DISPARITY
by: Dadomz
Prologue
The tinkle of toasted crystal champagne flutes reverberated through the atmosphere intermingled with demure tones sufficiently temperate to suit society's dictates yet boisterous enough to fill an entire room. Raucous laughter interspersed with urbane musings filled the air as the most affluent of landed gentry decided to grace the marbled ballroom's near ostentatious ambiance.
The décor was subtle enough yet conspicuous in the vivid aura it displayed to indicate opulence. And ensconced within the pool of light emanating from the ornately decorated crystal chandelier stood the soiree's guest of honor, heir of one of Britain's most prosperous businesses and the embodiment of what true aristocracy should be; Draco Lucius Malfoy.
Beside him stood his parents, a conclusion which can be made through evidence of their features; striking liquid gold-nearly silver-hair, aristocratic noses, the manner in which they conducted themselves, the elegance which seemed to seep from every pore and the amused unattached disparagement which they seemed to cast upon everything they viewed.
The redoubtable Lucius Malfoy, president of the family corporation whose estimated net worth has been placed a little over sixty billion pounds had a near permanent look of contempt plastered over his features while his mouth would forever hold the slight upturn of a sneer. He had a strong chin yet a pointed jaw, a high forehead; clearly the mark of a blue blood, hard granite eyes with broad shoulders and a formidable height. Clearly not a man to be questioned nor meddled with.
His wife stood a few inches shorter than him and although she held a similar aloofness as her husband, hers was not of arrogance but of an elegance that commanded everyone else stay away yet called for their attentions nonetheless. Similarly shaded locks fell to her waist in sleek waves which glimmered in the light. Fine-boned features and an aristocratic nose complimented her façade, presenting the look of deep-rooted landed gentry.
A manicured hand lay upon her son's shoulder, the illustrious Draco Malfoy who could be described as propitious for he inherited his features from both of his parents, though more from his mother if anything. He received both envious and appreciative glances from anyone who came into his acquaintance yet more than anything he was immediately wanted.
Glancing about the room in detached disapproval, he brought the glass of sparkling amber liquid to lush pink lips and after swallowing part of it continued his survey of the room. All of them his father's associates and ingratiates, sycophants all of them. Well, it wasn't as if he'd had any say in accordance to this gala. His light grey orbs strayed over to the bandstand and regarded it with a similar indifference until his eyes nearly comically settled themselves on an interesting piece of someone.
His attention never faltering, he cleared his throat and leaned slightly to the left, his head inclined slightly towards the podium. His father caught the nearly imperceptible action. Ivory brow raised in diverted curiosity, he spoke; voice a deep resonant baritone with a perceptible East European accent; "Draco?"
"Father-" The boy cut his sentence short, realizing this would not be the best way to go on with the subject he wished to discuss. "Daddy," he amended, a subtle hint of the adorable charm he had held as a child and most likely still did considering the lavish attention and presents his parents gifted him with.
The imperial Malfoy brow rose even higher, if this was even feasible, at hearing that endearment, one not suited in public, not for a family like theirs.
"Daddy, remember when you told me that I could have anything I want for my birthday this year no matter how improbable?" Innocent fluttering of lashes over clear grey orbs and a slowly increasing protruding of the bottom lip.
Sometimes Lucius Malfoy believed his child was unconscious of his natural charms. Occasionally, he attributed this particular trait to the prestigious Malfoy lineage.
"Yes, Draco."
A spark of success lit within those crystalline eyes, sensing that the battle which had not yet been raged would be won. "Well Daddy, you see that boy playing the red electric guitar?"
Dread and foreboding swept through Lucius Malfoy, something he was not accustomed to until his son had turned fifteen.
"I do."
"I want him for my birthday."
Most of the time he blamed that allure on Narcissa. He should have put his foot down on those blue dresses she clothed him in until he turned ten; the rage in Paris his ass!
Lucius Malfoy; the man worth billions of pounds in Europe alone with hundreds of businesses the world over, employer of millions with ancient prestigious royal blood running through his veins; wasn't proof against those eyes filled with silent childish pleading. Damn Narcissa for imparting her infinite knowledge onto their child, knowledge which consisted of persuading men into bending backwards to please them.
Sometimes his wife walked all over him without his knowledge; now his son was doing the same. And he would allow them to do so, as was the norm in their family.
"Fine. I'll have Dobby send him to your room once this soiree is over?"
"You are absolutely wonderful Daddy!"
The smile that lit up those features nearly compensated for his deception and he knew that his Draco was desperately trying to squelch the urge to hug him. Well, sentiments were not best shown in public and he personally knew his son would thank him in the morning, hopefully after that boy was sent away.
Subtly casting a glance to his right, towards the bandstand, he picked out the boy his son had called attention to. Another blond whose face and build was frighteningly similar to that of his son's regular paramour.
So much like his mother, the same woman who was now congratulating Draco on his fine taste in men.
* * * * *
"Get back here, boy!"
Purpling in the face and seemingly on the beginnings of another seizure were terms one could use to describe Vernon Dursley as a large hand convulsively held the knob of the door which served as an entryway to their home, a home which bore a striking resemblance to just about every other house within a five block radius.
Eyes drawn into slits glared daggers at the youth who was strolling down the Dursley driveway while tugging on an abominable jacket which had most likely belonged to his mongrel father. A placating hand whispered up the arm which held the door open and he turned to face his wife; a rather plain- faced woman who at first sight may have been too thin to suit her towering height. She self-consciously tugged at the string of pearls at her throat; a nervous habit.
"Vernon, please.He's merely a boy. Once he turns eighteen, that trust fund his parents had the foresight to arrange will come to fruition and he will be gone from our lives."
That once purple face gradually lost its livid color as he smiled tenderly at his wife.
"He's my family Vernon and no matter how much he resembles that Potter boy Lily thought she loved, he's still a part of her."
"You loved her so much, didn't you?" He calmly shut the door but not before he cast a last disapproving glance at his nephew-not by blood, mind you. No need for the neighbors hearing about their private lives.
Petunia retreated into their comfortable living room, albeit overly decked in floral patterns. She absently patted an excessively stuffed maroon armchair-her husband's favorite- a nearly instinctive gesture.
He ambled towards the piece of furniture, his heavy footfalls casting tread marks over their cornflower blue yet still flower-patterned living room carpet and promptly occupied the seat while his wife fiddled with the various knickknacks on their iron-framed glass coffee table-another nervous habit of hers.
"It's because he has her eyes, you see," she prattled, fidgeting with her hair; assuring that every strand was in place. "I wouldn't have kept him any longer if he didn't have her eyes."
Her voice had a near pleading tone to it as her eyes glazed over. He understood the reasons as to why the mere mention of her sister brought long-buried emotions to the surface. If only beautiful, book-smart and sheltered middle-class Lily Evans hadn't believed she was in love with James Potter, that rich blue-blooded bastard. How an illustrious family as that of the Potters could have raised such an insurgent boy.
And that accident.It tore at Petunia's heart to the extent that she couldn't even stand to be in the same room with Potter's child weeks after he had been delivered on their doorstep hours succeeding the accident.
Now that child was once again the cause of her anguish as he was becoming more and more like his father with each passing day.
Vernon could barely wait for the next twelve months to pass; only a year before they would finally be free of Potter and everything he represented.
* * * * *
"Oh, God, you're so beautiful."
Draco rolled his eyes at those words as Raphael or whatever-his-name-was repeated them for what seemed like the hundredth time. Wouldn't put it past the dark-eyed man if he had. Slipping out of the tight embrace that that mere employee wrapped him in and shrugging off any more attempts at any maudlin contact between them, Draco sinuously sat upright on the mattress as he cast a vaguely concealed look of disgust towards boy he had gotten for his birthday.
His lack of appreciation towards any further affection that the boy intended to shower him with was clearly evident as he stood, not bothering to cover-up his body, seeing as to he did own the hotel they were currently occupying-no need to get his room back home dirty with another's body fluids, what with his boyfriend, Adrian, and never having even laid on the elaborate four-poster in his personal space.
He had just experienced lukewarm sex with someone he had considered could give him more-he had been mistakenly impressed when the boy removed the rented tux from his body and the sight of a pale yet muscled chest nearly induced him to drool.
His persuasions had been for nothing, seeing as to guitar boy had just recently discovered his sexual preference and was content to be the submissive one, something which Draco did not like as well, what with him also preferring it up in the ass.
He walked over towards his desk, unconsciously provocative and sensual, intending to reach his silk robe which had been casually draped over the back of a chair, something which meant that what had occurred in the room had come to a conclusion but for whatever reason-maybe the view of Draco's backside-Robert-what'shisface didn't understand the meaning of Draco's gestures and thought it was an invitation to start shagging once more.
Draco fell to the floor as he was tackled from behind and horny-as-a-bunny Roger started licking his skin. Not only disgusted at the inherent lack of intelligence and the bruises his sensitive skin would undoubtedly garner, he struggled to push the other boy off, thanking the gods that whoever-he- was seemed to be only a few inches taller than himself and consequently a few pounds heavier.
How good of him that his type of men was limited to blonde, lithe boys; Adrian, his steady, was classified under the same category.
"Could you please vacate the room?"
Yes, even under tremendous pressure, a Malfoy is constantly composed.
"What?" Eyes wide with confusion and hurt.
How insipid! Draco almost pitied him, if only the dolt weren't rubbing up his leg like a dog in heat.
"Leave. We are done, are we not?"
Turning around, Draco plucked the robe from where it was draped over the chair and donned it only to turn and find his previous bed partner once again stretched across his bed, casting come-hither looks in his direction.
"I am not playing hard-to-get, clearly; for if I were, I would not be so difficult to persuade. Now leave the premises before I am forced to summon the authorities or better yet, John. You do remember John, do you not? That Eurasian man posted outside the door?"
* * * * *
Harry lit the tip of a fag he had retrieved from his jacket pocket and took a deep drag. Life definitely sucked. Passing through pale pink curtains strung up with love beads and graffitied to the point of being dumpster candidacy, he surveyed the alley furnished to look like some sort of club. Broken planks were bound together in semblance of benches and stools, stolen canvas banners were spray-painted in what could be described as homage to the ancient Vandals who had raided the fallen Roman Empire. A bar counter which ran halfway down the alley was constructed out of broken doors and wooden steps.
A leather-clad biddy with enough piercings to set off an airport security system was situated behind the counter, mixing drinks and chatting up patrons such as himself. She was an attractive thing with half of her head shaved off while the other half fell to her waist, a blue fall of curls, and dark kohl make-up. She worked part-time at Hamish's Tattoo Parlor down the street; he'd even had her do the tattoo on his back a few years back. Good lay. That and coupled with the fact that they had a strictly platonic relationship made her an amiable companion during days like these.
"Brute of an uncle got you worked up?"
He raised a brow, running a hand through the rumpled mess on his head which could somewhat be classified as hair and shrugged. "Could be worse."
She laid a bottle of beer before him and leaned on the make-shift countertop. "Still can't believe he didn't use to beat you up."
He picked up the lager and raised it appreciatively in her direction. "Can't do that now, can he?" A mockery of a toast before he downed most of the bottle.
"Think he regrets it?"
"Every fucking day of his life."
She chuckled, shaking her head. Of course he does. Harry was built, she could've attested to that fact even if she'd never slept with him. His figure alone emanated some sort of raw power he had to learn to control. Great genes and physical make-up. Eyes that could give you an instant orgasm or stop you dead.
She straightened as their only other barkeep slipped her an order. Back to work, anyway it wasn't as if Harry would be obliged to converse any more than he already had. That boy was much too bloody emotionless; it just freaked her. Plus, Benji would not be pleased if she neglected her job over 'idle flirting' with customers. Still, Potter intrigued her. He was an enigma and she was a regular Nancy Drew, she doubted if he eve knew of his own heritage. But his self-possessed carriage might contradict that.
One thing though, he resembled those affluent barristers and political cannibals constantly parading themselves on the telly, even shared their name too. She was damn sure about one thing though and that was he was a bastard, told her as much himself, he bloody well did. Poor mama got knocked up by one of those hoity-toity blue-bloods and they disowned him 'cause he fell in love with her along the way, so old gossip went.
Lifestyles of the rich and fucked-up.
* * * * * A/N: Hope you like. We were kinda tired of reading fics with Harry as the scrawny loser kid, the proverbial dork and along comes knight-in-shining armour Draco who swoops down and gives him the opportunity to be cool and stuff. Well, we hate it when Harry's typecast as the subby geek. We'd like to think of him as tall, dark and brooding, the posterboy for angsting only with sizzling hot good looks. Just because he has glasses doesn't mean that he's the dork.
Prologue
The tinkle of toasted crystal champagne flutes reverberated through the atmosphere intermingled with demure tones sufficiently temperate to suit society's dictates yet boisterous enough to fill an entire room. Raucous laughter interspersed with urbane musings filled the air as the most affluent of landed gentry decided to grace the marbled ballroom's near ostentatious ambiance.
The décor was subtle enough yet conspicuous in the vivid aura it displayed to indicate opulence. And ensconced within the pool of light emanating from the ornately decorated crystal chandelier stood the soiree's guest of honor, heir of one of Britain's most prosperous businesses and the embodiment of what true aristocracy should be; Draco Lucius Malfoy.
Beside him stood his parents, a conclusion which can be made through evidence of their features; striking liquid gold-nearly silver-hair, aristocratic noses, the manner in which they conducted themselves, the elegance which seemed to seep from every pore and the amused unattached disparagement which they seemed to cast upon everything they viewed.
The redoubtable Lucius Malfoy, president of the family corporation whose estimated net worth has been placed a little over sixty billion pounds had a near permanent look of contempt plastered over his features while his mouth would forever hold the slight upturn of a sneer. He had a strong chin yet a pointed jaw, a high forehead; clearly the mark of a blue blood, hard granite eyes with broad shoulders and a formidable height. Clearly not a man to be questioned nor meddled with.
His wife stood a few inches shorter than him and although she held a similar aloofness as her husband, hers was not of arrogance but of an elegance that commanded everyone else stay away yet called for their attentions nonetheless. Similarly shaded locks fell to her waist in sleek waves which glimmered in the light. Fine-boned features and an aristocratic nose complimented her façade, presenting the look of deep-rooted landed gentry.
A manicured hand lay upon her son's shoulder, the illustrious Draco Malfoy who could be described as propitious for he inherited his features from both of his parents, though more from his mother if anything. He received both envious and appreciative glances from anyone who came into his acquaintance yet more than anything he was immediately wanted.
Glancing about the room in detached disapproval, he brought the glass of sparkling amber liquid to lush pink lips and after swallowing part of it continued his survey of the room. All of them his father's associates and ingratiates, sycophants all of them. Well, it wasn't as if he'd had any say in accordance to this gala. His light grey orbs strayed over to the bandstand and regarded it with a similar indifference until his eyes nearly comically settled themselves on an interesting piece of someone.
His attention never faltering, he cleared his throat and leaned slightly to the left, his head inclined slightly towards the podium. His father caught the nearly imperceptible action. Ivory brow raised in diverted curiosity, he spoke; voice a deep resonant baritone with a perceptible East European accent; "Draco?"
"Father-" The boy cut his sentence short, realizing this would not be the best way to go on with the subject he wished to discuss. "Daddy," he amended, a subtle hint of the adorable charm he had held as a child and most likely still did considering the lavish attention and presents his parents gifted him with.
The imperial Malfoy brow rose even higher, if this was even feasible, at hearing that endearment, one not suited in public, not for a family like theirs.
"Daddy, remember when you told me that I could have anything I want for my birthday this year no matter how improbable?" Innocent fluttering of lashes over clear grey orbs and a slowly increasing protruding of the bottom lip.
Sometimes Lucius Malfoy believed his child was unconscious of his natural charms. Occasionally, he attributed this particular trait to the prestigious Malfoy lineage.
"Yes, Draco."
A spark of success lit within those crystalline eyes, sensing that the battle which had not yet been raged would be won. "Well Daddy, you see that boy playing the red electric guitar?"
Dread and foreboding swept through Lucius Malfoy, something he was not accustomed to until his son had turned fifteen.
"I do."
"I want him for my birthday."
Most of the time he blamed that allure on Narcissa. He should have put his foot down on those blue dresses she clothed him in until he turned ten; the rage in Paris his ass!
Lucius Malfoy; the man worth billions of pounds in Europe alone with hundreds of businesses the world over, employer of millions with ancient prestigious royal blood running through his veins; wasn't proof against those eyes filled with silent childish pleading. Damn Narcissa for imparting her infinite knowledge onto their child, knowledge which consisted of persuading men into bending backwards to please them.
Sometimes his wife walked all over him without his knowledge; now his son was doing the same. And he would allow them to do so, as was the norm in their family.
"Fine. I'll have Dobby send him to your room once this soiree is over?"
"You are absolutely wonderful Daddy!"
The smile that lit up those features nearly compensated for his deception and he knew that his Draco was desperately trying to squelch the urge to hug him. Well, sentiments were not best shown in public and he personally knew his son would thank him in the morning, hopefully after that boy was sent away.
Subtly casting a glance to his right, towards the bandstand, he picked out the boy his son had called attention to. Another blond whose face and build was frighteningly similar to that of his son's regular paramour.
So much like his mother, the same woman who was now congratulating Draco on his fine taste in men.
* * * * *
"Get back here, boy!"
Purpling in the face and seemingly on the beginnings of another seizure were terms one could use to describe Vernon Dursley as a large hand convulsively held the knob of the door which served as an entryway to their home, a home which bore a striking resemblance to just about every other house within a five block radius.
Eyes drawn into slits glared daggers at the youth who was strolling down the Dursley driveway while tugging on an abominable jacket which had most likely belonged to his mongrel father. A placating hand whispered up the arm which held the door open and he turned to face his wife; a rather plain- faced woman who at first sight may have been too thin to suit her towering height. She self-consciously tugged at the string of pearls at her throat; a nervous habit.
"Vernon, please.He's merely a boy. Once he turns eighteen, that trust fund his parents had the foresight to arrange will come to fruition and he will be gone from our lives."
That once purple face gradually lost its livid color as he smiled tenderly at his wife.
"He's my family Vernon and no matter how much he resembles that Potter boy Lily thought she loved, he's still a part of her."
"You loved her so much, didn't you?" He calmly shut the door but not before he cast a last disapproving glance at his nephew-not by blood, mind you. No need for the neighbors hearing about their private lives.
Petunia retreated into their comfortable living room, albeit overly decked in floral patterns. She absently patted an excessively stuffed maroon armchair-her husband's favorite- a nearly instinctive gesture.
He ambled towards the piece of furniture, his heavy footfalls casting tread marks over their cornflower blue yet still flower-patterned living room carpet and promptly occupied the seat while his wife fiddled with the various knickknacks on their iron-framed glass coffee table-another nervous habit of hers.
"It's because he has her eyes, you see," she prattled, fidgeting with her hair; assuring that every strand was in place. "I wouldn't have kept him any longer if he didn't have her eyes."
Her voice had a near pleading tone to it as her eyes glazed over. He understood the reasons as to why the mere mention of her sister brought long-buried emotions to the surface. If only beautiful, book-smart and sheltered middle-class Lily Evans hadn't believed she was in love with James Potter, that rich blue-blooded bastard. How an illustrious family as that of the Potters could have raised such an insurgent boy.
And that accident.It tore at Petunia's heart to the extent that she couldn't even stand to be in the same room with Potter's child weeks after he had been delivered on their doorstep hours succeeding the accident.
Now that child was once again the cause of her anguish as he was becoming more and more like his father with each passing day.
Vernon could barely wait for the next twelve months to pass; only a year before they would finally be free of Potter and everything he represented.
* * * * *
"Oh, God, you're so beautiful."
Draco rolled his eyes at those words as Raphael or whatever-his-name-was repeated them for what seemed like the hundredth time. Wouldn't put it past the dark-eyed man if he had. Slipping out of the tight embrace that that mere employee wrapped him in and shrugging off any more attempts at any maudlin contact between them, Draco sinuously sat upright on the mattress as he cast a vaguely concealed look of disgust towards boy he had gotten for his birthday.
His lack of appreciation towards any further affection that the boy intended to shower him with was clearly evident as he stood, not bothering to cover-up his body, seeing as to he did own the hotel they were currently occupying-no need to get his room back home dirty with another's body fluids, what with his boyfriend, Adrian, and never having even laid on the elaborate four-poster in his personal space.
He had just experienced lukewarm sex with someone he had considered could give him more-he had been mistakenly impressed when the boy removed the rented tux from his body and the sight of a pale yet muscled chest nearly induced him to drool.
His persuasions had been for nothing, seeing as to guitar boy had just recently discovered his sexual preference and was content to be the submissive one, something which Draco did not like as well, what with him also preferring it up in the ass.
He walked over towards his desk, unconsciously provocative and sensual, intending to reach his silk robe which had been casually draped over the back of a chair, something which meant that what had occurred in the room had come to a conclusion but for whatever reason-maybe the view of Draco's backside-Robert-what'shisface didn't understand the meaning of Draco's gestures and thought it was an invitation to start shagging once more.
Draco fell to the floor as he was tackled from behind and horny-as-a-bunny Roger started licking his skin. Not only disgusted at the inherent lack of intelligence and the bruises his sensitive skin would undoubtedly garner, he struggled to push the other boy off, thanking the gods that whoever-he- was seemed to be only a few inches taller than himself and consequently a few pounds heavier.
How good of him that his type of men was limited to blonde, lithe boys; Adrian, his steady, was classified under the same category.
"Could you please vacate the room?"
Yes, even under tremendous pressure, a Malfoy is constantly composed.
"What?" Eyes wide with confusion and hurt.
How insipid! Draco almost pitied him, if only the dolt weren't rubbing up his leg like a dog in heat.
"Leave. We are done, are we not?"
Turning around, Draco plucked the robe from where it was draped over the chair and donned it only to turn and find his previous bed partner once again stretched across his bed, casting come-hither looks in his direction.
"I am not playing hard-to-get, clearly; for if I were, I would not be so difficult to persuade. Now leave the premises before I am forced to summon the authorities or better yet, John. You do remember John, do you not? That Eurasian man posted outside the door?"
* * * * *
Harry lit the tip of a fag he had retrieved from his jacket pocket and took a deep drag. Life definitely sucked. Passing through pale pink curtains strung up with love beads and graffitied to the point of being dumpster candidacy, he surveyed the alley furnished to look like some sort of club. Broken planks were bound together in semblance of benches and stools, stolen canvas banners were spray-painted in what could be described as homage to the ancient Vandals who had raided the fallen Roman Empire. A bar counter which ran halfway down the alley was constructed out of broken doors and wooden steps.
A leather-clad biddy with enough piercings to set off an airport security system was situated behind the counter, mixing drinks and chatting up patrons such as himself. She was an attractive thing with half of her head shaved off while the other half fell to her waist, a blue fall of curls, and dark kohl make-up. She worked part-time at Hamish's Tattoo Parlor down the street; he'd even had her do the tattoo on his back a few years back. Good lay. That and coupled with the fact that they had a strictly platonic relationship made her an amiable companion during days like these.
"Brute of an uncle got you worked up?"
He raised a brow, running a hand through the rumpled mess on his head which could somewhat be classified as hair and shrugged. "Could be worse."
She laid a bottle of beer before him and leaned on the make-shift countertop. "Still can't believe he didn't use to beat you up."
He picked up the lager and raised it appreciatively in her direction. "Can't do that now, can he?" A mockery of a toast before he downed most of the bottle.
"Think he regrets it?"
"Every fucking day of his life."
She chuckled, shaking her head. Of course he does. Harry was built, she could've attested to that fact even if she'd never slept with him. His figure alone emanated some sort of raw power he had to learn to control. Great genes and physical make-up. Eyes that could give you an instant orgasm or stop you dead.
She straightened as their only other barkeep slipped her an order. Back to work, anyway it wasn't as if Harry would be obliged to converse any more than he already had. That boy was much too bloody emotionless; it just freaked her. Plus, Benji would not be pleased if she neglected her job over 'idle flirting' with customers. Still, Potter intrigued her. He was an enigma and she was a regular Nancy Drew, she doubted if he eve knew of his own heritage. But his self-possessed carriage might contradict that.
One thing though, he resembled those affluent barristers and political cannibals constantly parading themselves on the telly, even shared their name too. She was damn sure about one thing though and that was he was a bastard, told her as much himself, he bloody well did. Poor mama got knocked up by one of those hoity-toity blue-bloods and they disowned him 'cause he fell in love with her along the way, so old gossip went.
Lifestyles of the rich and fucked-up.
* * * * * A/N: Hope you like. We were kinda tired of reading fics with Harry as the scrawny loser kid, the proverbial dork and along comes knight-in-shining armour Draco who swoops down and gives him the opportunity to be cool and stuff. Well, we hate it when Harry's typecast as the subby geek. We'd like to think of him as tall, dark and brooding, the posterboy for angsting only with sizzling hot good looks. Just because he has glasses doesn't mean that he's the dork.