Disclaimer: Oh gosh! No! Put the lawyers back in their briefcases! I do not own Harry Potter! Do you really think that if I owned it I would be sitting here at my dinosaur computer in Billings, Montana? Heck, no! Man, I wouldn't even be on this site! I'd be living it up on some private yacht or something while the publisher tells me that I just sold another three million copies, give or take a couple hundred thousand. dreamy look sighs Anyway, you get the point. rolls eyes Yes, the judge needs to leave too. And tell him to take the bailiff and jury with him.

CHAPTER ONE

Telephone Call

He was sitting atop a huge throne, looking down at a small crowd comprised of his most devout and highest-standing followers. But, even though they were among his most trusted minions, he was furious with them. It was a horrible feeling, almost as if something acidic were rending, tearing, and eating away at his insides. But that didn't stop him from feeling the burning anger.

"How is it that my most trusted Death Eaters are not able to follow my orders?" he said, but it wasn't his normal voice of a beginning baritone. It emerged sounding high pitched, cold, and evil. "Even orders so simple as capturing a sixteen-year-old boy and delivering him to me." He stood up. "Who of you will dare to defend themselves?" Every single one of the masked people out in the crowd shuddered, but not one dared to speak out. Then one broke down.

"Master! Please! Forgive me!" the man shouted, throwing himself down, prostrating himself in front of his master. "It's not my fau–" The man was suddenly cut off as his master extracted his wand from his midnight black robes, pointed it at the cowering man, and stated loudly, but calmly, "Crucio." The man gave a shuddering cry and convulsed down on the floor. "Master! Please! Please, have mercy! Mercy!" But the wand was kept level to the man's chest and a murderous will bored down upon the pleading man. Soon his cries for mercy became blood-curdling cries of unimaginable pain. He was convulsing so violently on the floor that he was almost bent back in two. He calmly studied the dieing man, knowing that he would soon break his own back. Right before the sickening crack, he released the man from his torment.

"Now, you see, Avery, that you have no right to beg for mercy from me when it was you who has not fulfilled my wishes. You have wronged me. And you can also not claim that this situation is not your fault, when it is. Do not ever lie to me Avery, for you will either regret it, or not live long enough to do so. Do I make myself clear to you?" Amid the wracking sobs there was a discernible whimpering. "Yes, Master. Yes, Master."

"Very good," he said coldly. "Now, is there any among you who would care to elaborate on Avery's explanation for your disappointing failure?"

For a moment there was silence as none of the masked people dared even to breathe. Then one brave man stepped forward.

"Master, please, allow me to apologize for our failure. The mudblood lover Dumbledore has placed the Potter boy with his mother's relatives. We cannot approach the dwelling where his mother's blood still resides. We have been searching for a way to overcome this dilemma, but I swear to you, my lord, that we will." The man humbly bowed his head.

"Ah, Lucius. I can always count on you to do my bidding. But you, of course, understand the direness of our situation. Dumbledore had to explain to Harry Potter the nature of the prophecy, especially after the death of his dear godfather." He laughed maliciously. "So we can now use dear Harry Potter as a weapon against himself, Dumbledore, the Light, and everything that he stands for and believes in. Or we can when you fulfill my wishes and deliver him to me," he added with a note of deadly coldness.

"Of course, Master," Lucius bent his head in humble acquiescence.

"Do hurry, Lucius," he said, almost sounding aggrieved. "I would hate to have to make an example out of you as I have for Avery," he said, indicating the groveling man.

"Of course, Master," Lucius repeated. "If I may be so bold as to say so, my lord, I have formulated a plan of my own design."

"Ah, Lucius, you never fail to amaze me. Why hasn't this no doubt brilliant plan been put into action?"

"The others, my lord, thought it inefficient, and then dismissed it," Lucius tattled importantly. (AN: tattle tale)

"Ah, they will be punished severely for that transgression," he replied, sounding sad, but, of course, he was not. His anger had been curbed to some degree, and had been replaced with a feeling of dangerous superiority.

He felt himself fading away from the presence of the murderous man, awaking from the horrible, true nightmare.

Harry Potter awoke from the dream with a start. He and his bedcovers were drenched in a cold sweat. It was happening often now. More often than not, Harry's not-so-peaceful dreams were interrupted with visions of a livid and murderous Voldemort. What scared him usually more than anything else was the fact that Harry was in the place of Voldemort in these dreams. He saw the happenings through the Dark Lord's eyes, from his perspective. And afterward, the murderous rage sometimes lingered, forcing him to stay in bed until he simmered down. If he didn't, he felt there was a good possibility that aurors would be coming to collect him and deliver him to an Azkaban cell.

There was a soft, low, worried hooting coming from the window in Harry's room. "I'm alright, Hedwig," Harry breathed, relieved that the dream wasn't real. He always had the fear that, when he awoke, the dream was his reality. That he was actually there with Voldemort. "I'm alright." He looked toward where his beautiful snowy owl perched on the window sill. The first rays of sunlight were just beginning to touch the sky, but the stars were still twinkling merrily and the moon still shone brightly as if all was right with the world. Harry was still very groggy. He had fallen asleep late the night before, unable to settle for some reason, (AN Oooh, foreshadow!) and the vision had come upon him immediately. Harry had gotten very little, if any, actually restful sleep.

He sighed. That was horrible. And yet, I can't even remember all of it. Weird. I just have this lingering sense of foreboding. Stupid, really, for me to be scared of something that I can't even remember. Maybe I should write Sirius about it. He'll know what it's all about, Harry thought confidently. Harry then threw back his dampened covers, put on his glasses, got up, and quietly rummaged around for parchment, quill, and ink jar. He was already through with the entire 'Dear Sirius, Hope you're well. Listen I've got something really weird to tell you. It might be impor–' Then he remembered that he would never get a letter back. In fact, his letter might not even be delivered anywhere. Sirius was dead. Bellatrix Lestrange had killed him. No, Harry reminded himself. No, you as good as killed him yourself. It's your fault that you decided to take Voldemort's bait and go after a Sirius in Voldemort's clutches when Sirius wasn't even really there. You had to play hero. Because of your love for excitement and adventure, Sirius is dead.

Harry sat down roughly on the bed, head in his hands, waiting for the tears to come. But they wouldn't. His eyes remained uncomfortably dry, not allowing a single tear to fall, nor even his eyes to well up. Harry had held back and suppressed his anger and sadness over his loss for so long that crying now seemed alien to his body. The last month had seemed to go by in a blur. Nothing had happened that summer that stood out enough for Harry to remember. It seemed like only yesterday that Harry was getting off the train at Platform 9 ¾ and submitting to the Dursley's company and care, if it could be considered such. The only things that he remembered were the endless visions of Voldemort's plans and doings; the ones he actually could remember, at least, and, on his 'breaks' from Voldemort, recollections of Sirius vanishing behind the veil in the archway, never to return. The only thing that Harry had to look forward to was his birthday. Then he would get loads of mail from Ron, Hermione, Professor Dumbledore, and maybe even some from the Order of the Phoenix like Tonks, or Lupin, or maybe even Mad-eye Moody. But as Hedwig hooted once again, Harry realized that he needed to look no farther for his birthday than his window. There was already a pile of mail there and even as Harry looked, he could see a bird-shape soaring toward his window. It's my birthday? Harry asked himself, trying to account for the days that had gone by and finding it impossible as he watched a dignified barn owl drop a letter on the top of the pile then fly away. It's my birthday? Harry thought again, still unbelieving. He got up and walked over to the pile of his mail. He picked up the top one, not the one the barn owl had delivered, Harry noticed when he saw that that one had slid down a bit. He opened the letter.

Hey Harry!

How's your summer been so far? Mine's only been marginal, really. I've finished all of my homework already and am so bored! I really hope you don't mind that I haven't sent you that many letters lately, Harry. I've been a bit preoccupied with school things and family issues and events that have come up just recently. Oh, no! I've got to run. We're leaving to go to a 'family get-together'. Or at least that's what my mum called it. Happy birthday, Harry! Oh, I hope your terrible aunt and uncle, and that dreadful pig cousin of yours don't make it too horrible for you. My family and the Weasley's are going to Diagon Alley in a week to get all of the supplies and everything. Think you can make it? I really hope that you can, Harry.

With love,

Hermione

The last few sentences were rather sloppy and her closing and signature were basically scribbles. Wow, she must have been in a real hurry not to have put more time into her precise, perfect letters, Harry thought teasingly, putting her hastily wrapped gift aside and reaching for the next.

It's my birthday. I'm sixteen.

Later that morning after everyone was awake and at the dining table, Harry was frying some eggs while Aunt Petunia fussed over Dudley's hair and Uncle Vernon read the newspaper. The telephone rang and Aunt Petunia snapped at Harry, "Go answer th –"

She stopped and thought better of it. "Never mind. You'll probably overdo the eggs. I'll get it," she snapped. She got up and walked stiffly over to the telephone and answered with a brisk "Hello?" She listened for a moment then said, "Yes, this is she." She listened for another few seconds then replied, "I'm sorry, I don't participate in sales or surveys over the telephone. But you are quite welcome to send me some written information on your product and then let me see how the item works. If that's all, sir, I shall bid you good day." The man was persistent and asked for more of her time and Aunt Petunia said, "Well get on with it then." She listened for a moment and then her eyes became wide. "Vernon!" she cried frantically. Uncle Vernon put down the papers and looked sharply at Aunt Petunia. Seeing her ghost-white face and stunned expression, he quickly stood up and waddled over to her. They quickly took the cordless phone into the next room. Harry and Dudley looked at each other, and then raced for the door to listen. Dudley once again won the best spot because of his sheer size. But this time there was no place for Harry to listen, seeing as how Dudley took up the entire area. Disgusted, Harry walked back to the eggs to see that they were to his relatives' satisfaction. He heard a groan and saw Dudley get up stiffly. When Harry made for the door, he said, "Don't bother. They've gone upstairs. It's not that I wouldn't love to see you get in trouble for eavesdropping and ruining our breakfast, but I hate overdone eggs."

"My, that was a big word for you Diddy-kins," Harry mocked. "Eavesdropping, hmm, I would've thought that entirely beyond your vocabulary. Oh, I do hope that Dudley-wuddley didn't strain himself."

Dudley would have growled a response back at Harry, but right then, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia walked back into the dining room/kitchen area, casting uneasy, sidelong glances at Harry.

"Mum! Dad!" Dudley yelled triumphantly. "Harry was –"

He was cut off when his mother said to him, "Now, now Dudley. I'm sure it wasn't all that bad."

Dudley gaped at his mother and then began to complain loudly. Harry couldn't help but also notice that their behavior was odd. As he served the perfectly done eggs to his only family, he wondered what that call was about and who had been on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Dursley, I presume," said an eerie voice on the other end of the telephone line.

"Yes, this is she," Petunia replied, still a little fumed about her juvenile nephew's behavior and attitude.

"I have a proposition for you that you may want to consider."

"I'm sorry, I don't participate in sales or surveys over the telephone," Petunia replied stiffly. Oh these telemarketers! No one should ever buy from them! If they've got something to sell, they can bring me the papers guaranteeing me my money's worth and the object in question to prove what they claim it can do, she thought harshly, giving no leeway for the man's assumed profession. "But you are quite welcome to send me some written information on your product and then let me see how the item works. If that's all, sir, I shall bid you good day."

"Actually, ma'am, I have quite a different proposition for you to consider. Though I can guarantee that it will make your life better and so much easier."

Petunia paused for a moment, and then her curiosity got the better of her. "Well, get on with it then," she said curtly.

"Mrs. Dursley, hasn't that no-good, abnormal nephew of yours been a nuisance and a plague upon your life ever since you found him on your doorstep some fifteen years ago? Tell me, Mrs. Dursley, how much do you want to get rid of him?"

Petunia's eyes had gotten large and when the man had finished she choked out "Vernon!" Her husband came over to her and then they proceeded out the door, up the stairs, and into their own room. Petunia ordered the man on the other end to repeat what he had just told her to her husband while she held the phone between hers and her husband's head so they could both hear.

"What do you mean, 'get rid of him'?" Vernon demanded when the man finished.

"I mean, sir, that my colleagues and I are willing to pay you a substantial amount if you turn your dear nephew over to us."

"How much?" Petunia asked, a little greedily.

"50,000 pounds."

She and Vernon gasped. There was a long drawn-out pause between the three speakers. Finally Vernon said, "And…uh… what exactly would we need to do to acquire this amount from you?"

"When you take your nephew to Kings Cross Station, park in the very back of the lot. Five men wearing long black coats will approach you. Hand your nephew along with all of his belongings over to them. Only when we have the boy in hand will you receive the money." The man paused. He then continued, "Do we have an accord?"

"Yes," Vernon said automatically.

"Good, do not forget." The line went dead.

"Vernon!" Petunia whispered, shocked that her husband would sell family (even unwanted family) to another person.

"Oh come off it Petunia!" Vernon growled. "Think about it! We've done everything for that boy ever since the day he was abandoned on our doorstep. I wholeheartedly agree with Marge on this. We should have taken him straight to the orphanage. He has been nothing but an unwanted nuisance, just like that man said. No one has to know. We can say that he ran away. I don't want him near Dudley any longer. I wanted to throw him out when Dudley came home sick that one time when that boy bewitched him. You didn't let me when that bloody owl flew in with that red letter and then started talking to you! Well, now's my chance to amend that mistake of letting you get away with that foolishness. He's leaving and we're getting paid to get rid of him."

Petunia didn't argue with her husband, but still felt slightly guilty. When she went back downstairs, she even let the boy get away with berating Dudley. She was giving up the last part of her sister. She had never really liked her sister, Lily, but when she had died, she had realized that she didn't hate her either.

"Oy! Hermione!" Ron yelled after his friend. She whirled about with a huge grin on her face. "Ron!" she squealed, ecstatic to see her long-time friend. They ran to each other and met with a brief hug. They exchanged the usual niceties of friends coming together again like how was your summer? what did you do? etc. Finally at the same time they asked each other, "Is Harry with you?" Then they both answered "No." Ron frowned.

"Oh I bet that nasty family of his didn't let him come," Hermione growled. "They never let him do anything, just sit around in that stupid little room of his and do their work. They've never brought him to Diagon Alley before. Hagrid had to bring him the first year, he went with you the second, he stayed the last couple weeks in the Leaky Cauldron on the third, went with you again during the fourth and fifth years. They never do anything for him except dump him off at Kings Cross!" she finished vehemently.

"Wow, Mione. You're probably right but he might just be taking a while."

Three hours passed.

"I knew it," Hermione moaned. "They're absolutely horrible to him."

"I knew we should have stopped off at Harry's house and picked him up Dad!" Ron told his father. "His family are strictly Muggles. They don't want anything to do with the wizarding world!"

"You know he's right Arthur," Molly Weasley told her husband gently. "How's poor Harry going to get his school supplies if he's never able to come here to Diagon Alley and not allowed to interact with our world at all?"

"Well, we're ready to leave right now," Arthur Weasley admitted sadly. "We'll write him and ask if he's had a chance to come here. If he hasn't, then we'll offer to take him. Does that sound all right to everyone?" He waited for the general consent of everyone there. "Good. It's a plan then. Good-bye Hermione. We'll see you at Kings Cross." And with that, they parted.

They had no idea that they were overheard.

Dear Ron,

Thanks for the offer, but I've already made it to Diagon Alley and got all my stuff there. How's Hermione? Did everything go smoothly finding all your supplies? Let me know when I see you on the train, okay?

Harry

P.S. Sorry it's so short. The Dursley's still don't like me sending letters to our world. If they catch me, I might not be able to come back to Hogwarts this year.

"See, Hermione? It says he'd meet us here but he isn't here. Do you think that he's just late or something?"

"I don't know Ron," Hermione admitted. "I hope he makes it. Otherwise he'll have to send an owl to the school requesting a pick-up. Then he'll probably get detention for not being on time and for the trouble."

The clock chimed eleven.

"Oh no," Ron wailed. "He's missed it. Things just aren't going well for Harry this year." He paused, and then lowered his voice. "You didn't mention Sirius in your letters at all, did you?" he asked cautiously.

"Ron!" Hermione yelled, affronted that Ron would think her stupid enough to do that to Harry. "Of course not! You didn't, did you?"

"No," Ron replied. "It's just that he seems to be avoiding us. He didn't meet us in the Alley. He has only returned one of my letters. Now he skips the train. I just thought that maybe one of us made him real mad or something."

"He's only answered a couple of mine too," Hermione admitted. "But, then again, I haven't sent all that many. It's a good guess Ron, but Harry doesn't seem to be the type to avoid talking to us because he's angry. He'd usually just come out and tell us."

"Yeah, I guess so," said Ron. "He'll probably be in the Great Hall when we get there, waiting for us. We can ask him what happened then."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, I'd like a word with you in my office if you please," Professor McGonagall told the pair of uneasy looking sixteen-year-olds.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied.

"Sure," said Ron, not really caring that his reply lacked decorum. He was too distracted. Harry hadn't been there.

"Have either of you seen Mr. Potter about?" Professor McGonagall asked once they were within her office.

"No, Professor," they replied in unison. Then Hermione added, "Didn't he send you an owl requesting a pick-up? That's what we thought he would do since he missed the train."

"Mr. Potter wasn't on the train?" McGonagall asked, with the slightest hint of surprise in her voice. She shook her head, as if clearing thoughts. "No, he didn't send an owl. We have no idea as to his whereabouts."

Suddenly, Ron dug into his pocket. "Remember, Mione? In his letter, he said that if the Muggles caught him sending letters, they might not let him come to school this year! What if they caught him when he sent this?" He extracted the crumpled letter and handed it over to the head of Gryffindor House. She examined it closely.

"Hmm. I might need to hand this over to Professor Dumbledore. If we need to, we shall send someone to go and collect Mr. Potter." She smiled at her two pupils. "The two of you need not worry. If Mr. and Mrs. Dursley are holding Harry there against his will, we will promptly bring him here. You'll have your friend back soon." She stood up. "The password to Gryffindor Common room is 'Godric's honor.' You may go."

As the two of them were walking along the familiar path to the Gryffindor dormitories, Hermione said, "I don't understand why you're still so gloomy, Ron. You heard McGonagall. She said Harry would be back here soon. You'll probably wake up and find him in his bed."

"Yeah, but she also said if those Muggles were holding him. What if they aren't? What if something happened to Harry?"

Hermione had no reply for all that. She just said, "I guess we can just hope."

"He wasn't in the dormitories or the Common room this morning, Hermione," Ron informed his friend in the Great Hall over breakfast.

Hermione was about to reply when Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore came up behind them.

"Will you two accompany us up to my office please," Professor Dumbledore requested quietly. "There is something you both ought to see." His expressions betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts but Professor McGonagall looked like she was containing nervousness and anxiety. Hermione and Ron looked at each other, not sure what to think. Slowly and worriedly, they got up and followed their teachers to the phoenix at the head of Dumbledore's office. "Pop tart," Professor Dumbledore spoke to the phoenix and it slowly opened up to reveal the Headmaster's chamber.

A beautiful adult phoenix was perched on top of a stand looking a something white and red with concern. Ron was about to say "'Lo, Fawkes." When Hermione screamed "HEDWIG!" Ron looked down at the white and red form. It was Hedwig, Harry's beautiful snowy owl, stained with blood.

Ron's greeting changed to a strangled yell as he ran with Hermione up to the prostrated owl.

"She's alive," Hermione breathed. "Just hurt." She paused then said, sounding sick, "A lot of this blood isn't even hers."

Ron looked up at Professor Dumbledore. "Is Harry okay?" he demanded.

"I'm afraid that we do not know. An hour before dawn this morning, Hedwig came flying in. Or, rather, attempting to fly. Even though much of the lost blood staining her feathers isn't hers, enough of it is to have injured her greatly. There are a couple of possibilities as to what has happened here. Harry sent Hedwig ahead to ask for assistance and she was attacked and lost the message along the way is the brighter of the two. However, the grim fact may be that Harry was attacked and managed to send Hedwig forward to ask for help. I have asked Madam Pomfrey to come up here within the hour to treat Hedwig. As soon as she is well, we will request her to take us to where Harry was when he sent her ahead. If it was at the Dursley's household, we may have to inquire from the family some information, as far as they know, on Harry's whereabouts."

Ron looked down at Hedwig, who was now awake and blinking up at him earnestly. She then struggled up to her feet and tried to get up into the air again. She hopped painfully toward the window in Dumbledore's office, trying to get some lift. She wants to go for Harry, Ron realized. He's really in trouble isn't he? Ron thought as he reached out to stop Hedwig's futile effort. He didn't realize that he had voiced his quiet inquiry until Professor Dumbledore answered him.

"I cannot say for sure Ron, but I fear the worst. Harry is a danger to Lord Voldemort," Ron winced at the name. "Probably the only real danger that he faces. Voldemort does not know of Harry's capability, and that is most likely the only thing that Harry has working for him instead of against him. Harry has irked Voldemort for fifteen long years. He has not been able to master, defeat, and kill this supposedly defenseless boy five times, including Tom Riddle's attempt on Harry's life. Harry is the only thing that the Light has to fight Voldemort and Voldemort probably suspects this. In all likelihood, Harry has been sought after to be an enemy for the very thing he was fighting for."

Ron looked down, not wanting anyone to see his tears. How come this had to happen to Harry? Why? Couldn't it have been someone else? Anyone else, except for him? Why Harry? He looked over at Hermione and saw that tears were spilling down her face as well, unchecked. "Oh Harry," she moaned.

Professor Dumbledore had turned to Professor McGonagall while the two students tried to sort out these horrible feelings and realizations. But that didn't stop the two from hearing their teachers' conversation.

"Minerva, please send an owl out to the Ministry. Notify them that Harry Potter is missing. We are trying to locate him by the simple means that we possess, but if we are unable to find him, they may have to send out aurors to search for him. If they balk at sparing aurors from the search of Voldemort, inform them that if they do not find Harry, then the war against Voldemort and the Dark is as good as lost. Harry is our only hope." He turned back to his two pupils. "Please do not repeat this information to anyone. All of this may be unnecessary. Harry could be safe and sound in his room on Privet Drive waiting for someone to come and collect him. Do not lose hope yet."

As Ron and Hermione exited their Headmaster's office, trying to wipe away their tears and compose themselves for their peers, they were both having the same, mind-numbing thought. They could think of nothing else throughout the entire day.

Harry Potter is missing.

AN: Okay, so what do you think? Be gentle, if you would. I did write this about two years ago, after all. I read it over and my only thought was 'I used to write like this?' It's depressing really, learning about passive voice, split infinitives and all that jazz.

I know, I know. Every time I read this I always get the impression that Voldemort is hitting on Malfoy. I mean, come on high, squeaky voice 'Oh, Lucius, you never fail to amaze me. Oh, I just know that your plan is absolutely brilliant! You're so dreamy and smart that I don't even think to ask you're your plan is!' He's practically simpering! But, you know, it's good for a few laughs.

And then the part before it when he's explaining how to use Harry against everyone? It's like he's gloating to himself. Can't you just see him 'laughing maliciously' and doing Mr. Burns' little 'Exxxxellent.' Have a bit of understanding, though, if you would. I had to put in a touch of dramatic irony.

Yeah, that letter from Hermione at the beginning. Um, if I remember right, I didn't have any ideas, so I just made some silly excuses about her family having troubles. Just go with it. And doesn't Harry seem just a little slow to grasp the concept that it's his birthday? I meant it to be like he's in shock and it takes just a bit of time for things to sink in, but I think it turned out more of a stupid connotation of Harry. Whoops.

Sorry about Petunia actually having sympathy for Harry. That probably just ruined the image.

You know, it's possible that I made everyone a tad bit stupid. Don't you agree? Take Ron and Hermione for example. 'Oh, I'm sure that nothing bad could've happened to Harry.' 'Yeah, he's only an enemy to the darkest wizard ever. Not to mention he lives in an abusive home.' 'Yeah, and it's not like You-Know-Who isn't brilliant enough to have slipped under Dumbledore's nose quite a few times.' 'Yeah.' They're all in denial. That's all there is to it.

Yeah, you're probably going to consider me quite sadistic, but here goes. I rather enjoyed writing about Ron and Hermione finding Hedwig there. And I loved the heart-wrenching scene where she tries to fly out the window to go back to Harry. Don't hate me because I'm manipulative.

Hope you liked it! Let's see. It's Thursday, so we'll say that Saturday or Sunday will produce the next chapter. Review if you feel so inclined. Hey, review even if you don't. Actually, I would like just about any kind of review. This fic is so far unnamed. If you have any ideas, feel free to let me know. Also, if you don't understand or it something that I wrote just doesn't seem to add up, I would very much appreciate you telling me. It's constructive criticism, after all, and if you're confused, someone else probably is too. I feel I should warn you, however. Reviews that praise me will be worshiped. However, flames will be subjected to my lunch table at school for ridicule and mockery. So if you didn't like it and you want to let me know, you will provide at least a half-hour of entertainment for us.