XII. Vis Viva
"Do you mind if we sit here?"
"Uh," said Julie.
Lily rolled her eyes and opened the compartment door.
Marlene was inside, and the reason for Julie's hesitation. She was frowning at her long, pastel colored fingernails. Mary sat beyond her, quietly reading a book.
"Lily!" Marlene squealed, abandoning her self-scrutiny to jump up and throw her arms around her friend. "How are you? How's..."
Her voice trailed off. She was several inches taller than Lily, tall enough to look over her head at Julie. Fuck, Julie thought.
Lily's written her and told her everything.
"Excuse me," she said primly, and she swept past Marlene to the window seat. Mary edged away from her a little bit, but when she met Julie's eye she smiled.
Mary, at least, didn't talk very much, so Julie didn't mind her. She was sincere, and she didn't gossip.
The train jerked into motion, accompanied by the shouts of parents on the platform, calling out to their children.
"How was your family?" Lily asked.
Mary shrugged. "All right."
"Yeah?"
Smiling, a little uncomfortably, Mary slipped a piece of paper into her book and closed it. "My mother wants a divorce."
"Oh," said Lily. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but she's not going to do anything about it...obviously my gram will disown my dad if he gets divorced, because she's Catholic...and a nutter...so."
"Oh."
"Next Christmas I'll spend here. And then I'm moving to London, so I only have to see them one more summer."
"So that's good then..."
The conversation trailed off, and Marlene took it as a cue. "You won't believe what happened to me in Venice."
"Let me guess," said Julie dispassionately. "You fell in love, and it was like nothing you've ever experienced before."
Marlene pouted. "You don't have to be so...anyway, I met the cutest boy I have ever seen, oh my God..."
The compartment door slid open. Mary put her book away, sighed, and leaned her head back. She wouldn't get any reading done now.
James looked almost nervous as he stuck his head inside, and the expression was very unfamiliar on his face. His eyes landed on Julie, and he half smiled. And he knows too. His father must have told him...
"There's space to sit down," Marlene said cheerily. Lily was shaking her head frantically, but James slid the door open all the way and sat down across from Julie, right next to Lily. She slumped against the window. Sirius followed him, then Remus, and lastly Peter, who had to squish himself next to Marlene, to the discomfort of both.
Sirius sat down next to James, quite far from Julie, but his eyes were on hers. Something squirmed around in her stomach, like a creature chasing its own tail. So that was still happening.
Purely from an anthropological point of view, this was interesting. She had sort of expected to stop caring.
It was quiet. Mary was looking out the window, Lily and James were both gazing fixedly at Julie to avoid looking at each other, Remus was apparently sleeping. Marlene was looking at her nails again.
Peter, of all people, broke the silence. "So, anything good happen over break?"
Lily made a warning noise, but too late. Julie stood abruptly and walked out, weaving between the trunks and owl cages on the floor.
"Oh, shit," said Lily softly. Sirius half stood, as if to go after her, and James pulled him back down.
"Leave her alone," he muttered. Sirius looked at him, skeptical for a moment, and then shrugged, conceding the point.
"Shall we talk about something else?" said Marlene tartly. "Quidditch, perhaps?"
"Oh, my god, McKinnon—did you listen to the Wasps' last game?"
And in five minutes, Marlene, James and Sirius were involved in a loud, mostly good-natured argument about the prospects of the Wasps and the Arrows.
"Unbelievable," Lily mumbled. Only James heard her, and he smiled, without looking at her.
Unbelievable, she thought again.
The weather changed as they moved north, and by the time the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, it was dismally, steadily raining. Nobody saw what carriage Julie got into, or if she was with anyone, but when the other sixth years got to the castle, hair flattened to their heads, water dripping off their chins and ears, she was sitting on the side of the steps up to the door, smoking. The stream of students going up and inside parted around her.
"Up, Scottie," James said upon reaching her. The other Gryffindors were behind him. She narrowed her eyes at him before giving him her hand. He hoisted her up and she dropped her cigarette on the ground. The rain put it out before she stubbed it out with her boot. She must have been using an Impervius charm to light it in the first place; James had to admire her commitment.
"Great, can we keep moving, please?" said Marlene.
Julie turned and went in.
Dripping students were milling around in the Great Hall, waiting for dinner. They gathered in small clusters, exchanging news, some of them trying out charms to dry each other's robes. James and Marlene were still talking about Quidditch; now they had moved on to their own team.
"Really, we don't have a lot of time until the Ravenclaw match, but I'm not really bothered," James was saying. "They've got terrible Beaters this season—the Slytherin match was just embarrassing."
"Not for Slytherin it wasn't," Marlene said grimly. "Pyncheon is a crack Keeper, and I'm not sure we're up to it, honestly..."
James shrugged, unconcerned. He, Marlene, and Julie, the three Chasers, made a good team: strong players, focused, and intimidating. And then he looked over at Julie, who had her head turned away, a vacant expression on her face, fingers fidgeting at her sides, and he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.
She'll be all right once we start training again, he tried to reassure himself.
Julie wasn't lost in thought. She was listening to two conversations at once: one in front of her, between James and Marlene, and one behind her, between a group of Slytherins.
"Christmas was fun, I stayed with Aurelia," said a sharp-voiced girl. She had a sharp face to go along with it, and Julie conjured it up in her mind's eye: Annabelle Fawley, a skinny, untalented girl, a born follower.
"It was dull," said Aurelia Malfoy, in response to the same question. "But we're closer to getting out of this place, anyway."
"Did you get that Ministry pamphlet?" snickered Avery, instantly recognizable by his nasal voice. "Safety Measures for Muggles and Muggleborns?"
Aurelia made a soft scoffing noise.
"Place any protective charms on your neighbors' houses lately?" Avery went on.
"I don't live within fifty miles of a Muggleborn," Aurelia said coolly.
Avery started to say something—maybe an apology, since his joke had been so poorly received—but he was cut off. "It's disgusting," said Mulciber. "They can't protect themselves, so we should take care of them? If they're to weak to stay alive, they deserve to die."
The feeling was not unlike taking a shot: Julie felt poisonously nauseous and infinitely powerful at the same time. Her ears were ringing.
She spun on her heel, elbowed Annabelle Fawley in the ribcage, and launched herself at Mulciber.
Everything was happening so fast—she had only the vaguest sense of her audience, the ripple of heads turning, the packed hall becoming an arena—she was on the ground, she had him pinned down, knees on his gut, and she grabbed his shoulders and slammed his head into the stone floor.
Slam. Slam. Slam.
She spoke in time with the blows, a word for every crack of his skull: "Say. That. Again. You. Son. Of. A bitch."
She waited, held her breath, giving him a chance to speak, and behind her hundreds of students held their breath as well.
"Wh-what?" he said feebly.
She punched him in the face, and the entire room heard his nose break.
A girl screamed.
"All right, enough," said a boy behind her. She was distracted, watching Mulciber's eyes flutter and roll back in his head, and when someone grabbed her by the elbows and pulled her upright she was surprised, and struggled.
"That's enough, Julia, stop!" the someone shouted. Around her there was a flurry of movement. People were drawing their wands, the Gryffindors trying to cover her back. Somebody screamed again: Siobhan.
Julie tried to wiggle her elbows, and then she tried to step on the toes of her captor, but it was only when she slammed her head backwards into his face and heard glass crunch that she realized who was holding her. It was James. He swore, loudly, and put her in a headlock.
"What is going on?"
A furious voice cut through the chaos. Julie looked up and finally stopped fighting: Professor McGonagall had opened the doors of the Great Hall. Her lips were white, her nostrils flared; Julie had never seen her so angry.
At once, students broke out in excited explanation, many of them with no idea what had happened. But there was Mulciber, bleeding on the floor, and James holding Julie back; it didn't take a genius to figure it out.
"Thank you," Professor McGonagall said crisply. "Avery, Potts, Moran, take Mr. Mulciber to the Hospital Wing." She waved her wand, and a stretcher appeared. Another wave, and Mulciber rose gently into the air, landing on the stretcher.
"And you," she continued, turning to Julie, who stared at her defiantly, "you come with me. Yes, Mr. Potter, you may accompany her if you wish."
Slowly and uncertainly, James let go of Julie. She stood very still, as if to prove that she wasn't going to cause any more trouble, but her eyes, when she looked at him, were narrowed with contempt. Straight-backed, she followed Professor McGonagall.
The path to the headmaster's office was familiar to James. He had been there only once before, but the occasion was a memorable one: early in fifth year, when he had saved Snape's life. It was his worst memory, that or the month afterwards, when he had refused to speak to Sirius...and Sirius had almost been expelled...he had gone home for Christmas, and his mother had not been able to understand why Sirius had stayed at Hogwarts...
What a terrible year fifth year had been. One bad thing after another.
"Fizzing Whizzbee," said McGonagall, and the gargoyle in front of them jumped aside, revealing a smoothly ascending spiral staircase. "You can wait here if you wish, Mr. Potter.
James tried to say something polite, but found that he could only make a small gulping noise. Julie shot him a look of deepest scorn; but his glasses had fallen from his face after she smashed them and he had no idea where they were, so he didn't really get the full effect. She stepped onto the staircase in front of the professor and the gargoyle moved back into place.
James' face was stinging just below one eye, where his broken glasses had cut him. His nose hurt from the blow as well—but nothing like Mulciber's, that sickening snap of bone, the blood from his nostrils, blood at his temple—
Acid rose up in his throat, and he leaned heavily against the wall, then sank down to the floor. He felt sick. He was going to throw up. He tried putting his head between his knees, but it was awkward in his still-damp robes, so he rested his head against the wall, and closed his eyes. He felt very vulnerable without his glasses.
When he opened his eyes, there was a blurry figure at the end of the corridor. It was only by her extraordinarily bright hair that he could recognize her at all.
"James," she said, and then stopped.
For a second, he couldn't breathe. The memory of that other time—the last time she had called him James—physically hit him: his throat constricted, and his stomach jolted.
She was coming down the hallway now. She was standing in front of him now.
"Sorry," she said, for no reason he could see. (Not that he could see much.) "I just...I found your glasses."
She had fixed them. They were fixed. He reached up and took them, and settled them on his ears, and her face sprung into focus. She was chewing on her bottom lip. He could not think of anything to say; his mind had gone completely blank.
"You're waiting for Julie, right?"
"Yeah."
"Can I wait with you?"
"If you want."
She sat on the floor next to him, with about a foot of space between them. There was a pause.
"You, um—you have blood on your face," she said hesitantly. "No, not—here." She reached out and gently rubbed her thumb under his eye. Her hand was cool. "Maybe you should put some ice on that."
"Right."
And then she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall, just as he had. She didn't look well herself; her face was pale, with purple shadows under her eyes. It seemed pointless to ask if she was all right; she wasn't, and neither was he.
He was trying to keep from thinking about her, but there was only one other place his mind would go. Crack, crack, crack, skull to stone and Julie's pale flat eyes. He shivered.
Lily must have opened her eyes without him noticing, because she very lightly touched his hand with the back of her fingers, as if to reassure him.
"How are things with your boyfriend?" he asked. His voice was low and even and very polite.
"What boyfriend?"
He laughed incredulously. "What boyfriend? Nigel Fontaine, isn't that his name? Seventh year, Ravenclaw?"
"Right, yeah, I know," said Lily quickly, blushing. "Nigel, yeah. He's fine—he's, er, not really my boyfriend. I mean, we've been on a few dates."
"What boyfriend," James repeated. "Even for you, Evans, that's cold."
She stiffened. "It's really none of your business," she said, very coldly indeed.
"Well, sorry for asking. I was just making conversation, you know."
"You probably shouldn't try."
"Right."
"It's not really one of your talents."
"And what exactly are my talents?"
She rolled her eyes extravagantly.
And they sat in silence.
Julie felt calm, and empty. Not happy, really, but it was a sweet feeling, like slipping something cool under her tongue. Relief.
Professor McGonagall, clearly, felt a great deal worse. Her face was white, and her lips as thin as Julie had ever seen them. The spiral staircase led them to a door, and McGonagall knocked sharply.
"Enter."
She pulled open the door and gestured Julie inside.
The headmaster's office was a large, beautiful room. It was circular—they must have climbed into a tower. And it was full of sound; the rain, spattering against the dark windows, whirs and puffs coming from various small contraptions, set up on little tables around the room, and the rustle of pages. Professor Dumbledore was sitting at an enormous, claw-footed desk in the center of the room, reading a book as big as an atlas.
And a soft cluck, the sound of a bird. Julie turned and looked over her shoulder. There was a bird, an enormous scarlet bird, with tail feathers as long as her arm and as bright as molten gold, perched beside the door. It looked at her with shining black eyes and clicked its beak.
Professor McGonagall swept past her to the headmaster's desk, bending to speak in Professor Dumbledore's ear, too quiet for Julie to hear.
"I see," he said softly. "And the boy?"
"Hospital Wing."
"I'll see him after. Please take a seat, Miss Fraser."
Julie pulled out the indicated chair and settled herself in it, uneasy under Professor McGonagall's gaze.
Dumbledore placed a blue ribbon in his book, closed it carefully, and moved it to the side. Then he folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Well, Miss Fraser. Is there anything you would like to say for yourself?"
"I like your bird," said Julie. "Professor."
"Thank you, I like him too. Professor McGonagall says you attacked a student."
"I did," said Julie. No point in lying.
Dumbledore studied her with a serious expression on his face. "Is there a reason why you would do that? Were you provoked in some way?"
Julie shrugged. "You know Mulciber as well as I do...or perhaps not. Take my word for it—he's a very provoking person."
Professor Dumbledore just looked at her with his clear blue eyes. "All right, Miss Fraser. You should know that an assault on another student is grounds for expulsion. And your disciplinary record is not exactly sterling. However, Professor McGonagall has recommended that, taking into account your academic record, which is very impressive indeed—allow me to congratulate me on your Ancient Runes O.W.L. by the way—that you should be allowed to stay, and be placed on academic probation."
Julie raised her eyebrows. She couldn't find it in her to care in the slightest. She had a great deal of experience with teachers' and head teachers' offices—she had been in the office of the head teacher at Beauly Primary School at least a dozen times, for such petty misdemeanors as hitting people with her fists, with her books, tripping other students, throwing her lunch at other students, etc, etc. Ad nauseum, sometimes her own nausea, more often someone else's. And this was her usual tactic—sit in their chairs and smile in their faces, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.
Julie wasn't someone who spent a great deal of time thinking about her future.
"This is no small punishment, Miss Fraser. You will remain on probation for the rest of the term. And you will meet with Professor McGonagall weekly for a detention, for the rest of the term. Does that sound all right?"
"You're not gonna make me apologise to Mulciber, are you?"
"I think you'd better stay far away from him," Professor McGonagall interrupted sharply.
Dumbledore sighed. "I find that compulsory apologies rarely achieve what they are supposed to. If you find yourself in a generous mood, by all means."
Julie raised her eyebrows.
"Come to my office tomorrow at seven," said Professor McGonagall.
"Yes, Professor."
"Perhaps you had better not go down to the Great Hall for dinner. I can get you something—"
"That's all right, Professor, I'm not really hungry."
"Really? Then I suppose you may go." Professor McGonagall stepped aside to let her pass.
The bird looked at her again as she left. It had liquid black eyes, and she imagined it could read her mind.
James was sitting on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. He looked up when she stepped into the hallway—so she hadn't broken his glasses after all—and a number of emotions passed over his face, none of them easy to read. Lily was there too, although they weren't talking to each other; they both scrambled to their feet.
"What'd they say?" said Lily, but James just watched her, fixed his eyes on her face.
"Detention for the rest of the term," Julie said.
"Not so bad," said Lily with a shrug, and James looked at her.
"You two can go down to dinner now," said Julie.
"I'll walk you to the Common Room," Lily said. "You do realize that every Slytherin is out for your blood?"
Julie snorted. "I think I can handle it."
"I'm sure you can," said James quietly.
It wasn't a long way to Gryffindor Tower. Lily walked at her side and James a few steps behind. Julie imagined that having bodyguards felt like this.
The Fat Lady watched her apprehensively as the little group approached. "So, they didn't kick you out?" she said.
"Nightingale," said Julie, and the portrait swung open. Swearing at paintings, she knew from experience, wasn't very rewarding.
And the day's exertions were beginning to catch up to her. She was bone-weary.
"For fuck's sake, Potter, why're you looking at me like that?" she snapped.
He inhaled. "Jesus. What you just did? In the Entrance Hall?"
She was staring at him, as if she had no idea why he was upset.
"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen."
"Oh." She gazed at him with something like sadness. "No offense, Jamie, but you haven't seen much." She looked from James to Lily, and then she gave them a half smile. "Cheers," she said, and she turned and went up the girls' stairs.
"Jamie?" Lily repeated. "You don't seem like a Jamie to me."
"Yeah," said James. "I dunno, she's Scottish." He frowned at the staircase. "You hungry? I'm going off to steal something from the kitchens."
"No," said Lily. "Thanks."
He turned his head suddenly and met her eyes. "Well. A lonely life of crime for me. See you round, Evans."
"Yeah," she said. "Bye."
He jumped out the portrait hole and was gone.
The room was very still. She turned aimlessly on the spot for a second.
Even for you, Evans, that's cold.
"Oh, fuck off," she muttered. She rubbed the heel of her hand into her forehead for a second. What am I doing? she thought. Being friends with Julie would only make her life messier. She did not like feeling taken advantage of, as she invariably did when she was kind to someone who would never be kind in return. Last year, Julie had spent most of her time alone or with Niamh; she had not been close with Lily. And Marlene, who was Lily's best friend—who had been so good to her after the Snape fiasco—couldn't stand Julie, had no patience with her. And the feeling was entirely mutual. Julie made enemies the way Potter played Quidditch—gleefully, easily, and often.
And that was bothering her too. James, who really did like Julie, and knew her well, and seemed to know a bit more about the whole situation. James who was looking out for Julie, trying to keep her safe, just the way Lily was. The more time she spent with Julie, the more time she would spend with James. And it wasn't as if she couldn't talk to him—please, we're adults, we can manage—but she just didn't want to talk to him. They had a little too much history, she thought, to ever really be comfortable together. She couldn't talk to him without remembering screaming at him on the train last spring, crying afterwards, entirely alone, realizing, as she watched him dangle her best friend upside down, how purely she hated him. Laughing at him, and with him, joking around in third or fourth year. That one brief moment in fifth year that she would so love to entirely forget.
But she was still going to help Julie. She knew she would. Perhaps it was her voice on the phone, when she said My mother is dead. How hollow, how empty. How very lost. When Lily's mother had died, she had cried and cried and cried, and if she had not had her father, Marlene, even Mary, to hold her and let her know that she would survive, she might never have stopped crying.
She had never seen Julie cry. She had a vague feeling that there was something terribly wrong with a person who could not cry—but maybe she just did it in private.
And she liked Julie, she did, in some way. Julie did all the things that normal people just fantasized about, like slamming a boy into a stone floor, or swearing at grown-ups, or having sex in an empty classroom. It was the reason so many people were afraid of her. It was what made her so attractive.
Lily took a deep breath, gathering her resolve. It had been a very long day, and there was one more thing she would like to get done. She hopped awkwardly out of the portrait hole and set off.
The whole castle was empty, and she realized that everyone else must still be at dinner. Maybe she should wait—but when she got to the Transfiguration office, Professor McGonagall opened the door at her first knock.
"Miss Evans, how are you?"
"Good, thanks, how are you, Professor?"
She smiled in a way that very expressively said not great.
"I just wanted to ask you about Julie."
"I'm sure you won't be the last," said Professor McGonagall, walking over to her desk. There was an enormous stack of parchment in the center which she began to sort through—papers, probably, that she had to hand back to her various classes. There was a T scribbled on the top one, and Lily winced in sympathy.
"I know—I mean, I know this is a lot to ask, but I just wanted to ask you—to be kind to her, I suppose?"
"What?" said Professor McGonagall sharply.
"I know that sounds ridiculous! I saw what she did! But it's just..." She felt almost guilty for saying this, but it wouldn't be a secret for long. "Her mother died. Her mother died last week, and I know she's not one to make it obvious, but she is really upset."
McGonagall blinked, and sat down. "I'm quite aware of the circumstances of Margaret's death, Miss Evans. More aware than you, I would imagine..."
Lily did not take her eyes off the professor's face. There was a long pause.
"You realize that we've given her the lightest punishment we could?" McGonagall said finally. "I have to write Mulciber's parents tonight, and they're not going to be happy. Probation is the least I could give her."
"Wait, she's on probation?"
"Yes," said McGonagall, looking at her over her square-rimmed glasses.
"Oh...she said she had detention."
"Yes, that too." McGonagall sighed. "I'm not going to have her cleaning bedpans, Miss Evans. Your concern does you a great deal of credit, but I have an extremely tedious letter to write on top of lesson plans to go over."
"Right." Lily nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
"Good night, Miss Evans."
Julie had breakfast early, as usual, and so there weren't many other students around to stare at her. When she came into Potions, however, everyone in the room swiveled in their seats to stare at her with varying degrees of hostility. Lily anxiously patted the seat next to her.
As she sat, all the heads turned at the same time.
"I'm not interrupting, am I, Professor?" she asked humorlessly.
"No," said Professor Slughorn, "no, not at all. Let's get started, shall we? I've got something rather difficult for today!"
He looked like he had indigestion as he turned to the blackboard and tapped it with his wand. A long list of ingredients appeared. Only when the dungeon was filled with pungent steam, and Lily's Sharpening Solution was the ideal shade of buttery orange, did she lean over. "You okay?" she whispered.
"Yeah," said Julie, looking at her deskmate as if she'd just asked something ridiculous. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Lily raised her eyebrows and went back to work.
Mondays were always a busy day, and Julie didn't have to talk much to anyone. Besides, most people seemed to be avoiding her. Marlene looked at her feet whenever she crossed Julie's path. James treated her as if she was made of glass. Mary looked at her with open distaste, and she couldn't get near Sirius at all.
Mulciber was still in the hospital wing.
She ate dinner in a rush, knowing she wouldn't have much time for homework, and then spent a little time in the library before heading down three flights of stairs to the Transfiguration Corridor. Midway through the second staircase, she was held up.
"I thought I would see you around," she said, and the right corner of her mouth came up in a smile.
"You psycho bitch," hissed Siobhan Fairchild. She had come out onto the landing, and Julie, half a dozen steps above her, had the advantage of height. She used it theatrically, descending very slowly step by step until she stood right in front of Siobhan. Julie was still four or five inches taller.
"You attacked my boyfriend. You can't get away with this."
"Oh, dear, I haven't!" said Julie lightly. "I have a detention right now, you know."
Siobhan grabbed her by the collar. "That's right, do whatever you want. You're lucky McGonagall plays favorites. Things might get a little harder once you're out in the real world. You're going to have to face some consequences sooner or later."
"Is that right?" said Julie. Siobhan was pulling her down a little bit, so Julie could smile right in her face. Then she took hold of the other girl's hand and wrenched her finger so far back that Siobhan gasped in pain, letting go of Julie's robes.
"Don't bother trying to threaten me," said Julie quietly. "I'm not wasting my time on your two-bit schoolgirl gang."
"You don't know what you're talking about," said Siobhan. "You're over your head, Fraser."
"And you're asking for a broken finger, Fairchild. Get out of my way."
They held each other's gaze for a long moment. Then Siobhan snorted contemptuously, tossed her head, and walked upstairs, making sure to knock Julie with her shoulder as she passed.
Julie was smiling as she knocked on Professor McGonagall's door.
By midnight, the Common Room had emptied out, and only two boys were left. James had his quill poised over a scroll of parchment, trying to finish his History of Magic essay, assigned before break. He couldn't stop glancing up at the portrait hole every time the fire crackled or a gust of wind hit the window. Julie hadn't come back yet.
Sirius was turned towards the fire, away from the portrait hole, flipping nonchalantly through a Quidditch magazine. Occasionally he would point something out to James—a new racing broom, or a particularly interesting statistic from a player's interview—but James responded only in monosyllables.
"It's twelve thirty," James announced tightly.
Sirius tossed his magazine down. "You don't have to stay up, you know."
"God knows she's not making it easy for me," James said. "And we've got practice tomorrow...she had better not forget. I'll make allowances to a point..."
Sirius finished the sentence. "...but God forbid she miss a single goddamn practice, in January, when nobody gives a shit, and all we do is stand on the field and freeze off our balls."
James stood, stretched, yawned hugely and ruffled up his hair. "Yeah, I'm knackered. You coming to bed?"
Sirius reached his toes towards the fire, making himself comfortable. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Nah, you go on. I'm gonna wait for Julie."
