What's up, folks? I've got the longest chapter so far of EbtD for you.

I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge all the kind words you lot send me. It's awesome that you guys enjoy the story. It really is. I read all of it and it fuels me to write. I cannot tell you how many times someone sends me an awesome review, I read it, and then drop everything I was doing to write and plan this story. So...you know. Thanks.

I'm sure you all will have something to say about this chapter as well. So...don't let me stop you.

Enjoy. And follow me on Twitter at BrigadeEitD!

'Kay...shameless plug over.


Chapter 4: Bedside

Harry shook his head blankly as he sighed. He was trailing behind the Healer from earlier, up the grand staircase of Voldemort's mansion. It certainly suited the man, Harry mused, as he looked at the dark walls and orderly portraits. And the man's Death Eaters.

Harry scowled at the Healer's back, but not for anything the poor man had done. What did being a Death Eater mean? What did that entail, exactly?

Alright, on one hand, Voldemort had given him a definite answer – something that he could work out…eventually. But that answer was vague as hell. He was not even thirteen, yet! He had never lived during the first war. How was he supposed to know what being a Death Eater meant other than being a follower of Voldemort's?

Another thought struck Harry as the party of two reached the top of the staircase and started moving down the corridor; how committed, really, was Voldemort to his Death Eaters? Yes, it was true that the Dark Lord had rescued his most loyal Death Eaters from an inescapable wizarding prison, set up a mansion for their recovery, and lain low all for their benefit…but it had taken him over a decade to do so.

Okay. Harry had to mentally tip his hat at that one. Awfully impressive, that feat.

How many Death Eaters had slithered away when Voldemort fell, though? What did that say about the man's ability to lead? Take Lucius and Snape, for instance. They both had slinked away shamefully when the Dark Lord fell – one through money, the other through Dumbledore. Cowards, both of them. The rest of the so called "Death Eaters," too.

Harry blinked. He had not expected to feel that way.

No one really had the courage to go to Azkaban. Harry supposed, but they should not have even needed to. Were they that easy of targets without the Dark Lord to command them?

Maybe Harry had answered his own question, after all. At least Voldemort had plans for him. That comforted Harry slightly. The man had not simply forgotten about him. Still…he would have to wait and see. And observe.

He had told Voldemort that he was loyal, once, and that he would…serve him. Words meant nothing, in reality. Voldemort's actions would have to earn his loyalty.

"Wait here for a moment, sir."

The Healer did not look at him. Instead, he opened the door in front of him by the narrowest of margins before slipping inside.

Sirius must be inside.

That was another source of emotional instability for Harry. How was he supposed to feel about his new godfather? Well…his godfather was not new, of course, but Sirius was new to him. Feelings could not just sprout from nothing, after all, and yet they did when it concerned his godfather. Where did they come from?

The man had tried to save him. That probably had something to do with it. Plus, Sirius seemed like a nice enough bloke…Harry could not hold back the hollow laugh that echoed in the deserted corridor. What a pathetic reason to feel something for someone.

Harry was not good at feelings.

There was also another thing to consider when it came to Sirius. Another person, actually. And that was Remus Lupin.

Remus had become a true friend to him over the past year and Harry had done his best to draw the man back into the Wizarding World, if only just a bit. Remus had withdrawn to an unfortunate degree after the first war, Harry had learned. Such was the life of an outcast werewolf. There was no place for such riff-raff in the pseudo-utopian state of the Wizarding World.

Now…now the man was rooming in a flat with Royce Beeler. The pair apparently got along well enough and Harry had been relieved to hear it; Beeler would be a good influence on Remus. Harry had visited their flat recently, but only Remus had been there. Beeler was always out for Quidditch matches, public appearances, charity events…that sort of thing, Remus had said.

But of course, that was not all they had talked about.

Harry remembered the revelation Voldemort had given him that one night in the Headmaster's office – Peter Pettigrew had been the one to betray his parents, not Sirius - and it made him curious. It was only natural of him, of course, to ask Remus about Sirius Black:

"Harry, I'll be honest," Remus had sighed that afternoon. "I do not know what to think about Sirius Black. I still don't. I will tell you this, though – there was no friend of mine who was more loyal. None. Not even your father. Your father's home life was too good, I suppose, to have the type of loyalty that Sirius had. Sirius…he didn't have the best home life and we were his family. We really were. There's no faking that. I…I don't know how that night went. He could have been under the Imperius Curse, he could have been blackmailed…I don't know. Maybe he did betray us all. I just…I just don't know what to think." The man rubbed his face wearily. "The Ministry was in chaos. There were no trials. Well, there were, but they were just parades. A chance to gloat and demean others. They were pointless. Sirius Black never had a chance once he was captured, innocent or not. That's what troubles me the most. I don't know. I'll never know. And so…and so I try not to worry about it. I try to remember all of the good times. That's all I have had to cling on to."

Harry had frowned. "But what about Peter Pettigrew? I mean, let's say it wasn't Sirius Black who betrayed my parents…it had to have been Peter Pettigrew, right? There was no one else."

Remus smiled absently, looking at the clock on his mantle. "It could have been anything, Harry. We really will never know. It…what can I say? All we can do is move on."

It was just a shame that what had happened happened. That was Remus' favorite line about it all. Harry grit his teeth, looking towards the ceiling. What was he supposed to tell Remus? Sirius Black was innocent – something Harry had known for a while – but Sirius Black was now here. He was alive.

It made everything different. It made everything real.

…He'd have to talk to Sirius about it. Damn. And what was that bloke like, anyway? Ten years in Azkaban. Rotting and withering away. Poisoned and weak. And yet, still his godfather.

The term kept sticking in Harry's mind and he hated himself for it. Godfather implied family, something Harry had never had. It was the same thing Remus had wistfully commented on. Sirius Black was that.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy came to mind. Harry still lived with the Malfoys, of course, and it was something he was eternally grateful for, but he and Draco were treated differently. As they should be, Harry thought. Draco was their son. He was pampered just a bit more. Harry was held more at arms' length. The Malfoy's were proud of him, sure, but they were not family.

Was Sirius supposed to be his family, now? Were they going to be family?

Harry's body jolted as the door in front of him opened slightly. Healer Benjamin stuck his scarred head out.

"You may come in," he said, holding the door open a smidge. Harry looked around…and his eyes locked with those of a man sporting a goatee, looking out of his own door.

"What are you looking at?" Harry taunted awkwardly after an uncomfortable second. The man simply stuck his head back inside his door.

Bloody creep.

Voldemort's private hospital not as large as Harry had suspected it would be. There were no privacy curtains or anything, yet the room seemed pleasant – as pleasant as a hospital could be, mind you – and quiet.

Sirius was propped up on one of the beds with a machine of some sort connected to his side.

He looked pale, Harry noticed first. Extremely pale with large bags under his eyes. The man was shirtless and Harry had to resist the urge to look away. Sirius was unnaturally skinny and his skin appeared too tight. Sirius looked up with dulled eyes and Harry felt rage in his heart.

Azkaban was inhumane. Fucking inhumane.

"Hey Sirius," Harry muttered lowly, moving to the man's bedside. "How are you, erm…feeling?"

Sirius smiled weakly.

"Terrible," He whispered. Harry supposed that was all he could do at the moment. The silence made Harry want to squirm.

"I…my childhood sucked," Harry winced. What was he doing? "Er, I mean to say…I never knew about you. Well, obviously do now, but I didn't know about you at first. I grew up in an orphanage, you see, and – "

"What?"

Harry met Sirius' eyes with confusion. "Pardon?"

"An orphanage?" Sirius whispered with dismay. Harry nodded sheepishly.

"Both of our decades have been pretty rotten, haven't they?" Harry stated sardonically. "I, er…uhm, nice to…meet you?"

Sirius looked at him for a moment before closing his eyes and snorting softly. "I held you and played with you as a baby. Refused to change you nappies, though. That was all on James. Lily and I conspired against him, there. Either way, we're a bit past just meeting, Harry. You're my godson."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "About that…what does that mean?"

Sirius squinted in confusion. "What do you mean what does that mean?"

What did he mean? Harry ducked his head. To hell with it. He would at least try to explain.

"Like I said, I grew up in an orphanage," explained Harry. "And growing up, I had nobody. I…I hated the kids. I hated everybody, really. They were all so mean and crude and…below me. They used to beat me up when I was little. And it wasn't just one of them, it was all of them. They didn't care. And people would come by looking to adopt and then kids would all smile and act friendly when they really weren't. It was sickening.

"I was almost adopted once, too. Nice family," Harry snorted derisively. "They came just like the rest of them – looking to pick out the best kid to suit their own desires. It was like a zoo. And I was four or so, by the way, Sirius, I was really, really little. Just a…just a tyke. And I wanted someone – anyone - to like…me. I wanted someone to love me. So I…I did magic. They ran away."

Sirius Black watched Harry with pained eyes, but the near-teenager did not notice. Harry continued on in a rush. "They hurt me, just like everyone else, and I've never forgiven them for it. After that," Harry shrugged. "It was all about me. I looked after myself and didn't even try to get adopted. I didn't want to go to some random couple coming in off the street, browsing the lot of us as if we were in a petting zoo. Getting my Hogwarts letter was a blessing. It was a way to get the hell out of there and to be on my own. But…I've never had someone like, er…you, growing up. I don't know what to...what to…"

"Expect?" Sirius rasped quietly. Harry swallowed and nodded.

Sirius looked at him for a moment before holding an arm out. "Come here."

Harry did. Cautiously, he leant a leg into the bed, sitting down at Sirius' hip. His godfather's arm reached out to rest where shoulder met collarbone.

"My childhood was rough too, Harry," whispered Sirius. "My parents were mean, rotten people. They were dark and they despised me. I was a shameful thing to them, just because I was a bit different. I don't – I won't be any of that to you. You see, Harry…I was really young when I went to Azkaban. I'm probably not the best choice for a parental figure. Hell," Sirius smiled weakly. "Look at me. I'm connected to a machine and the Healers told me that I'm going to have trouble walking– "

"What?" Harry started. "They didn't tell me that."

Sirius cleared his throat and it sounded more like a cough than anything. "Well…what can I say? I'm not in good shape right now. They have no idea how long it will take for my body to recover. At least I'm out of that place…"

A shudder ran through the man's body. Harry grimaced.

"Either way," Sirius sighed, using a trembling hand to wipe the hair out of his face. "I don't reckon either of us really knows what to do. All I can say is this – look at me, Harry."

Harry looked back to Sirius and too many emotions met him.

"I love you," Sirius said, and it was the clearest three words Harry had heard him say. "How you've gotten through all that orphanage stuff…I don't know. But you deserved better, if only because you are James' kid. Protecting you back in that alley was the best thing I've done in years. I'm so relieved I was able to help you in some small way, even if I got hurt doing it."

"Christ, you really know how to hit a bloke, don't you?" Harry forced out. His eyes stung. "I…thank you."

"Come here," Sirius smiled, and Harry was pulled into a one-armed hug. Harry returned it gently, unable to think what else to do.

Harry averted his eyes as soon as the hug was done. "You will walk again."

"Pardon?"

"You will walk again – you'll walk fine, I mean," Harry murmured. "I'm Harry Potter, see? I'm not the type to just say stuff. And not only will you walk again, you'll be healthier than you've ever been. I promise you that."

Sirius laughed. It was the first time Harry had heard Sirius truly laugh and it made him feel better. "I'm not sure there's much you can do about it, I'm afraid."

Harry shook his head slowly, making a face. "You just watch. In the meantime…just rest up, alright?"

Sirius looked at him oddly, but nodded. A smile then graced his face. "I don't suppose anyone has told you much about your parents, have they?"

Harry could not suppress his grin. "Not much, no. A tidbit here and there. Except, well – "

"What?"

Sod it. Harry would just tell them. "You'd recognize the name Remus Lupin, I'd reckon?"

Sirius' smile widened into a beautiful thing. "Of course I do!" He whispered brightly. "How is Moo - Remus? He keeps in touch, I hope?"

Harry nodded. "I met him a year ago. Dumbledore introduced us. He's brilliant."

"Good, good," Sirius whispered with a sigh as he leant into his pillows. Sirius said it with such relief. It made Harry happy, in a way. The emaciated man was not alone.

"Remus has been to a few of my Quidditch games," Harry went on to say, enjoying the light in Sirius' eyes. "He's actually rooming with a professional Quidditch player at the moment."

"Chaser?" Sirius questioned, shaking Harry's knee as he did so. Harry shook his head.

"Seeker," He grinned.

Sirius scooted up his pillows a bit, wincing as he did so. "You must be brilliant. Your father was fantastic back at school. Would've gone pro if not for…well…"

Sirius trailed off awkwardly. Harry knew why. The war. Voldemort. Speaking of Voldemort…

"Mr. Black. It is fortunate to see you alert and well."

Harry turned his head and let out what seemed to be an endless, silent sigh. Voldemort stopped next to Sirius' bed, looking at the man directly. Sirius, for his part, neither did nor said anything.

"Your godson is quite the sportsman," Voldemort went on to say. "And his talents do not end there. Top of his class two years running at Hogwarts, are you not, Harry?"

Where was the Dark Lord taking this? "Yeah," Harry settled on saying lowly, looking only at Sirius.

"That's…good to hear," Whispered Sirius with confusion. It seemed he knew just as little as Harry.

"On top of that," Voldemort's eyes drew Harry's own. "He's known as the Boy-Who-Lived, Mr. Black. He survived a Killing Curse from yours truly. He is famous…every witch and wizard across the country knows his name. Is it any surprise, then, that I approached him to join my cause?"

Understanding hit both Sirius and Harry at the same time, but they both reacted differently – Sirius with anger, Harry with relief.

"No," Sirius spat. "It is not surprising at all. But your cause is not one that is worth fighting for."

Voldemort smirked darkly, looking up at the wall ahead before looking down at the bed-ridden man. "Tell me, Mr. Black; what do you know of my cause? We've never spoken before now and it is only for Harry's sake that I even bother. I do empathize with your plight, however. A man, falsely accused by a system that does not work, left to rot because it was the simple thing to do.

"You were talented in your own right, long ago," Voldemort continued, a strange tone coloring his voice. "An annoying thorn in my side, I'll give you that. And I offer this concession to you now, Mr. Black; you are welcome here to heal. I offer you sanctuary here and no wand shall turn against you. In return, however…you will not act against me. I may even let you in on a thing or two…for Harry's sake, of course."

Sirius' eyes held confusion. They darted to and fro and Harry almost smiled in his relief. He had known it for a while now, but Voldemort could fucking talk. The Dark Lord was more than just a few colorful words. He said things that made sense.

Best of all, Voldemort's intervention delayed a long and awkward conversation.

"Agreed," Sirius muttered at last, but he was a far cry from happy about it, Harry saw. What else was he to do, though? "For Harry's sake. Not out of any loyalty to you. You'll never get that."

Voldemort gave Sirius another of his patented smirks. It oozed superiority. Voldemort's voice, however, was soft. "Much has changed in the past ten years, Mr. Black, for both of us. We also hold many misconceptions of the other – but I am sure those shall be resolved by our close association, hmm? Common ground can always be found. For instance, neither of us have exactly enjoyed the previous decade. Harry's has been less than desirable, as well. But we can change it now."

Sirius showed no emotion. His grey eyes were like steel. "You will tell me about my brother. Everything."

"If that is what you wish…so be it," Voldemort dipped his chin. And Voldemort's word, it seemed, at least in his own house, settled everything.


"You will inform both Lucius and Severus of my status. Tell them to prepare. It is my…first command for you as my Death Eater."

Voldemort guided Harry back to his study where there was a hearth waiting for him. Darkness had fallen, Sirius was asleep, and it was time to get back to Malfoy Manor.

Voldemort spoke those last words with humor and Harry appreciated it as such. He wasn't a real Death Eater, was he? Not yet, at the very least. The irony of the entire statement was not lost on him, either. The word "command" did not describe Voldemort's statement, either. A command was straightforward. Obey, or suffer the consequences. Harry and Voldemort...well, they understood each other. Harry had forgotten how similar they were in their time apart. He felt like a right git for yelling at the Dark Lord earlier, now.

There was a mutual respect between them. And out of respect, he would do what Voldemort asked.

"Hand me your ring."

Harry did as he was told. Voldemort examined the silvery band with curiosity before his wand touched the metal surface. Voldemort murmured underneath his breath as he did so.

"A portkey," Acknowledged Voldemort, handing the ring back to Harry. "You will know when I call you. And you shall use this ring to arrive."

Harry tipped his head and now it was his turn to scrutinize the ring. "Voice activated, I assume? That's not exactly easy."

"I am me," Voldemort scoffed. Harry shook his head in exasperation.

"No, I meant – bloody hell, you don't take compliments well, do you?"

Voldemort grinned, reaching for the Floo powder. "I do not require them. Do not expect too long of a wait."

"Pardon?"

"I will be calling sooner than you realize," Voldemort said slowly. "Be prepared, Harry. I will be introducing you to my Death Eaters. My most trustworthy ones. War is coming."

"That soon, huh?" Voldemort simply stared. It told Harry everything he needed to know.

"You know," Harry chuckled lightly. "I never asked you this. Did you ever try to win the Wizarding World over peacefully?"

Voldemort snorted softly, a bit of a sneer taking its place. "I considered it, once, in my youth. But let me ask you this, Harry: what are your feelings toward the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge?"

"…He's pathetic," Harry settled on saying. "And a dirty ruler. Weak."

Voldemort's sneer intensified. "And there's the rub, isn't it? To conquer peacefully, you make the decision to leave those unworthy people with power. Peaceful means are not necessarily righteous, especially when it means leaving rats like Fudge in power.

"And to think, to do as you ask, I would have to sully myself to rub elbows with that sort," Voldemort's expression to Harry exactly what he thought of that idea. "No…nothing will change a culture, nothing will inspire change...like war.

"Besides," The Dark Lord chuckled darkly. "I like hurting people."

Harry shrugged with a grin. "I've got to admit that I like hurting people, too. Only when they deserve it, mind you."

Voldemort clasped Harry's shoulder and steered him towards the grate. "That's the thing, Harry; anyone who opposes me deserves it. Go. I will see you soon. Learn to heal properly."

"Malf - you git! Malfoy Manor!"

Harry shot through the dizzily disorienting Floo system before his feet touched marble flooring once more. He was lucky that the Floo dropped him off where he should be. He was home.

"Harry! You alright, mate?"

"I'm fine, Draco," Harry muttered wryly. Honestly, had he not proved he could defend himself?

Draco would be the first to greet him, though.

"But you got the…you know, right?" Draco whispered furtively. Harry blinked.

"The what?"

"The – come on, Harry! The – you know!"

Oh. Oh! Harry patted his robes quickly, reaching into his pocket. The gem from Borgin and Burke's from earlier lay innocently in his hand. How had he forgotten about that?

"Welcome back, Harry –"

"Shit!" Harry breathed as he jammed the gem out of sight before smiling brightly at Lucius and Narcissa.

"Evening, Lucius!" He chirped. Lucius did not look impressed.

"Harry?" Drawled Lucius. He might as well have demanded answers. Harry snuck a look at Draco. His friend looked like a toddler caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"It's…it's a long story – one you probably need to know about, Lucius," Harry chuckled tiredly. "A…mutual friend of ours says to get ready."

"To get read- ah," Lucius stilled. Narcissa looked to him questioningly, but he made no notice of her. "Indeed. Very well. It is late, boys; I would suggest retiring for the evening."

"But father – "

"Draco," Lucius warned. Harry had always appreciated Lucius' way of doing that. The man's voice went flat and dark, just a tad louder than his normal tone. Draco sighed and walked away. Harry nodded good night to Lucius and Narcissa and trailed after Draco, but not before hearing the beginnings of a discussion:

"Honey, what did he mean – "

"Later. Now is not the time."


Draco had not wanted to talk much after that. Harry had shown him the gem and Draco's eyes had lit up, but then the boy had sneered and headed off to bed. Harry could empathize; it was not fun to be treated as a child.

Harry could see Lucius' side of it, too. Draco's birthday had passed just a few weeks ago, but he was still only thirteen. Of course, Harry himself was twelve, but their situations were very different.

Besides…how was Harry supposed to tell Draco about Voldemort? 'Hey Draco, do you remember in our first year when I showed you the rituals that I had done? Well, Voldemort found out, blackmailed me, killed Ron Weasley, and then I helped him steal a mythical stone that you never even knew was in the castle that gave him his body back. Now, he's about to start another Wizarding War – no big deal, right?'

Yeah. That would go over splendidly. It could not be helped, at the moment…especially when the Jade of Future Knowledge sat prettily in his lap.

It sure was something, Harry thought. He sat atop his downy bed with his legs crossed and considered what came next. What would he see?

Maybe he would see what happened next with Dumbledore. Harry was still livid at the old man and still planned on getting revenge for everything. For lying. For deserting him to suffer in an orphanage. Perhaps he would see Dumbledore at his feet, begging for forgiveness? That thought warmed Harry's heart.

According to Voldemort, another war was imminent. What would that be like? War was a grim and foul thing, right? But so much could be won from it. Who would win? What would the spoils be?

Harry picked the little jade up in his palm, turning it over slowly. It was ironic. Something so small could house so much power. There was a chance that the little jade would not even show him something interesting. It was unlikely, though. Harry just wanted to see – to take a peek.

The mirror from his first year had gotten him curious, after all. Harry had seen himself from the future, had he not? Tall, strong – and with a beard! His magic had whipped around on its own. He had seen everything he had ever wanted to be.

He had to know.

Gently, Harry held the Jade of Future Knowledge in his fingertips, licking his lips nervously before pressing it to his forehead. This would work on its own, right? Hold it to his forehead, Borgin had said. If that bleeding little codger had lied to him…

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry ducked swiftly, his leg screaming murder at him. This was not the time to give out. Killing Curses were not the time to get sloppy. Harry flung his wand out, desperate to buy himself some time.

"Vulvanium!" Harry growled. The orange spell missed its target, but it gave Harry a chance to right himself. "Confringo!"

The spell was deflected by a shield and Harry wanted to sigh. This was damn near hopeless, but what choice did he have? Kill, or be killed.

"Avada Kedavra!" His opponent laughed. Harry dove away.

"Come now, Harry! Just you and I! I'm not good enough for the Killing Curse, eh? No more hiding!"

Harry wanted to snap. He wanted to do it so badly. Two words. That is all it was, right? But he just could not, for whatever reason. It just would not work for him. Perhaps it was memories of that night, but he just could not use the Killing Curse.

He could not use it. Not against…him.

Harry sat behind a tree now, using the cover for just a moment. The marshy environment dampened the hems and seat of his trousers. He spat out the blood pooling in his mouth and rubbed his jaw. This would not last. It could not last.

"You will do as I say," His opponent whispered. "Or you will die. But not yet…no. Your precious friends will be first, Harry. Draco Malfoy. Nott, Zabini. Cedric Diggory. The two Weasleys. That wench of a girl you're with nowadays.

"And then Sirius Black will meet his maker," The voice whispered triumphantly. "But not before I force him to see you at my feet. And I will kill the werewolf as well, in front of Black. And everyone you cherish will fall."

Harry's rage built. He looked down at his wrists, and through the blood he could see his markings. His runes. All the rituals he had done in his life to prepare himself. Greatness was waiting for him.

No. He would not let any of that happen. He had been told such things all his life. No one would stop him.

"You will not, Voldemort," Harry shook with anger. He was much taller that he used to be, almost eye-to-eye with the demon forcing his hand. "I don't want to kill you. I thought we were in this together. You want to throw all of that away?"

"Together?" Red eyes twisted in mocking sympathy before a cruel laugh bubbled forth. "You were never more than a means to an end, Potter. A tool. And that's the funny thing, Harry…all of my followers think they matter more than they do. They all think they mean something to me…it's cute."

Harry gripped his wand tightly as Voldemort stepped to him.

"You mean nothing," Voldemort whispered. "You fought so valiantly to be something, but you're just a twig under my boots. A thing to be crushed. Just like your parents…"

"You motherfucker," Harry breathed. Voldemort laughed, a tinge of insanity creeping in.

"You're alone now, boy," Voldemort grinned. "Avada – "

"Avada Kedavra!"

Desperation forced Harry's hand. His wand had snapped to attention and now Harry saw green and looked into the eyes across from him. Surprise and horror swirled together as the spell launched Voldemort into the air. Screams permeated the night and Harry clung to his head. Pain embraced him, meeting him as a friend as he clawed at his chest. He was dying, just as the man laying feet from him was dying.

Green overwhelmed him.

Harry toppled over the side of the bed and onto the rug below. Breathing heavily, he simply stared at the ceiling above him.

"Fuck," Harry whispered. Sleep, it seemed, would be an elusive thing, tonight.


Indeed it will be, Harry. Until next time.

Brigade