A Child
Harry floated in a black void. He felt disconnected. Peaceful. As if he were under water, floating in a black sea. He knew there were sharks in the water. He knew he was wounded and trailing blood. But he couldn't feel it. All he felt was stillness. It was as if someone took the roof off his mind and pressed designs into his brain. It tingled, felt heavy, like a rolling pin pressing out dough. Architecture in 3D maps, walls and barriers to guard and protect. It was a beautiful cathedral spun in crystal light. Over and over, silent fireworks pulsing down into his brain.
And as he floated, unthinking, unfeeling, colors sparked.
Harry admired them in a detached way. As he would art at a museum. Red gold; a sunrise red. And smiling lips, soft as a flower. Green eyes laughing over freckled cheeks. A little girl spinning. Hiding in the bushes crying. Catching snowflakes. Soaring up into a blue summer sky on a playground swing. Dancing in her room, thinking no one can see. Growing strong as she faces down bullies. Older still. Beautiful curves and lines, flushed cheeks and swollen lips. Painfully lovely. Casting spells that creates perfect, breathtaking flowers and trapping starlight in her hands.
Finally, a moment similar to the birth of the universe. An explosion so enormous, it was silent. A moment that changed worlds. As golden red spills around a form broken and lifeless - but still beautiful, always beautiful - those clear green eyes become clouded and dull. A large part of the world dies then. Dies and yet begins to burn. Burn deep. Burn fiercely cold. As cold and fierce as those stars the girl had once captured.
And Harry floated. Watching the images shimmer. Some clearer than others. A sparkling curtain unfolding before him. The patterns of protection continued to embed into his mind. The sharks continued to circle. His blood flowed, staining the waters red and blending with the golden red sunrise and laughing green eyes.
xXx
"I've never seen anything like it." Isabella blinked her eyes in exhaustion. Five young men stared back at her with varying expressions, all intense, as her hands dropped from the Harry Potter's temples.
They were dressed in a strange array of clothes. The tall blond wore elegant black robes. A short man with the longest hair she had ever seen on a male had on Muggle t-shirt and jeans. An asian wore some kind of military uniform. The tall brunet with the side-swept long bangs wore all black like an assassin. Last, there was the most intense of the group. He stared unblinking and animal-like. He wore a tank top, showing massive scarring on one shoulder and arm.
"Can you explain that, please, Healer Blackwood?" The blond of the group spoke politely, however his blue eyes remained locked on hers with an intent that almost cut.
She diverted her gaze down to her patient, too exhausted to have staring contests with the men around her. "His mind was definitely invaded. Instructions were implanted forcibly but with a level of skill I find very impressive. I was able to get an outline of the implanted intelligence. Fortunately, it isn't commands as you feared. Instead, I sense magical knowledge." She realized she was twisting a locke of her hair, a habit of nerves, and forced her fingers to link and still in her lap. "It is not uncommon for wizards to impart spells and rituals in this way. Such sharing is usually entered into mutually. There is a chance Mr. Potter agreed to this mental transfusion."
There was a collective breath from the young men and Isabella looked up hurriedly, cutting off whatever argument they were about to put forth.
"There are deep bruises on Mr. Potter's mind, but it is possible the bruising is from the possession and not the psychic spell. As I did not examine Mr. Potter after the possession and before the psychic spell, I have no way to determine absolutely the exact source of the deep bruising I found."
"Will he heal?"
The question was so sharp and yet devoid of emotion that it made Isabella turn her attention to the dark-haired man in the corner. Dark blue eyes that would fit more naturally in the face of an animal – a wolf or hawk – pierced through her strong enough that she winced. "The mind is very flexible and resilient, in children especially."
She could see they were not impressed with her non-answer, but honestly how was she to know at this early stage - having no understanding of the patient's strengths and medical history - if he would fully recover or not?
"Can you stop it?" the blond continued, bringing her attention back to him.
Isabella gratefully turned away from the brunet who stared so fiercely. This would be another answer they would not like. "I fear interrupting the spell will cause more damage. I suggest letting it play it's course."
"Fuck that!" the braided one snarled, only to fall silent as the blond gave him a sharp look.
"What type of knowledge is being imparted to him?"
Trembling, she felt on the verge of tears. "I do not know. Mr. Potter's mind has been severely battered and is currently under an active mental spell. It would not be wise to force a connection strong enough for me to see exactly what Mr. Potter is being taught. I can say that the mind who cast this spell is incredibly skilled in the Mind Arts. On level with me, a Grand Master Mind Healer. Had this wizard wanted to destroy Mr. Potter, it would have been extremely easy to do so. Instead great care was taken to impart this knowledge in the least damaging way possible. It truly is a masterpiece."
"You sound impressed," the braided one practically growled at her. His unusual violet eyes were so cold. It made her think of death. "This spell could be teaching him something so horrible it will tear apart his sanity. And you sound impressed."
Sweat beaded on her brow and she felt nauseous. "Think of the spell as a soft root," she explained desperately. "His mind is moist clay. Firm and heavy. Dense. The root is burrowing gently through the clay in a preset pattern and will come to a stop when that pattern is complete. Ripping the root out will tear it upwards, slicing through the clay and leaving more damage in its wake. I can smooth the surface of the clay and add moisture to the inside, but it will take years to heal."
"Enough metaphor! What are the specific physical effects?" the asian snapped furiously. He had also taken to a corner, but he pushed off the wall and strode forward. Isabella flinched back.
"L-leaving the spell until completion," she stammered, "side effects include the psychological effect of the knowledge, as you pointed out. Headache. Nausea. Fatigue. Dizziness. Trying to stop and remove the spell while it is active: Mood disorders. New or worsened phobias. New likes and dislikes. Memory loss. Possible new creative talent, like painting or poetry. Or the loss of it."
"Removing the spell once it has finished?" the one with animal eyes asked.
"An Obliviate targeting the root would make the knowledge disappear from his conscious mind, but there is a high chance of emotional bleed through. Meaning he wouldn't remember the knowledge, but however the knowledge effected him emotionally would likely still be there."
"Thank you, Healer Blackwood," the blond said oh so politely. However, the finality of that polite phrase sounded like a permanent goodbye and Isabella began to cry, absolutely terrified. "We will discuss this. Please wait awhile." He lifted his wand and she collapsed into blackness.
xXx
Quatre looked around at the group. They were in the large master bedroom at Grimmuald Place. After locking down the hospital and hearing the preliminary reports of Harry's new condition, they had decided that Harry was well enough to leave. He was too exposed there, and really there was nothing more the Healers could do. The hospital Mind Healers absolutely refused to do anything about the spell mucking about in Harry's mind, claiming they were not skilled enough to even attempt it.
So Trowa had gone to Innoxia and was pointed to an Italian Mind Healer of world renowned ability. He had put a quick mission together with Duo, who was already in Rome, and they had abducted the woman, portkeying back to the house. They now had decisions to make.
"Are we certain Dumbledore did not do this?" Wufei asked, looking around at their circle.
"Yes," Quatre spoke confidently. He was certain that magic could not fool his empathy. Even casting Cheering Charms would not cover up the person's true emotional state to Quatre's senses. It just added a brighter layer on top of the reality. Dumbledore had been genuinely surprised.
Duo swore. He spun and punched the wall hard enough that blood was smeared in his wake. He broke the circle and began to pace the outskirts of the room.
"We evaluate Harry when the spell is done and decide if an Obliviate is needed," Trowa voiced the obvious.
"I don't understand this," Wufei practically hissed. His eyes were so narrowed, they were almost not visible. "We took down the Dark Lord. We had him at our mercy. We are the solders, the weapons of death. Why is Harry being targeted so passionately? He is not a threat!"
A wave of exhaustion nearly took Quatre off his feet. All the fury and fear, the tension and agony of having their little brother so hurt, it had taken everything out of him. Trowa's strong chest pressed against his back and he leaned into that strength.
"He's their symbol. The prophecy has marked him," Duo spat. He had his braid in his hands now and was wringing it. "So the world will keep turning to him for help and the enemy will keep targeting him until he's down for good."
"The problem is that the more I see of magic, the more I'm certain running away won't help. Harry will keep getting pulled in," Trowa whispered and there was so much sorrow and pain in his voice that tears literally filled Quatre's eyes.
Like a blade of ice, Heero doused the emotions in the room with machine-like logic. "Harry is secure for now. We have acquired a doctor to tend to his mind when he wakes. Our first priority is the removal of Riddle's connection to Harry's soul. Our secondary objective is Harry's mental recovery. We will split into two teams. Duo, Wufei, and Trowa will pursue soul purification and exorcism. Quatre's and my primary mission will be Harry's recovery by any means possible. Dr. Bohren is in a hotel approximately ten minutes by car. Iria and Dr. Po can also assist in his recovery as needed. Any questions?"
"Sir no sir!" Duo snapped a salute. The tone was playful, but his eyes were dull, his heart not in it.
Heero grabbed his braid and tugged at it.
"Trowa, Duo, meet me downstairs in five." Wufei turned and knelt. He whispered something into Harry's ear that they couldn't hear. Those dark eyes locked onto Heero's for a long minute before he stood and stalked from the room.
"Well, Wu-man has spoken." Duo clapped his hands, ignoring the throb of pain from his scrapped and bruised knuckles. He ran his fingertips down Harry's braid that had been laid carefully over his shoulder before following in his friend's wake.
"Send regular reports," Trowa requested. He cast a long look of worry over Harry before he too left to prepare for his mission.
xXx
Duo's knuckles had been healed by magical salve. If only Harry could be fixed as easily. A coin flashed across his recently regrown fingers. The white collar and black suit that was his trademark wrapped him in comfort. His braid was tightly woven, his bangs brushed back. His expression did not betray his nerves, blank and solemn.
He sat in a wide hall wallpapered in a faint floral pattern. Golden artificial light filled the windowless space. Urns and sculptures sat on pedestal and chandeliers hung elegantly. Paintings of angels and dramatized scenes from the bible played out over his head on the arched ceiling.
Duo knew them all by heart. He was not an official member of the clergy. He wore the priest smock in honor of Father Maxwell, murdered by soldiers in his own church. The Father's death had driven Duo to bloody revenge and into the cockpit of his Gundam, which sort of prevented him from ever truly being welcomed by the church. He was tolerated to wear Father Maxwell's uniform only because Duo did not preach. Still, official priest or not, he had some connections in the church.
As he waited on Father Hawthorne to finish receiving his mission instructions from the Bishop, Duo found his mind returning to Harry once more.
. . .
Still small and petite for his age, nine-year-old Harry shuffled into the bedroom. "S-Sorry for waking you up, Duo," he whispered.
The boy was cute as all hell. His dark, wavy hair fell to his shoulders and his bangs were held back by a purple headband. His eyes were downcast behind his thin silver glasses and he clutched some sort of papers to his chest. His thick lower lip was pulled between small white teeth. The little boy shifted his weight from side-to-side in a nervous pattern. His white sleep shirt and cartoon pajama pants were rumpled from being slept in.
"Harry-chan," Duo smiled. He had been sleeping less than two hours, arriving home late. However, he was always jumpy after missions dealing with one of Quatre's unforgivable cases, and Harry didn't often enter Heero and Duo's bedroom. Thus, Duo was instantly wide-awake and alert. "Jump in bed with me." He lifted the covers, offering Harry space next to him.
"H-Heero told me you were sleeping," Harry confessed as he moved forward and slowly accepted the offered space. "I know you got in late."
"But you had to talk to me," Duo filled in for him. "Kiddo, you can always come see me."
They settled together, both sitting up with the headboard at their backs, the warm covers draped over their laps. The mysterious papers were still held to Harry's chest as the little boy's face turned up to look at him. Those green eyes were so wide and clear, so earnest.
"I..." Harry bit his lip harshly one more time before releasing it to speak. "I'm sorry, Duo."
Duo nodded. "It's okay, Harry. It's normal to get mad at each other sometimes." It was unavoidable actually. Especially for Duo. He pissed everyone off at some point or other. "I just don't know what I did that made you mad. Can you tell me now?"
Harry ducked his head, breaking eye contact, and Duo couldn't resist running his hand through Harry's soft hair. "It wasn't like that. You don't make me mad, Duo. And the others shouldn't get mad at you all the time either. They just don't understand sometimes what you mean."
Duo's hand had stilled. He cocked his head to the side. "What do I mean?"
Green eyes met his again and this time with an understanding that took Duo's breath away. "You want their attention. Sometimes they don't see us. Not really."
"Oh, Harry." Duo wrapped the little boy in his arms. He felt a love so powerful it brought tears to his eyes. "If you weren't mad at me, then why did you ignore me?"
"I . . . I should be okay with it," Harry confessed. "I mean, I'm so lucky. It's only fair she gets a chance, too." The papers crinkled in Harry's arms. "I . . . I'm bad."
"No," Duo said fiercely and tilted Harry's chin so he could see the child's pained expression. "No, Harry. You know the rules. No self-hate."
Silent tears spilled over Harry's flushed cheeks. "But this t-time I really was bad. I was selfish."
"Selfish?" Duo was more confused than ever. "Fill me in, kiddo. I'm not sure I understand. What are we talking about?"
"I didn't want to share you," Harry sniffed, voice so thick with shame that Duo could almost taste it.
Duo scrunched his whole face up. "Still not sure what we're talking about."
"Quatre and Trowa's kid," Harry answered so solemnly. "They want to have a kid now that they're married. And you're looking for their baby. A baby who needs a home like I did. Because their family hurts them."
Duo's mouth fell open in utter surprise. A few things ran through his mind. First, he'd had no idea Harry knew what he did for Cat. Second, he really hoped Harry didn't know the specifics of what he did for Cat. Third, how the heck had Harry come to the conclusion that Cat and Trowa wanted him to find them a kid?
Harry sniffed one more time before rubbing his face. He straightened his shoulders and offered Duo the papers. "I'm sorry, Duo. You . . . You're a hero. You save kids like me, and . . . I love you all so much. I thought about it and I'm really sorry I got upset. It was bad of me. Quatre and Trowa will be great parents. And I . . . I'll try and be a good big brother, like you are to me."
Duo accepted the papers and saw they were Harry's distinctive child-like drawings in crayon. The first picture was of Duo; the long braid identified him. Small stick-figures with smiling faces surrounded him. The kids Duo had "saved". Beside the crowd was a house with an open door. It read "Winner's Circle", the name of Quatre's therapy/playground shelters. The sky was blue and the sun was bright yellow.
The next paper was of Cat and Tro to one side. Yellow on their fingers showed their new wedding bands. The braided stick-figure had a small stick figure by the hand. There was no sun in this picture, but the sky was still blue. And Harry (the silver glasses drawn on the face gave him away) stood to the side and held a sign that said Big Brother. And all of them were smiling big red smiles.
Tears blurred Duo's eyes, and he carefully set aside the drawings before taking Harry into his arms. "You are the most unselfish kid I know, Harry," he rasped.
Harry had been with them a little over a year. He'd only recently recovered enough from his severe abuse to think and feel somewhat as a child his age should. Things were just beginning to stabilize. Their family just beginning to really be one. And yet, here Harry was, beating himself up over not wanting to change that. Guilty for wanting to protect what he had.
Duo wouldn't have been nearly as tolerant at the potential arrival of a needy kid into the family had he been in Harry's shoes. In fact, Duo had been a true terror when he'd grown jealous of new kids arriving at the Maxwell church. Not Harry. Four days of silent treatment and then Harry had opened his heart and family to another child.
"I don't know where you got this idea, Harry, but Tro and Cat aren't looking for a kid to adopt," Duo said softly, holding Harry tighter. "There's lots of families who need children. Ours isn't one. We have you, silly."
Harry pulled away to stare at him with wide eyes. "But I heard Cat say he wanted you to find him a little girl. And I know you work for him. Helping the abused kids at the Circle."
Duo grinned. Thank god he thinks I just work at the shelter! "He wanted me to find a little girl who went missing and then return her to her family," he laughed, heart still feeling full to bursting. He tugged at Harry's hair. "What's our second rule? No assuming!"
Harry grinned and flung his arms around Duo as tight as he could. "I'm sorry!"
"It's okay, kiddo. I'd have been mad at me, too. This is our family. You have every right to have an opinion about who comes into it." Duo kissed the top of his head, then his temple. "They would have talked with you about an adoption if they were thinking about it."
Harry was crying again, and it didn't take an empath to see the relief and lingering guilt in those tears.
Duo reached for the papers and handed them back to his little brother. "Here. Save these. Maybe someday you will get to be the awesome big brother I know you could be."
"But not yet," Harry whispered with a hot blush.
"Not yet," he agreed and ruffled the kid's hair.
"I love you so much, Duo. You always understand," Harry exclaimed, melting Duo even further.
"Love you, too," he whispered back as he practically fell into those green eyes.
However Harry had come into their lives, he was theirs now. Theirs in every way a child can belong to a family. And Duo knew he'd love this kid until his dying day.
. . .
"Maxwell. Are you ready? I understood the case was urgent?"
Duo snapped out of his memory and looked up at Father Hawthorne. He was in his mid-thirties, lean and muscled. He was the church's strongest exorcist. His black suit and white collar matched Duo's exactly. He had the red hair and ruddy complexion of the Irish, but his accent was American, very similar to Duo's actually who grew up on L2, the American founded colony.
"Yeah." Duo stood and shifted his shoulders to get them to loosen up. "I'll take you to Harry."
"I'm not sure what I can do. Harry is not possessed by a demon."
"The spirit in him is not always conscious, but it did take over his body once. And it is definitely evil," Duo disagreed as they strode down the ornate hallway.
"But not of Hell. It is a spirit of earth?" the Father questioned.
Duo paused and stared solemnly into the man's earnest eyes. "Look. This is my brother, my kid, we're talking about. Anything you can do would be appreciated. I asked the Bishop if you would be allowed to have a look and he agreed it couldn't do any harm."
"I will do my very best," Father Hawthorne promised.
"Thank you." Duo turned and they said nothing more as they made their way from the church to the airport. Unfortunately, Father Hawthorne was a Muggle, so there would be no Apparating or flooing.
xXx
The Chang's owned quite a bit of land that was magically hidden within the largest forest in the UK. Galloway Forest Park was officially operated by the Forestry Commission Scotland and spanned land in both Dumfries and Galloway. It had amazing vistas that reminded Wufei of the images he'd seen of China. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and so was the five tiered Chinese palace that was guarded by a large ornate wooden wall and powerful blood-wards.
This was the Chang legacy. Wufei couldn't deny the tightening in his chest when he saw the beautiful compound. The palace embodied his family culture; all that he had thought lost had been preserved here. It was a joy to behold, and his first thought was to share it with Harry. The pain at that thought nearly took his breath away.
. . .
Wufei slammed the phone down in an unusual display of temper, ending another angry phone call with a newspaper editor.
Last week the Liberation, the most popular newspaper on L4, had printed an article written by a newly popular psychiatrist that emphasized the importance of the family unit. It went on to proport that nothing could replace the family unit once damaged or lost, and that adoptions, though made out of love and good intent, were unhealthy since they were just futile attempts to replace what was lost. Mental disease and violence would result when those attempts inevitably failed. He cited many case studies where adopted children turned on the family in hatred and went in search of their biological connections.
Offended by this article and outraged knowing adoptions would decrease if such experts kept ignorantly twisting facts, Wufei had written an essay discrediting the man's theory. He pointed out that the case studies the doctor had referenced all had one thing in common: the adopted families lied to the children and never told them they were adopted.
Wufei argued that adoption, just like parenting, had do's and do not's. For example, parents should not lie to their children – adopted or not – because that would break the foundation of trust between parent and child. Many children who were not adopted also turned from their parents in hatred and violence due to betrayal, oppression, abuse, etc. The result of those case studies the doctor had used had nothing to do with the kid being adopted and everything to do with being lied to.
However, the newspaper would not print his response to the article. The injustice of innocent children wronged or abandoned by their birth family to be further wronged and abandoned by society was hard to swallow. Especially in light of all they were finding out at Winner's Circle. And Harry! To have this sanctimonious ingrate diminish the bond they had with Harry was intolerable.
"Wufei," Quatre called through his study door. "I think you should see this."
Wufei took a deep breath and opened his door. Quatre stood there with sparkling eyes and a large smile. He was dressed for work, clearly having made a detour to hand Wufei the paper. It was opened to an article titled, "In A Child's Words".
"Looks like someone out there agreed with you. Do you think it was one of the kids at Winner's Circle?" Quatre asked excitedly. "It's anonymous, but I'd love to think Winner's Circle made an impact on the kids there."
"Let me read it, please," Wufei protested. He moved, eyes never leaving the page, to sit behind his desk.
The article was well written, but it was clearly a child's words. It spoke of the strong bond between him and his adopted family, the gratitude and love he felt. It also intelligently brought up the points Wufei had been trying to make. One particularly powerful passage stated:
"It's sad, but not all families are good ones. Kids who aren't adopted can hate their family. And sometimes families can hate their own kids. I think if an adopted kid hates their family, it isn't because they were adopted. It has to be for a different reason. You can't ever hate someone because they adopt you. To have no family and be chosen when you thought all you can do is disappear and die, you can only love someone who does that and be very thankful. If hate comes later, it's for a different reason. Like secrets or being treated bad or unfairly. That will hurt any kid, and maybe especially an adopted kid, who is so grateful and doesn't always believe they deserve to be saved."
Wufei looked up, keeping his face carefully blank. "Thank you, Quatre. I am satisfied. I will cease my calls to the editor."
"That's good, Wufei. I'm glad." Quatre smiled. "Have a good day! I'll be home for dinner, I hope."
"Have a good day," Wufei echoed.
Once he was sure Quatre had gone, he made his way through the house to the back yard. The sprawling and very expensive green expanse was brightly lit by the morning setting of the sky panels. He could see Trowa and Harry playing tag. The little boy's glasses glinted in the sunlight. His hair was pulled back into a very short braid that fell just past his shoulders. He was smiling and laughing.
Wufei's hand clenched around the paper, tears actually touching his eyes. He knew who had written the article: Harry Potter, his little brother, his student. Wufei was his main instructor. He knew the boy's style and way with words. It was undoubtably his brother, and Wufei was so proud of him he almost burned with it. Harry had been nearly illiterate only a year and a half ago, and here was his essay – intelligent and well written – printed in the paper. More, it was a public declaration of their family bond. Like Wufei, Harry would not allow anyone to diminish what they had.
Harry looked up at the window, as if feeling Wufei's eyes. The boy tilted his head and offered a smile. Wufei gave a wave and moved to join his family on the lawn.
. . .
Wufei shook off the powerful memory and refocused on his goal. He had come to petition Master Chang for information about well known, powerful exorcists. A servant politely informed him that Master Chang was in the middle of his morning Tai Chi, but that he'd see Wufei immediately if he cared to join him for some light sparring. Of course Wufei accepted.
He was led to a dojo embedded within the sprawling palace. The dojo was very traditional. Bamboo mats and wooden pillars. Gorgeous artwork hung beside the dojo's manifesto written in elegant kanji: Justice, Strength, Knowledge. It was a large room, easily able to hold thirty to forty students. However, Master Chang was alone. The stillness of that room soaked into Wufei. The bamboo-meshed windows let in small beams of light that caught the timeless dance of dust and further created an atmosphere of stillness.
Chang Xian, Head of the Chang Clan and Cho's father, knelt in front of the manifesto, eyes closed in meditation, already wearing a black gi. As silently as possible, Wufei changed into a matching gi of white before kneeling next to Master Chang and just behind. Wufei took several breaths, clearing his heart and mind, before standing fluidly.
Master Chang stood as well. They bowed and took ready positions. The Master's face was long and angular. He had a thin, long mustache with a long, thin beard. His eyebrows were thick and sharp. His eyes dark black and intelligent. He was taller than Wufei but not by much, maybe half a head. He was also heavier. There was muscle in his build, but it was padded with the fat that often came with age. Wufei was whip thin. His muscles carved and hardened.
The two men – one young and the other nearing middle age – traded blows. It was a friendly fight. Wufei did not apply his true power, but he did not hide his skill, which was inarguably higher than Master Chang's. The Clan Head was a powerful man and had clearly studied martial arts all his life, but he had never been in true combat. Wufei had honed his skills in the wars and continued to sharpen that edge against his very powerful brothers.
While they fought, Wufei spoke of his need. Long moments passed before Master Chang informed Wufei of a man who was quite strict in his Taoist practices and was renowned for his spiritual power. There was no guarantee that the Quanzhen would come to London to help.
Wufei bowed deeply, hands folded before him. "Thank you, Master," he spoke in Chinese. "I will go now and petition Quanzhen Qui Chuji."
Master Chang returned the bow, indicating his respect for Wufei. "Go safely, Chang Wufei. Please keep me informed of developments."
"Yes, Master," Wufei bowed again and quickly slipped out of the borrowed gi and into his clothes. He'd need Remus to make him a portkey to China.
x X x
Chapter end. Please forgive any errors regarding Chinese culture.
A/N: What do you guys think so far?