A/n: After staring at this chapter for most of the day yesterday, I've come to the conclusion that it needs to be three, not two, chapters. If it wasn't, I'd be killing myself cramming way too much info in this chapter and it wouldn't get to the point I want it to. So here's the chapter, and expect the concluding chapter in the next few days.

Note: This chapter is pointless to read unless you read the last one, just as reading the next one will be pointless without reading its predecessors.

I've broken out my creative license for this chapter, but I'm happy with it. If you don't think what I've written is plausible that's fine, and if you're still confused on the concept I will be clearing up most of the matter in the next chapter. Just take a deep breath and remember: it's not a bad thing to be confused...just adds to the mystery!

And with that out of the way, on with the story!

Last time, on Tales:

More shouting, some crying, and Hugo's eyes widened with an unknown fear as there was suddenly, inexplicably nothing. A blinding, intense light, the sound of a bomb going off, screams and shouts and cries and breaking glass and then it was over.

The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter

Chapter 16: The (Second) Tale of Christmas

The smoke that had filtered through the broken windows was dissipating and the dust that had fallen from the ceiling was settling, but Hugo's heart was still racing a mile a minute.

George held tighter to him than ever, his breathing shallow as he tiptoed toward the door, breaking glass underneath his feet. His wand led the way and hesitated at the door; no doubt he was wondering if he should open the door at the risk of another explosion.

But Hugo wasn't willing to wait around for a decision to be made; his dad was out there, and he had to go and make sure he was okay.

"Hold up, Hugo," George said as Hugo squirmed in his grip. "We haven't been given the okay to go out yet."

"But Dad's out there!" he shouted as he continued to struggle in his uncle's arms. "He could need our help!"

"It could still be dangerous—"

"Let GO!"

Hugo landed roughly on his feet as George was blasted off his and slid backwards onto the floor away from the door in a wild display of underage magic. Some of the shell-shocked shoppers leapt forward to help George to his feet and others rushed forward in an effort to catch his nephew but they were too late; Hugo, shaking with a strange mixture of rage, power, and fear, unbolted the front door manually and opened it wide.

He ran out of the shop but had to stop mere steps out of the door, for one more step would have caused him to fall into the giant crater that stretched out to the opposite side of the street. Where his uncle's store had only suffered broken windows, every shop five up and down on both sides of the street were missing entire store fronts; the golden chess set he had been admiring earlier was gone now, as was the entire display case and the front half of the store entirely. And his uncle would be pleased, since Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop also had half the store demolished.

The entire street looked nothing short of a ghost town as the wind swept through, bitterly cold, and the stores stood gutted and empty.

But that didn't last for long; soon people were flooding the streets again, some calling and crying out for lost loved ones, others crying from injuries sustained from whatever disaster had dented the street, and still others crying over the state of their stores.

Hugo joined the din as he stood at the rim of the crater.

"DAD!" he shouted through cupped hands as his eyes roved through the charred remains littering the inside of the large hole.

The only answer to his call was his echo and the echoings of all those others calling out for something or someone. His eyes scanned the bottom but he just couldn't discern well between dirt, debris, and what could be his father from the distance he was standing at.

"DAD! DAD, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Still nothing, and Hugo was beginning to panic. He knew the next choice of action he should take as he leaned further over the edge, peering down. He estimating that, really, it wouldn't be that big of a drop if he tried to lower himself in, so he knelt down and grabbed the edge of the hole, willing himself not to be afraid and to just do it, that his dad needed him and could be hurt and in trouble and—

"HUGO! NO!"

And before Hugo could gather the courage to go down into the hole, he was being snatched back up by his terrified uncle.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" George shouted irately into his young nephew's face, his fear, relief, and fury being displayed across his features all in a very red fashion. "You could get yourself killed!"

Hugo swallowed his tears, his own anger at his uncle stopping him losing to his confusion and fright; Uncle George never shouted at him.

"I'm…I-I'm s-s-sorry," he managed to get out through the lump that had formed in his throat. "B-but I think…"

He turned around to look in the hole, and his eyes focused on a suspiciously dark something near the deepest part of the crater, right at the center.

"You weren't thinking, you scared me half to death, you selfish little git—"

But the rest of his uncle's words died in his throat when his eyes joined his nephew's as they spotted a very familiar figure lying prone in the crater.

Kingsley Shacklebolt's brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at the wood of his heavy office door, wondering if he were imagining the distant stampeding noises coming from the hallway.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, knowing he had only ten minutes before he was supposed to clock out and go home and enjoy his Christmas Eve in peace, he really hoped he was also imagining the distant arguments filtering under the door and reaching his ears.

As the door burst open and a dozen or so shouting witches and wizards scrambled into the office, the only option left was that he had fallen asleep at his desk, that he was dreaming all this.

"Sir, down at Diagon Alley—"

"Major accident—"

"Half the street blown up—"

"Someone mentioned an Auror trying to head it off—"

"No casualties reported yet—"

"QUIET!"

Kingsley's strong yet soothing voice silenced the Ministry members around him as they stared at him with distressed eyes. As his head pounded, he knew this was no dream, no matter how much he wished it to be.

"Penn, report."

A short, dark haired man stepped up, speaking in a nasally voice as if he were just getting over a cold.

"There's a giant crater in the middle of Diagon Alley, Minister."

"Very succinct."

Anderson coughed before continuing.

"Witnesses report an Auror confronting a man with a silver hand in the middle of the street. The civilian broke the Auror's arm before dropping an Exploding Potion."

"Which Auror?"

"Not sure. Witness mentioned him having red hair…he's being transferred to St. Mungo's as we speak, sir."

"His condition?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

Kingsley turned and grabbed his cloak off the back of his chair before sweeping out of the room.

"Anderson, dispatch teams to Diagon Alley. Also get someone from Obliviator Headquarters to Charing Cross Road and make sure no Muggles got wind of anything. I need damage repaired and peace restored."

"Where are you going, sir?" Anderson piped up, even as the door shut on them all.

"To find out what happened."

Kingsley's shoes clapped sharply on the ground floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries five minutes later, dividing the sea of lime green robed Healers as he reached the end of the hallway and was confronted by a squat Healer with a monobrow.

"How may I help you Minister?"

The old woman had a steely glint in her gray eyes that let Kingsley know that he was clearly uninvited to enter the room beyond her.

"I need to speak to the Auror you are attempting to heal. He has confidential information that cannot wait. I must speak with him."

"Well I am afraid it will have to wait," the Healer folded her arms, not intimidated in the slightest by the Minister of Magic. "The patient has suffered a fractured wrist, severe burns, and head trauma; no one is allowed to see him until he is stable, and even then he will need his rest."

"I understand that, ma'am," Kingsley's voice sounded soothing as always, but there was a shortness to it that showed his frustration, "and I'm sorry to sound rude, but this is official Ministry business and I'm going to have to ask you to move aside."

The woman's jowls quivered as her hands moved to her hips.

"You are not allowed in this room."

Kingsley withdrew his wand and pointed it at her.

"Move."

But Kingsley did not have to perform any magic; the door behind her opened and a group of Healers began to emerge. All stopped short as they stared at the Minister of Magic and his raised wand.

"Gretchen, Minister Shacklebolt, is there a problem?" the Healer at the front of the pack asked, raising a blond eyebrow.

"I need to see the patient in this room," Kingsley said, pocketing his wand. "It's urgent."

"Of course, Minister. Please, come inside."

Gretchen stalked off and the other Healers followed suit as the lead Healer guided Kingsley into the hospital room, which only had one occupant that the minister recognized immediately.

"Mr. Weasley's head injury wasn't as bad as we had anticipated," the blond Healer said, offering a chair to Kingsley who politely declined. "And we were able to treat the fracture relatively easily. The main risk was the burns on his hands, but we've eliminated the immediate threat of shock.

"I should warn you, though, Minister; Mr. Weasley will be in quite a bit of pain. The Burn-Healing Paste can only do so much for second-degree burns as deep as his."

Kingsley swallowed and nodded, knowing what he had to do and hating himself for it.

"I'll be right outside the door if you need anything," the Healer continued, taking his wand out. "And please, don't be long; he needs his rest. Ennervate!"

Ron gasped and his eyes flew open, wide and terrified.

"Ron," the Healer said, leaning over to look him in the eye. "Ron, do you know where you are?"

Ron's blue eyes swept around the room before he nodded.

"Hospital," he grunted, teeth clenched.

"That's right. There's someone here who needs to ask you a few questions, all right?"

"M-my hands…" Ron stared down at the dressings on his hands, "what happened?"

"You don't remember?"

Kingsley stepped forward, his face looking crestfallen at the young injured Auror.

"Not my hands, no…"

"But you remember before? What happened?"

Ron nodded slowly, his breathing labored at trying to keep his pain in check. Kingsley surreptitiously inclined his head at the Healer, who said nothing else as he exited the room.

"I need you to tell me everything."

Ron glanced once more at his hands and took a deep, shuddering breath, before retelling his story.

"Just do it!"

Ron left his upset son and brother and ran back out the shop and onto the snowy street, ending up standing face to face with a rather confused Neville.

"Did you see where he went?"

"See…where…who?"

Ron searched further up the street and, finding nothing, grabbed Neville's arm and looked him straight in the eye.

"Neville, did you see where the bloke that shoved you went?"

"Well, that's him, isn't it?" Neville replied nervously, pointing at a man gambling back down the middle of the street.

"Watch this for me, will you Neville? Make sure to grab Hannah and get out of here as quick as you can," Ron said all this quickly, not bothering to wait for an answer as he shoved his bag into Neville's arms and turned around to elbow his way through the last minute Christmas shoppers crowding the street. "OI! YOU THERE!"

"Watch it!" some distressed shopper shouted back, even as Ron made to get around her. "These are fragile—"

"SHOVE OFF!"

Ron forced his way around the highly disgruntled and rather pudgy woman and ran into the middle of the street, finding his quarry standing only a little bit ahead of him, looking up at the sky and letting his long, unkempt hair fly wildly in the wind.

"Travis Scabior," Ron said in his best authoritative voice, clenching his wand and walking forward. "You need to come with me."

Scabior cocked his head to the side to see who was addressing him, and Ron hesitated as he took in his sunken face and the nervous twitch of his left eye.

"You want me? Please, please take me! Take me away from it!"

Ron froze in place as the man held out his left hand. Where Ron would have expected glove or flesh there was neither; instead his hand looked as though it were made of silver.

"Wh-where did you get that?"

"It latched on t'me," Scabior continued, and Ron felt even more disoriented as tears slid down the clearly deranged man's face. "I was removin' the body on the missus' orders…."

Ron tried to rewind his mind to that night he had seen the Death Eater last at Malfoy Manor…that night that had haunted his nightmares for months after…Pettigrew killing himself with that hand, and Scabior having been Stupefied earlier….

"How is that possible?" Ron asked, shaking his head in disbelief but keeping his eyes glued to the hand.

"I dunno…I dunno…but it 'elped me…it was powerful and kept me outta Azkaban…but a year ago I woke up missin' my 'and!" Here, Scabior lifted up the robe to show a bloodstained sleeve. Ron backed away a bit; repulsed more at the fact the man hadn't washed the shirt in a year rather than the fact that it was covered in blood. "It fit on like a glove before…'elped me win duels and get away from th' Ministry…but then it cut off my 'and in the dead of night! And now…and now…."

The man fell to his knees, sobbing. The passersby made a wide berth, not wanting to get too close to the unhinged man with the silver hand.

"Now I've gotta watch it, all day, all night…I don't eat, I don't sleep…I sit, I watch, I 'elp it…if I don't watch and do what it wants, it'll kill me like the rat…. "

Ron stepped forward, ready to break up the scene Scabior was making and take him into the Ministry when the silver hand shot up and grasped his wrist, hard, successfully steadying his wand arm.

"I can't stop it!" Scabior's eyes were bulging and tearful. "It's gotta mind of its own!"

Ron's reply died in his throat and a pained noise replaced it as the powerful fingers squeezed harder, making him drop his wand. He attempted to use his left hand to prize off the magical hand.

"Take me! TAKE ME, PLEASE! BEFORE IT KILLS US!"

Ron's own his yell drowned out Scabior's as the silver hand succeeded in breaking the bone. It finally let go and Scabior continued to bawl freely as Ron clutched his injured arm to himself, falling backwards onto the street and retreating to get out of range of another assault. The pedestrians watching the scene screamed at that and fled, up and down the streets and into any shop with its door unlocked.

"I don't wanna die—I don't wanna die—" Scabior practically screamed out his mantra and his left eye twitched as the silver hand now reached into the depths of his robes. It pulled out a small phial containing a blood red liquid.

"NO!" Ron shouted, the pain radiating from his wrist momentarily forgotten as he immediately recognized it as one of the potions he had been forced to identify back in Auror training.

The Exploding Potion.

"I don't wanna die! No—no—no—no—NO!" Scabior screeched, but he didn't even seem to be paying attention to what the hand was doing, and therefore made no move to stop the phial as it fell from his magical hand.

Ron watched it fall, knowing he wouldn't be able to get to it in time to catch. But he darted forward all the same as the hand dove back into the robe pocket and pulled out a grimy bag. As Ron's fingers caught up his wand the magical fingers grasped whatever was inside the bag and he vanished instantaneously.

A vision of Hugo and George in the building behind him caused Ron to shout the spell instinctively.

"PROTEGO!"

The tinkling of shattering glass, a monumental roar that certainly burst his eardrums, a blindingly bright light and intense heat, and then nothing.

"He Portkeyed away?"

Ron's breathing was shallow and sweat glistened on his face with effort as he nodded.

"I c-couldn't stop him…I'm sorry."

Kingsley smiled down kindly at him.

"It's fine, Ron. We've got to get Potter something to do anyway…every time I run into him he's goofing off with you; he needs more work."

Ron's grin turned into a pained grimace.

"You don't mind letting him know where I'm at, do you sir?"

"Not at all. I expect a full report and perhaps a memory at your earliest convenience, Weasley."

"Of course," Ron grumbled, reaching his hand up to scratch his arm before wincing, a painful reminder that he couldn't.

"Take care, then, Weasley."

"Sir?"

Kingsley stopped at the door, turning around to look at the injured Auror.

"Yes?"

"Do you know anything about George or Hugo?"

Kingsley sighed heavily before replying.

"No, Ron, I'm sorry."

Ron shrugged half-heartedly.

"Right then. Merry Christmas, Kingsley.

"Merry Christmas, Ron," Kingsley gave him a small smile as he left the room, running into the blond Healer from before.

"You've finished, sir?"

"Yes, and thank you for your cooperation," Kingsley replied in his smooth voice, but he stole a covert look down the hall in search of Gretchen and getting a surprise as he spotted someone familiar.

"A merry Christmas to you, then, sir," the Healer smiled before entering the room he had just abandoned.

The minister's heels clicked smartly down the hall again, heading straight for the young Hogwarts professor.

"Longbottom?"

Neville jumped; he had been conversing in the now silent hallway with a Healer Kingsley was displeased to identify as Gretchen. Her unibrow contracted before she turned and walked away, not wanting to converse further with either of the two men.

"Damn it all; she knew something about Ron!" Neville threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

"He's fine, I just went to speak with him."

Neville gaped at him.

"He's fine? I…wow, really?"

"Yes, now if you'll excuse me, I have…" Kingsley halted, thinking. "Actually, Longbottom, do you know if Weasley's brother and son made it out safely?"

"George and Hugo? They're the ones who found Ron after…it was over. They're right upstairs waiting."

"Thank you Longbottom. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Minister!" Neville waved him off enthusiastically.

Kingsley continued down the hallway, relieved and worried all the more. While Ron Weasley was healthy enough, there was now a deluded individual with a powerfully magical hand running rampant.

He was in deep thought for quite some time, insomuch that he couldn't believe when he found himself in front of Harry Potter's office—had he traveled that far already?

A swift knock, a grumbled "Come in," and he opened the door to find the bespectacled Auror stooped over a pile of papers.

"M-Minister Shacklebolt!" Harry stuttered, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"There was…" he hesitated, glancing at the familiar pile of psychology books in the corner of the room to Harry. Realization clicked in as he went a new route: "Where is the note?"

"The what, sir?"

"The note, the note I sent you earlier this week. Let me see it."

Harry blinked in confusion before turning back to the cluttered desk and fishing out an old note. He handed it off to the older man who scanned the parchment, understanding flooding him.

"I've written my report on it, sir," Harry said in a concerned tone, worried that he was in trouble.

"I don't need it."

Harry's jaw dropped in anger.

"Sir, I've just spent the last two hours on that thing and—"

"You figured out who did it then?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Well I have. And he just tried to blow up Diagon Alley."

Harry stared at him with a blank face, clearly trying to process this surprise.

"How…when…wha—who?"

"Travis Scabior."

It fit—the neatness of the note was a result of the hand, which was just as powerful as it was intricately precise.

"Sir? Kingsley? What happened? Is everyone all right?"

Kingsley shook his head and dropped the note back on the desk before looking Harry straight in the eye.

"Scabior showed up in Diagon Alley…Ron Weasley headed him off but he dropped an Exploding Potion in the middle of the street and Portkeyed out—"

"A what?" Harry asked faintly, his knees giving out as he sat back down on the chair, looking lost.

"He's all right, I just checked him out at St. Mungo's—"

"St…St. Mungo's…"

"Potter, pull yourself together; I've just talked to Ron...he's in pain but he'll be fine. George and Hugo found him after it was over. They're already at the hospital."

Harry's green eyes were wide but unfocused behind his glasses as he stared at all the papers on his desk.

"Potter, take the rest of the day off. Go get Hermione and get to Mungo's. See him for yourself…he'll be okay."

Harry nodded but didn't move; Kingsley slowly shuffled out of the room, glancing back at the young Auror. Harry remained sitting, eyes unblinking, and head inclined before the Minister closed the door, walking down the hall, intent on spending his Christmas Eve searching for a madman and his silver hand.

Hermione frowned and placed her chin in her hand, confused.

"Mum? What are you doing?"

Hermione started, promptly getting her hair caught in the thick needles of the Christmas tree.

"Nothing, Rose," Hermione said, untangling her hair. "Just…checking to make sure all the presents are still…safe?"

Her daughter's broad grin told her she didn't buy her story for a second.

"You were sneaking peaks, weren't you?"

"No!" Hermione answered automatically, and Rose's smile widened even more. "I mean, I just wanted to…oh will you quit it with that face?"

Rose just laughed as her mother stood up and loomed over her.

"If you must know, your father has yet to place my gift under the tree, and I was hoping he might have put it under there when I wasn't looking."

"So you were sneaking peaks!"

Hermione deflated, sinking down to her daughter's level to look her in the eye.

"I think some Christmas biscuits are in order, don't you?"

"You mean before dinner?" she asked and stroked her chin in mock contemplation. "This is a bribe isn't it?"

"Probably," Hermione answered with a shrug.

"All right, then, just wanted to be sure," she replied before bounding toward the kitchen.

Hermione stood up straight again, her soft smile waning from her face as she glanced at her watch. Ron and Hugo were cutting it awfully close; they only had ten minutes left before the game started…but she was probably fussing over nothing. Knowing her boys they had run into some other raving Cannons fanatic and lost track of time, so there really wasn't much to worry about yet.

Yet Rosie was given her biscuit as well as her dinner, and now Hermione really was beginning to worry.

"Where are they?" her daughter pouted from the couch, her eyes trained on the Christmas special playing on the television but her mind obviously elsewhere. "The game's already started! We'll miss the whole thing if they don't hurry up!"

"I'm sure they'll be home soon," Hermione answered, not sure what else to say to her.

But soon clearly wasn't soon enough for Rose; with each passing minute her frown became more and more pronounced to such a point that, after ten more minutes of waiting, she looked as though she might never be able to smile again.

"I'm sure there's a reason they're so late, Rosie," Hermione said comfortingly, coming to sit next to her daughter on the couch.

"You said that twenty minutes ago," she replied with a dark tone, fingering the tassels of her black and orange Chudley Cannons scarf.

"I've sent out a Patronus, dear. We'll just have to be patient."

But Hermione wasn't sure how patient even she could be. She had sent out that messenger Patronus a half hour ago and she still hadn't received a reply. It was common for Ron to lose track of the time, especially if he ran into an old friend, but with Hugo tagging alongside him there was surely no need to be this late.

Even still, it was only fifteen minutes…perhaps she was still worrying over nothing. Even Hugo could lose track of time, given the right distraction.

Hermione watched the rather pointless television special with her daughter until it ended ten minutes later, and now she was really beginning to worry.

"Maybe we should go and try to find them?" Rosie suggested, her thoughts clearly similar to her mother's.

"Let me Floo Uncle Harry first. Maybe he knows where they are."

Hermione didn't make it halfway to the fireplace, however, before it glowed an emerald green and Harry Potter tumbled out of it, covered in soot.

"Uncle Harry?" Rosie asked, surprised at the coincidence.

"Hermione!" he coughed, dusting himself off and ignoring his niece. Hermione's blood ran cold at seeing how pale and shaken he looked.

"Where are Ron and Hugo?" she asked immediately, and her heart leapt in her throat as she read sadness from her best friend. He looked to the ground at her feet, lost and not just for words.

Rose had turned off the television and darted forward, her hands on her hips and a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Where is dad? We were supposed to leave a half hour ago! We're going to miss the whole game!"

Hermione watched as Harry took in his little niece, watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down nervously, watched as his green eyes darted from the child's to her own.

"He promised to take us!" Rose was attempting to continue her rant, but Hermione stepped forward and placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders in order to silence her.

"Rosie, go put on your jacket."

"Are we finally going?"

"Go."

Hermione's briskness made Rose raise a suspicious eyebrow, but she said nothing more as she headed to the hall closet to fetch her coat.

"What's happened?" Hermione whispered as her daughter left the room.

"'Mr. Scrooge', Hermione. That's the last thing he said to me before leaving. He asked me to go and I didn't. If I had…"

"Harry," Hermione's voice wavered with emotion, reaching out to grab Harry's shaking hand. "What happened?"

The bespectacled Auror glanced down at her hand before looking her in the eye.

"He…there was an accident. A big one. Down in Diagon Alley."

"How are they?"

Harry swallowed before continued on in a ghost of a whisper.

"Hugo's fine…he and George are already at the hospital."

"The...the hospital?" she asked breathlessly.

Harry's momentary hesitation caused Hermione's hands to shake as tears sprang to her eyes.

"Kingsley said…an Exploding Potion…went off in the middle of the street. Scabior dropped it…Ron was trying to reason with him…."

All the color drained from her face as she listened without taking a breath.

"Kingsley said he'd be fine, though. I think we should go to St. Mungo's."

Hermione shook her head, not able to place her logical thoughts into coherent statements.

"Hugo's okay?"

"Fine. Him and George…they found him after it was over…."

Now the tears were spilling onto her cheeks and her hand flew to her mouth as she imagined her eight year old son finding her husband broken and beaten.

"Mom?"

Harry and Hermione jumped as Rosie appeared behind her, dressed up in her jacket. She froze at seeing the tears on her mother's cheeks.

"I get it. He's not coming," she said in a flat voice before turning around and running off, not before Hermione heard a faint sob of disappointment and betrayal.

Hermione had to divert her gaze as Harry ran after her, catching her on the stairs.

"Rose, wait—"

"He broke his promise!" she cried as she stomped up the steps. "I don't want you making excuses for him—"

"He's at St. Mungo's, Rose."

Rose stopped but didn't turn around.

"Why?"

"He was in a bit of an accident."

"That happens a lot."

Harry cringed at the coldness in her voice before continuing.

"Yeah, it does. But this time it's a bit more serious."

She turned around, her eyes narrowed, still distrustful.

"He's in hospital?"

Harry nodded, and the somber attitude he was displaying seemed to finally penetrate her disappointment as she came back down the stairs and grabbed his hand.

"Can we go see him then?"

"I think Dad would like that," Hermione said, surprising them both as she entered the hallway.

Rosie and Harry looked to the floor to avoid her red eyes.

"Come," she said, holding out her hands to both of them. "Let's go see him."

A/n: You might have guessed it, but this along with the last chapter and the next chapter were not supposed to be Tales chapters. I had planned a new fic and Scabior was supposed to die in the blast, but, really now, what fun would that be?

I'm sorry I've been pathetic with replying to reviews. I'll try to get around to them this time, especially because this chapter is jumpier and a bit more confusing than normal.

I hope you've all enjoyed your Christmases and/or other December-related holidays, and I wish you all a very pleasant new year as well.

-dieselwriter