Thank you once again to all my reviewers! Questions and such will be addressed in my LJ later.

The plot takes another bound here, as Harry talks with his family and tries to throw the Quidditch game.

Chapter Eleven: Threats and Throws

Harry never wanted to go through a week like that again. The sooner he mastered the Fugitivus Animus spell, the better.

Monday had begun with a murmur of noise as he walked into the Great Hall, one that might have built to hexes and flung food—would have built, Harry was certain, if not for the professors seated at the staff table. Though he sat beside Draco at the Slytherin table, and the Malfoy heir looked as if he would kill the next person who so much as breathed wrong at Harry, he could still feel the stares. They made his breath short and his legs shake, and he ate little and left soon. Sylarana protested. Harry told her to shut up, and she sulked for the next three hours.

The Ravenclaws' taunts had grown worse now that he had, as they saw it, actually put a Housemate in the hospital wing permanently. Harry watched them, at least, with no emotion more complicated than bitterness. They didn't appreciate Luna while they had her, did they?

"Did you get your little snakes to hold her down while you Petrified her, Snake Prince?" one of them asked as he headed to Charms. "Was it fun?"

"Not fun enough for him," said a seventh-year Ravenclaw knowingly. "I heard he forced poison down her throat while she screamed for mercy, and then cast Crucio while she was still recovering from that."

"He probably bit her himself," said another.

Draco spun around, wand in hand. Harry touched his arm. "Don't," he said softly. "It's not worth it."

Draco spluttered and protested at him for the rest of the day about that, which at least gave Harry something to listen to beyond the taunts.

On Tuesday, Ron stomped up to the Slytherin table. Draco bristled. Ron ignored him entirely, though, and spoke to Harry through clenched teeth.

"This isn't over," he said. "I know there's some kind of, of plot afoot. There's no way that my dad could get sacked and his brother betray Connor in one week unless there was a plot. We'll stop you. You just wait."

"Oh, very good, Weasley," said Draco, leaning forward until he had almost shoved his face into Ron's. "I had no idea that you knew the word afoot. Picked it up from Granger, did you?"

Ron turned red in the face, but Harry asked quietly, "Why was your father sacked? What was the charge?"

"That git's dad said that if he couldn't control himself in a bookshop, he couldn't control himself in the Ministry," said Ron, through clenched teeth. "They did an unfair review of him, and he got sacked."

"And the truth finally comes out," Draco drawled. "Your father should have been forced from his job long since, Weasley. What my father did is a favor to the Ministry, the rest of the wizarding world, and humankind in general."

"I'm going to kill you," said Ron, and reached for his wand, at which point Hermione came up to him and slapped him on the side of the head. Harry stared in shock. Hermione met his eyes for a fleeting moment, and Harry blinked at what he saw there. She looked sorrowful, tired, but not contemptuous, nor as if she had decided he were the source of evil.

"Ron Weasley, you are going to come sit down right now and shut up before you lose Gryffindor points," she hissed at him.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Draco said, "Oh, come, come, Granger. He was just showing us his new vocabulary, weren't you, Weasel?"

Harry hissed at him. "Draco. Be quiet."

Hermione nodded to Harry, as one ally to another, and marched Ron back to the Gryffindor table. For a brief moment, Harry felt as though this day might not be so bad after all.

Then he caught Connor's gaze, merciless in judgment, radiant in innocence, and looked away. What did it matter if Hermione or anyone else believed he was innocent, as long as his brother thought Harry had betrayed him?

In Transfigurations class on Wednesday, someone Harry never saw enchanted the needles they were turning into quills. Several of them flew over, hovered in front of Harry, and spelled out T-R-A-I-T-O-R and S-N-A-K-E.

That turned out to be the only good part of the week, unexpectedly. The needles had just gone into their second spelling when McGonagall banished them with a wave of her wand, and turned a fierce gaze on Harry.

"Mr. Potter, stay after class, please."

He did, and much to his surprise, she took him up to her office, gave him tea, and insisted that he discuss the finer points of Transfiguration theory with her. Harry let himself be drawn out on a subject he knew only from books, and found his knowledge matched and countered by McGonagall's experience. Her description of what it felt like the first time she underwent the Animagus transformation—"as if my stomach were running out my ears"—made him choke on his tea and smile at her. McGonagall smiled back. Harry could almost ignore that her eyes were haunted, and, miraculously, McGonagall never reminded him why.

On Thursday, he went to the hospital wing to try and see Luna. Madam Pomfrey proved willing to let him in, and he sat by Luna's bedside for an hour, his eyes fixed on her wide blank ones, trying to think of anything to say that didn't sound self-serving.

He stepped out of the hospital wing, and someone ambushed him. There must have been a group of them, Harry thought later, since Sylarana didn't even have time to hiss, and the hexes that hit them both flew from all directions. He went down stunned, body-bound, with an Obscurus charm over his eyes, and then they began using both wands and fists on him.

It only lasted a few minutes before Sylarana managed to shed whatever spell the ambushers had put on her to keep her immobile and slither out from his sleeve. The hexers shrieked and ran. Sylarana, in a rage, slithered after them until the ward rang and the cage came down around her. Dumbledore came to fetch her and release Harry from most of the hexes a short time afterward.

Harry spent Friday in the hospital wing for his bruises and what Madam Pomfrey called his exhaustion, visited by a rotating group of anxious Slytherins, who told him that there were rumors that he'd set Sylarana on the ambushers deliberately. By Friday evening, there were people speaking of him as the new Dark Lord.

Given all that, Harry was actually almost glad to face his brother in the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch game that Saturday. At least he knew that he'd be able to control what happened.

Harry closed his eyes and pushed open the door of Sirius's office. The voices inside stopped speaking at once. He knew that several pairs of eyes had turned to him, but it was a long moment before he managed to gather up his courage and face them.

Their parents stood in front of Sirius's chair, Connor, already in his Quidditch robes, between them. Remus sat in a second chair, his head cocked to the side, eyes soft and smile just fading. All of them, including Sirius, looked at Harry as if they had seen a ghost.

"Hello," said Harry softly.

Remus unfroze first. "Hello, Harry," he said calmly, as if nothing had happened. "I was just telling your mother how much I look forward to seeing you both fly today. It's a perfect day for Quidditch, isn't it?" He turned and smiled at Sirius, as if inviting him into the conversation. Sirius sat there, and stared at Harry. Harry looked away from him, too. He hadn't been near Sirius since Luna was Petrified, and Sirius certainly hadn't come to see him. He'd wanted to put the pain he felt about that in the box, but hadn't quite dared, so now it drifted along beneath the surface of his mind and made him uncomfortable. Harry had no idea what to do about it, what to say. The only comfort in this situation was that no one else seemed to have any idea what to do, either.

Except Remus, whom, Harry had noticed before, would carry on a conversation in the middle of a raging battle between James and Connor about how high he was allowed to fly on his broom.

"A beautiful, bright, sunny day," said Remus. Harry glanced up from beneath his fringe to see that the werewolf's amber eyes had chilled slightly, but he was looking at Sirius, not Harry. "A day for Quidditch games, and a day for families. There will be many parents here to see their children fly, I imagine. And godparents, too. I'm sure that true godparents wouldn't abandon their godchildren without even talking to them, would they?" He leaned back and turned a grim smile on James. "Or parents, either."

There was a long, long pause. Then James said, between his teeth, "Connor, would you wait in the hallway, please? We'd like to talk to Harry alone."

Connor opened his mouth to protest. Harry shot him a glance of sympathy that he doubted his brother noted. Connor hated being treated like a child, and James doing so wasn't the best way to get through to him.

"Come on, Connor," Remus said, standing and extending a hand to him. "I don't think I ever showed you the tunnel behind the statue of the humpbacked witch, did I?" He leaned nearer and lowered his voice, eyes warm. "It goes straight into Honeydukes."

Connor perked up a bit, but still turned his head and looked back at Harry. Harry nodded. He understood the import of that look. I am doing everything I can to stop you.

He certainly seemed to be, Harry thought, as he watched his brother depart. He was plotting something with Ron and Hermione, walking with them in close concert through the corridors. Every now and then Hermione made a muffled protest, but Connor would hush her, and explain something else that made Hermione bite her lip and nod thoughtfully.

"Harry."

The door shut behind Remus and Connor, and Harry turned with a sigh to face their parents and Sirius.

Sirius still slumped in his chair, scowling. Lily stood in the same place she had been since Harry entered the room, eyes fixed on his face. It was James who spoke, his voice earnest but clumsy. Harry knew how he felt.

"Connor told us what happened," James said. "All of it. The fight between Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy—" his distaste for Draco's last name was boundless, Harry noted "—and then how he found you standing in the corridor beside the Lovegood girl's body that evening." James closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "And the Parseltongue, and the way you've used magic on Ravenclaws before now. You sent some poor girl to the hospital wing, didn't you?"

Harry nodded. No point in denying it.

I can deny it, said Sylarana in his head. But none of them would listen to me.

None of them could understand you, Harry corrected her.

None of them would listen even if they could understand me. The Locusta's thoughts had a sulky tone that would have made Harry smile at any other time. But this was a conversation with his parents.

"And you were being possessed by You-Know-Who," said James. "Or, at least, his younger self. I don't understand, Harry. I thought the private lessons old Snivellus is giving you were supposed to help with that?"

He paused, and this time he clearly expected a verbal answer. "They're helping," said Harry quietly. "And I don't think I Petrified Luna, sir. I was asleep when it happened, so I don't know who did, but I don't think Tom Riddle possessed me."

"So he's possessing someone else?" James asked. "But why?"

"James."

Just a single word from their mother, Harry thought, and the room was already calmer. Lily came forward and knelt down in front of Harry, brushing his fringe back from his eyes. Harry watched the lines around her mouth tighten as her finger caressed his lightning bolt scar.

"I think we have to tell them," she whispered.

Harry let out a short little breath, pitying her. He knew that she had wanted to keep their father innocent for much the same reason that they had wanted to keep Connor innocent. That clarity of mind, that purity of soul, was something worth fighting for.

But, if it came to telling a few people what Harry was instead of the whole world, then that was a better solution.

Lily stood, moving behind Harry and putting her hands on his shoulders. "I've been training Harry for most of his life," she told James and Sirius. "I've asked him to learn all the spells he could, all the wandless magic he could, all the theories and pureblood customs he could, in case Connor needed them later."

James managed to stutter out something that sounded like, "What?" Sirius was staring at both of them wide-eyed. Harry put his head up and reminded himself that the stares were tolerable. His mother was here with him. He did not stand alone.

Lily nodded. "Connor is Voldemort's enemy," she said. "You know it. Both of you know it. But he couldn't continue as a normal child unless he had some kind of extra protection." She gestured at Sirius. "You're here this year, Sirius, and I appreciate it more than I'll ever be able to tell you. But you can't go everywhere, can't be with the students in the way that another student can. Harry's been guarding Connor since last year. I've been training him to do so for most of his life," she repeated. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath.

"It is no wonder that Voldemort has come after Harry. His raw power and his importance to Connor both make him a target. If Voldemort could corrupt Harry, it would be the ultimate strike against the Boy-Who-Lived, short of corrupting Connor himself." Lily's hands tightened on Harry's shoulders, and he could feel the way she tried to restrain herself from pouring forth everything at once. There were some things that Sirius and James would take time to understand, no matter how much preparation she tried to give them. "So, while I hardly think this possession a good thing, I do not blame Harry. I blame Voldemort."

There was thunderstruck silence for a long time. Harry looked from James to Sirius, and found nothing worrying in their eyes. Both looked shocked, but that was understandable. James was opening and closing his mouth as though he wanted to figure out what question to ask first; that was nothing Harry had not expected. Sirius slumped back in his seat, his face dreadfully pale. Harry was a bit more concerned about that, but his godfather had grown up around Dark magic and warrior wizards. Of course he would be worried that a child was going to encounter them.

He's worried about Connor, not you, Sylarana said to him.

Shut up, Harry warned her, and shoved the pain away again.

James at last said, "But that means that you've kept the secret from us all for years?"

"Yes," said Lily. "I wanted you to be ignorant so that I could have your unthinking support in times of trouble, James. It was selfish, and I am sorry." She spoke like the witch Harry knew she truly was, her voice unflinching. "And I have kept Connor innocent because he needs to be innocent to defeat Voldemort. But now, when both of you might interfere with Harry's guardianship, there is no reason for you to be ignorant any more." She turned to Sirius. "Will you still obstruct him?"

Sirius shook his head. His face had grown paler. "But I thought so differently," he whispered. "Harry, I'm sorry."

"You can tell Connor the truth now, can't you?" asked James, his voice eager. "He doesn't need to fight with Harry any more."

Lily sighed. "No," she said. "It is still true that Tom Riddle possessed Harry, and that we don't know who Petrified Luna Lovegood. It's true that Harry has had his mind invaded by a powerful Dark wizard. And telling him all this might well sully his innocence. I don't want to do it, not yet." She paused. "Besides, there is one good consequence to Connor's suspecting Harry."

"What is that?" Sirius demanded, his voice rough. "I can't think of anything good about it, myself."

Lily moved around in front of Harry and knelt down again instead of answering him. She looked into Harry's eyes. "Harry, do you remember our discussion of the First War against Voldemort, and the reason the Prewett brothers led the Death Eaters such a chase before they finally caught them?" she asked.

Harry's eyes widened as he recalled the story. Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Molly Weasley's brothers, had been devastatingly powerful wizards, but more than that, they had been clever ones. They had run a deception only uncovered after their deaths, a deception worthy of a Slytherin.

They had made themselves into targets on purpose, irritating and distracting the most important Death Eaters from other tasks—tasks that would have included the execution of helpless Muggleborn families who were not nearly as well-trained as Gideon and Fabian. The Death Eaters had united to take them down at last, but while they did that, fifteen wizarding families escaped via Portkey to safehouses. By the time the Prewett brothers fell, Voldemort's inner circle could have taken vengeance on them for months and not been satisfied. The hunt had encouraged all the traits that Gideon and Fabian had wanted to encourage in the Death Eaters, including mutual suspicion of each other; they had begun to think that someone on their side was a traitor and must be helping the Prewetts escape each confrontation.

And Harry understood.

"You want me to do the opposite of that with Connor?" he asked his mother. "Act like a stag so he can act like a hound?"

"Like the leader of a hunt," Lily corrected him, giving him the gentle smile which, reflected in her green eyes, showed that he'd pleased her very well indeed. "Connor has to grow wise to the political realities of the wizarding world, but he's not going to do it the way you did, especially now that he's made friends among the purebloods devoted to the Light. He'll grow wise through action. Let him unite the school around one cause, and that will be good practice for the future."

Harry nodded. He could feel his guilt and darkness of mind dissipating, centering on a new excitement. It was all right, now, if Connor suspected him and stirred the other students up against him. Those students would get used to following the Boy-Who-Lived. When the real perpetrator was found, it might make Connor look ridiculous, but Harry suspected it was likely that the real perpetrator was an innocent victim, not a willing servant of Voldemort. Connor could forgive that victim, perhaps rescue them from Voldemort's control, and then turn around and forgive his brother, showing the height of Gryffindor justice and mercy. Harry's acceptance of the forgiveness would show his own absolute loyalty.

It would require very careful planning, Harry knew, and there were half a dozen things that could go wrong. But it was a plan, one that would serve both his goals in defending Connor and making him look good, and that made it one he could live with.

"I don't understand," said Sirius plaintively.

Lily explained the plain in more detail to him and James, and Harry luxuriated in the silence. Yes, this was the best way to do things.

If you are an utterly mad human, then yes, it is.

Harry jumped. He always managed to forget Sylarana when she had been silent for a time, it seemed. And she hadn't objected to the plan so far, so why was she objecting now?

Because this is madness, said Sylarana flatly. How can you hope to make it work? And how can you hope to have time to feed me while you are making it work?

Harry touched his left arm above where she rested as a mark on his skin. I'll always make certain to feed you first, I promise.

He barely listened as his mother hashed things out with James and Sirius. He knew things were going to be better now. If he did have Slytherin qualities, as the Sorting Hat and Draco and Snape insisted, then he was finally going to put them to good use, in the service of the Light.

Harry was confident, as he swooped and turned and tumbled through the air, in a way that he had not been at last year's Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game.

Connor was aloft, of course, and there were the Bludgers to watch out for, but this time the Lestranges were not coming after him. Their parents, Sirius, and Remus sat in the stands below, and this time James and Sirius, at least, knew that Connor would win, because Harry would not let it be otherwise. It amused Harry that one of the last things their father had asked him before he went to dress in Slytherin green robes was whether Harry was the better flyer than Connor. Harry had been able to lie about that, since he'd never told their mother the true extent of his flying abilities, either. He'd assured James that Connor won the games on his own merits.

It was a small lie, especially compared to the ones he would tell and live in the coming months. But it was all going to be worth it in the end. It had to be.

Mad, Sylarana insisted in his head. She'd spoken little since they came onto the Pitch, except in words of one syllable. Harry supposed she wanted him to divine what the words meant. He refused. He had more important things to worry about right now.

There were the Bludgers, and the Snitch, and Connor on his broom, and hundreds of eyes watching from below, from both sides of the Pitch. He had all of them to fool. Luckily, most were easy. He flipped upside down almost lazily as one of the Weasley twins swatted a Bludger at him, and heard it go by, singing, above his broom bristles. The Nimbus 2001 was a great gift, he thought. It made maneuvers like these so much easier.

As he hung upside down—with Sylarana, forced to tighten her coil on his left arm, complaining about that, too—he saw the Bludger make a strange, wide circle and head back towards the game. It ignored the two Slytherin Chasers in the way, and actually made a circle around the Weasley twins. It was homing in on—

Connor.

I see that it was a mistake to assume this game was going to be safer, Harry thought, and shot forward.

He flew parallel to the Bludger, the wind tearing at his hair and glasses, the broom giving him all the speed he asked for and more. Harry timed the Bludger's impact with Connor and reached out, intending to use his will to yank it to the side, much as he'd used his will to make it hit the Lestranges last year.

It didn't work. Someone already had the Bludger. Harry felt it as a sharp cone of power twisting and steering and blowing the ball, one that sparked against his and forced it away. His eyes narrowed as he watched Connor go into a spiraling dive, avoiding the enchanted thing's first strike. It wasn't wizard magic that held the ball.

A house elf.

Dobby?

Probably, Harry thought. And that just made him angrier that he hadn't thought much about the house elf since school began, assuming that every other threat was a greater one.

That could change, now. Harry called his magic up around him, comforted in the knowledge that most people wouldn't be able to sense it. Dumbledore, of course, because such a trick should be in his power, and Draco and Snape, but they were the only ones who had ever reacted like that when he got angry.

And he was angry now, a roaring, frothing rage that he indulged, because it was for Connor. Harry watched as the Bludger curved back around, and reached out with a different kind of will. This time, he didn't want to affect the ball. He wanted the air in front of it to turn solid, hard as ground without rain, refusing the Bludger passage.

There came a loud poing sound, and the Bludger bounced back. Harry gasped and released the wall of air. That had been harder than he thought it would, probably because he'd had to call and release the magic suddenly. He would do better to anticipate the Bludger's next move and get in front of it, so that he'd have time to use all the precautions he needed to.

"And the Snitch has been spotted!" Lee Jordan's voice rose with a triumphant roar over the suddenly screaming crowd.

Harry snapped his head around, and saw Connor pursuing the Snitch, a gleam of gold fluttering madly ahead of him. It changed direction several times, but Harry's brother was never far behind. His hair streamed in the wind, his face shining with determination. Harry relaxed. Slytherin had been sixty points ahead the last time he looked, but if Connor caught the Snitch now, that wouldn't matter. He'd end the game, get safely out of the air, and secure the victory for his team all at once.

Then the Bludger began to move again.

Straight for the back of Connor's broom it went, this time ignoring the other targets completely in its haste. Angelina Johnson, one of the Gryffindor Chasers, got caught in its path and spun out of the sky clutching her stomach. She righted herself before she hit the ground, though, and Harry heard no commanding whistle from either Madam Hooch or Sirius to end the game.

Connor was utterly involved in claiming the Snitch, which had managed to fool him with a sudden course change and was now busily darting and spraying around the sky, leaving Connor to do the best he could in catching up with it.

That meant that it was up to Harry to do something.

Fierce, clean excitement took him over, and he knew he was grinning as he let all his speed, and the Nimbus 2001's speed, go.

The air narrowed to a short, defined tunnel in front of him. He flew past Angelina as if she were hovering rather than circling. He heard startled gasps and saw eyes turned to him, but didn't mind them. They would only think that he'd seen the Snitch, too, and wanted to claim it from Connor.

Do.

Harry felt the intrusion of Sylarana's mind into his as a distant ripple. He rolled over twice as the other Bludger screamed past him, and as he came out of the tumble, he had to decide which way the enchanted Bludger would go. It was almost to Connor now, and his outstretched hand grabbing at the Snitch.

His outstretched hand.

Harry chose.

He dived, to get the right angle, and then came up in a single blinding burst of speed. Up he rose, and got in between the Bludger and his brother. He would take the hit, Connor would take the Snitch, and all would be right with the world.

Connor gave him a single, bewildered glance, before fixing his eyes back on the tiny golden ball. Harry smiled, not caring.

The Bludger halted beneath him, twisted, and then tried to rise between Harry and Connor, and slightly ahead, so that it could hit Connor full on.

Harry made another choice, and shot straight across in front of his brother. Their broomsticks smacked together, but he wasn't close enough to foul Connor, and—

Crack.

The Bludger hit his right arm, making Harry gasp and lean to the side as his bones went liquid with pain. His left arm, caught wide of the broom, faltered and grasped for some kind of handhold. He found something small and grabbed it, thinking Connor had extended a hand to help him.

He wheeled away, right arm clutched close to his side, to see Connor's eyes going wide, a scream forming on his mouth, and the Bludger, free of Dobby's magic, falling limply to the ground beneath him. Everybody was shouting. Sylarana was hissing at him. Harry managed, by dint of concentration, to hear what Lee Jordan was shouting.

"Potter's caught the Snitch!"

Well, of course Connor has, what—

Then Harry became aware of the small, madly dancing thing in his palm, that thing he had grabbed in his desperate search for support.

"Slytherin wins!"

One side of the Pitch went mad, green banners fluttering in the air, hoots and catcalls ringing. The Gryffindor side was silent. Harry kept his head tucked carefully into his shoulder, and concentrated on the cool shock washing through him. He did not dare look at his parents right now, nor Remus. He had promised that Connor would win.

"Good game, Harry."

Harry dared to glance over at his brother, and wished he hadn't. Connor's face was red with humiliation, his eyes glazed with tears.

"If you hated me so much that you wanted to humiliate me in front of our parents," he whispered, "why didn't you just tell me?"

He dived then, and the rest of the Slytherin team was between Harry and the Pitch, offering loud congratulations. Harry accepted them as best he could, riding the cresting wave of his utter surprise. He hissed out loud when Flint embraced him and jostled his broken arm, though.

Flint blinked at him, then said, "Come on, Potter, hospital wing for you." He gave Harry a large wink. "Madam Pomfrey should be able to fix you right up."

Harry closed his eyes as they escorted him back down like a gaggle of geese. All his good intentions were gone again, burned to a crisp by circumstances that Harry did not know how to prevent. He wished he could cast Fugitivus Animus right now, and simply vanish from everyone's attention.

I don't think it would work even if you could, Sylarana said, her voice oddly gentle. I think you're always going to be showing up, not shown up. I know that isn't what you want, but that seems to be the way it is. And snakes deal with reality, you know, not hide from it. It's no good pretending you've got a mouse when you don't.

I'm not a snake, Harry said back.

She didn't bother responding.

Harry took Draco's embrace when they were on the ground, and accepted his congratulations, though Flint kept him from hugging Harry too tightly. And then off he went to the hospital wing yet again, his memory of Connor's betrayed look hurting more than his arm.

What am I going to do? How can I keep from betraying him when I don't even mean to? How can—

He gave in to temptation, and threw the circling thoughts into the box. His head cleared at once. His breathing calmed down. He was able to open his eyes and walk along with the Quidditch team instead of being half-carried.

Snape's wrong. This has to be a good thing. It's going to let me plan.

Mother said to lead Connor a hunt. I will. I only have to figure out how to do it, and I should have some time alone in the hospital wing. I'll tell Madam Pomfrey that I'm tired.

Harry woke, alone, in the middle of the night, his repaired right arm curled over his chest and Sylarana curled on top of it, and blinked. It was a long moment before he could remember what he'd been thinking of.

The middle of the night. Their parents had probably left Hogwarts, without coming to see him.

Harry told himself that he hadn't expected them to.

When the anger would not go away, he relegated it to the box, without waking Sylarana, and then went back to sleep, levelheaded and serene.