(A/N: *Wipes tears from eyes* Aw, you guys are the greatest! Thanks for
the nice reviews! I'll try to make this chapter with more answers than
questions. Oh, the thing EVERYONE is waiting for happens in this chapter!
ACK! What happened to all the reviews that people left! Half of the recent ones disappeared! *Cries* Well, we can all review some more and make up for it next time! You all left me good reviews; I appreciate that!)
Chapter Nine
The day before the start of the Christmas holidays I found myself sitting in Circe's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, looking forward to Double Potions later on in the day. At the moment, Circe was quizzing us on what we had learned about our inner selves, the best defense against the Dark Arts.
"Mister Malfoy, tell me the most fascinating element you have learned in this semester of classroom activity." Circe said softly, so that I barely heard her. Her emerald eyes were burning into mine, and I felt very vulnerable at that moment. "That is if you have learned but a thing this portion of the school year."
I racked my brain. I knew quite well that we were being graded on this bit of class participation, so I sighed deeply and said, "I am absolutely enthralled that we each have two inner selves, and that the selves may be separated, but at a cost." Hey, it was one of the things Circe liked to say while looking directly at me.
"Precisely," she said smoothly. I could feel another lecture coming on. "In the era of the Dark Wizard Grindewald, I can recall the way Grindewald was trying to dominate the population. He was separating people from their good selves, causing their moral ethics to flee, and letting their inner evils out, so they could faithfully serve him. It was a cruel time. You're lucky you were not alive to experience it."
I raised my hand. "But you can't have been around for it, either," I said, wrinkling my nose at her. "That was over a hundred years ago!" I added, looking into Circe's young face. "You can't be older than twenty- five!"
Circe grinned in such a manner that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on their end. "Looks can be deceiving," she said simply. I thought that would be all she would tell us, as she never revealed much information about herself. "I am actually several thousands of years old, and I am not a regular human witch or wizard, as you all are."
"Then what are you?" I nearly snapped. But Circe answered that question herself.
"I am an enchantress." She said. "I am immortal, unless I am slain." She looked rather dejected at this. "But I cannot die of a natural cause, say. Such as old age, a disease that plagues every human. I will never suffer from that, my students. But you will have to take care with your lives. You haven't forever to live."
As it always seemed to happen, the bell rang, just as Circe wanted to say something she considered important. I had no choice but to follow the flow of Slytherins exiting the classroom, as Circe pursed her lips, looking (for the first time I had ever seen) frustrated.
~*~
The last Potions class before the winter holidays started was probably the most enjoyable of the whole year. There were a number of reasons to add to this factor. For starters, Longbottom had to taste his own Transparence Solution, and all that I gathered before he was sent to the Hospital Wing, was that his hands were sticking through his skull. It was just the thing to cheer me up.
Apart from Gryffindor losing fifty more points, there was one other thing that really brought a smile to my face. As I flipped through the pages of my Potions book, to look up the ingredients fro my potion, I noticed a small, neatly folded piece of paper. It was a note, written in the neatest writing I had ever seen.
Dear Draco Malfoy,
You know me as Juliet, and I did, for a while, I knew you as Romeo. But while keeping this in mind, also know that I know whom you are, and I am not entirely sure if you know who I really am. But if you wish to find out, then I suggest you meet me in the North Rose garden at midnight tonight.
Yours truly,
Juliet
My heart skipped a few beats. I found it hard to concentrate on potions the rest of that lesson, and I would not have been surprised if my potion was as bad as Longbottom's was. She knew who I was. How did she find out? My mind was filled with questions, and then I calmed down to think about things logically.
Circe had figured it out. If she could narrow down the selection, then anyone probably could have. Why did I have such rich fabric? I needed to have a vague idea who this girl was before I met her. It had to be someone in this room; who else could have slipped the note in my book?
I glanced at all the females in the room. I knew who all the Slytherins had gone as, that left. Oh I couldn't bear to think of that! The girl was a Gryffindor. And at that moment, I saw, staring very blankly across the room. it was
~*~
The wildest waves of emotions were drowning me the moment I set foot in the Rose garden that evening. The most massive tidal wave of all was doubt trying to wipe me out, as I tried to inhale the fresh oxygen that was truth and fairness. Would I suffice, or would I drown?
The dark sheet of velvet sky was dotted with miniscule diamond stars, flanked by a full silver moon to set light to my pale skin. The air was cool, and I could not resist a shiver before I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. Each cluster of roses cast a shadow on the cold, solid ground. It was a beautiful, clear night.
True to her word, there she was, staring at her petite hands through her paranormal mask she had invented. The mask still depicted her emotions; at the moment, though, I had no way of ever starting to decipher the look plastered on her face, so to speak. She, like I, was wearing her school robes, and had a cloak draped lazily over her shoulders.
For a fleeting second all of my insides jumped when I looked at her badge, wildly hoping that all my guesses and speculations had been wrong, letting the badge read, "Slytherin," across the front, decorated with a silver and green serpent.
But it said, "Gryffindor." All of my speculations had been confirmed so far, what would there be to prove me wrong? The answer to that question, my friend, was that nothing so far had done anything to tell me I was wrong. Nothing.
"Hello," said her smooth, liquidly voice. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable standing there in front of her, leaving myself very open to a potential emotional wound. "If I'm correct, you now know who I am as well." She added again, looking at me through the mask.
I nodded, as though I had laryngitis and could not speak. But all of my guesses and theories had just pieced themselves totally together for me, like one big jigsaw puzzle. Like me, she had to have gotten the idea for her costume from Circe's classes. That meant she had to be a fifth year to have had that lesson. I knew what all the Slytherin girls had gone to the Masquerade as. Only a Gryffindor, then, could have slipped the note in my Potions book.
The badge on her chest confirmed her house. Now, there was only one girl clever enough to think about who "Romeo" had been, and correctly figure it out. And that could only be:
"Hello, Granger," I said, surprised at the serenity of my own drawling, cold voice. But though my voice was calm, I was willing to bet my Millennium that my facial expressions were giving way to how angry I looked that my guess had been correct. "Who would have thought? The Mudblood had an interesting costume."
For several moments there was a silence and the tension was so thick that it could not have even been cut with the sharpest knife. Granger decided to break it. "I, well," she cut herself off. "I thought you were someone else!" She spat at me.
"I wasn't expecting to see you, either!" I snapped back, equally livid. Hermione Granger looked down at her lap, still silent. "Who did you think I was, then?" I asked, crossing my arms across my chest and looking down at her.
"Ron Weasley," She said quietly. "At least that's who I was hoping you were," she added. For an elongated moment, I was too stunned to speak. Hermione Granger, or all people, had confused me with WEASLEY?
"Weasley!" I thundered, going off a tangent. I could feel the color rising to my face, and I could see the steam of my hot breath disappearing slowly in the cold night air. "You thought WEASLEY would be able to afford a costume like mine? I thought you were supposed to be a genius, but obviously, you aren't!"
Quicker than I ever could have fathomed, Hermione rose to her feet, standing on the tips of her toes. I had to admit that the current emotion filling my heart was none other than fear itself. The last time Granger had gone off in a rage, I had gotten slapped. The thought of being slapped by a Mudblood was enough to scare any Slytherin.
"I'll have you know that Fred and George and Harry all lost money gambling with Ron! Ron won a good sum of money off those three and he had more than enough to buy a costume like yours and have some left over! He never told me what he was going to the Masquerade as. But I finally figured out who you really were because you were stupid enough to talk about it with Professor Circe, after your Quidditch match!"
To my great surprise and eternal relief, I felt no sharp tingling anywhere on my face. I had not been slapped. But Granger had started off to leave, in a towering rage. However, she could not resist having one last go at me, while I was silently gaping in shock at her.
"This just PROVES what a piece of SCUM you really are! I thought that since you managed to behave yourself at the Masquerade like a good boy, that you might have been able to remain civil long enough to set things straight! Obviously, I was wrong! You judge people only by their heritage, family, house, and looks! One day, Malfoy, I hope that comes back to bite you!"
With that, she was off.
Well, what did you expect? Hugs and kisses?
~*~
They say there's no place like home for the holidays, but I beg to differ. I'm sure there are a lot of filthy rich families that throw private parties for other elite families. That was exactly where I had found myself on the eve of Christmas, dressed up in ornamental robes of green velvet, sitting on a bar stool, with my elbows propped on the bar counter, holding up my chin.
For the first time in my life, I had realized something of vast importance. It was one of the contributing factors to the way I often felt miserable with myself, and with others as well. It was something that I had tried to hide from for fifteen years; something that Hermione Granger had struck as obvious.
I had no real friends.
It was true. All I had were Crabbe and Goyle, who could hardly be counted as friends, who served as menservants most of the time, stupidly guffawing at my jokes, which they probably did not quite understand, anyway. There was Pansy Parkinson, who worshiped me for the most part, but I couldn't stand her. She was annoying, and there was no way to describe her, other than to say her face looked like that of those ugly little pug dogs.
And until this moment, I had not noticed how unhappy I was. Was this the result of all my nastiness and willingness to take control over others? Of course it was. I knew that eventually, I would have to come to a choice between power and friendship. I would never be able to break free from the threshold of power that had been branded in my brain. It was my way of life, trying to control others, and doing my best to bring them sorrow.
I frowned, and left the party straight away. I needed time to think myself over. Was life without real friends really worth living? With that thought, I collapsed on my bed, off again in a fitful sleep.
~*~
The cold darkness that was so familiar had again washed over my body, taking my breath away, leaving me shivering and empty. I still had my consciousness (or did I? Was it still the same menacing dream?), but I felt as if I would rather let all the life drain out of my body than let myself live on in the cold, dark, soul-sucking place I was at.
My head was spinning as I found myself in the all-too-familiar spot between the pastel room with the table, and the darkened corridor with the illuminated door. Seemingly frozen in my spot with my feet glued to the floor, I looked again to the small pastel room, and again to the darkness that was trying to overcome me.
At that moment, as if pulling my left leg from a bucket of thickening glue, I took a step towards the illuminated door. Then dragging my other foot, I struggled forward. Do you remember when you were little, the way you tried to run in the water when you were swimming? This is what the task was like, only a thousand times worse. Imagine breath being very short, and having cement blocks on your feet, while trying to run from a Dementor that is trying to suck out your soul as you cling to your life with feeble hands.
I felt as if I were being torn apart, limb from limb, as I immerged myself deeper and deeper down the corridor, and at the very moment I thought my eyeballs were ready to explode, relief washed over me, and I gasped for a breath. I had reached the illuminated area directly in front of the door.
But I had no emotional consolation in the lighted area. In fact, all my deep, dark fears seemed to be multiplied a thousand times greater than what they really were. A piercing scream filled the light air where I was standing, and caused me to freeze. It was a child screaming, like in the first dream I had. There was something chilling and foreboding about it that made me cringe, and open my mouth to scream bloody murder.
The screaming did not stop; it was soon joined by more voices, which I heard loud and clear, and some seemed to be screaming, "Draco!" Perhaps I was delusional in my bout with this terror, but I did what any person would do, and groped for the handle on the door, desperately hoping I would be led somewhere warm.
My hands both clasped the cool chrome metal, slipping every which way; I just realized that I had been sweating gallons. I gasped for more air, realizing that it was okay to breathe again, as I hastily wiped my hands on my robes. Again trying so desperately to turn the handle, I realized that the door was locked. I ran my fingers across the outline of the keyhole, cursing fate.
I took a step backward, and it felt as if a ton of bricks had settled in on my chest, as I hit the floor with a force that I did not think was possible to land on, and till be alive, feeling the beating of my heart rapidly increasing. The familiar sickness wiped over me again, and I felt the room spinning. spinning. I thought I was alone.
How was I supposed to know that a boy called Harry Potter was having the same dream?
(A/N: I bet I made you all just plain furious, didn't I? Heh, that's my style. I don't really see Hermione and Draco together as a realistic couple, but hey, who knows, you might see more of them later in this fic, if I continue after Order of the Phoenix comes out. Okay, does the dream make a little more sense, now? The door is locked. You need a key to open a locked door. Think about that one!
Okay, well, I'm a bit indecisive about that chapter, too. Now I have a new thing. Order of the Phoenix comes out on Saturday. I don't know, but that might kill this story, since it takes place in 5th year. My accounts will surely be different than J.K. Rowling's (the genius!) are. So, um, I think perhaps I'll wait until I finish the book to write more of this, unless I can write a whole chapter before Saturday. But I do hope that OotP won't mean that this is the end of "Dragon" Well, tell me what you think about this? Shall I continue with my account of this, even though it will be different than the REAL version?)
ACK! What happened to all the reviews that people left! Half of the recent ones disappeared! *Cries* Well, we can all review some more and make up for it next time! You all left me good reviews; I appreciate that!)
Chapter Nine
The day before the start of the Christmas holidays I found myself sitting in Circe's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, looking forward to Double Potions later on in the day. At the moment, Circe was quizzing us on what we had learned about our inner selves, the best defense against the Dark Arts.
"Mister Malfoy, tell me the most fascinating element you have learned in this semester of classroom activity." Circe said softly, so that I barely heard her. Her emerald eyes were burning into mine, and I felt very vulnerable at that moment. "That is if you have learned but a thing this portion of the school year."
I racked my brain. I knew quite well that we were being graded on this bit of class participation, so I sighed deeply and said, "I am absolutely enthralled that we each have two inner selves, and that the selves may be separated, but at a cost." Hey, it was one of the things Circe liked to say while looking directly at me.
"Precisely," she said smoothly. I could feel another lecture coming on. "In the era of the Dark Wizard Grindewald, I can recall the way Grindewald was trying to dominate the population. He was separating people from their good selves, causing their moral ethics to flee, and letting their inner evils out, so they could faithfully serve him. It was a cruel time. You're lucky you were not alive to experience it."
I raised my hand. "But you can't have been around for it, either," I said, wrinkling my nose at her. "That was over a hundred years ago!" I added, looking into Circe's young face. "You can't be older than twenty- five!"
Circe grinned in such a manner that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on their end. "Looks can be deceiving," she said simply. I thought that would be all she would tell us, as she never revealed much information about herself. "I am actually several thousands of years old, and I am not a regular human witch or wizard, as you all are."
"Then what are you?" I nearly snapped. But Circe answered that question herself.
"I am an enchantress." She said. "I am immortal, unless I am slain." She looked rather dejected at this. "But I cannot die of a natural cause, say. Such as old age, a disease that plagues every human. I will never suffer from that, my students. But you will have to take care with your lives. You haven't forever to live."
As it always seemed to happen, the bell rang, just as Circe wanted to say something she considered important. I had no choice but to follow the flow of Slytherins exiting the classroom, as Circe pursed her lips, looking (for the first time I had ever seen) frustrated.
~*~
The last Potions class before the winter holidays started was probably the most enjoyable of the whole year. There were a number of reasons to add to this factor. For starters, Longbottom had to taste his own Transparence Solution, and all that I gathered before he was sent to the Hospital Wing, was that his hands were sticking through his skull. It was just the thing to cheer me up.
Apart from Gryffindor losing fifty more points, there was one other thing that really brought a smile to my face. As I flipped through the pages of my Potions book, to look up the ingredients fro my potion, I noticed a small, neatly folded piece of paper. It was a note, written in the neatest writing I had ever seen.
Dear Draco Malfoy,
You know me as Juliet, and I did, for a while, I knew you as Romeo. But while keeping this in mind, also know that I know whom you are, and I am not entirely sure if you know who I really am. But if you wish to find out, then I suggest you meet me in the North Rose garden at midnight tonight.
Yours truly,
Juliet
My heart skipped a few beats. I found it hard to concentrate on potions the rest of that lesson, and I would not have been surprised if my potion was as bad as Longbottom's was. She knew who I was. How did she find out? My mind was filled with questions, and then I calmed down to think about things logically.
Circe had figured it out. If she could narrow down the selection, then anyone probably could have. Why did I have such rich fabric? I needed to have a vague idea who this girl was before I met her. It had to be someone in this room; who else could have slipped the note in my book?
I glanced at all the females in the room. I knew who all the Slytherins had gone as, that left. Oh I couldn't bear to think of that! The girl was a Gryffindor. And at that moment, I saw, staring very blankly across the room. it was
~*~
The wildest waves of emotions were drowning me the moment I set foot in the Rose garden that evening. The most massive tidal wave of all was doubt trying to wipe me out, as I tried to inhale the fresh oxygen that was truth and fairness. Would I suffice, or would I drown?
The dark sheet of velvet sky was dotted with miniscule diamond stars, flanked by a full silver moon to set light to my pale skin. The air was cool, and I could not resist a shiver before I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. Each cluster of roses cast a shadow on the cold, solid ground. It was a beautiful, clear night.
True to her word, there she was, staring at her petite hands through her paranormal mask she had invented. The mask still depicted her emotions; at the moment, though, I had no way of ever starting to decipher the look plastered on her face, so to speak. She, like I, was wearing her school robes, and had a cloak draped lazily over her shoulders.
For a fleeting second all of my insides jumped when I looked at her badge, wildly hoping that all my guesses and speculations had been wrong, letting the badge read, "Slytherin," across the front, decorated with a silver and green serpent.
But it said, "Gryffindor." All of my speculations had been confirmed so far, what would there be to prove me wrong? The answer to that question, my friend, was that nothing so far had done anything to tell me I was wrong. Nothing.
"Hello," said her smooth, liquidly voice. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable standing there in front of her, leaving myself very open to a potential emotional wound. "If I'm correct, you now know who I am as well." She added again, looking at me through the mask.
I nodded, as though I had laryngitis and could not speak. But all of my guesses and theories had just pieced themselves totally together for me, like one big jigsaw puzzle. Like me, she had to have gotten the idea for her costume from Circe's classes. That meant she had to be a fifth year to have had that lesson. I knew what all the Slytherin girls had gone to the Masquerade as. Only a Gryffindor, then, could have slipped the note in my Potions book.
The badge on her chest confirmed her house. Now, there was only one girl clever enough to think about who "Romeo" had been, and correctly figure it out. And that could only be:
"Hello, Granger," I said, surprised at the serenity of my own drawling, cold voice. But though my voice was calm, I was willing to bet my Millennium that my facial expressions were giving way to how angry I looked that my guess had been correct. "Who would have thought? The Mudblood had an interesting costume."
For several moments there was a silence and the tension was so thick that it could not have even been cut with the sharpest knife. Granger decided to break it. "I, well," she cut herself off. "I thought you were someone else!" She spat at me.
"I wasn't expecting to see you, either!" I snapped back, equally livid. Hermione Granger looked down at her lap, still silent. "Who did you think I was, then?" I asked, crossing my arms across my chest and looking down at her.
"Ron Weasley," She said quietly. "At least that's who I was hoping you were," she added. For an elongated moment, I was too stunned to speak. Hermione Granger, or all people, had confused me with WEASLEY?
"Weasley!" I thundered, going off a tangent. I could feel the color rising to my face, and I could see the steam of my hot breath disappearing slowly in the cold night air. "You thought WEASLEY would be able to afford a costume like mine? I thought you were supposed to be a genius, but obviously, you aren't!"
Quicker than I ever could have fathomed, Hermione rose to her feet, standing on the tips of her toes. I had to admit that the current emotion filling my heart was none other than fear itself. The last time Granger had gone off in a rage, I had gotten slapped. The thought of being slapped by a Mudblood was enough to scare any Slytherin.
"I'll have you know that Fred and George and Harry all lost money gambling with Ron! Ron won a good sum of money off those three and he had more than enough to buy a costume like yours and have some left over! He never told me what he was going to the Masquerade as. But I finally figured out who you really were because you were stupid enough to talk about it with Professor Circe, after your Quidditch match!"
To my great surprise and eternal relief, I felt no sharp tingling anywhere on my face. I had not been slapped. But Granger had started off to leave, in a towering rage. However, she could not resist having one last go at me, while I was silently gaping in shock at her.
"This just PROVES what a piece of SCUM you really are! I thought that since you managed to behave yourself at the Masquerade like a good boy, that you might have been able to remain civil long enough to set things straight! Obviously, I was wrong! You judge people only by their heritage, family, house, and looks! One day, Malfoy, I hope that comes back to bite you!"
With that, she was off.
Well, what did you expect? Hugs and kisses?
~*~
They say there's no place like home for the holidays, but I beg to differ. I'm sure there are a lot of filthy rich families that throw private parties for other elite families. That was exactly where I had found myself on the eve of Christmas, dressed up in ornamental robes of green velvet, sitting on a bar stool, with my elbows propped on the bar counter, holding up my chin.
For the first time in my life, I had realized something of vast importance. It was one of the contributing factors to the way I often felt miserable with myself, and with others as well. It was something that I had tried to hide from for fifteen years; something that Hermione Granger had struck as obvious.
I had no real friends.
It was true. All I had were Crabbe and Goyle, who could hardly be counted as friends, who served as menservants most of the time, stupidly guffawing at my jokes, which they probably did not quite understand, anyway. There was Pansy Parkinson, who worshiped me for the most part, but I couldn't stand her. She was annoying, and there was no way to describe her, other than to say her face looked like that of those ugly little pug dogs.
And until this moment, I had not noticed how unhappy I was. Was this the result of all my nastiness and willingness to take control over others? Of course it was. I knew that eventually, I would have to come to a choice between power and friendship. I would never be able to break free from the threshold of power that had been branded in my brain. It was my way of life, trying to control others, and doing my best to bring them sorrow.
I frowned, and left the party straight away. I needed time to think myself over. Was life without real friends really worth living? With that thought, I collapsed on my bed, off again in a fitful sleep.
~*~
The cold darkness that was so familiar had again washed over my body, taking my breath away, leaving me shivering and empty. I still had my consciousness (or did I? Was it still the same menacing dream?), but I felt as if I would rather let all the life drain out of my body than let myself live on in the cold, dark, soul-sucking place I was at.
My head was spinning as I found myself in the all-too-familiar spot between the pastel room with the table, and the darkened corridor with the illuminated door. Seemingly frozen in my spot with my feet glued to the floor, I looked again to the small pastel room, and again to the darkness that was trying to overcome me.
At that moment, as if pulling my left leg from a bucket of thickening glue, I took a step towards the illuminated door. Then dragging my other foot, I struggled forward. Do you remember when you were little, the way you tried to run in the water when you were swimming? This is what the task was like, only a thousand times worse. Imagine breath being very short, and having cement blocks on your feet, while trying to run from a Dementor that is trying to suck out your soul as you cling to your life with feeble hands.
I felt as if I were being torn apart, limb from limb, as I immerged myself deeper and deeper down the corridor, and at the very moment I thought my eyeballs were ready to explode, relief washed over me, and I gasped for a breath. I had reached the illuminated area directly in front of the door.
But I had no emotional consolation in the lighted area. In fact, all my deep, dark fears seemed to be multiplied a thousand times greater than what they really were. A piercing scream filled the light air where I was standing, and caused me to freeze. It was a child screaming, like in the first dream I had. There was something chilling and foreboding about it that made me cringe, and open my mouth to scream bloody murder.
The screaming did not stop; it was soon joined by more voices, which I heard loud and clear, and some seemed to be screaming, "Draco!" Perhaps I was delusional in my bout with this terror, but I did what any person would do, and groped for the handle on the door, desperately hoping I would be led somewhere warm.
My hands both clasped the cool chrome metal, slipping every which way; I just realized that I had been sweating gallons. I gasped for more air, realizing that it was okay to breathe again, as I hastily wiped my hands on my robes. Again trying so desperately to turn the handle, I realized that the door was locked. I ran my fingers across the outline of the keyhole, cursing fate.
I took a step backward, and it felt as if a ton of bricks had settled in on my chest, as I hit the floor with a force that I did not think was possible to land on, and till be alive, feeling the beating of my heart rapidly increasing. The familiar sickness wiped over me again, and I felt the room spinning. spinning. I thought I was alone.
How was I supposed to know that a boy called Harry Potter was having the same dream?
(A/N: I bet I made you all just plain furious, didn't I? Heh, that's my style. I don't really see Hermione and Draco together as a realistic couple, but hey, who knows, you might see more of them later in this fic, if I continue after Order of the Phoenix comes out. Okay, does the dream make a little more sense, now? The door is locked. You need a key to open a locked door. Think about that one!
Okay, well, I'm a bit indecisive about that chapter, too. Now I have a new thing. Order of the Phoenix comes out on Saturday. I don't know, but that might kill this story, since it takes place in 5th year. My accounts will surely be different than J.K. Rowling's (the genius!) are. So, um, I think perhaps I'll wait until I finish the book to write more of this, unless I can write a whole chapter before Saturday. But I do hope that OotP won't mean that this is the end of "Dragon" Well, tell me what you think about this? Shall I continue with my account of this, even though it will be different than the REAL version?)