Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Slytherin common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draft corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Snape's classes down in the dungeons, near the common room, where their breath rose in a mint before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

'I do feel so sorry,' said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, 'for all the people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home.'

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Somehow the news still hadn't reached him that Harry did have a family, though most of the year knew by this point. Crabbe and Goyle chucked. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lion-fish, ignored them. Malfoy had ben even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Bitter both that house success had relied upon Harry, and that Harry had been accepted onto the team rather than him. He'd tried to joke about how Harry's antics would get him replaced by the next person to walk through the door, but nobody found it funny because they were so impressed. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had reverted to taunting Harry about having no real family, which he was unaware was water off a duck's back.

Harry would be going back to the cottage for Christmas. Professor Snape had come around the week before, making a lift of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had heard Blaise say his name. Harry arched an eyebrow before listening to Blaise explain that his parents were going to visit his older sister who worked in New York for the American ministry, MAGUSA. Without hesitation, he told him not to put his name down, and sent an owl to Sirius asking if he could bring a friend for Christmas.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they headed upstairs and found a large fir tree blocking the corridor to the staircases. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

'Hi Hagrid, want some help?' Ron offered, sticking his head through the branches as he sidled up to them.

'Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron.'

'Would you mind moving out of the way?' came Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them. 'Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose- that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to.'

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

'WEASLEY!'

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

'He was provoked, Professor Snape,' said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. 'Malfoy was insultin' his family.'

'Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,' said Snape silkily. 'Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you.'

Malfoy and his lackeys pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

'I'll get him,' said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, 'one of these days, I'll get him-'

'I hate them both,' said Harry, 'Malfoy and Snape. I can't wait to get away from them for a couple of weeks.'

'Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas,' said Hagrid. 'Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat.'

So Harry and Ron, followed closely by Hermione, Daphne and Blaise, went after Hagrid and his tree to the Great Hall, where Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were busy with the decorations.

'Ah, Hagrid, the last tree - put it in the far corner, would you?'

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

'How many days you got left until yer holidays?' Hagrid asked.

'Just one,' said Ron glumly. 'Don't know what I'm going to do for three weeks without anyone to keep me company.'

'Come to mine, Blaise is, and Sirius says the more the merrier,' Harry offered with a grin. This might be the best Christmas ever.

'Never mind that, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.'

'Oh yeah, you're right,' said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

'The library?' said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. 'Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?'

'Oh, we're not working,' Harry told him brightly. 'We've been trying to find out who Nicolas Flamel is.'

'You what?' Hagrid looked shocked. 'Listen here - I've told yeh - drop it. It's nothing to you what that dog's guardian'.'

'We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all.' said Blaise.

'Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?' Daphne added. 'We've been through dozens of books already and we can't find him anywhere - just give us a hint - I know I've seen his name before.'

'I'm saying' nothin',' said Hagrid flatly.

'Just have to find out for ourselves, then,' said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione and Daphne split a list of subjects and titles they had decided to search while Ron and Blaise strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. these were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defence Against The Dark Arts.

'What are you looking for, boy?'

'Nothing,' said Harry.

Madame Pince, the librarian, brandished a feather duster at him.

'You'd better get out then. Go on - out!'

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. The five of them had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince about Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they were also sure that her Slytherin robes, dusty as they were, would lead her straight to Snape afterwards. Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other four had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breaking down their necks.

Five minutes later, they joined him shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

'You will see what you can find out at home, won't you, Harry?' said Hermione. 'And send me an owl if you find anything.'

'And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is, Daphne,' Ron added. 'As long as you're careful.'

'Very careful,' sad Daphne.

Once the holidays had started, the boys were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the cottage and the grounds to explore, and the only people around were Sirius and Remus to keep an eye on them. One evening, they sat by fire in the living room for hours eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork - bread, English muffins, marshmallows - and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which are fun to talk about as long as Remus wasn't in the room to tell them it was against school rules.

Ron started teaching Harry wizard chess using the set Sirius kept in the attic. It was exactly like Muggle chess except that figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron had been taught by his brother Charlie, and he was ridiculously good - so good in fact that he beat Remus, which shocked even Sirius. It was nice to be home, especially with friends, and Harry was pleased to see that his family had taken a shine to the pair of them, even Blaise who Harry understood had a reputation as one-of-those-families.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun and to spend the day with loved ones. When he woke early the next morning, the first thing he saw a pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

'Merry Christmas,' said Ron sleepily as Harry hopped out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

'You, too,' said Harry. 'Will you look at the this? All these presents!'

'What did you expect, turnips?' joked Blaise, turning to his own pile, slightly smaller than Harry's. 'Merry Christmas, boys.'

Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown parcel and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it - it sounded a bit like an own.

'I think I know who that one's from,' said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. 'My Mum … oh no, she's made you a Weasley jumper.'

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted jumper in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

'Looks like you've got one too, Blaise,' said Ron, 'every year she makes us a jumper, and mines always maroon.'

'That's very kind of her,' said Blaise.

Harry's next present was a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. Then came a pheasant-feather quill in silver and green from Daphne. A muggle selection box from the next door neighbours. Then the final two parcels, both in the same wrapping paper, covered in golden snitches.

He reached first for the large, rectangular box as Sirius and Remus knocked on the door, opening it and standing to watch as Harry opened his two main presents. The larger of the two was a set of quidditch balls in a case, so that he could practice at home if they found the space away from Muggles. He thanked his guardians eagerly before reaching for the final gift and unwrapping it.

Something flu and silvery grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

'I've heard of those,' he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavour Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. 'If that's what I think it is - they're really rare, and really valuable.'

'What is it?'

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the bedroom carpet. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

'It's an invisibility cloak, try it on,' said Remus, grinning fondly.

Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Blaise gave a yell.

'It is! Look down!'

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

'It was your father's. It's been in the family for generations, and you were to have it on your first Christmas at Hogwarts,' explained Sirius as Harry bounded over and hugged him, allowing the cloak to fall from his shoulders.

The five of them headed out into the living room with wide grins, starting to feast upon all of the sweets they'd received, with Sirius and Remus curled in each of the armchairs.

All three boys had their Weasley jumpers on top of their pyjamas. Mrs Weasley, still unaware that Harry was living with Sirius and Remus, had sent a note wishing them a 'very Muggle Christmas' and Ron had told them that his muggle-enthused father had probably written it.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A fat roast turkey; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas; silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce - and a pile of wizards' crackers. These fantastic party favours were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the neighbours had at their Christmas Eve meal every year, with their little plastic toys and flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Blaise and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed the entire table in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several, live white mice. Sirius wore a flowered bonnet, and chuckled merrily at a joke Remus had just told him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the main course. Harry watched Sirius get pinker and pinker in the face as he filled his glass with wine over and over, leaning to kiss Remus, who, smiled against Sirius' lips.

When the boys finally returned to Harry's bedroom, they were laden with things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons and a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit.

The five of them spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight in the garden. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire where Remus offered everyone warm butter beer. After a buffet of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch muggle television.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever.

Ron, full of turkey and cake, fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow of the camp bed he was staying on. Blaise wasn't far behind him, but Harry remained awake, thinking about the invisibility cloak and about his father.

The night before they returned to Hogwarts, Harry had asked Remus casually about Nicolas Flamel.

'Nicolas Flamel? He's a good friend of Dumbledore's, we used to see him from time to time but he was never much of a party animal,' said Remus. 'Why do you ask?'

'Snape mentioned him in a Potions lesson but he's not in any library books and we were just curious,' Harry responded convincingly. 'I recognised the name when he said it.'

'I still cannot believe that man is allowed anywhere near Hogwarts, let alone as Head of House! If there was ever a man to drive Slytherin down the wrong path it's him. Bet he hasn't changed since school,' grumbled Sirius. The conversation moved on though Harry had tried to cling to it, it hadn't gone unnoticed that his guardians were trying to veer away from the topic. Now he had reason to be concerned.

The train back to Hogwarts was half-empty with all of the students that had stayed at school over the holidays. The boys met up with Hermione and Daphne, sharing a carriage, to discuss if any of them had found anything, alas, no luck. Harry had decided that as soon as he was sure everyone was asleep, he'd sneak out with the invisibility cloak and check the restricted section for information.

That night, Harry leant over the side of his own bed and pulled the cloak out from under it. He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only candlelight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling,

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this cloak. He could go anywhere, and Filch would never know. He considered waking Blaise but decided against it.

He crept out of the dormitory, along the corridor, across the common room, and through the wall before coming to the stairs.

Drawing the invisibility cloak around him as he walked, he set off the for the restricted section.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps. The restricted section was right at the back oft he library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelt words in languages Harry couldn't understand. some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and balancing it on his knee, let it fall open. A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence - the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and one, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside - stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch int he doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

Harry came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognise where he was at all. There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors up from there.

'You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library - restricted section.'

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, 'The restricted section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them.'

Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him—the cloak didn't stop him from being solid. He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief, he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leant against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close.

It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way. It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

His panic fading now that there was no sign of Snape and Filch, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed—for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him. But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder—but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirrors trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. Standing just behind him in the mirror were his parents, he recognised them from photos that Sirius and Remus had shown him. His mother, standing right behind his reflection, was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air—she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes—her eyes are just like mine … just like everyone said they were, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green—exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. His father, standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

'Mum?' he whispered. 'Dad?'

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees—Harry was looking at his family. The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, 'I'll come back,' and hurried from the room.

'You could have woken me up,' said Blaise, crossly at breakfast the next morning.

'You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror.'

'I'd like to see your parents,' Blaise said eagerly.

'And I want to see all your family, all the Zabinis, you'll be able to show me your sisters and everyone.'

'You can see them any old time,' said Blaise. 'Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?'

Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

'Are you all right?' said Blaise. 'You look odd.'

What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Blaise covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk ridiculously slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.

'I'm freezing,' said Blaise. 'Let's forget it and go back to bed.'

'No!' Harry hissed. 'I know it's here somewhere.'

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Blaise started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armour.

'It's here—just here—yes!'

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror. There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

'See?' Harry whispered.

'I can't see anything,' hissed Blaise.

'Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…'

'I can only see you.'

'Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.'

Harry stepped aside, but with Blaise in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family anymore, just Blaise in his paisley pyjamas.

Blaise, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

'Look at me!' he exclaimed.

'Can you see all your family standing around you?'

'Not everyone—it's just Dad—my real Dad, I mean."

'What?'

'He's stood next to me and his hand's on my shoulder, he looks happy.'

Blaise tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look happily at Harry.

'What do you think it means?'

'I don't know—all my family are dead—let me have another look—'

'Wait-'

A sudden noise outside in the corridor shut them both up. They hadn't realised how loudly they had been talking.

'Quick!'

Blaise threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Blaise and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing—did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

'This isn't safe—she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on.'

And Blaise pulled Harry out of the room.

The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.

'Want to play chess, Harry,' said Ron.

'No.'

'Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?' suggested Blaise.

'No… you go…'

'I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight.'

'Why not?'

'I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it—and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?'

'You sound like Hermione.'

'I'm serious, Harry, don't go.'

But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get back in front of the mirror, and neither Blaise nor Ron wasn't going to stop him.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone. And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except—

'So—back again, Harry?'

Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

'I—I didn't see you, sir.'

'Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you,' said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.

'So,' said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, 'you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.'

'I didn't know it was called that, sir.'

'But I expect you've realised by now what it does?'

'It—well—it shows me my family—'

'And it showed your friend Blaise his father.'

'How did you know—?'

'I don't need a cloak to become invisible,' said Dumbledore gently. 'Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?'

Harry shook his head.

'Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?'

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, 'It shows us what we want… whatever we want…'

'Yes and no,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Blaise Zabini, who has never had a father figure owing to the actions of his mother, sees himself with the only man he has ever really looked up to. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible. The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?'

Harry stood up.

'Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?'

'Obviously, you've just done so,' Dumbledore smiled. 'You may ask me one more thing, however.'

'What do you see when you look in the mirror?'

'I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks.'

Harry stared.

'One can never have enough socks,' said Dumbledore. 'Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.'

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he climbed into bed, it had been quite a personal question.