Chapter 12
Understanding Fire
A/N: Sorry for the delay guys! I got sick pretty badly when I first started writing this and couldn't even sit up straight without feeling like I was gonna pass out. After that I got caught up in wedding planning and this got set aside. In all, I struggled with this chapter for far longer than should've been necessary, making decisions about specific areas. Anyway, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! This has been getting amazing feedback and I'm SO happy you all are enjoying it!
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and ate a piece of toast. He had awoken that morning from a disturbing dream. He had been back in the room where he had killed the shadow-man. This time, there was no sign of anyone but himself, or rather, himselves. Both the broken, destroyed Harry, and the real Harry, the murderer, had been there. It had been an awkward meeting. Neither spoke, Harry wasn't sure he could've if he had tried. For some reason, both he and the broken version of himself were still covered in blood. They had sat studying each other for what seemed like hours until Harry had awoken.
Needless to say, Harry found the dream unsettling. He had somehow ended up back in that place of torture, and although there was no struggle this time, it was deeply unnerving to look at yourself with a completely destroyed body and broken bones. Harry had closely inspected his body in the mirror upon awakening to ensure to himself that that horrible image would leave him.
Harry ate his meal alone. Ron had spread the word to anyone who would hear that he was planning on having a lie-in today, because it was the weekend, and made it clear that he hoped not to be disturbed. Neville had been gone long before Harry awoke, as he had a detention to serve with Professor Snape for destroying a set of glass phials used to collect potions. Hermione was present, but she sat at the far end of the table, clearly avoiding Harry. Nothing he had said to her since he left the hospital wing the day before had received any sort of positive response. He wondered at the brown-haired girl's behavior as he ate.
He didn't understand what her motivation for shunning him was. Everything had seemed to be going pleasantly between them at first. They had been amicable on the train, they talked during the sorting, they even shared seats together in Potions and she seemed pleased overall with Harry's company. But in the last week, clearly something had happened.
Harry finished his meal and stood, walking away from the Gryffindor table. Harry had awoken from his fitful sleep early, his body still in sync with the schedule of the Dursleys, and had little to do for the next few hours. He looked up and down the Great Hall, searching for familiar faces. Hermione was sitting by herself as close to the entrance to the Great Hall as the Gryffindor table allowed. Harry watched her for a moment as she leafed through a book propped next to her plate, clearly not focusing on the food.
Looking along the table, Harry saw Seamus Finnigan chatting animatedly with Harry's other bunkmate, Blaise. He thought to approach them, but just then they stood and exited the Great Hall. Harry continued his perusal, looking from face to face, hoping to find someone familiar. He saw some of his fellow first-year Gryffindors, but made no motion to speak to them. He knew their names, but nothing else. He saw a girl named Parvati Patil, she had dark skin and long black hair; she and her twin sister had been unexpectedly sorted into different houses. Next to her sat Lavender Brown. Lavender was loud and rather dull, in Harry's opinion. Her curly hair was held up by a bright pink ponytail and she was conversing with a boy across the table from her whose name Harry had forgotten.
Beyond the babbling girl sat the other Gryffindor first years. Harry looked down at the politics and social structure of the Gryffindor table like a bird surveys a field. There were the rich students and the poor kids. The socially awkward and the butterflies. The studious and the slackers. Some students sat, indefinable. They interacted with no one and nothing, focusing on their food; or, in the case of one bushy-haired girl, a book.
Harry wanted to speak to someone, but felt nervous seeing so many that he didn't recognize. Retreating backwards from the hall, Harry accidentally bumped another first year boy who had been departing the Gryffindor table. He turned quickly and took in the appearance of the dark-skinned young man. "H-hello, I'm Harry Potter. Sorry 'bout that." He said with only a hint of nervousness and holding out his hand.
The boy looked up and gave him a somewhat odd look. "I know who you are," was his only response. He looked down at Harry's proffered hand and back to his face before walking past him.
Confused, Harry turned and followed the boy. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?" he asked.
"You don't need to know my name." The boy responded before exiting the Great Hall.
Looking back to the Gryffindor table, Harry saw that quite a few students were openly staring at him. Shifting his gaze, Harry's eyes briefly locked with Hermione's, who had apparently also been staring. She rapidly turned back to her book. Sending one last glance to the students who watched him, Harry exited the Great Hall, muttering that he would never understand people.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
It was time for Quidditch Tryouts. Harry stood on the field with over a dozen other students waiting to attempt to earn their place on the team. They had been corralled onto the pitch by a surly-looking dark haired boy who introduced himself as Oliver Wood. He had led them in and told them to warm up.
Harry watched as the others stretched and replicated their movements hesitantly, unsure of what he was preparing for. Hooch had given him only a brief description of the game and had told him that he would learn the rest at practice before departing to some appointment. All Harry knew was that he would be attempting to catch a small golden ball that could fly called the snitch. Beyond that, he had absorbed very little of what Madame Hooch had described to him.
"Alright everyone," Wood said loudly. "We're doing this simply. There's sixteen of you. We'll have you try out in groups of four. Several snitches will be released, the player who catches the most will move on to the final group. Whoever performs best in that last group will be our new Seeker. Any questions?"
No one spoke or offered up any protest and Wood read off the names of those in the first group, ending with Harry's own. "If your name was listed, head over to the center of the pitch." Wood said. "You'll find broomsticks there. The rest of you, wait here and observe." He finished before stalking off to the stands where a small observation table was set.
Harry followed as three older Gryffindors began walking in the indicated direction. At the center of the wide playing area laid four broomsticks for the hopeful players. Each of them mounted a broom and kicked off, floating along the pitch. Oliver called out to them and a flurry of small golden balls rose in front of him and began their zigzagging midair across the arena. "Begin!" Shouted Oliver.
Harry tried to become used to the finer movements of the broom as he chased down one snitch after another. Several times, Harry and another student found themselves following the same snitch. In these moments, Harry tried to cut them off from their approach by sidling into them or pushing them so they would turn off course. Once, when doing this, a fourth-year boy Harry cut off was quite displeased and swung at him with a loud curse. Harry dodged easily. Pitifully enough, Dudley would have destroyed this boy in a fistfight.
Harry, having just caught the quickest snitch he'd chased, looked up to see a brown-haired girl catch one last snitch. With this, a buzzer sounded from Wood's direction. He motioned them all to fly to the stands where he sat with a piece of parchment and quill, ready to record the results.
"How many snitches did you catch?" Oliver said when they all had arrived. He looked at his sheet and back up. "Katie Mellson." He finished.
"Five." Mellson said proudly. It was impressive; there were perhaps only fifteen snitches that had been released. Harry felt in his pocket. Had he caught more than five? He couldn't have. He felt unspeakably nervous.
"Bradley Whittaker." Oliver called next. The dark haired boy that had tried to strike Harry looked down in embarrassment. "One."
Wood nodded, unsurprised. "Michael Scofield."
The boy scowled. "Three." At this, Oliver did look surprised. Harry, caught up in trying to count the balls in his pocket without appearing to do so panicked slightly when Oliver looked at him.
"Harry Potter?" He said questioningly.
"Er, well—I'm not quite sure." Harry said sheepishly. He grabbed a handful of balls from the pocket of Dudley's hand-me-down pants. Scofield coughed in an irritated manner as Harry counted them in his hand aloud. "Four. Five. Six. Seven." He looked up, not realizing until after he had finished speaking that he had won. A moment of elation passed through him.
Oliver stared at Harry with a strange expression in his eyes. "Harry Potter moves on to the winners' group. Go sit down there and wait for us to call you all back to the pitch." He said, gesturing to a bench next to the changing rooms. Harry did as instructed and waited, his elation fading back into a nervous concentration as he anticipated the next round.
It seemed an eternity as Harry sat while three more groups went through the same tryout he had just been through. In that time, Harry strained his mind to try to remember each snitch he had caught, and how he had caught it. Finally he remembered the catch that had been eluding him. It was not the last snitch he had caught, nor the first, those had been clear in his memory. No, it seemed that somewhere in the middle of his flying Harry's mind had gone into a sort of automatic mode that he couldn't recall. He remembered some of it, of course. Loops and turns and races. But he felt as if, looking back, he was watching himself rather than being an active participant. It reminded him of something his Uncle Vernon had described in regards to driving.
"Sometimes I get home and wonder who drove me here." He had said to Petunia one evening after a fair amount of drinking on both of their parts. "Iss like I go on—what's the word? Autopilot. Tha'sit.—Sometimes I go on autopilot. S'like I'm not even driving." He had slurred.
"Potter!" A voice shouted, startling Harry from his stupor. "It's time for the winners' round." Wood pointed back out to the field and Harry saw that the regular members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had mounted their brooms and were waiting for those still attempting to join the team to arrive. Harry strode quickly to them and took up the broom he had first used.
"Grab a broomstick!" George Weasley called happily. "The longer you're on the ground, the longer we'll have to take aim!" Fred finished.
As the winners' rushed to their brooms and kicked off the ground Fred called out, "Let me introduce my compatriots! The lovely Angelina!"
"The beautiful Katie Bell!" George said with a wink. "And last—"
"But certainly not least."
"The awe-inspiring Alicia!" Fred shouted finally.
"Must you always be so sarcastically complimentary?" Alicia called out.
"You doubt us?" Fred asked with a frown painted over his face.
"I personally find watching you play quite inspiring." George said quickly.
"Yes, indeed. Although, watching you do anything inspires me. Playing quidditch, spell-casting, bending over to pick up a dropped quill—" Fred piped out before Alicia could do more than cough indignantly.
"Really it depends on the angle from which you are viewed just how much you inspire us." George said while flying around behind Alicia to leer at her.
"You two are unbelievable." Katie said as Alicia protested loudly, pelting after George.
"You know you love—" Fred started before Oliver's voice cut in from his seat at the observation table. "That's quite enough!" He shouted. "The game is on!" As he said this he released five balls into the air. Four dark brown balls immediately shot toward the mounted players and the fifth ball, small and golden, flew off into the sky.
"Don't fear the bludger!" George laughed as he brandished a small wooden bat.
Harry watched one of the brown balls, which he assumed were bludgers, aiming straight toward him and was unsure what its purpose was. He thought for a moment he would have to catch it, but then he saw the rest of the players scattering and he understood. They were going to try to knock him off his broom. He immediately dropped altitude to avoid one of the balls and turned to watch it fly past him. Suddenly, Fred Weasley was there with a bat of his own. He swung hard into the flying ball and it rebounded, flying back toward Harry.
Zipping into the air, Harry again avoided the ball and decided to get as high up as he could so as to better see the snitch. As he came to a rest, he saw that all five of the official team members held bats and were swatting the balls toward the four prospective seekers. He realized then that he would have to be dodging their shots and searching for the snitch at the same time. Then Harry noticed a brown blur whizzing toward him and had to take evasive action. He dove toward the three tall posts and through one of the rings resting at the top and was satisfied as he heard the ball crash into the post.
Looking back he observed that the other prospective seekers were having quite a time just trying to avoid the bludgers, let alone looking for the snitch. Harry watched as one of them, a third or fourth-year girl was hit by a bludger and knocked to the ground below, and realization dawned on him. This task would get harder as time went on and less players were in the sky to be targets. Although he had gained a moment's respite by crashing the bludger following him, Harry knew his time was up as it rose again and renewed its attempted to kill him. He realized that the bludger would follow him until it hit him, and so made a decision.
The five members, including the Weasley twins, had taken up surrounding positions to the prospective players. They circled slowly, occasionally batting a bludger back on target if one missed its target. Everything stopped for a moment as he remembered.
He stood atop hot pavement behind the school he and his cousin attended. Around him stood five boys, staring at him and laughing cruelly. They had cornered him beneath a set of wooden bleachers so that he couldn't escape. Dudley and his friend Piers were in front of him, the other three boys' names were lost to Harry. He had been caught. He knew how this ended. Harry stepped back and his right leg nearly gave under him as his muscles spasmed. He had run for all he was worth, but eventually one of the boys had caught him. Harry blamed it on being exhausted and weak from the last time he had been caught. He met Dudley's eyes and the boy smiled. Then it started.
One of the boys behind Harry kicked his leg out from under him and Harry fell to his knees his hand gripping the warm wood of the stands. Piers, the smallest of the group, looked down at Harry on his knees and, winding up, struck Harry's face hard. Harry's body jerked to the right and he rested his elbow on the asphalt. After that, the blows began raining down. He felt fists smashing into his back and Dudley kicked him full force in the ribs, knocking him over completely.
Harry laid there and took the pain, feeling blood drip from his lips as he received one strike after another. He wanted to run. He wanted to die. Anything to get away from this. He saw a girl his age behind the boys, watching his beating. She started to cry and walked away. A child's shoe struck his face and his vision became blurred. Harry looked into Dudley's eyes and saw the pleasure there. Suddenly, beneath those wooden bleachers, something broke in him. He stopped feeling the boys striking him and stood up.
Suddenly, Harry was not playing Quidditch. He was still on a broom, still avoiding bludgers, still surrounded, but Harry's mind was years in the past. His hands clenched on his broomstick. What he had done was… No. He cut off that memory. He knew what to do when surrounded. Harry flew directly at George Weasley at full speed. George, seeing this, attempted to fly out of the way to Harry's left, but Harry course-corrected and did a loop, flying upside down over George's head and causing the bludger that had been chasing him to knock the redhead from his broom harshly.
Harry turned, looking for his next target with flashing eyes, and saw Alicia Spinnett staring at him with her mouth open. He flew directly toward her and she fled him on her broom. He sped along after her as she tried to shake Harry. He considered trying to magically affect his broom as he had before, but worried that the broom would crash. He slowly gained on Alicia and eventually came alongside her. Unbeknownst to Harry, he had become the primary target of two separate bludgers, and the two mounted students were followed by twin brown blurs.
Alicia looked to Harry, drifted into him, and slammed her shoulder against his, hoping to unseat him. Harry, rather than resisting Alicia's push, allowed his body to flip around so that he was again upside-down. Because of this let he maintained a straight trajectory whilst Alicia briefly lost control, and slowed down, giving the bludger behind her the time needed to hit her hip and push her toward the ground.
Harry, still upside-down with a bludger chasing after him, looked up at the ground. It was quite the novel experience. He saw a glint of gold flash just above the grass beneath him and Harry did something insane. He stopped. He didn't hover or zoom with the broom, he allowed himself to begin a freefall toward the ground, letting go of all control as he watched the snitch rapidly coming closer to him. The bludger flew harmlessly past Harry, unable to follow his quick turn.
Harry was now dropping toward the ground at high speed, following the glinting gold ball that flapped from place to place below him. He was going impossibly fast. He mentally calculated his distance from the ball that hovered above the ground. Two hundred feet. One-fifty. A hundred. Harry heard the voices of the other players yelling at him to pull out of his fall, that it was too dangerous and if he crashed he would be hurt or dead; he ignored them. He knew he would have to pull out of his dive as he caught the snitch to avoid hitting the ground.
There! Harry extended his arm and closed his fingers around the snitch while he wrenched the broom up as hard as possible. Harry could feel the dewy grass brushing against his shoes as he narrowly avoided crashing. The bludgers immediately flew back to the table at which Wood sat and Harry landed at the center of the arena.
Looking around, Harry saw the other players watching him in awe. Angelina and Katie hovered with their jaws hanging open staring at Harry as he zipped along the pitch. He had thought he had performed well, but their looks seemed to contradict this fact.
Fred flew behind Katie and swatted her rear end with a cry of, "Don't get all hot and bothered! Remember, he's a first year!"
"Fred!" Katie and Angelina's harmonious shrieks rang out. "How dare you!?" Angelina cried. And suddenly the two chasers were tailing the surprisingly fast redhead as he led them around the entirety of the large Quidditch pitch.
"That's enough!" Wood was glowering at the Weasley. "Come up to the table!"
He and the rest of Gryffindor's official members flew to the table, subtracting, of course, Alicia and Fred, who sat behind Oliver already; having been caught by the wards that protected Quidditch players from falling to their deaths.
They discussed for a brief moment before dispersing. "Harry Potter!" Wood shouted. "You will be Gryffindor teams first-string Seeker. Tera Brooks," he said, nodding to a girl with light blond hair that hovered nearby. "you will be taking second-string. You will be trained for all positions in case of injuries. Congratulations." The forty or so people in the stands began cheering, some less enthusiastically than others, and all of the Gryffindor team swooped forward to congratulate Harry and Tera. The three female chasers did so with normal phrases of: "Good job.", "You did great.", and "Nice one Harry."
The twins were less subdued. "That was some great flying." Fred began.
"Sure to make the ladies want you."
"Of course they'll want you already."
"You know what they say about guys who've defeated the most infamous dark lords of recent history."
"Yep." Fred intoned wisely. "They tend to have huge—"
"Oh, shut up!" Katie said, having clearly had enough. "You'll make him blush to his eyebrows."
"But seriously," George said. "How did you come up with that? I've seen second and third-year seekers who wouldn't have been able to find a way out of being surrounded like that."
"Hell!" said Fred. "That was the whole point!"
Harry again remembered Dudley and his friends. He remembered everything.
"I have to go." He said quickly, dismounting his broom, gathering up his pack, and taking off toward the castle.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Harry slammed the bathroom stall shut and threw himself toward the toilet. He felt sick, he could feel his somewhat small breakfast rising in his throat as he knelt on the cold stone floor. He remembered again.
Harry looked into Dudley's eyes and saw the pleasure there. Suddenly, beneath those wooden bleachers, something broke in him. He stopped feeling the boys striking him and stood up. Harry glared at Dudley as the boy struck him in the face, but didn't move. For a moment, he saw fear in those eyes. Harry wanted to hurt him. He knew what to do when surrounded. He had to eliminate his enemies. Harry screamed and flames materialized around him, rising several feet into the air. Dudley's expression became one of pure terror as his shirt caught fire and he fell backward. The stands above them ignited and the boys ran, all except for Dudley.
Looking down at the boy, Harry enjoyed his pain. He wanted him to hurt the way that he had. He could almost hear a voice whispering in his ear, "Burn him. Teach him a lesson." The flames licked closer to Dudley. "Please…" Dudley moaned pitifully, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Do it." The voice whispered.
Looking in those weak eyes, Harry felt revulsion. "No." Harry said aloud. It was done. Harry's anger was gone and was replaced with gut-wrenching nausea. The flames that had risen from the pavement died down immediately, but the bleachers above remained burning. "What kind of monster am I?" Harry thought.
Flaming slats began to fall from the seats of the stands as they broke apart. Harry grabbed Dudley and dragged him to his feet. The scared boy was barely able to walk, so Harry had to pull him along to escape the fire. When they stepped back into the sunlight, Harry saw Piers pointing toward them and talking animatedly with a teacher.
Then it was over. The teachers talked to Dudley's friends and reported to Uncle Vernon that Harry had set fire to the bleachers while Dudley was beneath them. Harry sat the entire time the teacher spoke, feeling a strong sensation of guilt.
Vernon didn't speak during the ride home. Dudley didn't either. Harry knew that something bad was going to happen. He knew it deep inside himself. He had crossed a line. Vernon parked the car and followed Harry into Number Four Privet Drive. Harry looked up at Vernon. His calm appearance held something frightening. "Petunia!" He called softly into the living room. "It's happened."
She darted into the entranceway with a look of horror on her face. "No. No!" She seemed incapable of other words. Vernon looked at Harry and spoke.
"You will never again do what you did today. Do you understand?" His voice was quiet and low.
"I didn't mean to—" Vernon cut him off.
"Don't you lie to me!" He screamed and slammed his knuckles into Harry's jaw, throwing him to the floor. "You put lighter fluid on the bleachers and then struck a match when Dudley was underneath!"
"No! No I didn't—"
Vernon kicked him hard in the side. "You did! You know it! Anything else would be impossible!"
"Da!" Dudley cried out. "He pulled me out. I don't think he meant—"
"You will speak when spoken to!" Vernon cuffed Dudley upside the head. It was a soft strike. Dudley did not fall, but more slumped against the wall as if shocked his father had hit him.
"Say it!" Vernon said with another kick. "Say you tried to trap him! You wanted him scared didn't you!?" He kicked again, this time striking Harry's face. "Didn't you!?"
"Yes." Harry moaned through his blood-filled mouth. "I did it. I tried to trap him. I wanted him to be scared."
"That's right!" Vernon said with a savage grin. "Now that you've admitted it, you can have your punishment!"
With one hand Vernon picked up Harry by his shirt and dragged his limp body into the kitchen. Vernon spun the dial on the stove and a flame appeared above the burner. "Now, I will teach you about fire." Vernon said, pressing Harry's right palm against the burner and holding it there as Harry screamed.
Harry held to the porcelain of the toilet as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He looked at his right hand and saw darker lines that spiraled across his palm. They were imperceptible to the touch, having healed cleanly, but Harry knew his hand was permanently discolored. Harry hated thinking back on that day. Not because of the beating; no, that was just pain. He hated remembering that one sickening moment where he had wanted to burn Dudley. It was disgusting.
Harry flushed the remains of his breakfast and drifted back up to his bed in the Gryffindor tower. He was greeted along the way by several Quidditch fans who congratulated him on his position. He felt weak. When he finally walked into the common room, Harry was thoroughly tired of talking.
His eyes flicked across the room, taking in the score of students scattered about. Most were students of higher years, working on homework. He had finished much of his homework already, and felt no need to attempt to get ahead in his classes. His eyes paused only on those he recognized; namely, Seamus, Ron, and Hermione. Seamus and Ron stared at each other from opposite ends of a chessboard. Hermione sat before the fireplace with a book.
Is that the same book from breakfast? Harry wondered. He wouldn't have been surprised. Hermione had quickly gained a reputation as one of, if not the most, dedicated student of their year. He watched her as he crossed the room toward the staircase. Some Gryffindor girls of various ages drifted past Hermione and knocked her book out of her hand. One of them, a fifth or sixth-year by Harry's guess, leaned down and whispered something to Hermione. Hermione's face paled and she quickly gathered up her book and ran up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. The group of older girls laughed as she ran and Harry approached them, fatigue gone, replaced by a soft, deep anger that burned within him.
"Why did you do that?" Harry asked venomously. The girls turned to him with varying expressions of disbelief and condescension.
"Do what?" The older girl who had whispered to Hermione said. As there were no classes on the weekend, and no uniform was required, she wore a salmon colored shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Her dark eyes glared down at Harry. She was perfectly put together. Attractive, not startlingly so, and was clearly the leader of this small clique.
"Why were you bullying Hermione?" Harry repeated.
"Oh dear," the girl said softly, leaning in so she and Harry were face to face and only he could hear. "I'm sorry, did that bother you? Because, if it did, you can go ahead and leave. Filthy muggle-lover."
Harry looked in her eyes. "Hermione is a witch, just like you."
At this, the girl burst into a laugh that died early, showing its falsehood. "I am so far above that mudblood that she can't lick my shoes." The girl's eyes flashed. "She doesn't belong here, and if you disagree, you don't either. You're probably filth yourself. What's your name?"
Harry, for once, was glad of his fame. He brushed his hair to the side casually, as if swiping it out of his eyes, revealing his scar. "Harry Potter. And yours?"
The girl recoiled slightly when he spoke, perhaps realizing that Harry was the only Heir of a pureblooded wizarding family. "I'm Esther." She said slowly. "Esther Harwood."
"Well then, Esther." Harry hissed out her name slowly. "I suggest you don't mess with my friends."
At this, Esther's confidence seemed to return. "Oh no! The first-year is threatening me!" she said to her friends who giggled together on cue. Turning back to Harry she spat, "I'll give you a suggestion boy. Choose your friends more carefully. Filth like her, it clings." She held out the last word with a sickeningly-sweet voice and leaned close to Harry's ear before whispering slowly, "Mudbloods don't deserve to live. If you want anyone to respect you, you'll learn that. You wouldn't want the wrong people hearing you're affiliated with her. My friends are powerful and I'd have to pass along that news to them." She gave a signature good-girl smile and said. "I just want to help you in this world, Harry."
Harry smiled too. He found Esther refreshing. She reminded him of the Dursleys. "I just want you to know, Esther Harwood, that I would rather have only muggleborns as friends than have a single pureblooded bitch like you in my presence. Pass that along to whomever you'd like." Her smile fell away and Harry ascended the stairs to his room, thinking that he had probably just made his life harder.
A/N: Chapter 12 is finally done! That took me far too long and I apologize. I just couldn't get this chapter right. Tell me what you think and whether you like it. I'll be updating quite soon. By the way, I've been told I use too many exclamation points in my A/N's so I'll try and avoid that from now on! Sorry. I felt it necessary. : )
Where were you when I was in a lose, lose situation?