A/n: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews!
Chapter 28
Shifting Timetables
If Harry had thought that he could enter his new school without much attention or trouble, well, then he had been sorely mistaken indeed.
The ten-year old had had to endure quite some gossip and staring at his old school, mainly because of the rumour about his parents Parkinson had spread and because of the sloppy clothes he wore. But luckily, being friends with the popular Weasley twins and with Draco had helped him somewhat, even after they had all three of them left to secondary schools, so that no one had really bothered him.
Still, he'd felt that he was being left in the margins of the little society within the school, a feeling that he was beginning to believe he would never escape.
It wasn't unreasonable to hope for a fresh start, to be able to blend in more successfully, even to make some friends (though he would always keep Hermione, Ron and Draco as his best friends, of course).
The day of arrivals at St-James' College hadn't ended very well to begin with. The three other first years who would be sharing a room with him all year had arrived before he'd been able to change into his uniform, and he'd seen the way they'd openly gawked at his worn jeans held in place with a plain old leather belt and the t-shirt that had been washed so many times the original blue colour had turned a blotchy pastel, the collar falling down his shoulder whenever he forgot to pull it up every few minutes.
The four boys had exchanged names, and before Harry had realized it, George, Jeff and Sam (as were their names) had already started conversing about their summer vacations. The discouraged boy had listened to scraps of stories of a Chinese metropolis, white-sand beaches somewhere in the Caribbean and a long trip of all the major European cities as he put his belongings away in one of the built-in closets, realizing with a sting of shame that he wasn't even able to fill it. It was only when he'd gone to fetch the school books and uniforms that he'd purchased weeks before and left here in storage that he was able to make it look like he had just as much with him as the other three, who seemed to have completely forgotten about his existence by then.
"Uh…Harry, right?" Jeff, the tallest one, had asked him after two hours of this. "Where did you go over the summer?"
Harry had felt that the boy at least tried to include him, but it was more out of politeness, aristocratic pride about manners, than real interest. So he'd shrugged and quickly lied vaguely about a trip to Southern France with his family. He'd heard Hermione talk enough about several tri[s there with her parents that he thought he could sustain the lie if anyone pushed for further information.
Yes. Sadly, he still had to resort to lying frequently, what with his situation with the Dursleys. But he made sure to lie as little as possible to his friends, and if he could, just avoid touchy subjects altogether.
After having dinner with Ron and Hermione, while Draco had rejoined his friends from his own year and dorm room, he had felt a little better, and had gathered just a little more courage. An institution such as St-James, filled with snobs, or at least children who were very well-off, was an intimidating place for a ten-year old who had just barely celebrated his birthday.
At least, he'd already pulled on his uniform, as had Hermione in her enthusiasm, and he thought he would be just a little more incognito from then on.
Of course, Harry had been too nervous for his first school day the next morning to catch much sleep. He'd known he wouldn't be able to close his eyes. But luckily it had nothing to do with his fear of nightmares anymore. That was something he'd managed to resolve in the past two years.
The solution to the nightmare with the mountain, and his mother falling in the snow, drenching it with the blood that came from the hole in her stomach, had been hard to find. It wasn't like he'd really looked for it. He'd actually been plagued by that same dream over and over again for many months, until he woke up so quickly that he hadn't even started screaming yet when he opened his eyes to his sweaty sheets and sometimes chattering teeth.
But with time, he'd started to get used to the events in the dream. It wasn't always exactly the same, but it was predictable. That was how he'd been certain it was a memory, and not a random creation from his brain. And he'd come to detach himself a little more every time.
It didn't mean that he wasn't afraid anymore, that he wasn't running towards his mother like a madman, trying to save her in some way, or trying to find his father of whom he could only hear the voice echo against the desolate and hostile mountain ridges. It meant that as he did those things, and felt those things, his rational brain seemed to be able to function and analyse the events rather than get lost in the confusion and panic of it.
And then the night had come when he had not woken up, the night that he had not screamed into his pillow. The raven had stopped himself from turning away, and had forced himself to look at his mother this time. To really look at her; her fingers clutching at the scarlet snow, her chest heaving with the effort of looking up at her son, her grimace as her eyes met their exact match in his, and her stomach…
And then the raven had remembered.
He had seen that wound before as a seven-year old. That day, when he'd been frozen in place in the doorway of Mrs. Figg's house, his eyes had been forced to see the gaping hole that had pierced his mother from her back to her stomach.
Harry discovered his memories of the most horrible day of his life alone in his bedroom at night. He processed them for many other nights. Distancing himself from it and analyzing it in a rational way had helped a little, and that was how he'd understood that Lily had been shot in the back, and that the bullet had travelled through her to exit at the front, ripping everything inside of her. But she hadn't died instantly. She had bled to death rather slowly and had only allowed herself to die once she had seen her son one last time.
All this Harry had learned from the research he'd done on the internet. Only when it was almost closing time and there was practically no one left in the library had he dared to search the internet for this rather morbid information about bullet wounds and their consequences. But he was glad he'd done it. He felt he'd done his mother right, that he hadn't let her down by doing this.
But then he'd started getting frustrated, because he realized with time that it was nothing at all that he'd discovered. He still had no clue who had done it and why. And his father... He could only remember the policeman telling him that night, when they'd been searching his entire home, that his father would never come home again. How had he died? Had he been together with his mother? Had they been attacked? Had he died first? Had he protected her? Why? How? What had happened?
The answers that Harry had found from finally remembering the events of that day had only brought a million more questions with it. And Petunia who never missed a chance to tell him that it had been her sister's own fault if she'd been murdered, that it was because they'd been bad people, criminals. It confused the young boy. He didn't know what to think. And with all the rumours that had spread around the school about it…
It had all ended in him having to shut everything up in himself again, for fear that he would crack under the pressure of it all and that his friends would notice what he was going through. He didn't want them to know. He wasn't sure why, but he felt that they would treat him differently if they did, that they would always try to cheer him up, or tip-toe around him, or try to talk about it. Besides, what if his parents had really done bad things? Then he didn't want those secrets divulged to Ron and Hermione. He would protect his parents' memory, and everything else he could. He would never let them down.
That was the end of the raven-boy's nightmares. Sometimes he still had them, but they didn't hold the same control over him, they couldn't make him scream. He was stronger than them, he thought with pride. He'd conquered them.
It was one thing less to worry about the night before his first school day at St-James, and though he hadn't slept very well, he felt ready to dive into the new day that morning at breakfast. Draco wasn't with them to eat, but Harry didn't mind. He'd brushed his teeth with his blonde friend that morning. It had reassured him enough.
"We have our first lesson with Snape this afternoon!" Ron's mouth gaped open over his plate of sausage and very little eggs. He and Harry had the greatest part of their classes together, and he was looking over their schedule for the day while Hermione did the same on her side.
"I have her this morning." She noticed on her sheet with mixed feelings. Severa Snape taught European Literature in both the boys' and girls' school. At least it meant that Harry and Ron could borrow her notes if necessary. "I heard my roommates say that she's awful to everyone, even teachers. It sounds even worse than two years ago back in Surrey."
"I heard the same from my roommates." Ron seemed to pale ever so slightly. He looked like he'd seen a spider crawling over his sausages.
There was a sudden squeal nearby, as if a little mouse had run between their feet under the table. Harry turned to the source of the sound and saw that Neville was seated next to Ron, an empty spot on the bench between them. He looked very worried, when Harry ever got to see the face that he was constantly casting down.
But Harry was happy to see him. He hadn't caught a glimpse of him since the Welcoming Party and had wondered if he'd shown up.
"Hi, Neville." He said somewhat tentatively.
The boy with the puffy cheeks responded as well as he could.
"Are you worried about Snape?" Harry wondered. It seemed that rumours of her reputation had reached every first-year before the end of Arrivals Day. Neville nodded into his plate of beans on toast. "Don't be." The raven tried to sound reassuring, knowing full well that there actually was some cause for worry. "It's probably just the upperclassmen trying to scare us. Next year you'll be doing it to the new ones."
The Longbottom boy actually laughed at this, though it was more of a nervous chuckle. But his chin seemed to lift just a little more away from his plate, allowing himself to meet the eyes of the trio who sat huddled together.
"And Hermione's got really good noting skills, you'll…" Ron begun, waving nonchalantly at Neville, including him effortlessly as was the Weasley way of doing things.
"Ron!" Hermione puffed at once in indignation. "I told you I'm not going to keep doing everything for you! Besides we're in separate dorms, and I'm not going to spend my time crossing between the two while I should be studying for exams."
"Exams? Now?" Ron countered. "It's the bloody first day!"
"And you think that scholarship is just going to drop into your lap, do you?" She lectured, her thin nose rising delicately into the air.
"Don't mind them, Neville." Harry whispered across the table to the boy, sliding a little closer to him and away from the two whose voices were starting to make heads turn their way. "I'm sure Hermione will be pleased to help you if you're in trouble, so don't worry. We're all in the same boat, you know."
"Y-y-yes. Th-thank you." The nervous boy nodded and swallowed, even though he hadn't put anything into his mouth. His eyes weren't lingering on his plate so much anymore.
The first few classes weren't actually that bad. Most teachers just liked to lecture them on the history and prestige of the school, and what they expected of its students, in behaviour as well as in grades. It was a little stressful, but at least it gave them some time to adjust before pouring over the books.
At lunch, Draco came to sit by them, curious to know what the three of them thought of the professors they'd seen until now. He was more than happy to tell them about all of their strange little quirks, like the history teacher for instance who would always use a new piece of chalk whenever the last one broke, and leaving the pieces lying on the floor; which meant that students had to clean up a dozen or so pieces of chalk after each class, which they kept of course so that they could throw it at the back of their classmates' heads in the next lesson. Or about the maths professor for the first, second and third year boys, who always wore trousers that looked like pyjama bottoms and still used a cell-phone the size of a car battery.
The four of them sniggered all the way through lunch as they compared the teachers of St-James to the weirdest professors they'd come up with for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry's only regret was when he saw that Draco's self-confident behaviour and popularity and seniority had scared away the puffy-cheeked boy who had retreated to a different table to eat his lunch alone, his eyes once more fixed on the shepherd's pie they'd been served.
Just at the time that they'd begun to consider going outside for the remainder of lunch break, a sudden silence descended upon the tables surrounding them. Harry turned around along with his friends to look at the entrance of the dining hall and felt his throat constrict for a moment when Snape's tall and imposing figure approached, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor and her usual long black cardigan flowing around her as she walked.
Her eyes, cold, dark and determined, were probably what had induced the hush among the students, but they all started whispering furiously once it was clear where she was headed: straight to the quartet's table.
Draco was the only one not feeling quite so intimidated. Siberia had already unleashed her full powers on him many times during the time of his life, and had grown accustomed to it at an early age. He was however concerned for his friends. He'd warned Harry in his mail to be ready for the woman and hoped now that he had listened.
"Mr. Potter." Professor Snape, as she was called now in this school, said, ignoring the three others entirely. "Your assignments."
It took a brief moment for Harry to recall what she was talking about. He'd been laughing and joking, and thinking of things in an entirely different dimension. But when it hit him, dread filled him just recently filled stomach.
"I…I left it in the dormitory." He squeaked. Strangely, Siberia was much scarier when lots of people were around. Maybe it was the fear that emanated from the other students that scared him. He was afraid of the fear itself.
The raven hadn't thought to bring the stack of papers he'd collected in a binder over the two years they were still in elementary school. It was heavy, and he'd been loaded with all his books for the morning classes already. He'd thought that she'd ask him in their first literature class in the afternoon, and that he would go get the binder during lunch, which she hadn't given him the chance to do yet.
"Well," Severa Snape spoke with deliberate slowness, as if the dark-haired boy were mentally impaired, "go get it then." A sudden rush of air could be heard coming from her nostrils.
Ron turned around so that the teacher couldn't see him and raised an eyebrow at Harry that made him want to laugh. Then he mouthed something at him that he thought was something like "Is she a bull or something?" Which was most likely a comment on that snorting noise she'd made.
The raven pursed his lips to keep the slightly nervous smile from bubbling up to the surface, stood up, nearly entangling his legs together as he pulled them away from between the bench and the table, and then hurried out the dining hall hoping his friends would clean up after him, out of the school building and straight to the dormitories.
"Why by Merlin did she come now?" Hermione hissed with a murderous gaze towards the teachers' offices where Severa Snape had retreated with the stack of essays and analyses Harry had gone to fetch for her. "Why not wait for class?"
The bushy-haired girl was usually the one with the answers, so when she was the one asking the questions, none of them really knew what to say.
"She's lost her marbles." Ron grumbled after a long walk of silence through the corridors, where they would have to split to go to their respective lessons. "I say it, Fred and George said it, and even Percy said it before them. Bill and Charlie were lucky bastards that she wasn't yet teaching in Surrey in their time."
"She just wants to make everyone uncomfortable." Hermione added with a fierce frown.
Draco preferred not to say anything. He thought he knew his mother's cousin better than anyone, having been raised by her until the age of four and tutored by her ever since. It was obvious to anyone that she was unpleasant, unsociable, strict and bitter. But no matter what she did, she always had a purpose. Severa Snape was not a woman who liked to pull attention to herself, or anyone else for that matter. She wouldn't have wanted to make a scene in the dining hall unless she thought it necessary in some way.
Grey-eyes had the growing suspicion that there was something waiting for Harry in his first lesson on European Literature. But having no idea what, he chose not to voice those suspicions, and instead settled for some reassurances; for he saw that his friend, who was after all three years his junior and on the small side, was playing with his thin fingers, tangling and untangling them over and over again, the way he did when he was nervous.
Draco's hand snaked down inconspicuously to those furiously active fingers and enveloped them with his own. He couldn't help but notice how warm they felt in his palms.
"It will be fine. I'm sure you did well on the assignments." He said, lowering his voice as they trailed behind Ron and Hermione, so that only Harry could hear. "Just enjoy the first day, because starting tomorrow, the homework is going to start flooding in."
The raven managed to keep his fingers still during his Russian lesson. It was the only one he had without Ron, because Ron had opted for French, because then he could always ask Draco for help, and Russian was too difficult he thought. Harry on the other hand hadn't been able to resist when he'd seen that his favourite language was an option. He'd already learned to read the Cyrillic alphabet by himself, and some basic grammar and words.
But after Russian came European Literature, and though he was reunited with his red-headed friend, his nerves were pushing his hands to start fidgeting again.
Professor Snape was already seated at the desk in the front of the classroom when the pupils filed in in little groups of two or three, and going to sit together accordingly. As soon as they passed the doorstep, they went as quiet as a church on a work day. The literature teacher's reputation had preceded her, and none of the first years was foolish enough to test what they'd heard on the very first day.
The lesson had officially already started ten minutes ago, but still professor Snape sat at her desk, her eyes darting from left to right at an alarming speed as she read something lying on the desktop. It was with a sinking stomach that Harry recognized his binder of essays lying on the corner of the table. She was reading his work.
And still everyone was quiet. Quiet enough that they were able to hear some upperclassmen playing football on the terrain outside close by the tree-line of the little countryside forest. Cheers and arguments, and the loud 'thump' of a foot colliding with the ball slipped through the open windows on a September breeze, already smelling of autumn leaves.
When Harry thought he could no longer stand it and had to do something, like run away or scream or roll around on the floor, the teacher with the pointy nose and all clad in black put the papers she'd been reading back in their place in the binder, and stood up to fully face her students.
"Tell me all of your names, one by one, loud and clear."
Everyone looked at each other, wondering who should go first. A boy who was also wearing glasses and who sat right in front of Ron on the left side of the first row cleared his throat and then said tentatively: "Justin Finch-Fletchley."
"I don't care for your given name, Mr. Finch-Fletchley." Siberia snapped and clicked her heels as she shifted her weight to look at the boy next to Justin, as if daring him to say his first name.
"Macleod." The boy almost squeaked as he cringed in his seat.
They continued this way, and Snape did not acknowledge when it was Ron and Harry's turn that she already knew their names, moving on swiftly until they reached the last row. And then it was Neville's turn.
Harry pursed his lips, feeling nervous for the timid boy. He hadn't seen Neville was in the room, he'd been too busy fidgeting and worrying to pay much attention. If he'd known he would've asked him to come sit by him and Ron, like he'd done in the morning classes they'd had together.
It was a debacle. Neville didn't speak for the first half-minute, and then stuttered on the 'L' for another minute, until Snape sighed in exasperation.
"Apparently this boy has no name, unless it be 'L', so let's proceed." She said harshly and looked at the next student, ignoring Neville.
"Wait!"
All heads snapped around to look at Harry, including Ron who was shooting him a silent 'are you insane?' with is eyes. But even though the raven-haired boy was already so nervous for himself, he could not let something like this pass. Neville deserved to be treated like everyone else. He had the right to be respected!
"Neville." He addressed the puffy-cheeked boy. "If you have something to say, say it!" He said, a little more forceful than he thought was good, but Neville had to step up and defend himself too.
Neville looked shocked to the point where he looked catatonic. But then, at the first try and in one go he said: "Longbottom."
It had still sounded very weak and shrill, but he had not wavered. Severa Snape raised an eyebrow at the raven-haired child sitting in the second row, a determined look in his eyes and an encouraging smile on his lips destined for the Longbottom boy. Then she turned to the next child in line and went on until every pupil had said his name.
"Very well. We'll start immediately with the great Greek authors of classical times." She rattled so quickly that it was hard to distinguish the separate words, as if they'd lost a whole hour instead of five minutes. "But first, Mr. Potter, if you would step over to my desk."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise and horror as he watched her sit on her chair, pulled out a blank sheet of paper and started writing so swiftly that she'd already written ten lines when Harry was close enough to see, but he didn't' dare try and make out what it was she was writing.
When she was finished, she folded it neatly but quickly and handed it to him. "You are no longer needed in this class. Take this to the secretary's office."
Wave after wave of pure humiliation crashed over Harry as he turned on his heels and stomped out the room. His cheeks felt ablaze and he tried to walk as quickly as possible to avoid anyone seeing the intense red colour they must have. It probably rivalled Ron's ears whenever his twin brothers teased him.
He felt an intense rage too, caused by the injustice of this act. He'd worked two years on those assignments! Had read all the books! He'd already read all the Greek authors she was going to talk about. Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, Herodotus, Socrates, Plato, Archimedes, all of them! At least one of their works for each. He hadn't understood most of it, but he'd tried! And without any other help than the internet at the library and the notes that Siberia had given him with the assignments, he thought he'd done pretty well.
And now she threw him out, again?
The raven made deep rasping caws and beat his wings in fury and distress all the way to the secretary's office, where he stormed in and threw the door open a little too hard, earning him accusing looks from the three women who were seated at their desk and computers.
"How can I help you?" The closest one to the door, a plump woman in a floral dress with a sour face and greying hair asked him, sounding stern.
Harry gave her the folded paper. It was a little crumpled, and it served to get him another disapproving glance. He judged it better if he did not speak right now.
The woman put on her glasses and started reading the note, her eyebrows crunching together the further she got to the end. "Wh.." She huffed. "This is outrageous!"
Leaving the raven-boy behind at the reception desk, she flitted back to her two colleagues and they started discussing furiously in lowered voices. One even made a call on the telephone, and judging from her tone, it sounded like she was complaining.
"But Minerva! We can't…" Harry could just hear when she suddenly raised her voice in protest to something that had been said on the other side of the line. She was cut off however, and she listened with pursed lips, shaking her head slightly when her colleagues looked at her questioningly.
All this time Harry was left to strike root on the spot. His fingers were slipping as he proceeded to fumbling with them, and he tried to wipe off the sweat on the white, short-sleeved shirt of his summer uniform.
It felt like an hour had passed when one of the women, the youngest this time, told him to come with her to the meeting room. It was just a little further down the hall and it was where staff meetings were held, or where the headmistress spoke to parents when they came in with complaints or other problems. It wasn't being used at the moment, so the young secretary and the even younger boy slipped in. She signed for him to take a seat and he slid tentatively on the edge of one of the many chairs.
The young secretary sat across from him and laid down a few sheets on the table that she had taken with her, and starting looking over what looked like timetables. Lots of them.
Then she opened a file that she had also taken with her. "Potter, Harry, isn't it?"
Harry croaked a nervous "Yes."
"Well this is going to be a little complicated, and it's so short notice!" She complained, apparently thinking that he knew what on earth she was talking about.
Harry stared at her questioningly. He was frowning so deeply he could feel the skin of his forehead wrinkling.
"If we want to reschedule your timetable by tomorrow I'm afraid we'll have to do it immediately. But there are going to be some issues. There will always be some lesson that you will be missing when you're following professor Snape's class."
What? The raven shook his head. He must've missed something, somewhere along the line.
"Wait, what class?" He asked, his voice hoarse.
"European Literature, of course." The secretary looked at him strangely, as if assessing his intelligence.
"But, Sibe…professor Snape said I was no longer needed in her class."
"Not the first-year course, no. She…demanded," the secretary closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself, "that you were placed in the third-year course for European Literature. Now…"
"Wait!" Harry interrupted her. "She…what?"
The young woman shifted her weight, clearly becoming impatient with repeating herself.
"She asked for you to follow her class, but on the third-year level, effectively skipping the two first years. But in order to do that, we have to shift your schedule around. And professor Snape also demanded that it be done by tomorrow's first period, which will be the first third-year European Literature class, so that you not miss any lessons.
We don't have enough time to work out an entirely different timetable, and it wouldn't be possible anyway to make everything fit, because we cannot simply switch you with another student as it is only European Literature that you will be following with the third forms.
The only way I see to do this however," she perused the different schedules on the many papers in front of her, marking some places with her pen, "is to also shift you to the third-year English Literature. Professor Snape said you were advanced in both."
The secretary looked up the boy whose mouth had fallen open for confirmation.
"Uh…" Harry started rather awkwardly. Again, she looked at him in a weird manner. He thought he understood why now. She was trying to see if he was really smart enough to be put into an advanced course, even if it was only literature. "I know some of the English authors?" It ended in an uncertain question. He wondered whether it was enough.
"Well, I have no choice but to do it this way for now, as we are so short on time." The secretary continued. "The assignments professor Snape collected from you will be counted as exams for the first two cycles, but I cannot let you into an advanced course on English Literature before you take an official test to prove you have learned what is required in the curriculum, and before Mr. Wright, the English Literature professor, has approved.
I will arrange for you to take that test tomorrow with Mr. Wright himself. Headmistress McGonagall instructed for the test to be taken orally, as there is not time for Mr. Wright to put together a proper examination. If you succeed, then we have but one problem left with your schedule."
Harry's head was spinning. Too much information in too little time wasn't healthy for the brain, he concluded. But he understood enough for his nerves to come barging back. A test! Tomorrow! He wasn't prepared!
When he didn't speak, the secretary decided to continue with her organisational explanations, wondering if the ten-year old child (like it said in Harry's file) could really understand anything so complicated. But the boy sat still and looked tense and concentrated as he listened. Maybe he did follow…
"The one problem is that both English and European Literature fall on time when you should be having History. I could shift around some more and put you in different classes, but that would change you schedule completely and there would still be at least two classes that fall on the same time. I think it's much simpler this way. But that means that you will have to learn History by yourself, with the notes and help of your professor, of course, during the periods that you will have no class, due to the shift in your timetable.
Do you think you could handle that as well?"
The raven just nodded. At this point, he couldn't be in more trouble. Third-year European Literature with Snape? Fine. Third-year English Literature? Fine. Oral exam tomorrow with Professor Wright? Fine. Self-study in History? Well, yes, fine too!
There was one last class to sit through when Harry came back from the secretariat, but he had no idea what it was or what was being said. Ron poked him in the side constantly, whispering a thousand questions about what had happened. But Harry shook his head. He felt numb, he felt like he'd had an exhausting dream.
Even after the class, he waved Ron away and went straight back to the dormitories to immediately jump into the books he'd purchased for literature when he still thought he'd be following the first-year course. There was no way could fail that test tomorrow. He was certain he would get in trouble, would fail his end of year exams, would be expelled even.
His mind spiralled out of control driven by his stress and panic and shock, but he kept on reading, only starting to breathe properly again when he noticed that he did actually know most of the things in the books.
But then there were other things that he had forgotten, or that he had never quite grasped, and so he refused when Draco and Ron came to get him for dinner, growling when they came to near or became too pushy.
"Great, we've got Hermione the second on our shoulders." Ron mumbled gruffly as they left his dormitory room.
Well, my back hurts. I was a little behind so I wrote almost all of this in one sitting, so I've been going at it for 3 hours. I hope it's worth my efforts ^^
So, what do you think, will Harry be able to do it? Or is Siberia asking too much of him?
Leave me some comments, please ;) I'm open to all ideas, suggestions and questions.
And sorry if I haven't responded to all reviews, I'll try to do it for this chapter, I promise. :D
