yelped KeKe, snatching up her robe to cover the kind of

sensible underpants that were never designed for public viewing.

            "Gotcha!" shrieked Brittany exultantly, momentarily ignoring the draught

around her midriff.  "Think it's real funny, don't you, trying to set us up like that? 

Wanted us to be the ones who actually did the spell so we would be the ones to

get busted and you could laugh your butt off?  Dean Ghast is so going to have

your skull for a coffee mug!"

            Nelson Peasegood was struggling back into his robe, his invisibility cloak

fluttering down from the ceiling and KeKe's wand on the ground next to him. 

Brittany ignored the litany of swearwords from his direction.  "Do you kiss your

mother with that mouth?" she giggled.

            The Quodpot player, having managed to sort out his clothes, pulled out

his own wand.  "You are so dead!"

            "I'll take that, thank you," said an icy voice.

            All three students looked up guiltily at the unamused features of Dean

Ghast.

            "Mr. Peasegood, you will accompany me to my office.  Miss Johnson

and Miss Del Nero, five points will be taken from Cantica House for curfew-

breaking.  You two had better be off to bed now.  Be very assured that Dr.

Sharpe will hear about all of this in the morning."

            Brittany opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced by a kick from

KeKe.  Nelson, who had no best friend to keep him quiet, started a righteous,

"Ms. Ghast, I swear--!" but got no further before a flick from the Dean's wand

rendered him voiceless.

            "I believe this is yours, Miss Johnson."  Dean Ghast waved her own

wand, and Brittany's robe floated gently up to obscure what had been intended

to be a flashy black panty set.  Blushing, Brittany snatched up her clothes. 

"Now," said the Dean, turning back to Nelson, "March!"

            "Five points off!" grumbled Brittany as they stumbled out of the

dungeon.  "After everything we've done."

            "Please!" said KeKe.  "We got off lucky!  We got caught by Lady Ghast

breaking curfew and almost turning the northeast dungeon into a meat locker,

and we didn't even get a detention!"

            "Dr. Sharpe had better give us, like, a hundred and five points when she

hears about this or I'm suing."

            "Suing?" KeKe giggled.  "For what?  Getting away with murder?  Brit,

we were this close to setting ourselves up!  If you had frozen those Christmas

decorations, everyone would have thought we were the Fab Fab Four.  Five

points, heck, we could have been expelled!"

            "You've got to figure she saw the whole thing, right?" Brittany fretted.

            "Why else did she let us go?  Come on, let's go upstairs.  I am in some

serious need of a hot chocolate."