Author's Notes: This part is sort of… god forbid it sweet… does that make me sick and twisted? Yes, yes I believe it does. I mean seriously! This is the chapter that gets some cute little admonitions. Sad. And yes, yes it does hurt. Anyway, Tuulikki, Malfoy is on the other side of the castle, it doesn't hurt to tell you that. The real question of course, is what will he do now that Harry's down for the count? After all, Draco wants him dead right? *evil maniacal laughter* Meia… aw, thanks. Sorry to keep you in suspense, but this part may well kill you. And finally, Incognito4 I'm glad you liked the water, that was one of my more disturbing nightmares (I have some doozies, not to mention the fact that I pretty much live in my basement, and my water heater is always doing something) and I'm glad it translated well to paper. Hoping that you'll like this chapter to everyone! Ah, I feel better. ^_~ Anyway, apparently since people don't R&R things with uber cryptic summaries (hey, I was happy about that summary!), I'll just beg – please(s) and thank you(s) for reviewing for me (PLEEEEEEZE!). Oh, one last thing if anything is spelled wrong, I'm sorry. I use Microsoft Word, and it highlights all the misspellings, but that means that most of the names are highlighted, and I've just gotten sick of looking for little red squiggles.
Disclaimers: The person that owns Harry Potter sure as hell wouldn't do this to it. (Though I'm beginning to think she should. I mean, come on, we all know that Cho wasn't worth the paper she was printed on! She was fan-service!) Anyway, I don't own it, I never will, don't get pissed at me for having a little fun. Oh, and
Some Days
Draco Malfoy didn't exactly know why he told Granger about Harry. In fact, he shouldn't have said a word; he was anything but Harry's bouncer, but something told him that Harry would be displeased to see his friend. So he'd tried to warn Granger off in not so many words, not for a reason of course, perhaps to keep Harry isolated. Yes, that was it, keeping Harry isolated would make him easier to control, if no one knew where Harry was, then no one could find his body when Draco finally killed the sap.
It was still the highest thing on his agenda, he still intended to kill the boy, he'd just been delayed by circumstance. It was just past midnight, he had napped for a few hours in warm, comfortable bed, then rose again to kill Harry at last. He was prepared this time; he had steeled his heart and wore his family dagger, something his father had given to him on his thirteenth birthday. He would avenge his family name Harry Potter would die at long last.
Slipping from his bed, past the lumbering giants he used as body guards, he left his room and crept from the dorm without being seen. He knew the route extremely well now, past the statue of Latham Covinus the divided, across the South Corridor, and down the flight of shifting stairs (remembering to hop the disappearing one), and past Snape's office. That was the most dangerous part of the way to Harry, getting past Snape, even when the man was asleep was almost impossible, the man had more than six senses when it came to students out of bed, but he was lenient for Draco. Navigating the dungeons was easier said than done, half of the tunnels led to empty chambers in the bowels of Hogwarts, great, expansive things with vaulted arches and echoing walls, but the other half led to dead-ends, half finished projects and holes full of spider webs.
Finding Harry always took a few locator spells, but the Gryffindor had a pattern, perhaps someone that hadn't spent years watching Harry Potter wouldn't recognize it, but Harry always turned left twice, then right. It was a strange little idiosyncrasy, but it always held true, left, left, right, left, left, right – he was so predictable, conveniently so. So he traced Harry from where he knew him to be last, then followed his steps on the dusty ground, through a score of tunnels and into an empty chamber. The clearly marked steps became blurry, and there were no torches lit, so Draco drew his wand and muttered a simple "lumos," the Slytherin was amused to see that Harry had been pacing, but he was not amused to see that he had been followed.
Draco quickened his pace, it could have been Hermione who'd followed him into the dark, but she wouldn't have gone with unlit torches, no one friendly would have. Harry liked the dark, he liked feeling like he was alone, but no one else would – and for no reason he could explain, Draco didn't like where his thoughts were leading him. The cobwebs grew thicker and the dust irritated Draco's eyes, he was highly allergic to dust and he deplored this trek, fortunately, this would be the last time he made it. The thick, white, cottony shield was broken in places; a sign of Harry's passing, so Draco followed the trail.
There was something in the air, something familiar and ominous; it was something he couldn't place. The heaviness was suffocating, the dust having not yet settled, he must be close to Harry now. He could almost smell it, feel it on the air, the thick scent of humanity in the tunnel, it hung on the dust, and it hung heavily in his nostrils. Harry was there in the darkness, but the light of his wand was not enough to find him, it wasn't enough to see things clearly, he was feeling his way down the path Harry had taken, crouching to see his foot steps, but now Draco needed more light.
He made a right turn into pitch blackness and came to a dead end. The smell was even thicker here, and his booted foot slid into earth that was less than solid. Had the lake seeped into this tunnel? Draco made the spell stronger, he lit the entire tunnel but did not see Harry slumped against one of its sloped walls, nor was he standing with his back turned. Cold with terror, Draco looked down and everything slid in and out of place.
The scent, blood, thick blood, the wetness beneath his feet was the blood turning the earth to mud beneath him, the knowledge that Harry was somewhere near by, and the scent of humanity; it all made sense now. Yet everything was violently misplaced, like a painting that's color had broken and shifted – there wasn't a congruent picture here, there were things he recognized like Harry, blood, dirt, spider webs, injury, all things he had seen countless times before, but none of it seemed to go together. He had experienced and expected men, bloody at his feet, but Harry Potter had never been in those dark dreams. Seeing him here, his blood still languidly pumping from a gaping wound in his back made Draco want to scream. His heart was pounding in his ears, his hands were shaking, Harry was dying if not already dead. How did this happen?
"Oh god." The blonde dropped to his knees, surveying the wound with both hands and eyes, clutching at Harry's back to keep what little blood remained still in his body. Draco didn't stop to think about what he was doing as he bodily lifted Harry from where he was sprawled on the floor. "You are not going to die…" he grunted out under the weight, "until I kill you." He knew that he had to get Harry to the infirmary immediately, he had to move him before the boy died, but it would take time, possibly too much time. Draco could feel the blood seeping through his cloak as he ran through the tunnels, retracing his own steps and praying that his haste would not see him lost.
"Madame Pomfrey!" Draco roared as soon has he had reached the dungeon classrooms, "Professor Snape!" He ran now, towards the infirmary, bellowing for surviving teachers as he went. Harry was light, but nearly too much for him to bear as a dead weight, possibly because he was a dead weight. "Professor Snape! SEVERUS!"
Harry slipped from Draco's shoulder, and the blonde didn't have the energy to hoist him up there again, so he dragged Harry across the Great Hall and towards the infirmary. Not for the first time did Draco want to kill whoever had designed this castle, who on earth would put an infirmary on the third floor? "Oh, come on!" He began desperately, frantically trying to get help, "Come on! Isn't anyone going to help? This is Harry bloody Potter and you're just going to let him die?!" Never mind that Draco himself wanted nothing more than to kill Harry, never mind that it was one o'clock in the morning and everyone was tucked into their beds – Draco was panicking.
Draco Malfoy was on the brink of tears by the time someone finally took Harry from him. Professor Snape emerged on the scene, cast a calming spell on Draco and did what he could for Harry by stopping the blood flow and scanning for internal injury – fortunately there was none. Snape had never been proficient with healing spells, not many people were, but he survived, and so too should Harry.
"Mister Malfoy." Snape said coldly. Draco looked up at him from Harry's body; there was a streak of blood on his cheek, from where he carelessly brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. Harry's blood, which begged the question, "What the hell happened?"
~
Harry survived, as he had an uncanny ability to do so. And Draco attracted trouble simply because he was good at it. For saving Harry's life he got praise, house points, and a nice shiny medal that stayed in the trophy room – for being out of bed well passed curfew, he got a detention polishing that very medal, and the rest of them in the trophy room. In his mind, it wasn't a bad trade until he stopped to think about it. He wanted Harry dead right? So why did he save the bastard that killed his father, that sullied his name? Why on earth did he go chasing after Harry? Why did he go to the effort to drag him to safety? Why did he soak himself in Harry's blood, why did he bother? Shouldn't he have sat back, watch coldly as Harry died?
The Malfoy in him made him hate himself for what he had done, truly it didn't matter how Harry died, just so long as he did, but there was something about his pitiful state, something that implored Draco to help the fallen hero. He convinced himself that he only wanted to watch Harry die if he could die by Draco's hand. He convinced himself that he wanted to be the one to slit Harry's throat, to see him beg as he must have begged for the mystery attacker, as he must have begged for Voldemort. Then and only then would Harry be granted the honor of dying at Draco's hand.
That moment, it would be tonight, it would be soon. He had his knife in hand, he was striding towards the dungeons, he was skirting the shadows and he was full of self righteous anger – the kind of anger that had driven hundreds of people before him to kill. Just as they used it, he would use it, and he would at long last kill Harry Potter.
Harry was standing against a wall with his head down, breathing heavily. He was think, he was tired and haggard looking, he had the haunted look, the sloping shoulders of someone that had nothing left in the world. He looked miserable, and Draco stopped for a moment to soak in the sight. Draco smiled to himself as he steadily approached Harry, not like the moments when he had hesitated before wrapping his arms around the Gryffindor.
Today he merely strode towards him, feet scraping across the dirt ground, he wrapped one hand around Harry's mouth, the other one, the hand holding the knife, he pressed at Harry's throat. Harry stiffened against him, shook with terror. Quietly, curtly as if in greeting, he said, "Potter." Then applied force, slid the knife across Harry's throat, felt it pierce the skin and a wall of muscle with a wet slurp, and stepped back to let Harry fall.
Draco smiled for a moment, he smiled as he saw Harry's eyes widen in shock, and the blood gushed from the neck wound. Steadily, it flowed into the ground, first darkening it, then making it shine in the soft torch light. Harry struggled with death, thrashed in its throes, and the blood flowed deeper, redder, more. Slowly Draco's smile faded. The blood wouldn't stop pumping out of Harry's neck, long after his vibrant eyes had glazed over and his body had stilled. The blood kept on coming long after Harry turned pale, then blue with death, it lapped at Draco's ankles, threatened to bowl him over with a tidal force.
It was staining him, drowning him, burning him like battery acid, he could feel it! The blood, the blood, pouring out, sinking into the ground, washing up around his calves, marking him, making him something other than he was. Harry was gone. He was being covered by his own blood, the stench of it ran thick in the air, he was awash with his own blood, unable to save Draco from the can of worms he had opened. For the first time Draco realized that he was alone, never again to play the antagonist because the act of taking Harry's life was successfully drowning him.
Draco Malfoy stood still, it was a thing he was remarkably good at, a thing he had learned. He stood still as Harry died, stood still as the blood rose to his chin, stood still as it flooded his mouth with it's coppery tang. He stood still. He didn't know what he'd done, he didn't know how he'd brought himself to do it, or even why. His father was dead, his family name was worth nothing – that was true, but it was worth nothing from the very beginning of his life, a series of letters that meant nothing. His father… his father was dead, and Draco suddenly realized that it didn't matter, because people die, fathers die before their sons, and those sons die before theirs. Nothing made sense anymore, his reasons didn't hold water, but Harry was dead. The cold knowledge, the calculating certainty was in him, Harry was dead – what was left but the blood?
Draco awoke with a start. Sweat was pouring down his back, and his chest was heaving. Beside him his dorm mates were snoring peacefully, oblivious to Draco's nightmare. Draco glanced at his bed-side clock and noted – not without displeasure – that it was three o'clock in the morning, and he would not get anymore sleep tonight. It had been a long time since Draco had had such vivid a nightmare and he hoped it would be a long time since he had another one, but he had the next three hours of the night to think about what had been in it.
~
Harry stumbled but caught himself on a wall. His shoulders still hurt like mad, and his back itched like the devil but he couldn't reach to scratch the spot, but his heart was in the worst condition. Hermione had been in to see him, as had Ron. They didn't speak much, they didn't need to, the truths they wished to express were evident. Ron was angry for Harry's neglect; Hermione was upset because if Harry had simply taken her advice he wouldn't be in this mess, Harry… well, Harry was just sick of hearing it. He knew that hiding from life wasn't the answer, that keeping himself in the dungeons was no way to live, but outside those icy stone walls, was a world that he wasn't ready to deal with. A world that wasn't ready to deal with him.
The dungeons were safe, as he knew the term. He had been attacked down there, but it hadn't been with words or gestures, placating phrases that were supposed to make everything perfect again. It had been with a knife. It was brutal, it was bloody, but it was a simple, honest little thing. There were so many reasons for him not to go back there, he had loving friends that were willing to stay with him, no matter what he did, he had good hearted people that cared for him around every corner, but he also had a porcelain mask that awaited him, a mask with a smile and a twinkle in it's eye.
If he went back to the tunnels, to the basement, he felt like he had a chance at self preservation. If not the rescue of his body and his friendships, then the rescue of his sanity and integrity. He would emerge eventually, once he was prepared, but he wasn't prepared, he didn't have the strength to face the world. At the Dursleys, he had anonymity, he was invisible to the press, to the eager faces of his eager friends, it was like that in the dungeons. Harry wanted that now, craved it, needed it.
When he woke up a week after he'd been nearly killed, he inquired after Malfoy. There was no particular reason for this, possibly because it was Malfoy he was thinking about when he lost consciousness, but he heard it from Ron and Hermione that Draco was given the third degree because of it. "Did you, Mister Malfoy, try to kill Harry Potter" under veritaserum. Harry could just see it now. "Well, yes… and no! I have tried to kill him… I think… but I didn't attack him the other night. Really!" Or had he simply said "no"? It might have been easier on him to have said no, but Draco Malfoy never took the easy route.
McGonagall hadn't been much easier on him, she had asked him point blank exactly what had happened, and Harry told her. She asked about the shoulder injury, he explained that his attacker missed because he struggled, she asked about his back, Harry told her exactly what she wanted to hear. Then McGonagall asked about his neck, how had he gotten those bruises, they looked old, had they happened earlier, who had attacked him? Harry told her that too, he had quite frankly said, "He was going to slit my throat, and when I got away, my neck got bruised I guess." There was no explanation for why he had protected Draco Malfoy, the boy had never done anything for him, but he didn't want Draco to be in any more trouble because of him.
Harry was still a little off his balance, but Madame Pomfrey had been quite firm in her assertion that he should get the hell out of her hospital wing. Harry didn't mind as much as he thought he would, it didn't take much prodding for him to leave. Hermione had nearly suffered an apoplexy over it while Harry just put his shoes on and headed out. He had taken a bath in the prefect's bathroom, relaxed in the soapy water and let the blood wash off of him, then returned to his dungeons, intent on becoming a permanent fixture in them.
The light irritated his eyes, so he chose the shadow of the dungeons instead. He felt like himself down here, anything that happened down here didn't matter, to him or to anyone. Draco shouldn't have found him, he shouldn't have saved him, or tried to – the Slytherin should have let nature take its course. Nothing would change – when Harry Potter died, Harry Potter died – there would be neither a cosmic rift nor a public outcry at his passing. It was only one life, one death, one infinitesimal speck of dust settling on the floor, and it was of very little consequence. Harry wished… he almost wished that he had died. Died with Voldemort, or at the very least, died last week when he was stabbed. It would have been the perfect ending, and the rest of the world could have gotten on without him.
Light fingertips ghosted over his arms, gentle and fleeting as a breeze, but there was no breeze this far under the castle. "Malfoy." He said softly as the touch solidified into an entire hand that settled on his shoulder.
"Potter." A curt greeting despite his closeness. Harry stayed still against the wall, calmly breathing. Draco expected Harry to speak, but he didn't, "I mean… I think I know why you… why aren't you in the hospital wing? It's only been a week, why on earth did they let you out?"
Harry shrugged and it pulled the scar on his back, "Pomfrey kicked me out."
"Why? When Neville broke his wrist she kept him in there for hours! You wake up and she just shoves you out? You're Harry bloody Potter!" Draco was incensed, he didn't know why, but if that's how the school treated their heroes, he didn't ever want to be injured.
To his surprise, Harry just shrugged again and laughed a little. "It's okay. I think… she doesn't know how to handle me. I think since… well, you know, Voldemort, everyone's a little afraid. Of me I mean."
"I'm not."
"I know." Harry smiled genuinely as he thought of something, "I wanted to ask you something…. What did you say?"
"What do you mean?"
"When you found me. Or… when McGonagall asked you about how you found me. Ron told me that she gave you veritaserum, and I want to know what you said."
"Oh." Draco snorted and thought about the question, "She didn't. I mean, she didn't give me veritaserum… I guess it was enough that I dragged your corpse up three flights of stairs and suffered a "you were out of bed" punishment, so… no. I guess I didn't have to lie or tell the truth, because all she did was ask me where I found you. Not why, or how, or… anything really."
Harry scowled, that just wasn't fair, not at all, every time he did anything right, wrong, or otherwise, people bombarded him with questions. He sighed, there was nothing to be done about it now, and maybe it was a good thing, "Okay. I got my answer, so what are you doing down here?"
Harry realized his mistake now, it was Draco's smell, the blonde would never be caught dead drunk, or stinking of animals. The person behind him, the only person that consistently found him down here had always smelled like fresh snow, that delicate mixture of firewood and ice, soap and expensive, well worked leather; he smelled like winter, looked like winter, even felt like winter. With a jolt, Harry realized that Draco Malfoy was extremely cold; Harry could feel Draco's icy breath on his neck he shivered, "What have you been eating?"
"I had ice cream at dinner." Was the cool response, Draco's hand wrapped around his arm and drew him in. "Potter… I need to… we need to talk."
"Okay." Harry made to turn around, but Draco didn't let him, he held him in place by wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders and clamping one hand over Harry's mouth.
"Don't." The grip tightened, he couldn't do this, he shouldn't be here at all. But he was, he was here, and he couldn't back down now. "Please don't turn around, I don't think… I can't tell you this when you're looking at me. Just… don't interrupt me because I don't think I'll be able to start again."
Harry nodded slowly behind Draco's hand and made a muffled sound, "Mm Khn Mreevf Mmfyy."*
Draco's hand inched away from Harry's mouth, "What?"
Harry gasped and slumped against Draco, "Whew. Thanks for that, I couldn't breathe." He settled himself against Draco's expensive robes and took a few deep breaths, knowing from experience that he wouldn't get free until Malfoy let him go. "Keep talking."
Draco too took a deep breath and shuddered, "Well… I've had quite a bit of time to think about things, with you… dying you know, and I've just… I think I know what you mean now."
It was Draco's turn to scowl, he didn't want to say what he had come here to say, he would much rather just pretend he was here to kill again. He tightened his grip on Harry, crushing his arms as he buried his nose in Harry's shoulder. "Potter, you have to swear to me you're not going to say anything. You don't get to laugh, or…. Nothing, say nothing!"
Harry nodded his tentative smile disappearing.
"You're right I mean. You're absolutely right." He closed his eyes, letting the world around him disappear. It was just like talking to his mirror in practice, "I was really, really afraid when I thought you'd died. I didn't know what I was going to do, because you were always there, I could always count on you to be there, someone I could hate no matter what, and then you changed. Voldemort almost killed you, and I didn't understand. I was so caught up in my father, and my home life, that I didn't realize what killing you would do to me." The words were coming easier now, this was just practice "Last night I had a dream about you. I killed you, and you weren't there to hate anymore, you weren't a ghost, and there was no one to save me from myself. I've always been selfish and a liar, I know that, but when I saw you down here, with all that blood I just couldn't let you die. I kept telling myself that I wanted to kill you but… letting you die, killing you, it would ruin me. I wouldn't have anything left because evil needs good to be evil, to be anything, and I like being, I like existing!
"I know you think you aren't any good to anybody. I can see it, you keep yourself down here like a ghost with self esteem issues, you're worse than Moaning Myrtle, but you're not dead yet Potter. I don't know or care about anyone else, but I need you here. I miss the old you, why haven't you hexed me yet? Why haven't you at least tried to defend yourself? Can't you at least try to stay alive? Because… I can't… life would be pointless if I couldn't irritate you."
Draco opened his eyes and winced, the words were like birds released from a cage, there would be no catching them now. He wanted to commit suicide, he had basically told Harry that he needed him to survive, and no matter how he'd changed, Harry Potter was still Harry Potter. And he was laughing. Harry Potter was laughing at him, Draco wanted to throw himself off a bridge, perhaps a leap from the Astronomy Tower would be well prescribed this evening.
"You idiot." Harry laughed, turning around in Draco's stiff grasp to bury his face in Draco's shoulder, "I keep telling you you're the most honest person I know. Why don't you ever listen to me?" Harry realized something while Draco was speaking. In fact, he had endured the entire monologue not listening, but realizing, this all made perfect sense in the most bizarre Dr. Sues tale ever, but nothing fit in real life. That was just the way Harry liked things. He wasn't looking for perfect clarity down here in the dungeons, just somewhere he fit without lies or deception, something up front, honest, and familiar. He'd found it. He found it in the winter that was Draco Malfoy, he'd found more than just a contenting environment, but somewhere he truly liked to be. Harry hadn't liked anything in a very long time. He kept his friends out of a sense of duty, he returned to the Dursleys because he had no where else to go, he respected his teachers because it was obligatory, but he didn't like anything… until now. He felt at home here, breathing in the warm leather and the wizarding soap, the ice and the wood smoke that was his worst enemy to-date. "You know what Draco? I don't think I could live without you either."
~
"Potter? Mr. Potter?" The voice called to him from far away, through a fog. "Harry Potter are you awake? Harry?"
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived Too Many Times to Count came back to himself with a start. He groaned and shook his head to clear it, above him loomed the all too familiar face of Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, transfigurations master extraordinaire, and perpetual thorn in the side of all miscreant students.
"I see you're awake Mister Potter, it's nice to have you among the land of the living once again. It was quite a nasty fall you took down that flight of stairs, how are you feeling?"
All at once there was a flurry of activity, Professor Dumbledore entered through the door with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, followed closely by Ron and Hermione. They all three bombarded him with questions until Madame Pomfrey shoved everyone, including Dumbledore and McGonagall out and shoved chocolate down Harry's throat. It was the strangest thing Harry had ever experienced. He had adamantly exclaimed that Dumbledore was dead, though the evidence seemed to say otherwise, and it took three tellings of Harry's Harrowing Fall Down the Staircase before Harry was convinced it was all a dream. A very confusing dream.
Harry had fallen down the stairs on his way to breakfast, but half way down the conveniently banister free staircase, his body weight shifted and he fell right off the side. Fortunately he was on the stairs closest to the ground floor and only fell about 20 feet, but he was knocked unconscious and, by all accounts, had one singularly fascinating dream. Once convinced that he was fine, Madame Pomfrey released him into his classes with a dire warning about the dangers of staircases.
He was just in time for lunch, and it was a fortunate thing because the sticky-sweet chocolate taste still lingered on his tongue, and he really needed to wash it out. He was surrounded by friends, some of whom had died in his dream, and he experienced a very strange sense of de'ja'vu as they all wished him well. Harry just managed to shove a sandwich in his mouth as he told Hermione of his dream (well, most of it) and ran to potions.
Everything was normal. So completely normal, he felt as though he'd been down this hall a thousand times, and he had, but there was something lingering about his dream. It was fading from memory now, Snape snarled at him and told him to take a seat, Ron made nasty comments behind Snape's back, and life fell into the comfortable rhythm it held before.
Harry tripped and very nearly fell flat on his face as a foot was thrust in front of him. Taking a moment to stop and glare at his attacker, he realized that it was Draco Malfoy, the bane of his existence. He stood, waiting for the snarky comment that he knew would follow the foot, and wasn't disappointed, "Don't trip Potter."
Harry smiled, "I wouldn't dream of it."
Malfoy looked aghast; he had the sour look of one whose comments failed to gain attention. Harry wasn't supposed to be carefree; he was supposed to be insulted. "Merlin's Beard, Potter, are you always such a klutz?" he asked disdainfully, "you scuffed my boot."
Harry shook his head, he could feel his face coloring, but did nothing to conceal it. It was so like a Malfoy to worry more for a shoe than the life of a human being. "No Malfoy. But some days are just fucked up."
Their gazes locked, and somewhere in the background, Snape was busy yelling orders at his class.
* lol, yes, one of my only in-text authors notes. That was supposed to translate into "I can't breathe, Malfoy!" but I don't know how well it turned out. You know how some writers are really magnificent at figuring out how muffled things should sound in our 26 character alphabet? Well… I'm not. I must have been sitting in my living room for an hour with a hand over my mouth saying the same phrase over and over, and it's STILL not what I wanted it to be. Hmm. (It got a good laugh out of my sister though)
Anyway… yeah, it makes me sad to say, that was the last chapter. There is an alternate ending that I will be posting as soon as I have the kinks out, so fear not, if you hated me for my complete lack of sappy ness (I do try. Lol) then the alternate should make up for it. Well… it's been nice, please don't forget to review.