Chapter 12 – Merry Christmas

Scott wound his way through the thronging crowd of the train station, Ethan and Alex following in his wake as he cleared a way to the figures Scott had spotted. They arrived before four individuals – three adults and a nine-year old bursting with excitement.

"Scott!" the darker-skinned girl cried as she rushed forward to hug him.

He grinned, returning her embrace. "Hi Lindy," he greeted, breaking away and facing his mother. His father was conspicuously absent, he noticed. He tried not to dwell on this too much.

"How was your term, love?" his mother asked, hugging him in turn.

"Brilliant," he said. He glanced at Alex, and then back to her. "You'll never believe what we've managed."

"You've...?" His mother looked at Alex, who was smiling shyly. "Ah, you must be Alex," she said to the blonde girl. "Beverly Carter, I'm Scott's mum."

"Er, pleased to meet you Mrs. Carter," she replied.

"So what'd you do?" Lindsay asked curiously.

"You're looking at the two newest members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team," Scott announced grandly. "I'm youngest in a century."

This statement had the desired effect on the two of them. Lindsay's shrieks of excitement and his mother's proclamations of pride met his ears, and he was about to inject an ounce of humility into the moment by mentioning that it had been Alex's idea, when he realised that she'd been distracted by Ethan's parents, who had suddenly engaged her in conversation.

Ethan's parents had contributed different features to his countenance. His skinniness and green eyes were courtesy of his mother, but his comically large glasses and curly hair were all his father's. Both were advanced in age, hardly a day over eighty.

"... The Metamorphmagus, I presume?" Ethan's father was saying. "Yes, Ethan speaks most highly of you in his letters. The most fascinating things he says. Is it true you managed to hide your nature for over a full week?"

Ethan's face was beet red with embarrassment. Seeing this, his mother intervened. "Leave the poor girl alone, Saul," she chided her husband. She turned a kindly smile onto Alex. "Where are your parents, dear?"

Alex glanced around. "They should be around here... Oh!"

A blonde and brunet pair of heads approached, and Alex's parents were revealed. They hugged their daughter as they reached her, apologising for being late.

Scott stepped forward, hand outstretched. "It's good to meet you. I'm Scott."

Alex's parents raised their eyebrows, and glanced at their daughter. "A friend of yours?" her mother asked.

Alex nodded, and her parents shook Scott's hand, introducing one another.

"Derek Wroxton," her father greeted.

"Alice," said her mother.

"And I'm Ethan!" said the bespectacled boy, who had separated from his parents. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, and didn't say anything else.

"Well, we'd better be off, love," Alex's mother, Alice, said. "We need to catch the Tube. Say goodbye to your friends."

"Make sure to keep the exercises going," Scott reminded her as she hugged him. "And see if you can come up to mine just after Christmas. We need to get some practice in."

"I know," she sang, smiling slightly. She hugged Ethan, and exchanged plans to meet with him before term resumed. Then she hurried off with her parents.

Scott turned to face Ethan. "So, think it's a go on the plan?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I asked my parents just now. We can do it the day after tomorrow, assuming Alex's parents agree."

"I'll send them a letter tonight," Scott said. "And I'll let the girls know."

The drive home felt shorter than four hours, mainly because Scott spent most of it chatting to his sister and mother. They stopped over for a fast food dinner on their way, where Scott broached the topic that had been bothering him considerably.

"So, Dad couldn't come today?" he asked in a would-be-casual voice as he unwrapped his burger gingerly.

His mother grimaced slightly. "Yes, he's still extremely busy. A lot of late hours recently."

Scott nodded slowly. "Ethan's dad seemed to manage," he pointed out, still in the pseudo-careless tone.

His mother sighed. Scott glanced in her direction. She looked genuinely sad, and watched him pityingly. This only served to frustrate him further.

"Scott, he –"

"Wanted to be here, yeah."

"Your father's got a lot on his plate."

"You're overseas half the time, and yet you turn up to see me," Scott continued doggedly.

"I'd like it if all of you were home more," Lindsay chipped in through the chips she was chewing.

"I can't, Lindy, I've got school," Scott snapped.

"And your father has work," his mother said to him, as though this settled something. "And Lindsay, swallow your food before speaking," she added.

"I wanted to tell him about Quidditch," Scott muttered.

"And you still can when we get home," his mum assured gently.

But she didn't understand. It wouldn't be the same.

Scarlett mulled over her thoughts and feelings. She felt entirely conflicted, and she couldn't help but wonder whether she could have tried harder, insisted despite his objections. But she hadn't wanted to pry, or overstep his boundaries. Emile was a private person, and while it supremely frustrated her that he didn't want to open up, she could understand. She cast her mind back to when Professor Snape had been collecting signatures for holiday departures, and she'd asked Emile to visit the manor around Christmas. He'd informed her that he would actually be staying at Hogwarts over the break, and wouldn't be able to.

"But surely your aunt and uncle want you back for Christmas?" she'd asked incredulously.

Emile had merely shaken his head.

She'd gazed at him astonished for a while. The thought of rejecting your own blood, who you were entrusted with the care of, was bizarre to her. Emile didn't often discuss his family, but on the rare moments he mentioned his home life, it was never to say anything positive. Apparently, his aunt and uncle were even worse than she had originally thought.

"Well, then, that settles it," she'd announced. "You're staying with me. We've got plenty of spare rooms at the manor, and my family will be happy to have you."

Emile had blinked at her, as though trying to parse what she'd said. He'd then shaken his head vehemently. "No, no. Er, no, I don't –"

"Oh, come on," she'd insisted, knocking his shoulder with her own. "I'm serious, you're more than welcome. It's great at the manor, the food's even better than Hogwarts'."

"No."

He'd spoken so firmly that she'd stared at him. "Why?"

"I don't belong at your manor," he'd said simply.

"What are you talking about, of course you belong at my manor," she'd laughed. "You'd be a damn better fit than the elves."

"Just leave it," he'd said. "Please."

And so she had out of respect for her friend, though that didn't prevent her from feeling guilty.

"Winter blues?"

She glanced up at her father, who had entered the drawing room in which she sat. He had a copy of the Evening Prophet folded over his arm, and she could see an article on a new policy of Minister Fudge's. She knew what he was talking about. She'd never liked the cold much – it always made her feel strangely empty.

"I'm just worried about a friend," she admitted in a quiet voice.

"Pureblood?" he enquired as he sat down on a settee.

She smiled slightly. "Yes, of course," she said, rolling her eyes. "Not one of the Twenty-Six, though. He's actually from France."

"And why are you worried?" he asked. She thought it must have been out of courtesy, as he was flicking through the Evening Prophet as he asked, but she appreciated the chance to explain.

"It's just that he doesn't want to tell me what the problem is. He's not much of a communicator. And I can't help him if he won't tell me."

"If he does not want you to help, why are you attempting to?" her father asked, his eyes skimming over an article.

"Well," she said, "because I expect he'd do the same for me if I was struggling with something, wouldn't he?"

Her father shrugged. "I couldn't possibly say. What was this boy's name again?"

"Emile Pellon."

She wasn't sure whether she imagined her father's lip curl slightly. "Not a name I'm familiar with."

"Well, no, I don't think you would. His parents were from France, but they died when he was young. He lives with his aunt and uncle now."

"Interesting," her father said, though she wasn't sure how this qualified as interesting. "Did you happen to discover the names of his aunt and uncle?"

"Er, no," she replied. "I didn't want to pry."

He looked at her, his lips curling into a slight smile. "Would it make you feel better if you were able to find out more about this boy's past to understand him better?"

"I... Yes," she admitted. She thought she had an idea about what her father was saying, or offering. "But I won't ask you to help me. If I did, that would be a complete betrayal of trust." She cocked an eyebrow.

"Of course," he drawled. "If I looked into this with my considerable resources, it would be entirely of my own volition."

"And I definitely don't want you to tell me if you find anything," she said innocently.

Her father smiled broadly. "Why, I wouldn't dream of it."

Ethan looked positively green as they stepped onto the stone platform, pressing his glasses back onto his face. Torvuk's unique piloting style didn't agree with his friend's constitution, and Scott could see that he was wobbling something fierce as they made their way through the tunnel to the vault. The four of them – Ethan, Torvuk, his mother, and himself – soon found themselves before the familiar figure of a Sphinx.

Ethan's sickliness was immediately forgotten as he spotted her, and he rushed forward without thinking.

"Halt." Her powerful voice echoed. "If you wish to pass on to this vault, you must first pass a test of the mind."

"It's okay, Sanura," Scott said calmly, striding forward. "Ethan was just excited to meet you."

"Ah, Scott Carter," the Sphinx purred. "It is good to see you return."

"Good to see you, too," Scott told her sincerely. His respect for the Sphinx had risen even further in the time since he'd seen her last. Anyone who would dedicate their life to horribly killing anyone trying to trade in desecrated history automatically shot to the top of his good-books.

"Brilliant," Ethan breathed. He bowed before the part-lioness obsequiously and said, "It's fantastic to meet you, Sanura the Sphinx. I am Ethan Croaker, your humble servant."

"Er, a little too much, mate," Scott advised him. He turned back to Sanura, who was observing Ethan with a mixture of concern and amusement. "I thought you might appreciate a Christmas visit, and maybe a nice early present?"

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A gift?"

He placed a pile of notes before her. "I've been compiling some brain-teasers I've heard recently. I thought you'd appreciate having a look through them."

She crouched down and began to examine the pages with interest. "Oh, yes... oh, that's quite good." After a few moments, she looked back up at him with her dark eyes, smiling gratefully. "These will do nicely. Thank you, Scott Carter."

He shrugged humbly. "Least I could do. Of course," he added, "we still would like to get to the vault."

"So," Sanura said, "shall we play our game of riddles, then?" She looked palpably eager.

Scott's mother chose this moment to speak. "I think Torvuk will be more than willing to take you up on that, won't you Torvuk?"

The goblin shrank even smaller than he was under her intimidating glare. "Er, yes, of course, Madam."

"The goblin's problem-solving bores me," Sanura said enigmatically. "I would prefer Scott Carter receive my challenge."

Scott's mother began to splutter her protestations, but was cut off by her son. "Sounds good. I'll solve your riddle - on one condition," he smirked. "You use only one this time."

The Sphinx seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding. Scott's mother sighed from behind him.

"It's okay, Mum," Scott assured her. "I do this every day at school."

"There's not usually a quadruple-X beast staring you down, though," Ethan reasoned, though he didn't seem to be complaining, on the contrary – he was grinning ear-to-ear as he watched Sanura sit and open her mouth.

"Amassed en mass, stunning a feat

What the Consul burned, sad defeat

Some jealously guard, others disperse

Whilst others avoid, knowing a curse

Obtained through patience, but not with waiting

Garnered in gardens, leather, and dating

Like water it flows, straight from a source

Hands unreliable, past first through fourth

Can bless the ignorant with all but eternity

It dies from the lies faced in modernity

So what, then, is the subject of this plight;

The coveted currency for which the learned fight?"

Her words reverberated strangely in the vaulted chamber, the gravitas of her words sinking in as Scott began to interpret the series of verses. He spent only a few minutes repeating the riddle to himself, presenting quite the display of problem-solving for Sanura, until he at last spoke his response.

"You are sure of your answer?" she asked, though he could tell from her wide smile he was right.

"I am."

Christmas Day began for Alex with his alarm blaring its distinctive cry. Since September, he'd been waking up far earlier than he used to – the result of sharing a dorm with Scott Carter. He briefly contemplated going for a morning run, especially as he'd woken up as a boy, and felt far safer doing so in his neighbourhood in this form. He decided that Christmas, however, was hardly the day for fitness, and left his small bedroom without getting changed from his snug pyjamas.

In the living room-slash-kitchen, he found that the small plastic Christmas tree, which was pressed into a corner, had attained a number of new wrapped packages at its base. Most auspicious among the gifts was the skinny box, about five feet in length. His parents' bedroom door opened, and the eponymous pair emerged.

"Merry Christmas, love," they said.

"Merry Christmas," Alex echoed, his eyes not quite leaving the long package. "Er, what is that?"

His parents glanced at one another, smiles tugging at their lips. "You'll have to figure that one out on your own," his father said mysteriously.

"Go on," his mother urged. "Open them up."

Alex set to work on the box, and had soon uncovered what he'd suspected. A sleek length of polished wood, labelled near the tip with bronze lettering spelling 'Cleansweep 7' lay before him. He reverently took it out and begun admiring the woodwork and bristles, the latter of which were neatly gathered to a point. It was most unlike any of the Hogwarts school broomsticks he'd used previously, and it suddenly occurred to him that Scott had called this the greatest broom currently on the market.

"How – How...?" he spluttered out. "How much did this cost?"

"Er, well," his father began awkwardly, "in your magic money, it was about a hundred gold coins."

At Alex's severe gaze, his mother quickly added, "But it was worth it. And we didn't pay for all of it."

He blinked. "You didn't...? But then..." And then it hit him. He was at once hit with a wave of emotions that were hard to describe. He saw that his mother was beginning to tear up, and he found that he was doing the same.

"You've found some very good friends," she said quaveringly.

He rushed forward and hugged them both tightly.

"Merry Christmas, Alex," his mother whispered.

Emile wandered down the cold corridor aimlessly. He didn't feel like heading down to the lunch being hosted in the Great Hall, and instead occupied himself with getting to know the castle better. It was mostly empty now, though a number of prefects and teachers still haunted the halls - to say nothing of the many ghosts that literally did. Emile found that he preferred the solace. There were no classes to bother him, and far less people to put up a face to. He'd wondered a few times whether it had been a mistake not to take Scarlett up on her offer, but usually resolved to the contrary. Her sprawling mansion was not where he belonged right now.

He was interrupted from his musings by a man approaching from the opposite direction. He saw that it was Professor Foley. Foley had evidently seen him, too.

"Emile?" Foley asked, coming closer. "What are you doing up here?"

Emile was spared having to answer by Foley's following statement. "You ought to come down to the Christmas lunch. And I'd prefer if you stayed away from this floor without me here."

Emile was briefly unsure what he was talking about, before he realised that he was on the third floor, the same floor that his Defence teacher was supposed to be excavating. After the near flooding a month prior, he was hardly surprised Foley was so defensive of its security, though he felt slightly curious as to what he was excavating. He nodded, muttering his acquiescence, and begun to follow his teacher back down the hallway.

He didn't have a decent argument as to why he should skip lunch, so trailed along down the stairs. The two of them spoke little as the approached the ground floor, and Emile noticed that Foley looked somewhat sickly. He wondered if it was because of the cold weather. His eyes had lines under them, which indicated somewhat of lack of sleep, and his face was pasty white. His hair was even more unruly than usual, too. Emile wondered if his own appearance resembled his apparently woebegone teacher's.

"Merry Christmas, by the way," Foley said to him as they reached the bottom of the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall.

"You too, sir," he replied.

Alex glanced around the snowy car park. The inter-city rail had dropped him off in the town where he was supposed to be picked up, but he wasn't quite sure which car to look out for. He felt rather silly holding his broomstick out in public, and had felt even stupider on the train. He'd made an attempt to disguise it with a blanket so as not to arouse suspicion – Muggles weren't supposed to find out about the wizarding world, after all – but he still looked like a prat carrying around a big stick wrapped in a blanket.

"Oi!" a voice cried.

Alex's head snapped around to see a familiar grinning face poking out of a car window.

"Come on, then!" Scott yelled, gesturing him over.

Alex made his way over, his trunk and broomstick gripped in his hands. Scott hopped out of the car to help him stuff both into the boot of the car, and they both found their seats in the back.

"Hello Alex, dear," Mrs. Carter said, putting the car into Drive. "Have a nice Christmas?"

"It was brilliant, thanks. I can't even begin to thank you for the broom," he told her fervently. "Seriously, I never would have –"

"That's enough out of you, now," she interrupted, smiling at him through the rear-view mirror. "Any friend of Scott's gets special treatment from me, and he was quite adamant that you get one."

Alex shot a grateful look at Scott, to which he answered with a shrug and a grin. "You've got a better broom than me, now, mate," Scott said. Alex saw Mrs. Carter smirk briefly from the driver's seat. "We'll be able to practice for the rest of the holidays. Y'know, we really ought to get your fireplace hooked up to the Floo Network. Would make things a lot easier."

"Er, I don't actually have a fireplace at mine," Alex revealed.

"Oh," Scott said awkwardly. "Well, maybe you can try the Leaky Cauldron?"

"How does the Floo compare to train tickets price-wise?" he asked.

Scott blinked, glancing over at his mother. "Er, I'm not really sure," he said uncomfortably. Alex had the impression that Scott hadn't really considered these things before.

"They're fairly similar," Mrs. Carter put in. "The landlord charges about fifteen sickles if you use his Floo powder. I used to have a similar problem back when I went to school."

Scott cleared his throat awkwardly. "So anyway, no Ethan today."

Having no real desire to keep discussing finances, Alex took him up on the non-sequitur. "Why not?"

"Seemed to be under the impression we'd be using him as target practice for Bludgers," Scott said in mock bemusement.

"What gave him that impression?"

"Probably when I told him we'd use him as target practice," he said archly, resting his head back on his arms.

It took about twenty minutes to reach the Carters' house, which was located in the countryside, hidden behind a patch of woodland, and beside a large degree of moorland. As the car came up the long driveway to the house, Alex was struck by what he saw before him.

"You never said you lived in a manor!"

Scott cringed from where he sat. "Er, well, it's hardly a... Well, technically it is, but..." He floundered for a moment. "Alright, yeah, it's a manor," he admitted.

The house had three storeys, and looked very old. Alex wasn't altogether very knowledgeable about architecture, but he had the impression that the structure he was looking at was actually a collection of different styles from over several centuries. It looked idyllic and practically mystical covered in the white sheen of snow. He watched with awe as the mansion grow closer, and found himself wondering why he'd never known that Scott lived in such a decadent house. If this was where Scott lived, where did Ethan live? Did all witches and wizards live in big expensive houses? And how on Earth did they manage to keep it all clean?

Mrs. Carter pulled into a small parking garage, and after retrieving his broomstick and trunk, they headed up the lawn and into the house. They came into a timber-floor corridor, where a number of doors and a staircase led off from. As they passed the stairs, Alex thought he could hear excitable voices carrying down from above. They turned off the corridor into a richly furnished sitting room, complete with a large lit fireplace. He glanced at the clock that hung from the wall to check the time, but instead found four labelled hands, each corresponding to a member of the Carter family. Each was pointed at the same word: Home.

A woman wearing black and white was standing in the corner, busying herself with bringing down a large pine tree. Mrs. Carter approached the woman.

"How can I help, Jen?"

The woman brushed her off genially. "Not at all, Madam, not at all." She gestured with her wand, and the tree began to levitate. She turned and began to head for the hallway.

Scott spoke up, "Er, Alex, this is Jen. Jen, this is Alex."

"How do you do?" the woman asked.

Alex had to stop himself from gaping. She looked like she was straight from Victorian times, complete with the traditional maid outfit. He thought she must have been about thirty, and spoke with a refined accent. He thought could now guess as to how the house was cleaned.

"Good thanks," he replied.

She continued her journey out of the room, the Christmas tree hovering strangely behind her. Mrs. Carter followed her out, taking Alex's things with her. Alex looked at Scott in askance.

"She's our housekeeper," he explained. "Mum and Dad aren't home most days, so Jen makes sure the house doesn't fall apart in their absence." He shook his head in mock offence. "It's like they don't trust me and Lindsay, or something. Anyway, the two of us normally help her out. Saves us from Mum's guilt-tripping. I think they pay her extra to babysit, too."

"Does she live here?"

Scott shook his head. "Nah, not for a while."

"But she used to?"

"Yeah, but she moved out a while back. So," he said, grinning, "do you want a tour? Might be worth getting to know where the loos are."

They began to move about the house, Scott guiding him. There were apparently over thirty rooms, including the sitting room, two games rooms, the kitchen, larder, pantry, the dining room, functions room, a library, three bathrooms and en suite, two offices, the cellar, and two attic rooms. Alex was flabbergasted when Scott informed him that there was a whopping twelve bedrooms in the manor, and couldn't possibly think of why so many would be required. There were finely woven tapestries, marble statuary, and enchanted paintings, and Scott assured him – to his astonishment - that there were more once upon a time.

During the tour, they ran into a number of other occupants of the house. Scott's father and uncle were in the adults' games room, busy with a game of wizards' chess. It seemed Scott's father, who introduced himself as Nathan, was winning the competition. Nathan Carter shared Scott's tall height and gold-brown hair, though his complexion was a mite bit lighter, and his brother looked much the same. During the rest of the tour they came across two of Scott's aunts, his grandmother, a roving pack of cousins, Scott's sister, and her friend, Demelza Robins.

Scott's sister, Lindsay, was a very animated girl with dark, curly hair, and her friend Demelza matched her temperament. They both excitedly agreed to a Quidditch match so that Scott and Alex could practice against other players. Scott's cousins, ever-snooping, had overheard the proposition, and demanded to play too.

The ten of them filed out and traipsed into the woodland beside the house, their broomsticks over their shoulders. They came to a clearing where wooden goal hoops had been set up on either side, and quickly set about organising a game of five-a-side Quidditch. Scott and Alex served as Beaters on their team, whilst Lindsay and Demelza were Chasers. One of the cousins - similar in height to Scott, though somewhat wider – acted as their Keeper.

The game that ensued actually turned out to be a lot of fun, and Alex found himself impressed by Lindsay and Demelza's flying skills. In the end, their team managed to pull ahead, and after an hour of play, won.

It eventually came time for Scott's extended family to return to their respective homes, and once she was sure the house was spotless, the Carters' maid returned to her house as well. The four Carters and two guests were soon the only ones remaining at the manor house. After they'd eaten dinner (a nice East Asian meal), watched a film on the Carters' television, brushed their teeth, and gotten dressed, they set themselves to bed.

Alex had opted to share a room with Scott, rather than take one of the many empty bedrooms. It would be far easier to synchronise their early-morning exercise by continuing the pattern of sharing a room as they did at Hogwarts. They lay in the darkness, waiting for sleep to claim them. Something had been poking at Alex's subconscious, however, preventing him from getting any sleep.

Finally, he spoke up, "Hey Scott?"

"Mm?"

"Why'd you never say anything about living in a place out of a Brontë novel?"

He thought he saw Scott cringe in the darkness. "It just... never really seemed relevant, y'know?" he said evasively.

"You rant about architecture and history all the time," Alex said disbelievingly. "I find it a bit strange that you never once mentioned you lived in a place with all of that and more."

Scott sighed. "You really want an honest answer? It was because I was worried you'd judge me. There, I said it."

He snickered. "You thought I'd judge you for living in a nice house?" It was a fairly ridiculous sentiment, Alex thought.

"Well, because you're... because you..." He swallowed convulsively. "Er..."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm poor?" he asked bluntly.

Scott's ensuing silence settled his suspicions.

"Look, Scott," he said, sitting up to look at him fully. "I don't have what you've got. I've sort of accepted that about a lot of things already. I don't think I'll ever have anything like... this. But I don't really care. You shouldn't feel bad, or ashamed, just because you're luckier than me. Because I don't hold it against you."

He thought that he sounded very mature coming out with this, though it was loosely based on something his father had said to him once.

"I just thought," Scott muttered, "with Skeres always going on about her mansion..."

"I couldn't give a crap about Scarlett Skeres, or what she has to say," Alex said firmly. "Frankly, I don't know why you do. She doesn't reflect on anyone but herself, except maybe her family. I'm definitely not envious of her, that's for sure. She's just a sad little sheep, who probably won't amount to much at all."

Scott looked marginally more cheery following the insulting of his least favourite person. "Yeah, you're right. So, you don't... I dunno, feel like you don't belong?" he asked anxiously.

Alex shrugged. "When I first saw the place I was a little worried, but your family made me feel right at home. I got to play Quidditch with you all, I ate dinner at your table, I watched a movie. And I never felt like I wasn't supposed to be there. So... thanks."

He grinned at him, which Scott returned, clearly relieved. Something had occurred to him, though. "I think I can see how you picked up some of your interests, now," he remarked, examining the room. "You practically live in history here."

Looking glad to discuss one of his favourite topics, Scott immediately launched into an explanation. "Oh, you've got no idea. I don't know if you noticed, but Carter Hall's been through several stages of refurbishment. There's architectural relics of the Elizabethan, Jacobean, Georgian, Victorian eras, and more. There's some Neoclassical flourishes here and there, too. But this house is supposed to date back to Norman times, supposedly. In fact, there's some archaeological evidence that Carter Hall was around in some form as far back as Hogwarts' founding! Oh, and another thing..."

Alex lay back on his mattress, letting his friend's babbling voice wash over him. Eventually, somehow, he managed to drift off into restful slumber.