The Unforgiving Minute
IX: The Ninth Hour
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19:00
White clouds of marble dust flew up from his robes as Harry collapsed upon the thin, threadbare carpet, landing face down, his hand pressed to the bleeding hole in his midsection. Thick dust, the acclimation of years of disuse, immediately went up his nose, triggering his sinuses. He began to cough violently, the spasms causing pain to rip through his injured stomach. Blood began to seep out from between his fingers, staining the thin carpet.
He started to pull away his hand, before shaking his head roughly, clearing the worst of the cobwebs from his mind. If he pulled his fingers away, his innards might begin to un-spool.
Rolling onto his back, he withdrew his free arm from Lucius' robes. Switching hands, he shrugged off the expensive robes, revealing both the potions bandolier, and his blood-drenched undergarments. Carefully, he began to reach towards the bandolier, but a wave of light-headedness washed over him, carrying away his thoughts.
As Harry Potter had done his entire life, he fought against it, but unconsciousness was too strong an enemy to fight. As his hand flopped to the ground, he unwillingly slipped beneath waves of grey, fading into oblivion.
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In a flash of green flames, Harry arrived within the fireplace at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Shaking loose the ashes which clung to his cloak, he stepped off the hearth, his eyes distant.
"Harry!"
At once, Ginny was rushing towards him, arms outstretched. Harry received the embrace as warmly as he could, wrapping his arms tightly around her, breathing deep into her ginger trusses. Buried beneath the obvious stench of blood, sweat and worry, was her unique musk, which most closely resembled cinnamon.
"I'm here, Gin," he assured, rubbing circles on her back as she clung to him.
"I thought you were gone," she admitted into his chest, muffling her words slightly.
"We all did," Hermione added, standing beside the couple.
"Did anyone else make it?" Zacharias asked.
Harry shook his head in negation.
"No, luck is the only thing that got me out of there."
"Did you find Dumbledore's portrait?" the blond man asked earnestly.
Ginny lifted her head from Harry's chest, sending a glare towards Zacharias.
"He just got back, Smith! Why don't you give it a rest for a minute?"
"Fine," Smith said with a dismissive shrug. "Good to see you made it back, Harry," he said, before turning to walk away.
"Wait," Harry implored, raising his hand. "As much as I'd like to wait, there's some things that need to be said, right now. Gather everyone that can make it, and have them meet me in the dining room, in fifteen minutes."
"Everyone that can make it!" Zacharias demanded, his detached demeanor crumbling. "We're all that's left!"
There was more to say, but catching Smith's eyes, Hermione shook her head a single time. Zacharias blew out a breath of frustrated air, before turning and storming away from the room.
Hermione silently watched Zacharias leave the room, before turning to Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"This…is all hard…for us – for him," she said, defending the former Hufflepuff. "We are glad to have you back, though."
She sent a forced smile in his direction, before walking from the room, closing the door behind her.
"How bad is it?" Ginny asked, moving her hands down to clasp Harry's. Her warm, brown eyes, yet to be completely sapped by the horrors of war, were wide with worry, correctly interpreting his demeanor. "Was it all for nothing?"
"No, it was worse," Harry admitted shakily. "Ginny…we can't win this war."
Her expression froze at his words, her eyes widening.
"No – no, I don't believe that," she said, shaking her head furiously. "Dumbledore he – there must have been something he never had the chance to tell you."
"Oh, there was," Harry agreed angrily, "but it doesn't do us much good now. We had our chance to take down Voldemort, but we lost it."
"You beat him once," she shot back. "You can beat him again."
Harry shook his head.
"Ginny, I…there's still one more horcrux."
"How?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "A soul split into seven pieces, that's what Dumbledore said. Why would he lie about that?"
Harry shook his head.
"Dumbledore never lies, he just speaks with a politician's tongue. Voldemort only made six horcruxes. There was one, however, that was created accidentally, that even Voldemort never knew about."
"How?" Ginny demanded, her gaze fiery. "Dark magic that vile just doesn't happen, Harry!"
Reaching out, Harry took hold of Ginny's hand, before staring deep into her eyes.
"People aren't supposed to survive the killing curse either, are they? But…somehow, I did. Ginny, what does the last line of the prophecy say?"
"And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives," she answered quickly, without hesitation. "But what does that…"
Her words trailed off into nothingness, as fear settled into her eyes.
"Harry, tell me what the last Horcrux is!"
Instead of speaking, Harry raised her hand upwards. Using her finger, he began to slowly trace the contours of the scar on his forehead. Horror dawning in her eyes, she tried to pull her hand back, but Harry tightened his grip, continuing to trace the lightning bolt shape.
"I'm so sorry, Gin."
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Consciousness returned to him slowly, as if awaking from a deep sleep. Before any of his other senses could return, pain boldly proclaimed its presence. What the bloody hell was going-
Harry's eyes flew open as realization struck. Panicking, his hands pulled away from sticky blood, flying to his neck. Fumbling for a moment, he tore the pocket watch away from his neck, pulling it into view. The hour hand was positioned halfway between VIII and IX.
Only three and a half hours left.
Cursing to himself, fighting the persistent light-headedness, he gritted his teeth. Reaching down, he began to run his hand down the glass containers the bandolier held, each filled with a different colored potion. His hand settled on the fifth one down, on the left, a light pink one. Lifting it from the bandolier, he used his teeth to pull the cork out, spitting it carelessly off to the side.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled his shirt up. The bloodstained fabric clung tightly to his stomach, causing him to hiss with pain as it brushed over his wound. The hole in his gut, roughly two inches in diameter, had clotted slightly at the edges, but still openly seeped. Blocking out the pain, he raised his wand, pointed it at the vial.
"Accio."
The thick, pasty pink substance flew from the vial, landing directly into his other hand. Dropping the wand, he rolled the substance between his hands, before dividing the pink substance in two. Half he set aside atop the discarded robe, half he rolled between his hands, before flattening it out into a disk approximately three inches in diameter.
Carefully, he placed the pink disk over the wound, covering it completely. Taking a deep breath, he began to press down softly around the disk's circumference. The pain was immense, but Harry bore it with a patient hand, blocking out agony as best as he could.
Upon finishing, he laid his head back, allowing a moment for the wound-sealant to harden slightly. He hadn't intended to visit Number Twelve Grimmauld Place until later, but his injuries while fighting the chimera had changed things. He had needed a quiet, deserted place to heal. Judging by the fact that Kreacher hadn't killed him in his sleep, it would appear he had made the right choice.
Rolling onto his side, he reached back, his fingers feeling around his lower back. With a wince, he found the smaller exit hole the chimera's horn had made on its way through his midsection. It was smaller than the wound on his front, but would certainly present a problem if not treated.
He repeated the healing process on his back, before doing the same to the twin puncture wounds on his right hand. By the time he was done, the seal on his stomach had completely hardened. Though the pink layer functioned like a scab, it looked more like someone had put a blowtorch to his midsection.
Wound-sealant nearly wasn't as good as completely re-growing the skin, but with his dearth of time, it was more than adequate.
As for any internal injuries…well, he'd take his chances. There was no quick fix for internal injuries, the only solution being a visit with a Healer, a luxury he could ill afford right now, especially with only a little over three hours left.
According to Pomfrey, stomach wounds were one of the most difficult injuries to treat, though in the short-term, extreme blood loss and evisceration were the two most pressing matters. If both were accounted for, internal bleeding was next on the list, with the victim having anywhere between three and forty-eight hours to live if untreated.
At least probability was on his side.
The worst of his wounds managed, he withdrew a red potion from the bandolier, downing it quickly. The Blood-Replenishing Potion tasted horrible, but the affront to his taste buds was a minor price to pay, especially considering the amount of blood he had lost.
Throwing aside the empty vial, he pulled one last potion out, a dark grey one. Uncorking it, he threw back the Pepperup Potion in one gulp. Though steam did spray forth from his ears, energy also coursed through his body, clearing the fog from his head. Scooping up his wand, he leapt to his feet, casually waving his wand. At once, the worst of the blood and grime disappeared from both his body and Lucius' robes. He picked up the black garments, throwing them on. They wouldn't be wise to wear at his next destination, but for now, would suffice.
His head clear, he took a glance around the Grimmauld Place entryway. Lit by the flickering light of badly maintained gas lamps, the view was not an inviting one. Thick layers of dust and cobwebs covered the peeling wallpaper. The portraits were so thickly caked that their inhabitants were completely obscured. All told, it looked like no one had set foot in the house for more than a decade.
Or, it would have, were there not multiple sets of fresh footprints in the dust.
Withdrawing his wand, Harry moved forward, as stealthily as possible. The tracks led down the entry hall, some disappearing into the narrow stairwell which led to the kitchen, the rest went upstairs.
None, he observed, led into the dining room, which suggested that it hadn't been a thief. Someone like Mundungus would have examined every room, searching for every last item of worth.
Sirius was the most logical explanation. Though he had lived in a cave during most of the Triwizard Tournament, it wasn't a stretch to think that Sirius had come back, at the very least for a change of clothes.
Though if he hadn't….who had?
No closer to an answer, Harry cast silencing charms on his feet, before ascending the grand staircase. In the gloom, he could barely make out the line of plaques baring shrunken house-elf heads. Completely covered with dust, they could have been anything.
Shaking his head, he began to have a deeper appreciation for the work that Molly Weasley just have put into cleaning the place up before he arrived the summer before his fifth year. Such a different time it had been, the last days of sanity for Britain.
Reaching the second floor landing, he saw that the footprints split off into several different directions. While most seemed to go upstairs, the others led into the small bedroom, and the bathroom.
A single pair, the freshest of all, led into the drawing room.
Wand drawn, Harry approached the door slowly, from an angle. Flattening himself against the wall, he reached out with his left hand, grasping the handle. With fluid grace, he opened the door a crack, before thrusting his wand through and casting a solar flare. Conjuring a shield, he launched himself into the room.
It was completely empty.
The drawing room's disrepair was just as advanced as the rest of the house. Layers of dust covered the thick curtains which hid the large window, completely obscuring the wide view of the street below. The two glass cabinets flanking the fireplace were similarly caked, as were the empty portraits on the left wall. All told, the only thing that looked like it had been touched was the tapestry of the Black family tree.
He gave the tapestry a cursory glance, before turning his attention back to the cabinets. Waving his wand a single time, he vanished the dust, revealing the object he sought.
Slytherin's locket.
Nestled between snakeskins, bottles of blood, boxes of Wartcap powder and various other Dark knickknacks was the locket. It was crafted from a heavy gold, with a large, green 'S' inlaid into the front.
Eyes narrowed, he summoned the locket, catching it by the chain. Holding it up, he reflected that it had taken him months to find Slytherin's locket, and had cost Ron Weasley his life.
Here, it had been a matter of hours.
Quickly, he put the locket around his neck, where it lay cold against his chest. With the volatile nature of horcruxes, if he destroyed it here, he ran the risk of destroying Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, which could not happen.
If he failed tonight, the Order would still need a viable headquarters.
As soon as he had slipped the chain around his neck, he felt a magical disturbance wash over him, before fading.
Someone had activated the wards.
He started to apparate away, but an oppressive weight pushed against him, courtesy of the anti-apparation wards. Cursing, he rapped himself on the head with his wand, but the spell quickly fizzled out.
He was not alone.
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His footsteps heavy, Harry entered the dining room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The fingers of his right hand entwined tightly with Ginny's, as though she were afraid to let him go. Her eyes were clear, and the tear-tracks on her freckled cheeks had been attended to.
His Ginny had always been strong for him, and he needed her more than ever right now, if he was to face the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix.
As his gaze swept around the room, his heart grew heavy. Was this always the price of war?
Zacharias sat near the back of the table, staring directly at the floor. Hermione sat beside him, clasping one of his hands, talking to him in hushed tones.
Martin Croaker, by far the oldest of them, sat across the table, his arms stained to the elbow in bright blood. His eyes stared out into empty space, unfocused. The former Unspeakable, completely inept in combat, had become the Order's unofficial healer following Pomfrey's death.
No doubt he was beating himself up about not being able to save poor Ernie, who in a better world, would have continued to drive the Knight Bus instead of throwing himself fully into this fruitless war.
Five people.
That was all that remained of the Order.
Exchanging glances with Ginny, she reluctantly released her grip on his hand, taking a seat at the table.
For a moment, he stared out over the few remaining survivors. What could he possibly say to them? They had all given everything for his cause, yet had nothing to show for it beyond having to watch each one of their family, friends and lovers die one by one.
"I want to thank you all," Harry began, his eyes roaming over all of their faces. "You all had the opportunity to leave of this behind, but chose to stay, to see this through to the end. Going back to Hogwarts was the most dangerous thing we could have done, but still, you stuck with me. I can't say how grateful I am to you all."
"For that reason," he continued, "I feel like I owe each and every one of you the complete truth of what I found today. Millicent, Oliver and Pomona all gave their lives so I could reach the Headmaster's Office."
"You made it?" sneered Zacharias, incredulously.
"I did," Harry confirmed with a nod, ignoring Smith's tone, "but the price was high."
The four others nodded in agreement, all of their eyes mirrored in sadness. Harry found himself thinking of Oliver's unbridled enthusiasm for the war, of his absolute certainty that Harry was going to lead them to victory.
"So you talked to Dumbledore?" Croaker asked, finally lifting his gaze from the floor.
Harry nodded in the affirmative.
"I did, and, well…he had the answer."
Croaker, Hermione and Zacharias all leaned forward, their breaths held. With a soul-penetrating ache, he saw Ginny lower her head, as a single tear welled up within her eye and ran down her cheek.
"We were wrong," Harry explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "Voldemort didn't have six Horcruxes."
Shock found its way onto the assembled faces. Zacharias was the first to recover, slamming his fist on the table.
"Bloody hell, you said six Horcurxes, Potter!"
"How the fuck was he supposed to know!" Ginny snapped back, her gaze fiery. "Dumbledore told us there were six! What, were we supposed to just assume he was lying to us?"
Zacharias glared at her for a moment, before leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms. Hermione shot him a scathing look, before addressing Harry.
"Do we know what the final one is?"
Immediately, Ginny covered her face in her hands, shudders wracking her petite frame. Hermione, not having the whole picture, looked upon her friend with concern, before glancing back towards Harry, concern in her eyes.
With a hand that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, he raised his hand, pulling back a fringe of black hair, exposing the famed scar.
Hermione let out a loud gasp of horror, before covering her mouth with her hands. At once, she rose from her seat, rushing over to Harry.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered into his ear, clinging to him tightly. He returned the embrace of his longest-remaining friend with interest. His chest grew damp with tears as she wept openly into his robes.
"W-w-we'll find a way to fix this," she assured, drawing back from him slightly. Glancing into his eyes, her gaze grew determined.
"I promise."
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Harry remained stationary, only his eyes moving. Ears straining, he listened deeply, searching for some sort of sign, a hint of where the house's other occupant was.
All he heard was silence, unsurprisingly. He had left clear, fresh tracks in the dust, easily betraying his position. Creeping forward, wand raised, he inched away from the door, his eyes glued upon it. Inches from the fireplace on the opposite wall, he heard the barely audible shuffle of fabric.
Whirling around, he caught a fleeting glance of a ragged-looking man in the dim light, before a crimson spell clipped his side. Mercilessly Harry's wand was ripped away, and he was knocked backwards, colliding into the wall.
"Mind telling me what you're doing-" the man hoarsely began, but Harry, moving quickly, grabbed the iron poker from besides the fireplace and flung it. The blunt end struck his adversary in the stomach, eliciting a loud wheeze. Doubled over, he began to raise his wand, but Harry moved quickly, grabbing his arm.
"Stupefy!"
Forcing the arm to the side, the man's stunner went flying harmlessly into the wall, detonating the plaster. Harry swung his other elbow backwards, catching the man directly in the chest, knocking him backwards with a gasp of pain, ripping the wand from his grasp.
Hearing the whirring of movement, Harry turned, to see the curtains come alive. Lifting and swaying, they shook, before doxies began to pour from the fabric, shaking off dust as they flew. Covered in fine black fur, their needle-like teeth were on full display as they charged, fully intending to pump him full of their venom.
Jabbing his wand, forward, he launched a banisher. The area-effect spell caught the charging doxies and flung them backwards, splattering their flimsy bodies against the window, painting the curtains black with their innards.
Quickly whipping his wand around, he saw his attacker raise Lucius' stolen wand. Rushing forward, Harry launched a bludgeoner. The spell slammed into his opponent, driving him into the wall. The man broke through the damaged plaster with ease, awkwardly landing on the carpet in the hallway.
Wand raised, prepared to finish off his opponent, he froze in place as hallway's dim torchlight illuminated the man's face, revealing his identity.
Sirius Black was just as frail as Harry remembered from the Triwizard tournament. His dark hair hung ragged in tangled clumps, while his dark eyes had sunken deep into his sockets.
What the bloody hell was he doing back at Grimmauld Place?
Using Harry's temporary pause, Sirius leapt to his feet, wand raised, launching a blue spell.
Harry quickly brought his wand across his body, swatting aside the spell, before thrusting forward, launching his own curse.
His eyes widening at Harry's display of advanced deflection, Sirius quickly conjured a crimson shield.
Just as Harry thought he would.
His shield-breaker detonated Sirius' shield in a bright arc of magic, the backlash knocking his godfather back a step. Whipping his wand forward, Harry launched a disarmer, catching Sirius directly in the chest. The spell ripped away Sirius' wand and blew him backwards, sending him crashing through the wooden banister cross-pieces. Harry caught the wand neatly as Sirius crashed into the wall, before hitting the stairs and tumbling down them, out of sight.
Jumping forward, Harry leapt through the rough hole in the wall, but his robes caught on the edge, temporarily entangling him. With a snarl, he tore away from the wall. Moving quickly Harry turned, pointing his wand down the stairs.
"Fuck," he swore under his breath, seeing that they were empty. It had only been a second, but it was long enough for Sirius to run out of sight. Stowing Sirius' wand in a back-pocket, he began to descend slowly, one step at a time. His godfather may not have a wand, but being an Animagus, he was still dangerous, and seemed to have a few tricks up his sleeve.
How the bloody hell had Sirius snuck up behind him in the drawing room? He had definitely cleared it, of that he had zero doubt.
Cautiously making his way down the stairs, passing by empty portraits and the mounted heads of elves, he heard the same rustle of fabric. For the briefest of moments, on the edge of his vision, he saw Sirius leap from the portrait, before his godfather leapt upon his back, looping an arm around Harry's windpipe.
Immediately the arm clamped down tightly, the grip far more potent than Harry had imagined. Thrashing, Harry threw himself against the wall, crushing his godfather, but the grip held strong.
"You know," Sirius rasped, "I don't really care if people use this house. Bit too gloomy for my taste, you know? But letting Death Eaters-"
Bending his knees, Harry fell forward, turning his head to the side. Sirius only had a brief moment before his forehead smashed into the wooden banister, leaving a bloody imprint. Harry landed hard upon the stairs, but shrugged Sirius' weight off him, sending him rolling down the stairs. As he jumped up, he felt the wand ripped from his grasp. Turning, he saw it zoom down the stairs.
At the bottom stood the wrinkled from of Kreacher, his right arm raised in the air.
"How my mistress hates the dirty blood-traitor," Kreacher croaked, "but Master Regulus says the locket must be destroyed."
"Thanks for the support," Sirius deadpanned from the ground, blood seeping from the wide gash on his forehead. Ignoring Sirius, Kreacher snapped his fingers. Immediately, a procession of knives flew upwards from the kitchen, hovering in mid-air at the foot of the stairs.
"You will give me Master Regulus' locket," Kreacher ordered, the knives wavering.
"Fine," Harry answered immediately, his mind racing. Inspiration striking, he reached to his left, tearing at one of the mounted house-elf heads.
"No!" Kreacher exclaimed, his features becoming frenzied. Dropping his right hand, the knives flew through, cutting through the air with a low whoosh. With movements nearly too quick to track, Harry drew Sirius' wand from his back-pocket, quickly conjuring a physical shield. The grey shield materialized quickly, the knives slamming harmlessly into it. Canceling the shield, the knives dropped to the floor as Harry whipped his wand forward.
"Mistress says-" was all Kreacher got out before Harry's stunner felled him, dropping the elf like a stone.
Sirius, his face nearly covered in blood, scooted backwards, out of sight. With a grimace, his roughly-healed stomach hurting from the impact, Harry began to make his way down the stairs, frustration clawing at his mind. He would have rather left Sirius alone, but Harry imagined that the wards Sirius had brought down might not take kindly to an unauthorized exit.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he began to walk down the entryway. On both sides of him, empty portraits loomed. Harry imagined that the portraits acted as short-cuts between parts of the house. He had never seen anything like it, but as a security measure, was undeniably effective.
Reaching up, Harry pulled out his watch, giving a quick glance towards the face. Seeing that only ten minutes remained in the hour, he let out a loud curse. This was supposed to be the easiest stop, and already he'd been here for more than an hour!
The heavy weight of time bearing down upon him, Harry whipped his wand forward. Fueled by his anger, his desperation, a blasting curse leaped from his wand. Nearly two times larger than usual, the blasting curse flew down the hall, slamming into the door. With an ear-splitting crack it exploded, blowing out the entire entryway.
No sooner had the spell been cast, a large, black shape jumped out of one of the portraits. Pulling his arm back, he narrowly avoided Sirius' open jaws. Backing up, he began to swing his wand around, only to have his feet tangle in the troll-leg umbrella stand. Harry fell over backwards, the back of his head colliding with the hardwood floor.
At once, the black dog was upon him. Reaching out, Harry grabbed Sirius around the throat, holding him at bay. Saliva dripped onto him as Sirius snapped at the air, using his paws to pin Harry's wand arm to the ground. Gritting his teeth, Harry brought his knee up as hard as he could, directly into Sirius' unprotected privates.
It apparently hurt just as much in a dog form, because Sirius let out a howl, drawing back slightly. Holding tight around Sirius' throat with his left hand, Harry dropped his wand, before swinging forward with his recently-freed fist, smashing it directly into Sirius' nose. A glazed look immediately descended over Sirius' dark eyes as he fell backwards, transforming back into human form.
Jumping up, Harry pointed his wand down, but all the fight had gone from his godfather. His eyes glassy, blood still welling from the split skin on his forehead, he merely sat against the wall, panting heavily.
"I don't remember you from Azkaban," Sirius airily noted. "I guess Voldemort's been recruiting."
Anger still overcoming him, the tip of his wand shook as he pointed it at his godfather. How much time had he lost fighting his stupid battle?
Five minutes? Ten? Fifteen?
All were unacceptable. Even seconds were precious, and this areshole had cost him plenty. Was there even enough time left to finish his task?
"He's not the enemy, Harry."
Ginny's words flowed through his head, bringing clarity. Had he really been that close to killing his godfather?
Taking a deep breath, he lowered his wand. Reaching up, he grasped the locket, sticking it back into his robes. Sirius' eyes followed him as he did, puzzlement clouding them.
"Do I…know you?" he asked doubtfully.
"Next time, spend more time fighting, and less talking," Harry said with a wry, slight grin, before turning. He considered hitting his godfather with a Memory Charm, but quickly discarded the idea. It had taken Sirius far longer than Harry expected to notice the similarities between him and his god-son, but making the connection didn't really matter a great deal.
In three more hours, the point would be moot.
"Wait!' Sirius yelled, but Harry was already out the ruined entryway, into the cool evening air. Without a look back, he apparated away.
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Author Notes:
Not exactly a ground-breaking chapter, with the Slytherin's Locket being, in my estimation, the least interesting Horcrux to track down in time-travel stories. I hope that Sirius' arrival helped to make it interesting. For those of you wondering why he was there, I imagine that if Kreacher, watching silent and invisible, thought the Locket was at risk, he might try to get Sirius' help, making up something about Death Eaters at Grimmauld Place.
The next chapter won't surface for a long time. I really want to get cracking on the next chapter of Sitra Ahra, and I also have an entry in a DLP Dark Arts competition in the works, of which the first chapter is now complete. You know, because I don't have enough incomplete stories.
Thanks to Princess Serine and Liron-Aria for their hard work on the chapter.
Any comments or questions shall receive a reply. I very much enjoy feedback, as it serves to inspire my muse. Even a simple "liked it" or "it sucked" is usually enough to coerce me back to the computer, as opposed to continue playing Dead Space 2.
DLP Thanks:
Blazzano, animekingmike, rinsimyaldee, Portus, disturbed27, General Custer, Fardeki, jpdt19, NoxedSalvation, awinarock, Tharkun, Nightfox, HW597, Tenages, knight504, JenosIdanian, uriel, Salah, dey1234