Chapter 12: All Out of White Flags

Harry sat in silence as Daphne came out of the bathroom, her wet hair tangled and dripping down her back as she headed vacantly to the second bedroom, pointedly not looking at him where he sat on the couch. He watched, taking a quiet sip of whiskey and wondering what he could possibly say when she suddenly stopped, backing up to glance at him.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked flatly, her voice low.

He frowned, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table. "What do you mean?"

She stared at him, her hazel eyes wide and pleading, before shaking her head and resuming her path to her room. She tossed the word "nevermind" over her shoulder and kept walking, muttering to herself. Her feet padded quietly down the hall and Harry sighed, rising to follow.

"Daphne," he called, knocking on the open doorframe and watching as she dried her hair with a hand towel, staring into space, the material of his t-shirt draped loosely over her shoulders. "Are you asking what to do while you're staying here - " or something else, he thought silently, like how the fuck you're supposed to go on living without the last of your family?

She didn't say anything; she didn't turn around.

He wished for a moment he could have seen her again under other circumstances.

"You don't have to do anything," he told her, opting to answer the easier question. "Sleep if you want. Watch TV." He gestured behind him, feeling silly as he did it, since she clearly wasn't looking. "I have some books - "

"You want me to stay inside this apartment," she interrupted, lowering herself to sit on the air mattress he'd placed in the corner of the empty second bedroom - he'd thought he needed another room for storage when he chose the place until he remembered he owned nothing - before looking up at him, the question mixing with a trace of demand. "You might as well lock me up, Officer," she said, her lovely mouth twisting into a bitter frown as she forced out a humorless laugh. "It'd be about the same."

Harry sighed, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Wait here," he instructed gruffly, wandering into his own bedroom. He opened the safe he used to keep his Beretta and withdrew it along with a magazine, bringing it back to her room and finding with a momentary lurch of surprise that she seemed to exhale with relief upon his return.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "I have a safe in the other room where I keep this. I have my police issue with me," he said, shrugging, "so if you really want to leave, you can take this one with you. You should take it with you," he amended, shaking his head. "Just in case, if you decide you want to try to go anywhere."

She stared at him; first at his face and then at the gun in his hand, looking slightly sickened at the sight.

"So, um," Harry continued, flipping it over in his hand, "to use it, you just have to - "

He broke off as Daphne suddenly rose to her feet, moving to stand directly in front of him. He paused, holding his breath as she reached out and took both the pistol and the mag from his hand, locking the slide back and expertly loading the Beretta with a chambered round before disabling the safety and aiming the barrel at his head, her finger unnervingly steady on the trigger.

"Like this?" she said flatly, and for a moment Harry heard a quiet ringing in his ears; felt a warning knot curl up in his throat.

"Should I put my hands up?" he asked, trying not to let his breath catch as he slowly raised them in the air, staring at her expressionless face. "I'm fresh out of white flags."

"I'm the daughter of a Death Eater," Daphne reminded him coldly, a hint of venom in her tone as she skated past his sarcasm. Harry's gaze flicked to the rose and the snake on her arm before refocusing on her face, on the pain that seemed to splinter in the hazel of her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he said, watching the rise and fall of her chest as it rose to synchronize with his, the gun still aimed at his forehead. "Is it so bad that I don't want to force you to do it alone?"

She paused, considering him, her gaze fixed on his.

"You don't know what it's like," she said eventually, chewing her lower lip. "You don't know."

"Try me," he suggested, watching her struggle. She shook her head.

"You want to hear my story?" she asked. "Fine. I lost my father to a gun just like this one," she informed him, her finger tapping lightly beside the trigger. "And then my mother walked out the door one day with a bottle of vodka in her hand and she never fucking came back."

Harry said nothing.

"I don't blame her," Daphne spat bitterly. "I don't blame her for bailing, I don't blame her for leaving me with Astoria, I don't blame her for - " she stopped, choking a little. "Astoria," she whispered, and Harry's chest tightened. "I stayed as long as I could for her until I couldn't stand it anymore."

"Daphne," Harry said softly, and she shook her head again.

"I tried to run," she said, like she was confessing her sins. "I tried to run from this life and it fucking - " She cut herself off with an angered breath, a captive whimper. "It fucking caught up with me - "

Her hand shook for a moment and Harry moved to catch her left wrist with one hand, slowly reaching for the gun with the other. Her eyes widened, panicked, but she let her fingers relax as he gently covered them with his, letting him slowly ease the Beretta from her grasp before sliding the safety and setting it aside.

"I'm sorry," he said, and when that did not seem enough, he said it again. "I'm sorry - "

"Stop," she said, her wet hair falling over her shoulders as she bent her head. "Fucking stop it, Harry - "

"I'm sorry," he repeated, only half conscious that his fingers had laced with hers. "I'm sorry, Daphne, I'm so fucking sorry - "

She closed the distance between them, the movement punctuated with a gasp that could have belonged to either of them. Her lips crashed against his with a terrible, aching desperation that sliced at him even as his mind shouted it was wrong, she's hurting, she's vulnerable, walk away - but she threw her arms around his neck and in his hands she was so small, so fragile, her still-wet hair leaking onto his forearms as she kissed him with a compounded force of fury and sorrow and rage. She slammed him against the wall behind him, yanking gracelessly at his shirt until he permitted her to pull it over his head, her nails digging into the skin of his chest as she brought her mouth back up to his, the kiss at once the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted even as it burned with a bitter sensation of wrong, of blood that she drew from his lips.

He let her take from him, let her leave marks in his skin and take his fucking worthless pity from the useless waste that was his tongue, let her bury her nails in the back of his neck and pull him backwards to the mattress on the floor, falling onto it with a dull thud and then scrambling away to rid herself of the remaining fabric between them. He let her straddle him as she tore the shirt she wore from her thin frame and lowered herself against him, the skin of her torso burning and trembling, suddenly sick with sadness and guilt and fear.

"Hold me," she begged, and without hesitation he pulled her in as tightly as he could manage, slipping her leg between his and letting her cry into his chest to whisper her sister's name, her father's, her prayers and wishes and regrets. He held her while she fell apart, held her while she raged and stormed, held her while she collapsed against him, exhausted and hollowed out.

He held her for what felt like hours until she shoved him away, not saying a word; she turned her back on him and clutched her arms around herself, silently conveying the message: get out.

Harry slid forward as she curled up to face the wall, the mattress shifting to accommodate the loss of his weight as he got to his feet. He picked his shirt up from the floor and then the gun, slowly straightening to eye the notched edges of her spine.

"The safe's in my bedroom," he told her, but she didn't turn around. "It's a combination lock. 1-0-3-1." She still didn't turn. "That's the date my parents died."

At that she shifted slightly, instinctively; it wasn't quite the motion of consenting to look at him, but enough to indicate that she was clearly listening to what he was saying.

He let out a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. "Maybe I should have pushed you away," he commented, fidgeting where he stood. "Try not to hate me for that. But someday you'll want to talk about it," he added, and she made no motion, her knees still hugged to her chest. "And when you do, you know where to find me."

Harry shut the door behind him and lay awake the rest of the night, feeling Daphne's tears on his chest long after they'd dried.


"Draco," he heard from somewhere above him, feeling a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, wake up."

Draco stirred, making a face as he tasted the renewed twist of whiskey that scraped along the back of his tongue and squinted at the dark head of hair, muttering obscenities under his breath. He reached up, swatting impatiently at Theo's face.

"Go away," he muttered, burying his face in his arm. "I'm busy."

Theo sighed, straightening, and Draco caught a glimpse of a red dress from his periphery and realized they were not alone.

"Draco," Theo said, with remarkably measured patience. "You remember Fleur?"

Draco bolted upright, bringing a hand to his throbbing temple and groaning. "Why are you here?" he mumbled, before blinking away the excess light to register that he'd been sleeping on Theo's couch. "Oh," he said, checking the time; ten o'clock at night. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Theo said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I mean, you can stay here," he said uncomfortably, "but - "

"But I'd advise against it," Fleur interrupted, not unkindly. "I don't mean to be rude, but there's a very good chance I'll be quite loud." She paused, eyeing her scarlet fingernails. "Disruptively loud, or so I've heard."

"Fuck," Theo muttered under his breath, turning to glance at her. "Can you not make this harder than it is?"

"Fine, fuck, I'm leaving," Draco said, pulling at his mouth and trying to focus on them. Fleur, he could see, was wearing an alluringly fitted red dress, and it suddenly occurred to him that Theo's patience with him, given the circumstances, was likely bordering on sainthood. "Sorry, I was - " he looked around, realizing he was shirtless. "Where's my - "

"Here," Fleur said, cocking her head to gesture. She reached down, picking up his shirt with two fingers and tossing it lightly towards him. "Rough day?"

"Something like that," Draco muttered, picking it up from where it landed on the couch and struggling to pull it over his head. "Overdid it this morning, I guess."

"This morning," Fleur commented, glancing skeptically at Theo. "Mr Malfoy, I'm no expert, but that sounds problematic."

"I highly doubt there's anything you're not an expert in," Theo told her appreciatively, and she shrugged, returning her attention to her fingernails.

"Some things are just hobbies," she said, looking up to let her gaze flick suggestively over him. "Other things I make an effort to know more thoroughly."

"God, I'm going to enjoy this," Theo remarked, shaking his head. "Fuck me," he muttered with a sigh, glancing apologetically at Draco. "Bad timing."

"Yeah," Draco said, a hand on his forehead as he waved Theo away. "Just go. I'm - " he forced a swallow, squinting around for his keys. "Moving slowly."

"What happened to you?" Fleur asked, her arms crossed over her chest. As with her earlier conversation, the question was direct but not openly mocking. "Does this have to do with that phone call you took at Gringotts?"

"Yeah," Draco said again, hefting to his feet and then returning to the couch as his head spun, promptly disrupting his unsteady rising. "Fuck," he swore loudly, and Theo sighed.

"There's no way you can ride right now," he said, glancing at Fleur. "Your place?" he suggested.

"My whoring cunt of a roommate is there," Fleur said, making a face. "Tends to ruin things."

"I'm happy to fuck you in front of her," Theo offered, shrugging. "Or, you know, something else invasive. Seems like she sort of deserves it."

"You know, oddly, I find your obstinance a bit sweet," Fleur commented, reaching out to tug on one of his belt loops. "You're very manageably obnoxious."

"Yes," Theo agreed, "and full of dark joy."

"I'm going to fucking vomit," Draco muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not because of this," he added, waving a hand at them, "but it certainly doesn't help."

"Were you just drinking alone all day?" Fleur asked, letting Theo slide an arm around her waist and tug her beside him. "Or … longer?" she amended, eyeing the many bottles on the floor. "I mean, not to judge - "

"Everyone needs hobbies," Theo quipped.

" - but it just seems - " She paused, tilting her head. "Odd." She looked Draco up and down, searching him. "I sort of took you for the responsible type."

"I'm fine," Draco said, clearing his throat. "I just - " He shook his head. "I'm fine."

Theo paused for a moment, watching Draco closely before leaning over to brush Fleur's hair from her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. "Be right back," he murmured, slipping away to the kitchen.

"Well then," Fleur said, taking a seat beside Draco and daintily tucking her legs underneath her. "Might as well tell me what happened."

"Yes, because we're such good friends," Draco snapped, the effort of the emphatic retort rattling his brain to muddled pounding. "Sounds perfect."

"Well, you're clearly not going anywhere, and I'm clearly not having sex yet," she remarked. "So it seems like you'll have to, doesn't it?"

Draco sighed miserably, leaning back against the couch and consenting to let the room spin around him. "My - someone I knew," he said, amending the thought with another twinge of guilt. "She was killed last week. And then - " he shut his eyes, trying desperately not to think about Hermione; about her laugh, about the way it felt to hold her. About the way she was so fucking pure and he was just fucking garbage -

"And then that's it," he determined finally. "Just that first part."

"Ah, yes, what a true sounding story," Fleur remarked languidly, just as Theo returned from the kitchen.

"Water for you," he said, handing Draco a glass. "Advil on the table. For you," he said, turning to Fleur, "champagne."

"Champagne?" she asked, accepting the glass and sniffing it. "You're sure?"

Theo paused, grinning. "Sparkling wine," he amended. "Better?"

"I'm French," she said airily. "You need to be accurate about these things."

"Just drink it," he said, toasting her, "and permit me to share my various forms of expertise with you later."

"Hm," she primly agreed, as Draco caught a whiff of the alcohol from her glass and immediately fought the compulsion to gag.

"Fuck," he muttered, forcing the water down his throat. "What did I drink?"

"Everything," Theo supplied. "Minus the champagne." At Fleur's cough, he rolled his eyes. "Sparkling wine. Whatever."

"You'll need to recover," Fleur informed him, taking a sip from her glass. "Griphook's got a new shipment in this weekend. Based on the payments I've been handling for him," she added, raising one pale blonde brow, "you'll both be receiving instruction shortly."

"What is this, a client meeting?" Draco grumbled, groaning as some of the water spilled onto his shirt. "Fuck - "

"What do you mean based on the payments you've handled for him?" Theo asked, frowning at her as he took a seat on his coffee table and settled himself across from her. "You said that like it means something."

"Everything I say means something," Fleur reminded him, shifting to place her feet in his lap and smirking as Theo's eyes instantly drifted to the exposed skin of her thigh. "What's the question?"

"Why would you think we'd be called in?" Draco supplied, permitting Theo to enjoy his distraction. "Some shipment in particular?"

"No," she said, frowning slightly. "But considering how much Griphook's paying - "

"How much is he paying?" Draco interrupted, leaning forward and catching Theo's eye.

Fleur laughed a little, reclining in her seat to settle her legs on either side of Theo's hips. "That's something to take up with your employer," she warned, shaking her head admonishingly at Draco. "Advice from one professional to another."

"You're a criminal," Theo reminded her playfully, sliding a hand up her calf.

"One criminal to another, then," Fleur conceded, shrugging. "Still, we both have our respective forms of etiquette." She jumped a little as Theo's hand slid up her leg but quickly hid the motion, brushing her lip along her glass as she continued to toy with him. "I'm not at liberty to discuss Griphook's finances."

"You've already said quite a bit," Draco informed her. "If you think Tom's got any sort of priority over Griphook's other buyers, then he clearly stands to make a shit ton of money off the Death Eaters."

Fleur inclined her head, neither denying nor confirming. "I find it's best to know who you work for," she commented lazily, glancing pointedly at him. "If you've got a problem with your boss, that's not my issue."

"You trust Griphook, then?" Theo asked, slowly lifting her leg to remove the strap of her left shoe.

"I run his books," Fleur reminded them, unfazed, before nudging her right foot against Theo's chest for him to remove the other shoe. "The best way to know what kind of man you're working for is to see how he spends his money."

"Are you saying you admire Griphook's purchases?" Draco asked, scoffing, and she shrugged.

"You mock me, but I know what I'm talking about," she told him. "Trust and money are both forms of currency, and if you can't see how a man dispenses one - " she cut herself off, inhaling sharply as Theo pulled her forward to settle her on his lap. "Then you can't be sure what he does with the other," she murmured, reaching up to put her hands on either side of Theo's face and moaning softly as he brought his lips to her neck.

"Well," Draco said, slapping his hands against his thighs as he promptly leaned forward. "I can see I'm going to have to recover elsewhere." He looked around, searching for his phone. "Have you seen - "

There was a muffled ringing from underneath the pillow beside him and Draco grunted his displeasure as he felt around for it, trying not to watch Fleur tug Theo's head back. She had her fingers tangled in his hair, giving him a slow, teasing kiss that gave Draco flashbacks to Hermione, to the look in her eyes when he touched her, to the image of his name on her lips, to the sounds she made when he -

"Hello?" he muttered, seeing his father's name on the screen and forcing himself to answer, grimacing in apology as Theo turned his head to arch one brow in disapproval.

"Draco," Lucius said, his voice clipped and businesslike. "I need you to go to the hospital."

"The - hospital," Draco repeated, feeling a lurch. "Why?"

"Slughorn called. Mulciber's been stabbed," Lucius explained; somewhat impatiently, as though Darian had done this with the intention of disrupting his day. "Tom and I are currently running an errand, but someone from the club should be there - "

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Draco said, swallowing as he rose to his feet, seeking out his keys. "I'll be right there. Where did it happen?"

"The shop," Lucius said. "Or something. Slughorn said it's gory," he added, in a way that Draco knew meant he was rolling his eyes. "Just get there and - I don't know, sign papers. Whatever. Cover up anything you have to," he added. "I've got Avery taking care of things at the shop."

Draco frowned. "What would I have to - "

"Just go, Draco," Lucius snapped. "Take care of it."

"Dad," Draco half shouted, but the other line cut out. He stared momentarily at his phone before bending with a growl to pick up the Advil from the table, shaking three out of the bottle and shoving them in his mouth. "Darian was stabbed," he informed Theo, who had pulled away from Fleur long enough to turn questioningly to Draco. "I'm going to St Mungo's."

"What?" Theo asked, jerking forward with Fleur still on his lap. "Darian?"

"Yeah. Lucius didn't say anything useful," Draco said. "But I can call you, if - " He gestured to Fleur, shrugging. "You know."

"No, I - " Theo stopped, glancing at her and letting his face contort in indecision. "I'm so sorry," he exhaled, "really, you can't fucking believe how sorry I am - "

"It's fine," Fleur said, rising gracefully to her feet as Theo awkwardly pulled at his jeans. "I've gathered by this point that you two enjoy taking mysterious phone calls and running off into the night."

Theo grimaced. "I know what it looks like, but I really, really - "

"Theo," she said, leaning forward to rest one hand on his shoulder. "We're in the same line of work. I understand that some phone calls must be taken," she offered smoothly, "and that some trips to the hospital cannot be avoided." She kissed him quickly, her hand sliding up to curve her thumb around his jaw. "However," she said brusquely, her hand slipping to tighten warningly around his neck, "if you don't fuck me to absolute satisfaction the next time I see you - "

"No need to threaten me," Theo assured her, letting her grip skate across his throat. "I'll happily off myself if that's the case, thanks."

"Are we going?" Draco interrupted, crossing his arms after throwing his cut over his shoulders. "You ready?"

"Fuck you," Theo said, groaning as he picked Fleur up with one arm and set her back on her feet. "Let's get out of here before I change my mind," he muttered, and Draco helpfully took hold of his shoulder, forcefully dragging him out the door.


"Fucking brutal," Dean said to Hermione with a low whistle, shutting the door behind him as he walked into the corridor. "It's been a long time since I've seen that much blood loss."

"Is it just blood loss?" Hermione asked, peering at the circle of doctors and paramedics through the window. "Internal injuries too?"

"Some," Dean said, shaking his head. "They're examining him and then we'll see, I guess."

"Who is he?" Hermione asked just as Harry strode up to her in uniform, looking simultaneously distressed and exhausted.

"Any word?" Harry asked, shaking his head in displeasure. "I hate that it was him."

"Who is he?" Hermione pressed again, and Harry grimaced.

"Darian Mulciber," he supplied, and she shrugged blankly, not recognizing the name. "A Death Eater," Harry explained. "One of the better ones," he added, looking solemn. "One of the others found him half-dead at their shop."

"Jesus," Hermione said, biting her lip. "How bad?"

"Really bad," Harry replied, his mouth twitching. "You didn't see?" She shook her head. "Stab wound," Harry supplied. "But - "

"He's got something carved into his chest," Dean told her, looking sickened. "A word, or some letters - "

"Tom," Harry informed him flatly. "It's a name."

"Tom?" Hermione echoed. "Like - " She looked around, checking that nobody was listening. "Tom Riddle?"

Harry glanced sharply at her. "You know him?"

"I - no," Hermione said faintly, hurriedly shaking her head. "I mean, I met him once - "

"You met him?" Harry repeated, turning to face her. "When?"

"I mean, it wasn't a big deal," Hermione told him. "He was at the hospital with one of Padma's patients, Nott - "

"Nott Senior?" Harry asked, pulling anxiously at the corners of his mouth as he frowned in concentration. "When was this?"

"I - I don't know - I guess last Friday?" she said, chewing her lip. "Early in the day."

"How long was he there?" Harry pressed, and she shook her head, a little startled by the urgency in his voice.

"I don't know," she stammered. "I could check the visitor logs - "

"No, no, I can do that myself," Harry murmured, shaking his head. "I just - " he looked up at her, frowning slightly. "Sorry," he assured her quickly. "I just - I had a theory about something, but it doesn't look like it's possible, so I guess - "

"Potter," Hermione heard from behind them, a voice that prompted her heart to twist in her chest.

She held her breath as Draco sidled up to Harry, his brow creased with worry. "What happened?" he asked, before suddenly catching sight of Hermione. She watched his eyes change as he noticed her, watched him swallow, saw him nearly flinch and half wondered if he would let himself reach out and -

"Darian was stabbed," Harry told him, shaking his head. "I had a feeling something would happen at the shop after the shit with the alarm - "

"I," Draco began, his attention still caught on her as he tore his gaze back to Harry's and forced a swallow. "I don't - "

"Potter," the younger Theodore Nott called, arriving a few steps behind Draco. "What the fuck is this?" he demanded, and Hermione frowned slightly, noticing a familiarity between the three of them that she didn't think had been there the last time she saw them interact.

"This," Harry said with another grimace, "is Greyback's work. Unquestionably."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Does that mean - "

"Later," Harry warned in a low voice, shaking his head. "But suffice it to say the name 'Tom' sliced into Mulciber's chest is more along the lines of the kinds of messages I was talking about from Greyback."

"Greyback," Dean interrupted in confusion, prompting the others to remember his presence. "The Knockturn druglord?"

Harry briefly shut his eyes, visibly kicking himself. "We shouldn't be discussing this right now," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Sorry, that was careless of me - "

He reached up, rubbing his forehead, and Hermione noticed again how tired he looked.

"Dean," Harry said absentmindedly as he gestured to Draco and Theo, "this is - "

"We know each other," Theo said, before looking down at Hermione. "But you are?"

"Nobody," she said quickly. "I just, um - "

"You need to talk to her," Harry said, giving Theo a meaningful glance. "She spoke to Tom last Friday."

"What?" Draco abruptly demanded, his voice several decibels too loud. "When? How?"

"I," she began, and then took a breath, remembering his warning; promise me you'll be safe - promise me, Hermione - "Sorry," she said quickly, clearing her throat and meeting his eye. "You are?"

He blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Draco Malfoy," he said slowly, forcing it between gritted teeth before gesturing to Theo. "This is Theo Nott."

"Dr Granger," she informed them coolly, nodding to each of them before turning back to Harry. "And as I said, I'm not sure I have much to tell you without checking the visitor's log - "

"Deputy," they heard behind them, another Diagon PD officer arriving to tap Harry's shoulder. "I just need you to sign off on some of these, please - "

"Right, sorry," Harry agreed, turning away. "I'll find you in a minute," he said to Draco and Theo before leaning over to kiss Hermione's cheek. "Thanks, Hermione, sorry if I took too much of your time - "

"No problem," Hermione said, waving him away. "Anyway," she said, nodding in Dean's direction, "we have a patient who'll probably need surgery, so we should really get back to him."

"Take good care of him," Theo told her gruffly, nudging Draco in the ribs. "In the meantime, we should go see if they need anything," he suggested to Draco. "I think we have to - "

The words disappeared as Theo continued to speak over his shoulder, seeking out hospital staff; in the same moment Dean turned, distracted by a question from one of the nurses, and Hermione was alone with Draco for the span of a breath, the dull roar of the hospital reduced to static in her ears as she met his eye, suffering the familiar impact of them.

"I need to talk to you," Draco mouthed, his grey eyes flashing with urgency, and then Theo turned back around and time resumed.

" - probably should get, I don't know, insurance papers or whatever, so - "

"Dr Granger," Dr Pomfrey said, materializing at her side. "You'll be scrubbing in for this." She turned to walk down the corridor, gesturing behind her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, coming," Hermione said instantly, nodding quickly and turning to follow before skidding to a sudden pause. "If you need anything," she offered, giving Draco a meaningful glance over her shoulder. "I'll be available after the surgery to answer your questions."

He nodded. "Thank you," he said, his voice chilled by forced courtesy.

The last thing she saw before she left for the OR was the familiar light that glinted from around the leather of his shoulders. She blinked away the pale glow of him, letting it warm her and curse her in a single blow as she forced herself to walk away.


a/n: Dedicated to hexmionegranger, for outstanding play-by-play reactions that always make my week.