For the commenter Reg: I personally live in a two-floor flat, but I suppose you can call it a maisonette if you like that better, or a duplex. But frankly no one I know does that here in London. Unless you're very into properties, perhaps? It is interesting, isn't it. And if we're being even more technical, a maisonette is only a maisonette if it has an entrance directly into the outside, and not into a corridor, so that wouldn't be applicable to some flats but is still used. A duplex doesn't require that, and can open into an indoor communal area or hall. You could also use the term "terraced house", but I don't imagine them living in a terraced house as I do not either. Sometimes even converted flats could actually be considered maisonettes or duplexes. I live in a converted flat myself, that can also be labelled as a) a duplex or b) a maisonette. What term do you feel more comfortable with me referring to Hermione's family's living space? I'm interested to know, but I do call a flat a flat when it's within a building with other families with multiple separate living areas.

They were standing near the start of Diagon Alley from the Leaky Cauldron entrance, across from the floo fireplaces. To the side of them was Quality Quidditch Supplies and Harry was nearly certain he'd seen Oliver Wood through the glass panes.

"I could really go for a Jalopy bread from the Popping Pot."

"Thought we were going to Leaky for a bite?" Harry looked at Ron with some hope. "Though I love the Market and the weather's great to sit out."

"You mean that big old place in Carket? The one with the great big barrels all around? It looked awfully crowded earlier." Hermione interjected. "I've only just today been to Carket Market, I'd never even know there was anything leading anywhere but to Diagon and Knockturn- and isn't that awful?!"

"Right shame if you've never had a Jalopy," Ron said.

"Harry!" Arthur called to him as Mrs. Weasley went through Ron's cauldron, despite his reassurances that yes, he did get all he needed. Hermione stood with them, looking over at Ginny every few seconds. Harry wondered if Hermione had ever had an interest in befriending the only girl Weasley. "Could I speak to you for a moment?"

"Of course," Harry said, his eyes crinkling up in the corners as they always did when Arthur Weasley patted him on the back. They made off towards the bar where Tom Darcy was stood down at the far end, speaking with a very thin wizard with a very long beard. "Is something, well, is everything okay, Mister Weasley?"

"I was wondering, Harry," he hesitated. "If you'd been keeping up on the wizarding news. I imagine it's not as easy with the Muggles, but there has been some bits of interesting lately. It's, erm, well." He looked to Harry expectantly, with shadows of worry in his eyes.

"You're right it's hard to, with the muggles and all. But in fact I did catch the headlines when I came into Diagon today. A lot about this Sirius Black fellow, never heard of him, and a place called Azkaban. Not sure what he did..." Harry shrugged. "They were very ambiguous."

Arthur just gave Harry a long look, as if debating telling him something that Harry was already fairly sure he knew about.

"Harry... well, there are dangers about. Ones that... could quite frankly kill you." Arthur said gravely. Harry blinked. The man was certainly alluding to Sirius right now.

That's consistent, Harry thought. Mister Weasley was the one who warned me about Black the first time around.

"So you've heard about the escapee from Azkaban." Arthur began, still with that inscrutable look of utmost seriousness. Harry knew partial ignorance was the best way to play this.

"Yes sir, as I said... but, er, I don't see what that has to do with me." He trailed off with a confused look.

Arthur looked uncomfortable with what he was about to choose to say. "Well Harry, they don't really need to go into much detail. Most everyone knows he was a follower of…You-Know-Who. One of the most loyal. He's vowed to take up where You-Know-Who left off- and that means coming after you, Harry."

Harry did his best to widen his eyes and look fearful at this revelation.

Seemingly satisfied at having Harry's undivided and serious attention, Arthur went on. "Whatever you may hear about him, he's dangerous, so promise me you won't go looking for him."

"Why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?" Harry said, his incredulity not faked. He'd forgotten how naïve people seemed to think him at his time. Of course, he was pretty action first, ask questions later at this age too, he supposed.

"Promise me, Harry. Please."

"I promise sir." Harry replied, feeling a bit bad at knowing he'd technically be breaking that promise at some point. But it wasn't as if Sirius actually wanted to off him.

Looking relieved, as if a weight was off his shoulders, Mr. Weasley patted the bar with one hand, and gave a nod towards the rest of his family. Harry smiled and they walked back together as thoughts circling the possibilities of a loose cannon Sirius, alone and hunted, haunted his mind.

What if something, just something small, went wrong?

It can't, Harry thought firmly. Not for Sirius.

It also struck Harry that Mister Weasley hadn't been just warning Harry, he was trying to protect his children too. Guiltily, Harry thought back to how ignorant he was of all that. Just how families worked and that he was the cause of a lot of their suffering...

That wasn't a path he wanted to go down right now though, looking at the Weasleys and Hermione and all alive and well.

He loudly sighed to himself, gaining a raised eyebrow from a fellow a few spots down. Then Harry, with the all the weight of the enormous task ahead of him and Ron- saving the people who had no reason to die- followed Mr. Weasley's path over to the chatter. The twins was trying to pull some sort of green fluorescent goo over each other heads while Percy tried to get his mother to replace Ginny's cauldron, which he claimed was a "blatant example of the cauldron thickness scam, mother!" but she wasn't having it. Poor Ginny was trying to escape with her cauldron but Percy held a firm, unwavering grip as he gestured with the other hand wildly. Ginny looked close to shouting.

"Get it- " One of the twins was grunting as he tried pulling the elastic, squishy whatchamacallit over the other's head.

"No you won't- "

He brought himself over to a free three-legged stool next to Ron and Hermione's.

He was just in time to hear "So the, er, Yuletide ball... it's real?"

Ron was saying, with no small amount of panic, "Have we got to waltz our way through that too? Since when?" He gave Harry an exaggerated look of horror.

"Oh what's that now," Harry jerked his head back in a show of confusion.

"It was a Hogwarts tradition," Hermione was speaking a little dreamily, if Harry said so himself. "And a standard part of the ball season, like the more popular season in Europe. But," she lowered her voice, "strangely enough it was last held in 1975. Since then... it's never been reinstated. It's also never been explained why it was ended at all. Ron honestly, your parents went to Hogwarts didn't they? Surely they've mentioned the balls. Alumni went as well- it was very fashionable of an event."

"Not really," he sniped back, but with none of the defensive venom he might've once gave. "Can only listen to mum's romantic stories about dad so much before you start daydreaming of shacking up with the ghoul instead."

"Ron watch out," Fred snickered, bits of exploded green goo squirming over his button up and neck. "She'll wallop you for that."

"You've said worse," he shot back, though a tad nervously, and his eyes darting just briefly to his still busy mum.

"Percival, if your sister has an issue than I think we would've known in the last- "

"Ron, could I steal you for a minute?" Harry shot Hermione an apologetic look. "It's just, something your dad was talking about..."

"Sure," Ron said, catching on, shrugging nonchalantly to Hermione. "Right, 'course. Let's ah, let's go into the courtyard shall we?"

"Perfect." Just off left to them was Carket Market- a large courtyard that was led into by a narrow, round tunnel of brick, covered in vines and old posters still sluggishly moving from years long, long past..

Inside the courtyard, which was so large that you couldn't make out what the shops' signs opposite said, were smatterings of refectory tables and long benches, patio chairs and small glass accents that were cluttered with goblets half drunk and house to loud groups of three and four. Cats were strutting about, owls found by the perches near the largest water fountain, resting or taking a drink in the late day. The sun had really begun to come out and a group of young students, perhaps in the fifth or fourth year, were daring one of theirs to leap into a fountain, chanting "Snuff! Snuff! Snuff!"

"Ron," Harry said urgently. His tone, their conversation, did not match the general energy of the day. "We can't just re-read our schoolbooks and hope for the best. It seems like, most certainly, Hermione isn't... can't be reached."

"I know, I know. I do think that we should be researching more about it but," here Ron closed his eyes as if bracing himself. "but if she can't be... found... we need to- "

"We need to make things better for this Hermione," Harry finished. "That's what we came here to do, right? Your family, Sirius, all the students, all the people who died in a fight that we could stop... we'll save them."

"How're we going to this without Hermione?" Ron's voice came out raggedly, as he was pushing his hair back and turning his face to the sky. "I feel even stupider than when I actually was thirteen, Harry."

"We do need a plan."

"What if we change things too much?"

"What if we don't change things enough," Harry said darkly.

"A plan." Ron repeated. "We need to make a plan. Well just hold onto the Time Turner, don't want anyone catching wind of that."

"Hang on," Harry turned to Ron with a dawning look of horror. "I thought you had the Time Turner."

"What're you on about? You were wearing it!"

"We all were wearing it, tosser! If you haven't got it, and I haven't either- where the hell is it?" The process of elimination didn't take very long at all. At the very same instant, looking into each other's wide eyes, they whispered,

"Hermione."

"Hang on," Ron said, echoing Harry. "Hang on, really, this doesn't... this makes no sense."

"The fact it doesn't make sense, makes perfect sense." Harry rubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to massage away the stress written deep into his bones. "That's magic for you."

"Find Hermione," Ron said wearily.

"Find the Time Turner," Harry finished.

"Brilliant, really, totally brilliant. And how are we supposed to find her?"

"Find who?" Ron twitched. Walking back through to Diagon proper they had met Hermione halfway through, in the shadowy brick passage.

"Need to work on our subtlety," Harry muttered near Ron's ear, mouth barely moving as he leaned into him. "Or cast muffling charms next time."

"Er, just," Ron stuttered. "Lavender!"

"Ron's in love," Harry said solemnly.

"I hate you, Harry. I really do."

"Bizarre the both of you," Hermione shook her head to great effect. "You've never even spoken to her before today!"

"Careful, Hermione! Might whack me with that bush." Her eyes narrowed, as she was only thirteen, and still in the throes of young insecurities.

"Well Ron," she sniped. "I've got a much heavier book in my hands, if you'd so prefer!"

"Argh!" She took a swing. "Oy, Harry! You are no help- "

He laughed.

"I think I could try a Jalopy," she enunciated carefully, patting down her hair and holding her heavy book to her chest after her anger had been worked off.

"Sounds great," Ron grinned and then leaned past her to shout down towards the other end, "Mum! We're off to the Pot!"

"Be at Leaky in an hour," she shouted back, appearing at the other end of the cool brick tunnel with hands on her hips. "And don't yell at your mother, Ron Weasley! Boys don't you dare throw that-" And she was gone off to the side again.

"Right then," Harry rolled his shoulders. "And we're off."

"Besides, er, Jalopy," Hermione said. "I'd like to take a better look at some of the shops."

"Sounds great, I've been meaning to do the same." Harry peered over to the far left of the Market as it turned off towards the shops and the passageway to Vertik Alley. "I think they've got a forgery down here."

"Forgery?"

"For well, weapons, Ron," Hermione said with some awe. "I didn't quite see that, but I suppose it would be worth checking out. Don't know what we've got to have forged but all the same, with magic? Must be..."

"Amazing." Ron finished. "Charlie actually had a bit of a phase with forging. Thought he was going to go into that for a while, but mum was really against it. Not that she doesn't hate his work now, of course. Too far from home, but she's very proud."

"See how the cobblestones are sometimes odd bright colours, like that yellow one over there?" Hermione said while pointing, as they walked along. "Or that one, with the blue? It's meant to be an indication of ward stabilisation and unless a ward is down, they'll always have stones cropping up like that. What I don't understand is why the stones change or how it's random. Arithmancy is going to be so exciting this year!"

"You cover wards in Arithmancy? Thought that was more Ancient Runes?"

"Ron we've got to use it all," Hermione said chidingly. "Especially for magic as complicated and hard as the ones around great magical structures like in London."

"I'll be honest, never heard of that," Ron said. "Oh look there, that shop's got the self-updating books. Limited stock those are. Hermione you want a look?" She looked surprised at the consideration and gave the storefront a look.

"Oh why not, that would actually be- Harry?"

"Sure, of course, fine by me." As they walked up to the baby blue door cracked open to the shop, Hermione bemoaned the wizarding world's old fashioned approach.

"It's ridiculous that there's no publishing houses, or mass production. I understand that mass production can be wasteful, but knowledge is so easy to conceal here! Or worse, be inconsistent. You can get the same book but it'll differ from each of it's kind because it's produced individually and, oh, perhaps the author's opinion shifted between giving the shops their copies one to twenty of the book and copies twenty-one to forty! And the hiding of knowledge... it's so, so... classist!" And she was still talking about how it was reminiscent of the Church and the scholars of the 18th and 19th century while they poked through the shelves.

The teller was looking half dead while flipping through a copy of the Irish Herald, which was demanding another referendum against the allowance of the presence of the British Ministry.

Harry couldn't ever remember thinking about the Ministry of Magic being involved in Ireland's affairs. He supposed that was another way it mimicked the muggles.

"I do like this here," Hermione said to Harry. "The updating version covers the last war with You-Know-Who as well, and it's so hard to find any that do that, that aren't- well- storybooks!"

"Get it then," Ron was saying from the stack over. "Reckon it's worth it."

"Oh, I just might," she mused. She did, in fact, buy it, and they meandered back out into the wide street, as wide as to fit three or four buildings in between.

There were these carts and stands, with loud crowds and hot foodstuffs, as popular as the public-houses which seemed ever-open here in the wizarding London. Funny gas lights were burning inside those places you could see, which burned a curious bright orange or sweet yellow that you'd not find in a fire anywhere else. They walked through the Market, and Ron nearly had bowled over a man in a large puff-sleeved dress of sorts that had a great, big leather belt of sorts across it, with some odd tools hanging off it. He spoke something rather garbled, and Hermione said he smelt of a few too many pints.

"What's that there?" Harry said, pointing to a large dog that didn't look like a dog at all and seemed to be permanently snarling.

"Oh, that's rare. People don't really keep wargs these days."

"What's a warg?" Hermione squeezed past a milk-woman as she asked, and Harry couldn't help but think they were so well-balanced. Ron had a wizard's logic, and Hermione had, well, logic.

Harry noticed some straggling groups of labourers going to their work were about after the lunch hours had ended; then, men and women with fish-baskets floating above their heads; donkey-carts laden with vegetables and curious ones too that Harry had never seen, with buckets of what looked to be scales and coal all around; chaise-carts filled with livestock or whole carcasses of meats; milk-women with pails that danced high over the crowd or swooped through to make a delivery or slosh into someone's mug; an unbroken concourse of people trudging out with various supplies all over town.

"Oh, there, that's the forgery isn't it?" The building didn't have a door at all. It was a large and low entrance, that spanned the size of the building. There were no windows either, the floors above were also open like that and radiated heat. It had a dusty floor that transitioned from the cobblestone to wider, larger stones that were unevenly placed together. There was also, for some odd reason, stacks of hay. In the left corner was a spiral staircase of metal, and a large cat with green eyes lounged there with half its body hanging out between the rails.

Along the walls, haphazardly stacked in piles on the floor, and lining the long tables were gleaming tools from garden hoes to the most elegant sword, like something out of a book, hung on the back wall. It was unbearable hot inside, and the fire pits lit all around likely didn't help.

"Hey," Ron was gripping a strange tool, with three sharp blades that curved extremely and it slide over his knuckles. "What'd you think this is good for?"

"Nothing you'll be needing, lad." The three nearly jumped as a very well dressed man appeared from behind a fire pit, where he had been semi-concealed by the flames. Harry wouldn't lie, he'd been expecting a buff, sweaty, dirty sort of man that you'd see in the old-school blacksmith look. This wizard was practically manicured, no really- his fingers seemed to be very well taken care of, and he hadn't a spot of dust or grime or burn on himself. He was wearing a very wizard robe, with the material rippling like a pond when you skipped rocks over it, but it was a light pink colour. Almost pastel. The trim was also squirming but it wasn't unnerving, it was hypnotising.

He raised an eyebrow at the three silent teens.

"I think you lot better be on your way," he said with such a very convincing tone that Harry nearly spun on his heel that instant. "Come back when you know what you're looking for." He turned his back to them and went to the large cat-like animal on the spiral stairs and stroked under its chin, cooing.

"Popping Pot?" Harry asked after they stepped back out into the comparatively cooler day.

"Yes, let's." And Harry had never even had a Jalopy bread before, so when the three of them were served on the blue table outside the tavern while sitting on orange bench, he needed a moment to evaluate it.

The bread itself was thick but airy, with that perfect crust and enough chewiness, the type of bread that was some sort of French but Harry couldn't recall the name. There was an orange and dull brown sauce, not quite a paste but not quite just juices... it dribbled over the edges of the sandwich.

"Ron what exactly-"

"-is it?" Hermione finished.

"Well," Ron swallowed a large, satisfied bite. "I think it's got chicken in it, and some of that Chinese chomping cabbage." Harry and Hermione shared a look before in unison picking up the bread.

"Not half-bad." Harry mulled over the taste, blinking in the sun. "Chunks of what does seem to be chicken- Hermione, thoughts?" She looked to have swallowed with a problem but a strange frown was taking her face.

She clutched her stomach. "You alright?" Ron asked with such sincerity that it seemed false.

"Yes- I just- I'm not feeling too well. I'll just run to the loo quick-"

"That bad then?"

"It's not the Jalopy!" Ron protested. Hermione tried to clear her face and took another bite actually, but she seemed to be in more pain if anything.

"It's not," she confirmed and bolted, throwing her legs back over the bench to jog towards the gaping entrance to the Popping Pot.

"Well she really ran," Ron remarked. "Do you think she's, er, okay?"

Harry considered this. "Yeah, I'd think so. Who'd poison us here?" Ron nudged his head toward a pair of hags who were shifting through the masses with their hoods drawn up. He rolled his eyes and reached for his Flitterbloom pint, which had little jelly-like bits in it from the extract.

"Ach, Ron, what would they have done? Spit in the drinks?"

"That's right minging," Ron snorted. Harry nearly elbowed him about species discrimination, but they were interrupted by a most unwelcome guest.

In a rather nasal tone came the snide, "Spoken from the mouth of a minger."

"Lord of the pillocks has arrived," Harry announced at large. "Gormless worms, come greet your leader!" He and Ron got carefully up from the bench to stand in front of the blond boy, who looked terribly young.

"Potter to the rescue," Draco Malfoy tried his best to look down his nose at them, despite being at least two inches shorter than Ron. It was underwhelming to say the least, and with all future history that-didn't-yet-exist-and-hopefully-never-would, Harry felt no energy to get riled up over a snotty blond with a multitude of complexes. Not to mention his issues with his-

Ah.

Think of the Devil and he shall appear, slicked up for the occasion.

Father.

"Mister Potter. So, we have the pleasure of a... what is this now? Second acquaintanceship?" Draco's daddy issues were making an appearance in pure form. Now, truthfully, Lucius Malfoy had the art of looking down his nose disdainfully down to a 'T'. And unlike his son, he had the height of an adult man. Far more effective.

Said man was still tense and at the same time disinterested, standing in front of Harry and Ron with all the confidence of a trained wizard to fledglings.

"Third," Harry corrected after giving it some thought. "Don't you remember the fistfight with Mister Weasley?"

Ron snorted.

"Brawling like muggles," Harry continued. "I thought it rather memorable, but admittedly Arthur's got to work on his aim. He didn't even manage to break your nose, which is naturally the first thing any self-respecting street brawler does, you see."

"You're toeing a very dangerous line, aren't you?" Lucius Malfoy mused, his eyebrows shot up concerningly high. "Rather asking for trouble."

"But self-respect is a very foreign concept to you, isn't it?" Harry went on. "Mister Weasley however, should know better. Or perhaps he was too righteous to smash your face so humiliatingly in front of all those people. You should really thank him for that then."

"This public setting does not give you reign to disrespect a man of society such as myself- " Lucius looked properly angry now.

"I thought it most memorable," Harry said louder as if he hadn't heard the man. "that you started it, Lord Malfoy. But at least in this, you and your son have something in common." He smiled encouragingly to the pink-cheeked teen Malfoy.

"My father and I don't fight like muggles, Potter!" Draco hissed, finally unable to contain himself any longer. "How dare you- "

Harry put on a very surprised face. "Oh that's not what I meant, not at all," he reassured. "I mean that you're both in the nasty habit of starting fights you can't win." Harry saw Hermione coming back from the loo with a look of horror on her face upon realising their company, and he made quick escapes after tapping Ron. Perfect timing, as it was. "See you around," he said peacefully, and ducked out of the thinly-veiled argument with half his soggy Jalopy in hand.

"It's been nearly an hour anyways," Ron said to Hermione, who looked very concerned about whatever they'd been talking about, looking behind them likely back to the Malfoys. "We should get headed back to Leaky's so that mum's all calm."

She seemed to swallow her curiosity. "I'm glad we came back down this way," she said. "I'd like to see more of wizarding London."

"Yeah, brilliant it is." Harry agreed.

"Have you been down Vertik?" Hermione asked suddenly. "I don't know why they don't advertise these sorts of things. I do understand that Knockturn is rather, well, seedy... but there is so much more to Wizarding London than just a high street!"

"I suppose that didn't come in the muggleborn welcome packet," Ron said with his tone a dark, shifty flavour. "They wouldn't want to be too helpful, now would they." Hermione looked to Ron with a funny squint, slowing her stride. "What?" He asked, catching her eye.

"That's not a bad point," she said. "It's starting to seem like there's a lot we just aren't told. Certainly something I've noticed..." She trailed off.

"But you hadn't reckoned I had?" Ron said reasonably. Hermione looked ready to backtrack but Ron was quick to continue. "Yeah to be honest, it's not something I've noticed much- like you or Harry might've. But I s'pose I just grew up wizard. Things are what they are, it's like dad not knowing how a tellyphone works."

"Yes, quite," Hermione said with a small, unsure smile as they walked on. Harry thought it was rather cheating of Ron to show off his maturity hard earned, and certainly nothing like he'd been the first time around. But then again, Harry thought, why would anyone want to pretend to be more foolish than they are?

They could only do themselves and Hermione more favours by not being as inconsiderate and, well, childish.

"Now, what exactly were you talking with Malfoy about?"

"Hermione, we didn't start it honest- "

"He came up behind us, right- "

"Why did you run off like that- "

"Oh, never you mind!"

Being back to Privet Drive that evening didn't feel as entrapping and miserable as it had when they'd first come back. Harry took to stealing away fivers for the bus to get to Diagon Alley more often. There was, after all, no rule that he couldn't- was there?

Fortescue had gotten accustomed to seeing him around, and Harry was glad to chat. He could still remember the man's shop blown away, a burnt out husk. Harry no longer wonders what happened to him, because now he was just fine and right here.

Each time he returned he grew more confident in his exploration, and he sent Ron a couple books he'd picked up but didn't want to read them all himself. Including Ron, being a team player rather than putting it all on his own shoulders, that's what had helped him survive last time. During the war. Carrying the load himself did no great good. So he included his best friend, his only comrade in this time...

He'd sent The Practical Potioneer and Magical Moral Perspective, because Ron had an army of nosy siblings and a mum and dad that would be liable to go through his things at any moment. It wouldn't do for him to have Moste Potente Potions lying around. Ron had then sent him back a very hearty letter full of good laughs and then conversely somber tones that spoke volumes about their sincerity. Things had to work. Work better.

They still wrote Hermione. She seemed to be surprised by the volume of post sent her way this summer, but showed no sign or ever hinted at remembering... everything. Harry hunkered down in Dudley's second bedroom when he wasn't working around the house or pacing in the park near Wisteria Walk. He'd really taken to pacing as of late.

He knew he was lean, slender and waif-like really at this age, but he was strong and had a weedy fitness to him. That was good, having a wiry sort of strength. Always a fast runner, but his magic? That was a whole other story.

Was his magic weaker than he was used to? Did it need muscle memory, like physical activity did? Was his connection to his wand weaker? Could relationships with wands develop differently based on the person holding it? Harry was not the same thirteen year old who took that wand on its trials and tribulations- that relationship would never develop the same again. He was different, but his wand wasn't.

Harry yanked a particularly strong weed in the front flower bed, and wiped away the sweat from his brow. These were the kinds of stupid questions Hermione would know where to find the answers to. Why wasn't she here, instead of him?

Hermione would have come back in time with some twelve-stage plan and saved the world in a year, what were he and Ron going to do? They relied too much on their dynamic, the three of them, a perfect balance, a team.

Harry worked out his frustration in the warm Surrey sun, feeling none of the ache in his muscles or the thirst as his mind circled regrets and half-thorough plans. The mechanical work ground to a stop when the shiny points of his Aunt Petunia's shoes appeared to the side of him.

"You are making quite the scene," Petunia's voice hissed, lips tight and eyes darting about. "Get inside. Wash down with the hose first." She huffed to herself and in that same low undertone said, "Like animals, the lot of those people," before spinning on her heel and returning to the air conditioned house.

Harry stood, feeling tension leak from his body. Suddenly he was very tired, and ready to return to studying.

He never noticed the large, filthy dog that crouched in the hedges, peering through with all the intelligence of a very human person.