Disclaimer: HP – still not mine. ;-)
Author's Note: To Nicky15, beta-extraordinaire. I know what day it is. Take deep breaths, because you're going to do great! His nibs and I send positive vibes your way.
To those of you who've been reviewing, thank you sooo much! Your comments have been deeply appreciated (and utilized at times, too. g) Remember, it's okay to feed the fanfiction author (reviews, that is). :-D I hope you enjoy!
All That's Left Behind
Chapter 6 – Beginning at the End
Remus woke feeling fuzzy-headed in a way that felt disconcertingly familiar. Odd. His tongue was thick and dry in his mouth, and his ears kept registering a grating, high pitched keening sound. His hands felt tingly and as he arched his back in a deep stretch, the irritating keening noise began to shape itself into words.
Murderer! Abomination! Filthy, disgusting, treacherous, dishonor to everything it touches! Get away from me, freak! Stop it this instant! Everything you touch turns to decay! You have no right to do this!
Remus was out of bed and threw on his dressing gown with lightening speed. His senses might be a bit slow at the moment, but he now understood why. A sleep charm had been cast on him. If he were human, he'd still be asleep. He certainly felt befuddled enough. I smell something burning. What do I smell!
Werewolves processed magic differently on a normal basis, but just a few days away from the full moon, his metabolism was working double-time to prepare his body for the change. Most charms, much to Poppy's dismay, wore off far more quickly on him than on ordinary Wizards.
He tore upstairs with no effort at stealth, wand drawn, prepared for battle, but froze at the sight before him. Harry stood on a stool in the Entrance Hall with his back to Remus, applying what looked like a miniature Muggle blow-torch slowly and meticulously to the surface of Mrs. Black's portrait.
Moody stood off to the side, and Remus closed his mouth when he realized he was gaping. The remaining portraits had all been removed from their place in the Hall and were faced in, leaning against the wall. So she can't escape. Not that we've ever seen her leave that frame, Remus' mind supplied absently even while feeling at a loss for coherent thought.
Alastor nodded towards the back of the room, indicating that's where they could talk. As he set out to join Remus, Moody shot a stunning spell at the stack of portraits. Remus' eyes kept slipping back to Mrs. Black's painting, and how she screeched at Sirius' godson. He'd never thought anyone else could provoke Mrs. Black's ire as well as her disgraced son. He was wrong.
Her black cap had partially slipped off her head, revealing black hair heavily peppered with white that hung limply against her scalp. Her jaundiced skin was pulled taut against her skull as she bellowed her rage, spittle flying from her lips, and Remus marveled how someone who was painted to look near death could have so much energy. It's the hate that energizes her.
Her bony hands were contorted into claws which she futilely tried to attack Harry with and her face was mere inches from his. A few times she even moved as if to try to bite him, revealing decayed, blackened teeth that looked sharp enough to easily rend flesh. With each insult she yelled, Harry's hair ruffled faintly, as if it were her breath that moved it, even though Remus knew that to be impossible.
From this angle he could catch the occasional glimpse of Harry's face as he applied the torch to canvas. His expression was stony and his jaw was clenched in determination. His skin was nearly gray and glistened with a sheen of sweat. Remus could smell with his heightened senses just how distressed Harry was, even if he was struggling not to show it.
…He told me of you. Of what he did! Tricked you, didn't he! Led the poisoned fruit of my flesh to his death!…
"What are you doing!" Remus hissed at Moody, not even bothering to be quiet. With all the noise Mrs. Black was making, there was no way for Harry to overhear them. "You cast a sleeping charm on me!"
"I forgot about your metabolism, wolf," Moody shook his head as though disappointed in himself.
"What in bloody blazes is going on? Was this your idea? What is Harry doing?"
"It was all the boy's idea, and a stroke of genius, really. It seems he got the inspiration sneaking a peek at one of his aunt's cooking shows," Moody explained with enthusiasm. Remus frowned as he took a closer look at the tool in Harry's hand.
"It's a Muggle cooking tool? Merlin, I think I've seen one once, in France. For crème brulee, isn't it?"
"It turns out it's used for more than that. Dung procured one far too easily. It seems Mundungus is involved in illegal doings with Muggles as well as Wizards," Moody supplied.
"But Sirius and I tried fire," Remus objected.
"The torch is much hotter and more tightly focused. The canvas has been charmed not to burn, but he's melting the paint right off it. It's going to take a while, but it's working."
"Listen to her. This can't be healthy for him. Why aren't you helping? Couldn't you have taken his idea and tried for yourself?" Remus asked in frustration. The distress signals Harry's body was radiating were potent enough that it took considerable effort to keep from fidgeting.
"Do you think I want him doing this do this? Of course I tried, Lupin. Somehow her portrait actually manifested repelling charms when I set the torch to paint. Even deafening charms dissolve within a few feet of the beastly woman."
"She sounds like she's dying," Remus said with regret.
"In a way, she is. The magic's in the paint, mostly. At least what animates her," Alastor agreed.
"Why can Harry do it but you can't?"
"It seems the house knows its rightful owner and is allowing it," Moody replied and Remus growled in frustration, then paused, surprised, as the last of Moody's words sunk in.
"Really?" Remus breathed at the full ramifications of Moody's statement. He hadn't even known how Sirius had gotten Grimmauld Place originally. He'd intended to ask someday, when the subject wasn't as sensitive, but Remus never got the chance. Last he'd heard, Sirius had been written completely out of the Black wills.
"Not too many people knew, but Black became Number 12's legal owner after being declared a dark wizard," Moody informed him.
"How thoughtful of Mrs. Black to leave a provision for her son in case he decided to go dark," Remus said with disgust, glancing toward Harry automatically, but there was no way he could hear their conversation.
"It was lucky for us," Moody agreed.
"I thought everything was in limbo because the Ministry hasn't even declared Sirius legally dead," Remus said, forcing himself to say the word. Dead.
"The Ministry's tied up as much as they can of Black's fortune, but a lot of his inheritance is steeped in blood magic, which doesn't need Ministry death authentication spells in order to fulfill last wills and testaments," Moody said with disapproval.
"And even being an escapee, his will is honored?" Remus asked, curious despite the circumstances.
He had no idea how this sort of thing worked. Dark creatures weren't allowed to own property of any kind, so he'd never had to deal with it. When his own parents had passed, their property was left to his niece, whom he hadn't talked to in years. Occasionally he still wondered what she'd decided to do with the place.
"I heard it was a close thing getting the legacy spells to even accept Potter," Moody informed Remus, surprisingly communicative, "Dark magic like that can kill an unacceptable designee, and the boy is half-blood, after all." Remus shook his head in disgust.
"I know, Lupin. That shouldn't matter, but to a lot of people it still does. In this case, while Lily Potter's sister and parents were Muggle, she was still a formidable witch. Apparently, Albus found a way to spruce of Potter's credentials by playing up James' family tree, which is as pureblood as they come."
"Does Harry know why he can get at the painting but you can't?" Remus asked. He prayed the teenager didn't. He had strong suspicions that Harry would be devastated if he knew.
"I don't think so. The boy's used to being able to do odd things others can't, and I think he's dismissed this as another manifestation of that."
"Shouldn't at least the deafening charm work on him them, being the new homeowner?" Remus asked.
"Oh no. Potter couldn't silence the painting any more than Black could. But he does seem to be allowed past its' safety mechanisms."
"This can't be good for him," Remus said candidly, torn at what he needed to do. Moody rolled his good eye in exasperation even while keeping the magical one trained on Harry.
"I don't know why it didn't work for you and Black. Maybe Black didn't have the stomach for it, being his mother and all. I can respect that," Moody said. Remus felt his face contort into a near snarl, but the old Auror was completely unfazed.
Of course we tried! Do you think Sirius wanted her here? To be trapped with her! How dare you think we wanted to leave something like this for Harry to do?
"Nothing worked, and all she did was yell until our eardrums rang," Remus said between gritted teeth, regretful that it sounded so much like an excuse.
The irony was it now seemed that if Remus had encouraged Sirius to vent his anger on the portrait, the Azkaban escapee likely could have done something long ago. Merlin, I've failed you so badly, Sirius. But in his heart of hearts, Remus knew that for all that Sirius had hated his mother, the Animagus probably wouldn't have had the strength to do what Harry was doing. After all, there had been love there somewhere. Long ago.
"I'm not laying blame, Lupin, I'm just saying you should let Potter finish what he started. Personally, I'm pleased the boy's willing to do the unpleasant work and get the job done."
"It's what Dumbledore's taught him to do," Remus said with heat, surprised how bright the anger burned within his breastbone. This close to the full moon, he could only mask his emotions for so long.
"I won't argue with that. I've got a bone or two myself to pick… But that's none of your concern," Moody caught himself before confiding anything more.
Remus felt a brief pang of disappointment. He'd have liked to hear what Alastor's complaints were, but that was the way all the old guard Order members were. They took chain of command very seriously. Moody undoubtedly lodged complaints and moved on.
"This is going to take a while, I'll grant you that. It's not that big a torch, but I've got plenty of refills. One night of this is much better than having to tip-toe through the house as though we've no right to be here," Moody continued, then paused. His expression softened into what Remus could almost take for sympathy.
"This is Potter's new home, whether he likes it or not, and I think it's best to allow him to take action with what he can. He's purging this house of her, Lupin. That's more than Black could do."
"You shouldn't have cast a sleeping charm on me," Remus said.
"Probably not. It's hardly the first mistake I've made, is it?" Moody asked dryly.
"He shouldn't have to do this," Remus said.
"I think he'll be glad you're here," Moody said honestly.
"Well, we've left him alone long enough, haven't we?" Remus asked. Moody nodded, heading off to stun the portraits again. Remus could hear muffled protests as they started to wake up and were trying to respond to Mrs. Black's screams.
"Poison progeny, a mere echo of what real power is! He told me you loved my spawn, the foul beast. If that's what you do for love, I count myself lucky for how you befoul me! Murderer, cold-blooded, callous child! You are not of the Light! You are evil! You have no honor for the legacy of the Blacks. Everything you touch turns to dust, and while you weep for the loss of it, know I'll laugh at your anguish. Murderer! This is what you deserve, filthy, grubby little boy. You get what you deserve!"
Remus approached Harry and gently put a hand on his shoulder to let him know he was there. The boy was rigid with tension. The tendons in his forearms stood out even as he used both hands to hold the torch steady, and he flinched at Remus' touch. However, it was Harry's expression that stunned Remus for a moment in it's' rawness before he was able to regroup.
Harry's eyes were huge behind his slightly fogged glasses, and his pupils dilated to the point that only slivers of green showed. His lips were compressed thinly, and the way one side of his face dimpled indicated he was chewing madly on his inner cheek. His face was grayish white and soaked with sweat, giving him an almost wax-like appearance.
Tell me you aren't internalizing everything that shrew is saying? Remus silently begged, horrified, and as soon as it occurred to him, Remus could see from Harry's physical reactions that his instincts had read the situation correctly. Harry agreed with Mrs. Black.
Then it's that much better that he be the one to silence you, isn't it? Remus thought at the portrait venomously and made it a point to touch Harry again to remind him he was still at his side. He pretended not to notice when the boy flinched again.
"What can I do to help?" Remus shouted over the din.
Harry blinked owlishly for a moment before shaking his head as if to collect his thoughts. He shrugged apologetically and tried to smile in return, but it was closer to a grimace. Remus nodded in understanding, and while Harry resumed melting Mrs. Black off the wall, Remus watched and tried to see how he could be helpful.
After observing for a few minutes, he began to occasionally shoot loosely cast cooling charms in Harry's direction, and was pleased at the look of relief it brought to the boy's face.
If only they could have gagged her when she sat for that portrait, Remus thought. Every word out of that monstrosity's mouth was pure venom. Evidently she had been listening when Kreacher spoke to her last summer and understood who Harry was, for her taunts seemed designed to cut deeply.
Remus hated Mrs. Black. He'd hated her since his Hogwarts days, when Sirius first revealed what his home life was like. To have her tormenting Sirius at Grimmauld Place, even after her death… Everything about her presence was anathema to what the Order stood for, and what Sirius had tried to leave behind.
Harry rolled his shoulders a few times as if to get out the kinks. Occasionally he'd let go with one hand to wipe his sweaty palm on his pants while still diligently continuing to apply the torch with the other. Left to right, in a slow, even rhythm. It was oddly soothing.
An hour later, Harry's worn, threadbare shirt was still soaked with sweat (even with Remus trying to help) and his glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. Remus had grabbed a towel from his room, and occasionally dabbed at Harry's face as he continued forward. They weren't even halfway done yet, but there was an unspoken consensus not to stop.
Harry originally started at the bottom of the painting, slowly moving the torch from side to side, but after a while realized that the running paint made it easier if he worked downwards rather than up, so Moody transfigured the stool into a ladder with wheels. Remus' job was to roll the ladder from one side of the portrait to the other as Harry worked across it to keep his arms from getting so fatigued as he worked his way down the painting.
Mrs. Black squatted in the bottom corner of the portrait now, steering clear of the running paint, and continued her vicious tirade without having to take a breath. Thankfully, she'd begun taking aim at Remus as well, which at least divided her attention a little from Harry.
They didn't speak. The time for talk would come after she was gone. No words were necessary, though. Remus felt something ease deep inside him at the repeated looks of gratitude on Harry's face at remaining by his side. This old werewolf is still needed. They were finally tearing away the last of that which made Grimmauld Place a nightmare for Sirius. If only it didn't have to be posthumous.
Tonight, when the last of Mrs. Black melted away, Remus fully intended to return to his bedroom and drink himself silly, full moon be damned. But for now, the last of Sirius Black's hateful mother's screams were an odd sort of catharsis, and even the angry wolf that lived within him eased off just a little. Perhaps this month's change wouldn't be so bad after all.
"I'm hoping to only be away for a few days," Remus said early the next morning. He looked haggard and drawn, but oddly relaxed and blinked rather slowly. Just a few hours earlier they'd chipped the last of Mrs. Black's frame from the wall, utterly exhausted.
The Entrance Hall had, up until then, been the last place left relatively untouched by Order members as they strove to make the home more hospitable. With Mrs. Black finally silenced, Harry suspected that bright paint colors and transfigured fixtures would soon replace the peeling, faded wallpaper and uber-gothic candelabra. The rest of the Black family portraits now resided in the same dingy corner of the attic where the house-elf plaques were stacked, much to Harry's relief.
Now that Harry understood how magical paintings could be used for spying, he paid special attention to what he was doing and how it could be perceived. It was nerve wracking to feel like a bug under glass, and the first thing he'd done when he'd returned to Grimmauld Place was remove every wall hanging in his room.
"I hate leaving like this. We finally got something accomplished," Remus continued, and Harry could see the genuine regret in his eyes.
"It's all right, Remus. I understand," Harry said, then gave a small grin. "As long as you realize there might be repercussions to your being gone when Tonks realizes she has free reign to paint the walls."
"I was hoping you might prevail upon Ms. Tonks to show some restraint," Remus said with warmth in his voice.
"I'm afraid Ms. Tonks cares little for my fashion sense, and that the walls might well be chartreuse by the time you get back," Harry replied, and smiled briefly as he shook his head, visualizing it. Remus smiled brightly in return.
"There's nothing for it then," Remus agreed in mock despair, then turned more serious.
"Actually, I've a favor I hate to ask," he continued.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"While I'm gone, would you feed Buckbeak and stop by to see how he's doing a few times during the day?"
"He's still here?" Harry asked, his mind reeling in dismay. How could he have forgotten about Buckbeak?
"He is," Remus agreed regretfully.
"I can't believe I haven't even thought about him," Harry said, distressed.
"We've all had a lot on our minds," Remus replied, "Actually, it's much easier now that Dobby's here," he continued, trying to reassure Harry. "I suspect Dobby hasn't even had to tap Hogwarts yet for dead rats to feed him."
"What did Kreacher do to him? I never knew," Harry asked. Buckbeak gave Sirius so much, Harry couldn't believe he'd forgotten about him. How selfish is that? Harry berated himself.
"Kreacher broke his wing," Remus said reluctantly.
"He'll be okay, though, won't he?"
"He's as healed as he can be. Between Poppy and Hagrid, Buckbeak has gotten excellent care," Remus answered evasively.
"You know I'm going to make you tell me," Harry said firmly. Remus sighed.
"He needs to fly. His wing's mostly healed. Now he just needs exercise. If he doesn't get it soon, he might not be able to fly again."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Remus had put both hands on Harry's shoulders, but let go with one to use two fingers to gently guide Harry by the chin to look him in the eye.
"We're working on ways to help Buckbeak, Harry. Please don't let this get to you. You've done nothing wrong, and actually, I think Buckbeak will be pleased to see you," Remus said sincerely.
"I know. I'm sorry. Don't worry, I'm fine," Harry replied.
"You did a good thing last night. I must confess to no small amount of gratification at stomping upstairs this morning," Remus admitted.
Harry forced a small smile. He'd hated Mrs. Black's portrait with a passion, but oddly found that having to be quiet while inside wasn't difficult at all for him. He'd tried not to be noticed at the Dursleys for years.
"Be well, Remus, and come back soon," Harry said and stuck out his hand. Remus wrapped it with both of his hands, holding it more than shaking it.
"I will, and I'll be back as soon as I can," Remus promised. Harry nodded, and Remus called out, "Hogwarts," as he stepped into the Floo.
Harry watched as Remus disappeared, and it was all he could do to stop himself from asking to go with the last Marauder. He didn't want to stay in Sirius' old home. Not that Hogwarts would be any better, mind, but Remus hadn't been lying when he said that there weren't many books considered 'appropriate for young Wizards' in the Black library. Harry had already read them all, and while they would be inordinately helpful, they weren't quite what he was looking for.
He'd also read the texts Remus had sent for his birthday three times now, and while loathe to admit it, studying for O.W.L.'s with Hermione and Ron had left his older Hogwarts texts entirely too fresh in his mind for rereading them to be useful.
And on top of everything else, I need to figure out how to get Buckbeak out of here, Harry thought and sighed. There was no way Kreacher would win this battle. He'd see to it that Buckbeak was free of Grimmauld Place and could fly again, even if Harry himself never could. But surely now that Umbridge is out…? His mind whispered hopefully, but Harry squelched that line of reasoning before it got carried away. He took nothing for granted anymore. Besides, he had no business flying, when there was so much he had to do. Harry had made a lot of promises to himself, and he intended to keep them all.
"Harry Potter isn't eating his breakfast," Dobby gently scolded, suddenly at his side. Harry had intended to go back to bed after seeing Remus off, but found himself too awake to do so, even though his eyes felt like they could barely focus.
"I'm sorry, Dobby. I'm just not hungry."
"Is there something else Dobby could make for Harry Potter? Something more appealing?" Dobby entreated. He was wearing a tea towel with palm trees on it. The trunks danced from side to side and occasionally shook out coconuts that collected small piles underneath them.
"How about a little fruit? Maybe something light might be better?" Harry suggested, mesmerized by the bizarre towel for a moment as he tried to think of something to make Dobby feel better, but even as he said it, he realized it sounded good.
A small platter of fruit materialized in front of him in less than a minute, and as Harry tucked in, Tonks dropped heavily in the seat across from him.
"Morning," she grunted, and a cup of black coffee materialized in front of her. She threw back her head and yelled, "Elf! You're a life savior!" then smiled tiredly at Harry.
She was wearing a threadbare t-shirt and enormous, plaid flannel pajama pants. Her hair, a more muted brown this morning, was short and stuck in all directions. He'd already teased her about her fuzzy slippers during the last visit, but still privately found hot pink fur slip-ons hilarious. He'd never seen anything like them, as Aunt Petunia had always worn scuff slippers that matched her dressing gowns.
"Morning," Harry replied politely. The metamorphagus scrubbed at her face roughly, then ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.
"You look like how I feel," she observed after eyeing him critically for a moment.
"Thanks," he replied dryly after a pause. She took another swig of coffee and put her elbows on the table, propping the cup between both hands and peering at him over the rim. Okay. Now is a good time, Harry thought, and took the plunge.
"Tonks?"
"Yeeeaaah?" the metamorphmagus asked, struggling to remain articulate while yawning at the same time.
"If Dementors showed up today and I had to cast a Patronus, would the Ministry know where I was?" he asked. Tonk's eyes widened. They were blue at the moment, and Harry realized they looked a lot like Sirius' eyes had. Is that her natural look, he wondered, or did she choose the similarity?
"Goodness, Harry. No morning chit-chat for you," she said, then her lips curled into a sympathetic smile. "We don't expect any nasty surprises this summer," she said with a reassuring voice.
"Then what if Lucius Malfoy finds a way to get in? If I cast a spell, will the Ministry know where the Order is?" Harry pursued. Tonks shook her head.
"No, the Fidelius Charm blocks the address from showing up anywhere. However, Ministry owls can still send letters demanding that you show up there."
"Would it arrive as quickly as it had at the Dursleys?" Harry asked, then added, "And could owls be traced here?"
"Harry, are you expecting any owls this morning from the Ministry?" Tonks asked nervously. He smiled to hide his disappointment.
She'd already answered the most critical question he hadn't asked but needed to know most. Namely, was Grimmauld Place shielded enough to allow minors to cast spells without the Ministry knowing?
Harry couldn't get Draco Malfoy's bragging words out of his head about how he'd been able to practice magic long before starting at Hogwarts, and had hoped that the Blacks, being an old pureblood family like the Malfoys, might have the same sort of thing in effect. Of course, he dared not ask those things directly. It would lead to too many questions and more scrutiny than he was already under, which was the last thing he wanted.
"No owls. I'm just curious. I want to know what might happen if I have to defend myself, in case something goes wrong," Harry replied, then sighed. "I find it's helpful to know the consequences before something occurs," he added, and the irony was not lost on either of them. Tonks took another gulp of coffee and leaned back.
"You'd get an owl message from the Ministry within the hour, I think," she said after a moment's thought. "Nothing can trace a Fidelius Charm, though, so even if the Ministry sent hundreds of letters, there would still be no way anyone could find out where you are."
"You'll find the Ministry's changed its tune on a number of things, especially when it comes to you," Moody added from the doorway, startling Harry but not the metamorphmagus, who shot the veteran Auror a dark look.
""I feel like I've been trying to sleep on the Knight Bus," Tonks told him with an accusing tone. "Anything you feel like sharing?"
Harry nibbled on a slice of apple and stared into his tea cup as the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Uh oh.
"You're not terribly observant for an Auror," Moody growled.
"Beast. I catch you casting a sleeping spell on me again, you won't find your eye for a week," she threatened, and Harry couldn't tell if she was serious or not.
"How'd you do it?" she added, nodding her head towards the Entrance Hall.
"Through culinary skills," Moody replied, then paused for reaction. "HA!" he abruptly laughed, making Harry jump, and accio'd the small butane torch Harry had used the night before. Tonks brightened, clearly visualizing, as Moody lit it for effect. The soft hiss of flame sounded ominously loud in the kitchen.
"Brilliant," she breathed.
"Thank the lad. It was his idea," Moody said.
"The lad doesn't seem to take well to sleeping charms either. You look exhausted, Harry. What made you try it, Moody?"
"I didn't. Potter there got rid of our resident harpy," Moody replied. If he hadn't been paying close attention, Harry would have missed the way Tonks opened her mouth to ask more questions and the subtle shake of the older Auror's head indicating to leave it be. She digested it all in less than a few seconds, then turned a big smile towards Harry, clearly prepared to change the subject.
"I think a celebration is in Order," Tonks declared, clearly pleased with the appalling pun. Harry smacked his hand against his forehead.
"Please. No more. I'm begging you," Harry teased, feeling oddly more optimistic by the moment.
Moody smiled widely, and while he still looked creepy, Harry was at least getting more familiar with when the old Auror was feeling humorous rather than deadly serious.
Celebrating turned out to be in the form of blasting the Wizarding Wireless while Tonks twirled around the room, occasionally pestering Harry into joining when she decided he'd refused her enough. It was fun to watch Tonks and Moody interact, Harry realized. They made for an odd team, although he had no idea if they even worked together at the Ministry. It was just an impression he got.
While Tonks gyrated and wiggled around the room in a way that occasionally made Harry blush, the older Auror animated items of furniture to get out of her way, and sometimes to even dance with her. Moody didn't dance, of course, but Harry thought he saw the Auror's robe hem jumping slightly to the beat, as if he were discreetly keeping time with his good foot.
It was Tonk's therapy, Harry realized as he watched her dance in front of the scorched section of wall where Mrs. Black's portrait had once been. A couple of times, even as she smiled brightly, Harry could see tears in her eyes as well. Her mother had been Sirius' favorite cousin, after all, and this was Tonk's way of thumbing her nose at the house of Black for all that had been done, both to her mother and to Sirius. Sometimes the best revenge was to simply live.