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An Old and New World
by Lens of Sanity
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Chapter Twenty Three: Necromancy for Fun and Profit
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Bellatrix padded into the commandeered section of Hogwarts containing Yellow's practice Array. Ears pointed forwards she made her way toward where Harry was resting and settled her head in his lap. He began stroking her behind the ears in the way she liked, and Bella let out a contented growl-like purr. Unfortunately tigers cannot actually purr properly like their smaller feline cousins, but she made her best effort.
Besides it felt really good.
Harry had been practicing hard over the last two months in his attempt to heal Lily Potter's death, and Bellatrix had no doubt all that by tomorrow evening hard work would bear fruit. It was just a shame Bellatrix hadn't been able to help very much. She'd been feeling weird and nauseous at the oddest times, even though all the diagnostics she'd run on herself had told her she was in the prime of health.
"—f you didn't spend all your free time sleeping with tramps you might know what I'm talking about," Hermione attested with exasperation.
Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. "You know, I've only actually slept with four different women, right Hermione?"
"What? Don't be ridiculous, I've seen loads of different girls coming and going from your rooms at the most peculiar times," the brunette objected.
"In truth it is five not four Harry," Yellow informed him.
"Huh?" Harry said in confusion. "I've never so much as kissed Fleur Delacour."
"I know, and you never got further than over the clothes action with Daphne Greengrass before you two broke up."
"What are you two saying?" Hermione asked. "What about all those girls I've seen you with Harry?"
"It's always Luna. She uses polyjuice all the time." Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I have actually slept with Trace, right Luna? I wouldn't put it past you to spend the whole day impersonating her just to mess with me."
When Yellow just smiled mysteriously, Harry looked to conclude he was simply being paranoid. If that were the case she'd have followed up with some form of unnerving comment or other.
"Anyway, you were saying it was five not four. Who am I missing?"
"Well Tracy and I are two." Harry nodded. "Then there was the whole incident with Cho Chang and the Sonorus you put on the Prefects' Bathroom, which she totally didn't appreciate."
He smiled in remembrance, who knew the Chinese Seeker was so shy about stuff like that? "And dear Bella when she attacked me that one time after I survived my death makes four."
Bellatrix purple catlike eyes widened in sudden realisation.
"So who is the mysterious fifth girl?" asked Hermione, for once acting the gossipy teenager.
Yellow's mischievous smile obviously started worrying Harry a little. As he turned and pinned her with a very direct green‑eyed stare she answered in an offhand way. "Well you remember the second time I polyjuiced into looking like Pansy Parkinson..."
"...Yeah," he confirmed warily.
"It's just that she'd made a mean spirited comment at my expense," the blonde said, "so I decided to lace her with an Attraction Potion and point her at your rooms."
"..."
"You have a thing for Parkinson Harry?" Hermione asked sweetly.
"Er-, well ... it's just that she's such a terrible person, that you can do all kinds of awful, unforgivable things with her," he began, "and no one feels the least bit bad about it afterwards."
The group were all quiet for the longest time. "Harry, do you mind if I..."
"What?" She gave him a meaningful look. "Oh ... yes yes, why not."
Watching the blonde leave, Hermione asked, "Has she just gone to get hair from..."
"I think so," Harry confirmed.
It wasn't much longer before Harry was back to preparing for tomorrow's Halloween showdown, leaving Bella lounging alone in the room. She got up and padded out, returning to her own quarters. When Bellatrix arrived she conducted a well‑remembered spell and noticed the light glow, a clean blue.
"Huh," she said aloud in her empty room. "Blue."
Bellatrix had never seen blue before, in all the times she'd performed that spell. Blue was good, better than green. It was. Wasn't it?
She thought for a long while. Yes, blue was good, only complicated. Bella got up and headed for the nearest floo, and Aunt Walburga's old house at Grimmauld Place. She stalked confidently past a number of nervous members of the Weasel family and into the Black Library.
Twenty minutes searching found the book she was looking for, then it was back to Hogwarts, and a further hour's hunting before her target was chained to a wall. Bella double checked the book's incantation and wandmotion a final time before completing the process.
Then she checked herself again; green.
Then she checked her target; blue.
Excellent.
She performed a memory charm and then lay in a few subtle commands and compulsions, before going back to padding the halls of Hogwarts Castle searching for Harry. It was almost dinnertime and Harry never ate enough unless she was there to remind him.
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Harry Potter woke on the morning of October the thirty first 1996, with a smooth mass of straight dark hair tickling his nose. He cracked open his eyes and felt a body shift next to him, turning his head slightly he got a view of high cheekbones and blonde hair out the corner of his eye.
Uh-oh. What the hell happened last night? A surprisingly firm arse wiggled itself closer to his front and he winced. You did not just knowingly sleep with Pansy Parkinson Harry! This is all a dream, a horrible-horrible dream. Okay recap. What was the last thing you remember?
Harry was finishing up his last evening of practice. Bella had brought him something to eat earlier and then vanished as she did sometimes. Luna had left ages ago around the same time as Hermione went for yet another of her many, many detentions, and Harry found himself giving the Practice Array a final onceover before bed.
Luna strode in as if she owned the place, full Slytherin robes, mimicking the sixth year prefect's mannerisms flawlessly, as she was so adept at doing when using polyjuice. He'd yanked her hair back forcefully, without preamble, and went from there.
Harry would never forget that conversation a few years ago, Luna informing him how different bodies reacted, enjoyed, and disliked various sensations dissimilarly. And that wearing other forms allowed her to enjoy diverse experiences she would not—under normal circumstances—find the least bit pleasant. Harry's motivation being that a different girl was a different girl, which worked in line with this attitude quite nicely. Although Luna never did go full Fleur Delacour on him, for reasons he was strangely thankful.
When the slender Slytherin had melted into him, Harry noticed a second dark haired Slytherin watching him from the doorway, amusement plane in her expression.
"Look Potter, I don't like you," the Pansy in his arms told him. "But what happened last year was easily the best sex I've ever had!"
"She wanted to play," the Pansy at the door replied to his questioning look. "Who was I to say no?"
"I didn't think you were into ménages Luna?" Harry asked to the door, as the other girl basically started molesting him.
"I'm not. But I am interested in how far you're liable to take things when you know it's the real Parkinson."
Shaking his head, Harry commented in approval, "You are one twisted fuck, I'll give you that."
From there things had really gone quite off the rails. He remembered that part with ambivalent clarity. Once again he noted Luna's polyjuice had worn off and that her strategically placed hands were definitely not helping matters any.
You are so going to hell Harry! he thought, fully returning to the present.
"Holding me a spear point Potter?" the total bitch in front of him commented acidly. "So Griffindor of you."
Yep, hell it is. Definitely hell!
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There was something indecent about how much Luna was enjoying herself. It was a few hours later and the small group was meeting for breakfast. Parkinson had long since hobbled to the Hospital Wing, leaning heavily against walls the whole way, the Slytherin muttering something about how she was unable to feel her feet on the way out.
"Explain it to me again!" Tam commanded the two as they shakily took their seats at the Hufflepuff table.
"Oh, explain what?" Harry asked tenderly from his position across from her and Hermione.
"The Runic Array," Tam insisted. "How you think it could possibly revive someone who has been dead for a decade and a half."
"Lily killed Voldemort back in '81. Correct?" asked Luna.
"Right," said Hermione.
"And as far as we can tell, the method of Dark Lord dispatching she utilised, was a human sacrifice ritual twisted from some Dark Arts tome Lily found during her research."
The blonde drank deeply from her large glass of orange juice, and Hermione took up the explanation. "From what has been said before, you believe that because Voldemort's Horcruxes were active, they prevented Lily from really dying." The brunette looked confused. "Explain that part again!"
"Having a Horcrux technically kept Voldemort alive," said Harry. Pausing he stirred a bowl of incredibly thick black coffee. "My mother's forfeit was her life, in an 'I die' for a 'you die' ritualistic trade-off. Following?"
"Barely," Tam muttered. "Go on."
"Meaning; Lily did not get any benefit from her ritual," Luna said slowly, "and should therefore still technically be alive also."
"This is Edge Magic by the way. Untested. At the boundaries of what we know and believe to be possible," Harry put in, his tone directed toward the children, patronising. "As long as there is still one person who has been touched by the sacrifice, Lily should be anchored to life."
"The Runic Array," Luna said, ignoring him, "the one Harry shagged out of me back when I was a teenager remember?" The group nodded. "Its function turned out to untangle those two competing rituals, removing the Blood Protection Guardian running through the defended person's veins. Thereby resurrecting the person who'd—ritualistically—allowed themselves to be murdered."
"In this case my mother, Lily Potter."
"And it's not going to work," the blonde attested. "Harry is obviously going to die horribly in the attempt."
Hermione and Tam nodded at this self-evident fact. As did Harry before he stopped to think through her words.
"Shut up Luna!"
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Petunia was in her room late afternoon on the day these witches and wizards had been waiting for. They had been leaving her alone for the most part, meals were delivered by strange little mannequin creatures, and she was occasionally visited by one person or another.
Everyone called her Petunia Evans here, and many of them were visibly surprised she could see the ghosts as clear as day, floating though this bizarre castle school. This place had cost Petunia her sister. It had been gradual of course, no single incident could she point to and say: that was it, this was the day my sister and I drifted apart forever.
She'd been a little surprised when invited to Lily's wedding, and had attended despite their increasingly rocky relationship. The service had been—Petunia let out a long sigh—filled with freaks, and lots of equally freakish behaviour. However their parents had both been killed not too long beforehand, and so she'd been present at the service with her husband...
God but Petunia hated magic!
Her husband and son had been murdered by magic, and worse, from comments made Petunia wasn't certain the quote, unquote "bad" Magicals were the ones who were ultimately to blame. Nevertheless, the boy claimed her blood could be used to cure her estranged sibling, and that death was not necessarily as permanent for witches as it was for other woman.
Albus Dumbledore even intimated that Harry spent a few months earlier that year dead, and had somehow gotten over it!
So Petunia was willing to sit here, in her not cell. Eating meals, and awaiting the day she could be useful. Working through this trashy novel, which was by far the trashiest thing she'd ever read. It was even worse than the first book, if that was even possible.
Jousting with the Jabberwock
by Rita Skeeter
Part II of the Harry Potter Series
God in Heaven! How anyone, even people who believed in magic, could possibly accept anything which was written here, she'd never know. Petunia wasn't even completely sure what a Spear Harem was! Let alone why the Hermione heroine was in possession of one. And that scene where His Grace Harry Potter, was forced to team up with Gingerbeard. In order for the two to take on the Legion of the Sensual Serpent... That, that—, it had more plot holes than it had plot!
Petunia put down the recently completed book when the young woman came to fetch her. Apparently they were setting up soon, and she needed to get ready.
When the girl told her, her name was Hermione, Petunia almost changed her mind.
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This was it. Their one shot at getting it to work.
Well, it was only their sole chance because if it didn't work—or Harry made a single mistake—there would be an appreciably large explosion. Worse was the fact that the longer the process went on, the more power would be built up. So if a mistake was made toward the end of the process, the appreciably large explosion may—it was conceivably possible—it might perhaps... level most of Southern England.
That probably wouldn't happen though, so no worries.
The Runic Array worked off the number six—the figure most significant when doing things like Daemon Raisings and so on—and in this case, a little bit of amateur necromancy. 666. Sixes are important. As could be shown by the large hexagram sketched out back of Dumbledore Cottage. In the town of Godric's Hollow; the original site of Lily Potter's death.
The hexagram was drawn using ground up Virgin Bone, which was one of those things that sounded a lot worse than it really was when it's said out loud. There had been a bit of a conversation a month ago when Hermione protested, and Bellatrix's offer to go collect it hadn't really helped—mostly due to Bella's assertion that she wouldn't get it all from the same Primary School. Nor had Harry's look of fondness helped, when she'd commented irritably on how it was not the kind of mistake a person made twice.
At the centre of the hexagram was an imposing cube of black granite, impeccably carved with six hundred and sixty six runes on the outside, and six hundred and sixty six runes on the inside.
This was one of the major problems which had needed to be addressed; such an accelerating rune flow needed to have each rune activated at precisely six second intervals, from inside the cube. Unfortunately, any magic performed inside would disrupt the powering surge of magic which would be delivered from outside the array.
So it was lucky that one of the people most enthusiastic in his support of this endeavour happened to be Master of the mostly mythological Cloak of Invisibility. An artefact which, if legend spoke true, made the wearer not just invisible, but fully and completely concealed from all detection.
Harry was currently inside the array, with a large number of sticky charms cast on the inside of the cloak, concealing his magical signature and preventing any excess magic from bleeding out into the surrounding air.
He was sweating pretty heavily because there were one hundred and eleven different runes on each surface—north, south, east, west, ceiling, and floor—and he had to activate one of them every six seconds in a precise, excruciating order, necessitating a lot of running around frantically to opposite sides of the cube. And even more fun to be had almost missing the "click track," Luna was running on the outside so as not to miss a beat.
Harry had been obsessively working on this over the past two months. Practicing to ensure he got the order of activation spot on.
Does that sound easy?
It gets worse.
There was a very finicky type of magic which needed to be fed into the master rune cluster, carved onto the outside of the array. Although as luck would have it one of Harry's close friends was in possession of a magic stone whose primary function was involved in such Necromantic Arts as inferi creation.
The Resurrection Stone present in Tam's family ring was one of those mostly mythological artefacts like the Cloak of Invisibility, and the redhead just happened to also be the stone's true Master. And luckily enough, any magic channelled through it was just the type needed to activate that finicky master rune cluster they'd been having so much trouble with.
Sounds doable?
It gets even worse.
The quantity of magic of such rarefied type which needed to be fed into the Runic Array was tremendous, and needed to all be produced by a single individual. Unfortunately there were no individuals currently alive who could conceivable channel enough magic for the sixty six minutes thirty six seconds required—without dying of magical exhaustion.
Yet in another totally unforeseen turn of events, another of Harry's close friends was Master of yet another mostly mythological artefact, which may well allow a single person to channel enough magic into Tam's Resurrection Stone. Albus had, many years ago, won the allegiance of the much sought after Wand of Destiny. Meaning that in truth, Albus may be capable of providing the magic necessary to pull this whole thing off successfully.
This huge well of energy which would be stored over the sixty six point six minutes, was the cause of that "moderately worrisome" possibility of a Southern England levelling explosion.
So the magic from Albus Dumbledore was channelled through the Deathstick and into the Resurrection Stone.
Tamsyn Riddle then took the altered magic type, and channelled it through her phoenix wand into the master rune cluster on the outside of the Runic Array.
Petunia Evans was hogtied in the centre of the cube, and dripping a single drop of her valuable blood once every six seconds, onto the rune which would be activated last.
And Harry Potter—covered by the Cloak of Invisibility—was running around inside the same cube, activating each of the six hundred and sixty six runes. He was doing so once every six seconds, coinciding with each blood drop, and in an insanely specific order, using a wand which was brother to the one on the outside.
He'd activated six hundred and sixty five.
Sweat pouring off him and shaking from fatigue, Harry dropped to his knees, and tiredly touched the tip of his phoenix wand to the final, blood splattered rune Ōþalan.
At the same instant a thunderbolt struck the black granite cube.
All in attendance were bathed in a wash of thick green mist.
Something had gone wrong.
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Harry got to his feet a little dazed. He was exhausted. Not the kind of exhaustion one got from heavy exertion, or even the kind familiar to all Magicals when they'd channelled too much magic in a single sitting. No, it was the fatigue which creeps up on a person when they've been concentrating exclusively on one task for an extended period of time.
There was a thick soup hanging in the air, a heavy Killing Curse green, making it difficult to see far, and fluid movement harder. While the mist dispersed itself around Harry, it seemed to him as though it were locking everyone else in place, like flies in sap.
"Harry behind you!" Luna's warning came, muted behind viscous fog. She'd seen the disturbance made by his Invisibility Cloak as the focal point of an attack. He dodge-rolled instinctively and a wisp of something sharp ruffled his cloak instead of taking his neck. Bringing eleven inches of holly to bear Harry heard a second warning. "You can't do magic, the Rune Wells are still glowing!"
Bloody brilliant! Harry declared, diving out the way of a second strike.
For the first time he got a full view of whatever monster was threatening him. Five foot six and slim, with poisonous jade hair and hate filled eyes burning with an unholy orange light. And perhaps more urgent, the razor sharp scimitar held with competence in the abomination's right hand.
Swish!
"Okay, fuck this," Harry shouted, booting the thing that was not his mother hard in the face. Magic muted beneath his Deathly Hallow, the impressive swirl of wind and fire was lost on those watching, but once drawn the Vorpal Sword was brought down with a defensive clash of metal against metal. The creature of evil and hatred hissed at him, and spoke in a tongue which pained the ears to hear.
"Bring it bitch!"
A two handed grip span his enormous blade and the two traded blows and parries. The abomination, though slight of build was stronger than it should have been, the two battling in earnest.
Luna's mind span through possibilities and eventualities, she noticed the unconscious Petunia Evans lying still alive, covered in her own blood, and the truth lanced through the layers of incomprehension. "Harry, you need to kill in it six hundred and sixty six seconds!"
Bounding away with a deep slice to the thigh, Harry responded with a dignified. "Thank you so fucking much! Care to offer any advice?"
"Sharp bit goes into your enemy," Tam said, blasé in the face of the current happenings. This type of magic was chaotic in nature. Just because the group had believed the six hundred and sixty six seconds after completion would be a slow build, calm before the storm, didn't necessarily mean that was how it would turn out.
The hood of his cloak fell down and Harry offered a two fingered salute to his irritating, totally unhelpful brother.
The Demonic Lily hissed again, and Harry did a low slash to her legs which was leaped, an upwards diagonal that was parried, and a horizontal slash with all his might which severed the abomination's torso from its legs.
"Wey hey! Top of the food chain!" Harry cheered, lifting his Vorpal Sword overhead in a victory pose, turning to his friends.
They looked past him concerned.
When he turned back, the two chunks were melting, coalescing into two Demonic Lilys.
"Great, just great!" he said, hefting his sword once again. "How long do I have left?"
"Erm-, about three hundred seconds!" replied Luna.
Swish!
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"Duck!" Hermione, Luna, Bella, Sirius, Tam, and Albus all screamed from their bound position as spectators.
Harry had gotten the first Lily, but the second one had been lining up its shot. He dove behind his broad blade and the flaming crossbow bolt twanged off the sword without causing a scratch.
Fantastic, bloody fantastic. The thing has a crossbow now!
Harry hefted his weapon and threw it end over end toward his adversary, imbedding the long sharp point directly into its chest. He scampered over, boot on its neck, and pulled the blade free—right as the three Lily chunks coalesced into three, shiny new Demonic Lilys.
"How long?"
"About two minutes. Maybe a few seconds more," called Luna.
Okay, three on one, and in less than half the time it took me to take two. Harry considered. Wait! One plus two, plus three, is six ... if I get these three it should be over. Right?
Broad blade takes a crossbow bolt, parry the sharp edge of number three's glaive, sidestep scimitar's thrust.
Okay Harry, you're inside her guard.
Slash down, take wrist off the glaive wielder, headbutt little-miss scimitar. Take a black fire crossbow bolt in the shoulder, not good.
Clumsily sideswipe Mrs. Oops-where's-my-hand, and dodge roll an overhand scimitar attack.
Swish!
"Twenty seconds at most Harry!" Luna helpfully informed. It wasn't like he was doing anything at all strenuous here!
He couldn't try to heal of cauterise his wounds because he couldn't risk using magic. Result; he was limping and wielding his Vorpal Sword with only one had.
"Damn it all!" he shouted.
Harry then began swinging, slashing, jumping, dodging and rolling, without plan or consideration. Allowing his animagus powers of randomness be his guide. The handless heroine went down within the first five seconds, and he'd bisected the crossbow cutie as soon as he'd gotten close.
"Time's up Harry!" the blonde screeched, the instant the scimitar had flown from the last enemy's grip.
"Off with her head."
Swish!
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"Necromancy is hard," Harry whined as a typical wind began its impressive howling. He sheathed his Vorpal Blade into the dirt, collapsed to the ground, and leaned his back up against its vertical surface.
The green misty-soup loosened with a cool swirly effect which Harry ignored, and his friends moved closer. Tam may well have backlit herself against one of the many lightning bolts and cackled "Ultimate Power!" in an overly cheesy way, but if she did Hermione must have slapped her on the back of the head because she'd abruptly stopped.
Albus went and made sure Petunia was still alive. He presumably conducted some diagnostics and healing, as well as forced a Blood Replenisher down her throat. Luna was waving her hands around inspecting her Runic Array, seeming happy with the results. She came over and flopped down next to Harry and Bellatrix.
"Well?" asked Sirius.
"How the hell am I supposed to know Padfoot? I have no idea what I'm doing either," Harry complained tiredly as Bella healed his cuts and scrapes.
A little over eleven minutes later the chunks of Demonic Lilys all melted and flowed to a single location. There were some more dramatic lights and cool sound effects, but Harry just found the whole thing annoying in a "get on with it" kind of way.
Then standing there naked as the day she was born was a twenty one year old woman. She had very familiar green eyes, and a silky stream of auburn hair. Harry raked his eyes across the well defined curves and smooth looking expanse of bare skin, down toward—
"Harry that's your mother!" yelled Hermione, cuffing him on hard on the ear.
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It had been a week since Halloween and Harry was kicking back at Number Twelve, waiting for the Order of the Phoenix meeting to begin. He'd been jinxed pretty thoroughly attempting to replace that prick Mad-Eye's wooden leg with a transfigured rubber chicken, and had since decided to just wait quietly until the swelling went down.
It hadn't really been the storybook mother-son reunion everybody kind of assumed it would be. And worse was that every man, woman, man trapped in a woman's body, and dog-man, had universally agreed that each and every one of those heartwarming fairytale moments were ruined by Harry himself.
They'd unanimously concurred it was Harry's fault. Each time the two were about to have some kind of big emotional connection, he'd done something to weird out the whole situation, thereby spoiling everything.
First things first; one of the opening questions an orphan asks his recently revived mother, apparently shouldn't be whether or not she liked his boots. Second thing he'd learned was that when a newly resurrected maternal figure walked into a room which contained her, now fully grown son, going at it hammer and tongs with one of his friends under polyjuice—
—and that said polyjuice was charged with the previously mentioned maternal figure's hair. It would cause a situation which could be considered quite ...awkward.
Yeah.
The excuse that he had a thing for redheads hadn't really gone down too well either.
The third thing Harry had learned was that his mother was quite the emotional type. The "recent" death of her husband was the kind of thing which left her a little mopey. That was one of the things Hermione was for; dealing with the emotional stuff. So Harry found himself hiding from his mother and her little whiny episodes, regardless of Hermione's regular chastisement of those actions.
Now they were around the meeting table, Sirius, Hermione, a large assortment of the Weasley family. Mad-Eye was trading hate filled looks between Snape and Harry, while Harry was half-flirting half-teasing Tonks from his seat at her right. The older members of the Order were scattered around with some leaning up against the wall, and finally Albus was at the head of the table getting the meeting underway.
"—would like to re-introduce to you all: Lily Potter," Albus said grandly to a round of applause and a slightly blushing young woman.
There were some words shared, and a few small conversations broke out thanks to this happy announcement. After a couple of minutes Tam came striding in.
"I have some news—," began the redhead, pausing at the sudden shocked looks being directed at her, and the awareness that she was unexpectedly the sole centre of attention. "—What?"
Tam's eyes found Harry, and her brother gestured with one hand from eyes to waist and back again. The redhead looked down at her hands and body, in confusion her sight returned to Harry. Realisation dawned.
"I'm not wearing my glamour am I?" Tam stated. It wasn't really a question.
With a level of hope beyond heartbreaking, Mrs. Weasley asked:
"G-Ginny?"
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His eyes cracked open and he found himself standing stark bollock naked, up to his knees in a large cauldron, and with a fair sized crowd looking at him.
Erm-, again?
"Bollocks!" he stated. Absently he noted that the potion really did taste of hot sauce. "Since when has Molly Weasley been that good with a wand?"
"Yeah..." Tam agreed. "She apologised for killing you by the way."
"Oh. Okay, that was nice of her," said Harry, glancing around the clearing and noticing Fleur wasn't present. "What day is it?"
"January 31st. Exactly half a year before your birthday."
"My Unbirthday? Cool," said Harry happily. "Have I missed anything important?"
"Yes," Dumbledore put in, visibly forcing himself to look at Harry in the eyes. The guy really needed to get laid. "The war has taken several turns for the worse and—"
Harry noticed Lily had tears of relief running down her cheeks—Mum, not Lily. Mum damn it!—He almost let out a frustrated sigh at the thought, but was interrupted by Bellatrix latching onto him. "Albus... Are our looming problems time dependent, or can they wait one more day?"
"They can wait," Luna helpfully informed him.
Bella smiled and squeezed, then two vanished with a loud crack of apparition.