"Oh no—" Ron saw the moment Harry lost control of the little Potions dagger he was trying to direct with his wand, and, in true Harry fashion, acted before thinking: "Accio."

Ron flung up a hand and the knife hit his hasty Shield Charm and dropped, point down, into the table where it stayed, quivering. "Accio?" Ron said, shaking his head. "You lunatic, Harry."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry muttered, tugging the knife free of the table top. "It's harder than it looks - Kreacher and your mum make it look so easy…"

"Practice," Ron said, shrugging. Harry grunted, set the dagger down, and lifted his wand again. "Just be grateful Snape wasn't here to see it."

Harry's expression darkened; it was, after all, because of Snape and his comments all week that Harry was practising at all, and Ron knew it was a sore point for him, even if he personally agreed—with Snape, and with Hermione and Malfoy—that Harry learning how to do things like chop potions ingredients without his left hand was a good idea.

Still, it wouldn't have hurt Snape to be nicer about it; Ron thought he'd been particularly unsympathetic given he himself had lost a foot and had to learn to get by without it.

After a moment, Harry let out a sighed "Teneo", and the potions knife quivered. At Harry's second instruction ("Dirigio") it began to chop—rather messily—at the potatoes they'd liberated from the kitchens after dinner.

Several minutes later, Ron had to throw up another Shield Charm—this time to protect himself—when Hermione's arrival distracted Harry.

"Sorry," Harry said, picking the knife up off the floor. "Sorry, I—"

"For you," she said, holding an envelope out to Ron. Sure enough, it had his name written on it in handwriting he thought he ought to recognise, but didn't quite. "Ginny had it."

"Who's it from?" he asked.

"Percy, she said," Hermione said.

"Percy?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised, as he looked at the handwriting again. "Why?"

Hermione, damp-haired from her post-dinner shower, only shrugged, though her eyes were bright with curiosity. And, rather than sit down, Harry had come to lean on the back of Ron's couch and peer down at the envelope.

Ron opened it and unfolded the letter within.

Dear Ron,

I hope that you've had a quiet and uneventful start to the term, but I realise that's probably a vain hope when I consider your previous years at Hogwarts.

That said, the addition of Dolores Umbridge to the Hogwarts staff may have gone a ways toward correcting that. As I'm sure you know, Professor Umbridge has a long history of service with the Ministry, and will be working very hard this year to ensure Hogwarts is delivering a Ministry-approved education to young witches and wizards, like yourself.

I've recently taken the position of Junior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, and Dolores is often popping into the fireplace of my new boss. Why, this morning she was even here in person with a couple of others—Auror Dawlish, and Lucius Malfoy, who, of course, sits on Hogwarts' Board of Governors. From this, you can doubtless surmise that Professor Umbridge is keeping both the Minister and Board well-appraised of going ons at Hogwarts and that she therefore acts in all things with the full support of the Ministry.

While I'm not privy to every conversation that happens behind closed doors—they're well above my station!—I can't help but share Fred and George's excellent hearing, and have picked up a few things here and there that I feel would be remiss of me not to pass on:

Harry Potter and Professor Dumbledore have been the focus of a number of conversations around here lately, and I'm afraid it's nothing good. As I'm sure you know, both Dumbledore and Harry have always had their own way of doing things, but where they have been previously willing to work with the Ministry, word here is they are now openly antagonising it and actively hindering the Ministry's attempts to protect the wizarding world from You-Know-Who.

With Professor Umbridge in place at Hogwarts, curbing this resistance will fall largely to her—discussions are already underway about how best to enable her to do so, but once the Ministry decide on a course of action, I don't expect Dumbledore to last much longer. Once he's been removed, Harry will not be able to rely on his protection—two bludgers with one bat; I expect Harry, too, will be removed from Hogwarts, unless he is able to break away from Dumbledore's influence and demonstrate a willingness to cooperate with the Ministry.

I know you and Harry Potter have been close, Ron, and I, too, remember him fondly enough from my own days at school with you and the few occasions he's visited you during school holidays, but it's clear he's in a very precarious position and such blatant derision for the Ministry is dangerous—even just by association.

I implore you to consider your own position and associations, and the consequences you may face if those associations are with those the Ministry considers undesirable.

Should you feel uncertain, at any point, write to me; as one of the Minister's staff now myself, I am well-placed to ensure you have all the information you need to position yourself appropriately for success at Hogwarts.

Your brother,

Percy

Ron was sure Hermione finished reading it before he did, speed-reader that she was, but she didn't say anything until he and Harry had:

"Percy's working for the Minister?" Hermione asked. "I thought he was doing something with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I thought he was in the Department of International Magical Co-operation," Ron said. "I swear he said something last year about being involved in organising the Tournament…"

"Does it matter?" Harry asked. "He's obviously with Fudge now—spying for the Order, I'd guess." Ron glanced at him, but Harry seemed to be re-reading the letter.

"Maybe," Ron said. "Because it's that or that he's actually on the Ministry's side now." Ron re-read the letter himself. "If anyone was going to get caught up in their rubbish, it'd probably be Perce, but he's been all right, lately…"

Harry reached out—hesitated, then clenched his jaw—and touched the parchment lightly with his left wrist. Hermione shifted on Ron's other side and Harry shot her an embarrassed, slightly exasperated look. She smiled and after a moment, he smiled too, with a tiny self-conscious shake of his head and a bigger nod back down at the parchment.

"That bit about Fred and George's hearing… They've been working on something recently, something for eavesdropping. They got the idea from spending summer with Padfoot and Moony and their hearing." Ron didn't ask how Harry knew that; he guessed, based on the small and tired, but amused smile on his face that Harry had overheard something about it over the summer thanks to his own excellent hearing. "Percy's probably testing it out for them."

"Listening at Ministry doors?" Hermione asked, and looked both scandalised and impressed.

"Must be," Ron said, scanning the letter again. "And obviously Umbridge is still scheming to get rid of you and Dumbledore, Harry."

"With the help of Lucius Malfoy," Harry said darkly, and Ron grimaced. Yesterday's events—and what Malfoy had told Ron afterward—had made it clear that Lucius Malfoy was using Umbridge to further Voldemort's agenda. Malfoy had not realised quite how much at the time, and been stricken to hear about Harry's arm (even more than the rest of them) because he felt his conversation with his father might have been the catalyst for Umbridge escalating things with Harry.

A good reminder not to feel too clever or in control was what he'd said to Ron once Harry and the other boys in their dorm were asleep, and Ron was inclined to agree.

It wasn't easy to forget that what they were doing was dangerous and could—would, probably, before all this was over—cost lives, but it was easy to grow complacent about it; being under that kind of pressure all the time made it normal, and every time they succeeded at something—or seemed to—their confidence grew:

Gryffindors, Malfoy had muttered into the dark of their dorm last night.

"Would they really want you expelled, though?" Hermione asked, frowning at Harry.

"The Ministry would," Harry said. "I'd have the choice between joining up with them or having my wand snapped—"

"I meant Voldemort and the Death Eaters," Hermione said. "Surely if you're expelled they know you'll just disappear to Order Headquarters to continue your education informally."

"Maybe even with personal lessons from Dumbledore," Ron said. "Especially if they're going after him first."

"Dumbledore's not going to go without a fight," Hermione said. "And he's not going to let them do anything to you either, Harry, not if he can help it."

"How long's that going to last, though?" Harry asked grimly. He sighed. "Speaking of…" He glanced at his watch and stood. "Let's hope whatever Dumbledore has planned doesn't involve writing lines." He half-smiled, though Hermione did not look amused, and Ron only managed a grimace.

"Do you think it's a bad idea?" Hermione asked when he was gone. "Eihwaz?"

"What? No, I think it's a great idea—"

"But if we're caught…" She sank down on the couch beside him, chewing her lip. "If Harry's caught… I really do think Umbridge would expel him if she had the chance, especially after what Percy's written…"

"Umbridge'll find other reasons if she really wants him out," Ron said, shrugging. "At least this way, he has a chance of getting an O.W.L. before then. And everyone here'll be a bit better prepared…"

"And what about us?" Hermione asked.

"Us?" Ron asked.

"You and me," she said, "and Draco. Ginny. Fred and George… With Harry gone, who's to say she won't come after us next because we're his friends? What if she expels us too? Percy seemed to think—"

"You said it yourself," Ron interjected. "None of us are going anywhere while Dumbledore has anything to say about it. After that… well, let's figure that out when we get to it, eh?"

"Humbug," Harry murmured, and frowned once more in Mrs Norris' direction before stepping past the gargoyle and heading up the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Fawkes let out a musical warble. "You clearly received my note."

Said note, delivered by McGonagall during lunch, had simply said, Report to my office for your detention this evening in Dumbledore's neat, slanted hand.

"Is she—"

"Professor Umbridge will not be joining us, no," Dumbledore said, pre-empting the rest of Harry's question. "Detentions assigned to you by her, shall be carried out by me instead."

"She agreed to that?" he asked.

"Begrudgingly," Dumbledore said, with a shadow of a smile. "My influence was not quite as diminished as I feared it might be, though I do not expect I shall be able to intervene on your behalf with quite so much success next time. The Ministry may begin to accuse me of having favourites."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I didn't think— McGonagall said they tried to say it was all a lie and you were behind it—"

Dumbledore held up a hand, waving away the apology.

"How is your arm?"

"Fine," Harry said, tugging back his sleeve. Dumbledore leaned forward, examining without touching, and gave a slight nod.

"I should like to hear your version of events," Dumbledore said, "including whatever it was that provoked her to this."

Harry told him—told him that Umbridge had been off from the moment he arrived and that he thought Lucius Malfoy might have something to do with why (though he only told Dumbledore that Draco had said he was, not that he'd been able to smell him in the office), about Umbridge's requests for support and the prophecy, Harry's refusal and her resulting attempt to drug him with Veritaserum. Then he told him about the quill, how it had written Harry's words into the skin of his arm in a vicious cycle of etching and healing and etching and healing:

"It hadn't healed by the time I went to see McGonagall," Harry said, "but it was gone not long after that. I don't know if Umbridge did something, somehow, or if it would always have healed, but—"

"I doubt we ever will," Dumbledore said. "Though for all the trouble the quick healing has caused, I must confess myself relieved you have not suffered a permanent injury at Professor Umbridge's hands."

"What's one more scar?" Harry said wryly, but Dumbledore looked sad rather than amused. "Is there a way to hide it? My Mark, I mean, in case she tries again?"

"She will not be trying again while I remain at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said firmly, but some of Harry's awkward doubt must have shown on his face, because Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Of course, I do not think it is news to either of us that that is almost certainly a finite arrangement." He sighed. "There are ways to conceal it, yes, but using them will also conceal any other magical or physical effects, including any marks left by the likes of her quill. If she were insistent about checking and found nothing, she would almost certainly grow suspicious."

"Right," Harry said.

"As such, I remain convinced that our best option is to continue to work toward removing it."

"Is that what we'll be doing tonight?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said, shifting in his chair. "I've always believed that the punishment should fit the crime, so to speak. Now: Professor Umbridge has said the original reasoning behind your detentions was that you were disruptive and disrespectful in her lesson and don't agree with her curriculum."

"Pretty much," Harry said.

"Then I believe it is appropriate to implore you—as I'm certain Professor McGonagall and Sirius have—to pick your battles. I do not believe there is anything to be gained in Professor Umbridge's lessons."

"Yes, si—" Harry blinked and replayed what Dumbledore had just said back to himself. For a moment he thought Dumbledore might have misspoken, but there was a twinkle in the Headmaster's eye that made Harry suddenly certain that Dumbledore had said exactly what he meant to. Harry grinned.

"Your punishment last night, however, if your account is accurate—and I'm sure it is—seems to be more related to your unwillingness to share the prophecy or provide your unwavering loyalty and support to the Ministry in their efforts to resist Voldemort, and I'm sure it will also be the basis for any future punishments Professor Umbridge may see fit to issue you with. Therefore, it is that which we shall spend our time tonight addressing… or at least, beginning to address."

"Okay," Harry said, frowning. "But— sir, you don't think I should have shared—"

"Not at all, dear boy," Dumbledore said. "No, we shall target the true heart of the matter; that if Voldemort were not an issue, neither the prophecy nor you acting as a Ministry-sponsor would be of interest."

Harry was quiet for a moment, trying to make sense of what Dumbledore had said:

"So— hang on." Dumbledore smiled serenely at him from the other side of the desk. "You want to fight Voldemort in my detentions?"

"In a sense," Dumbledore said. "Earlier this week I provided you with my memories of Voldemort during his Hogwarts years in the hope that we may be able to use what is within them to locate his remaining horcrux or horcruxes. Would I be correct in assuming you have viewed them all?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "Then we are on the same page, and you will be aware that the cave where the locket was, was a place where he traumatised two of his peers from the orphanage—"

"A place he felt powerful," Harry said.

"Indeed. And the diary was placed with Lucius, one of his most trusted followers, and importantly, someone with children who might be able to reopen the Chamber at Voldemort's behest. Power, again; a follower who is not without power himself, being a well-respected pureblood."

"So we're looking for other places or people that made him feel powerful?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said. "And if that is the case, then I believe Hogwarts is a good place to start."

"His first real home," Harry said.

"One he tried to return to as a teacher after he'd completed his schooling," Dumbledore said. "And while Hogwarts is full of places which Voldemort might have seen fit to hide a horcrux, I feel we would be remiss not to search the Chamber of Secrets in the first instance. And for that, I shall need your help." Dumbledore stood.

"Right now?" Harry asked, standing too.

"Unless there is a reason we should not?" Dumbledore asked, pausing.

"Er… no. Now's fine." Dumbledore beamed, but held up a hand when Harry made to move toward the door.

"We shall be travelling there directly," Dumbledore said. "I had Minerva empty and seal the girls bathroom on the second floor in advance, so our arrival will not disturb anyone." He gestured for Harry to stand beside him and held up his arm. With a rustle of scarlet feathers, Fawkes hopped onto it. "Take hold of his tail feathers, please, Harry." Harry did, and they were warm and smooth in his hand. "This will feel a little like Apparating, a little like Flooing, and a little like neither." Dumbledore winked and then all Harry could see was the bright, warm orange of Fawkes' fire.

It was hotter than Floo travel, just shy of what Harry would have called properly uncomfortable, and there was no squeeze like Side-Along, no constant feeling of his feet in contact with the ground. For a moment he was displaced, as weightless and intangible as fire, and with a faint echo of phoenix song humming in his ears—Harry didn't know whether he was comforted by it, or uneasy, since the last time he'd heard phoenix song properly had been in the graveyard.

Before he could decide, the song faded and Harry could feel solid ground beneath his shoes again, and the heat vanished so abruptly Harry shivered, though his face still felt hot.

"An indulgence to travel by phoenix for such a short distance," Dumbledore said, as Fawkes flew up to perch on a cubicle wall, "but I have no desire to be disrupted by Professor Umbridge tonight, and she has eyes and ears in more places than I would have hoped."

"Mrs Norris followed me to your office tonight," Harry said.

"Truly?" Dumbledore said, frowning slightly. "And here I was thinking it was only a handful of portraits she'd managed to ingratiate herself with. She works quickly indeed."

"Portraits…" Harry frowned. "What about your office?"

"My predecessors spread rumours even more efficiently than the student body," Dumbledore said. "As such, I am convinced I would know if there was one who could not be trusted among them." Harry nodded. "But, as Alastor would caution: constant vigilance." Harry smiled.

The bathroom seemed dim after the brightness of the fire, so Harry blinked a couple of times, taking in the shut and slightly glowing door, the cubicles, the sinks. Myrtle wasn't around; perhaps McGonagall had shooed her out when she emptied the rest of the bathroom, or perhaps she was elsewhere of her own volition—regardless, Harry couldn't say he minded.

Dumbledore was taking in the bathroom too, but when he saw Harry looking, waved him forward. It occurred to Harry then that while Dumbledore had heard about the Chamber and its location, he probably hadn't been there for himself; Dumbledore didn't speak parseltongue.

"It's here," Harry said, stepping up to the sinks. He bent and squinted at the tap where the etching of the snake was. He took a deep breath, and said, "Open."

The sinks shifted with a grinding of stone as the entrance to the Chamber appeared, and a damp, mouldy, drainy sort of smell wafted out of it.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said, then held out an arm to stop Harry from jumping down. "Sirius and Kingsley assured me it was safe and empty after the events of your second year, but even so… After me, I think."

With that, he stepped into the darkness, Fawkes swooping in after him.

Harry drew his wand, counted to five to make sure he wouldn't land on top of Dumbledore when he reached the bottom, and followed.

Dumbledore was already back on his feet when Harry joined him at the bottom of the chute, wand lit and looking around at the bones which littered the floor with morbid curiosity. He offered Harry a hand up, which Harry took gratefully; he hadn't quite mastered getting up quickly or gracefully without his hand, especially not when he was holding his wand.

"Thanks," Harry said, and lit his own wand with a thought. "This way."

"A moment, Harry," Dumbledore said, placing a hand on his shoulder to catch him. "I do not believe there will be obvious dangers beyond—" He peered ahead. "—with the basilisk dead, but if we do happen across a horcrux, we can expect Voldemort to have set up magical protections for it, possibly deadly ones."

"I know," Harry said, thinking of the cave and the inferi and the Dementor's Draught.

"Then it should come as no surprise that we must tread carefully," Dumbledore said. "And that I expect your obedience; if I ask you to do something, or not to do something, you must do as I ask."

"Do you really think there's something down here?"

"I think it is reasonably unlikely," Dumbledore admitted. "But we would be foolish to discount the possibility entirely." He cleared his throat. "Your word, Harry."

"Yeah, I'll listen," Harry said. "Er… if something goes wrong… does someone know we're down here?"

Dumbledore beamed:

"I spoke with Sirius to secure his permission for you to accompany me." Harry opened his mouth and Dumbledore smiled: "He'd have liked to join us, but had to work. But if he does not hear from us later tonight, he will bring Mrs Lupin, and—if parseltongue is needed—Miss Weasley to retrieve us. Shall we?"

He led Dumbledore to the stone doorway at the end of the room, and then into the left tunnel. Dumbledore followed silently—though he made a small, interested sound at the sight of the basilisk's shed skin, still piled where it had been last time. The door at the end of the tunnel—which Harry'd had to open with parseltongue back in his second year—was still open; Harry supposed no one had been bothered or able to shut it since.

Then they were stepping through it and into the Chamber of Secrets. It was just as long and large as Harry remembered it, even though he'd been smaller the last time he was there, and the carved stone snakes and looming statue of Slytherin were just as disconcertingly lifelike as he remembered.

The smell—of stale death—was new, and Harry actually gagged when it hit him fully. The basilisk was mostly a skeleton now, but draped in curtains of still-bright scales and the occasional chunk of slimy, rotting flesh.

Aercapitis, he thought, and a bubble bloomed around his head. Harry took a deep lungful of clean air, and when he turned, saw Dumbledore had cast his own bubblehead charm. Fawkes had gone to perch on the head of one of the stone snakes, feathers ruffled.

"These tunnels…" Dumbledore lifted a hand to gesture at the many openings in the chamber's walls, voice a little echoey.

"Go all around the school, I think," Harry said. "They're the pipes it was using to get around."

"Hmm." Dumbledore strode down the stone walkway, glancing curiously at the still, dark water either side. "And this?"

"I don't know," Harry said. Dumbledore gave a short nod, then stepped right into and disappeared beneath the water, though Harry could still see the glow of his wand, the gleam of gold thread on his robes, and the white of his hair and beard. Harry looked at Fawkes, who seemed unconcerned, so Harry simply waited and watched as Dumbledore swam deeper and deeper with perfect strokes.

After about a minute, the glossy surface of his bubblehead charm broke the surface of the water again, and Dumbledore clambered out, drying himself with a wave of his wand.

"There are tunnels down there which I suspect connect to the lake," he said, then was silent for a moment. "I do not think it particularly likely that Lord Voldemort will have hidden a horcrux in a mere tunnel, however—above, or below water. Do you?"

"No," Harry said. It'd make a good hiding place, but he felt Voldemort was more likely to rely on how difficult it was for someone to access his horcruxes' hiding places, rather than to make them well hidden within those places. The cave, after all, would have been hard to stumble across accidentally due to its obscurity and the magical barriers, but once inside it had been obvious the locket was in the basin on the island, and would have been even if Kreacher hadn't told them so.

"Which leaves the statues," Dumbledore said, peering at the nearest one.

"The basilisk came out of Slytherin's mouth when Riddle called it," Harry said, pointing. Slytherin's mouth was still agape, several storeys up. Dumbledore tipped his head skyward, eyebrows raised, and then held up a hand.

Fawkes swooped over and Dumbledore took hold of his tail feathers. Harry did the same, and then with a great flap of his wings, Fawkes soared upward, taking them with him.

Both Harry and Dumbledore had to crawl through the opening in Slytherin's mouth, but inside was a smooth stone cavity about the size of the fifth year boys' Gryffindor dorm; the basilisk's resting place, no doubt, since it was littered with loose scales and bones. Dumbledore crouched, traced his wand over the floor while Harry wandered around, and Fawkes trilled from Slytherin's lips, then—

"Here," Harry said; carved into the stone was the Slytherin House emblem, and what at first glance Harry'd taken to be the basilisk's bright scales, turned out to be emeralds, like Harry'd seen on other doors throughout the Chamber. "Open," Harry tried.

Nothing happened.

"Open," Harry tried again. Still, nothing happened.

Dumbledore pressed his wandtip to the ground and murmured, "Loquiad lapidem."

"What's that do?" Harry asked.

"Allows me to listen to the stone," Dumbledore said, straightening.

"Right," Harry said. "And… er… what did it say?"

"That there is hollow space beneath us," Dumbledore said. "What are you saying to try to reveal it?"

"Open," Harry said. "That's what opened everything else in here. Except for the mouth—that was something like 'Speak, Slytherin, greatest of the founders'."

"I dearly hope we do not have to guess Salazar Slytherin's ancient passphrases," Dumbledore said, "else we may be here far longer than your scheduled detention." He smiled at Harry. "But perhaps instead of suggesting it open, we should encourage it to descend?"

"Okay. Er… descend." With the soft grating of stone on stone, a section bearing the Slytherin emblem began to sink, revealing a dark hole. Harry leaned forward, casting his wandlight down. "There's a ladder."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, and manoeuvred himself into the opening. "Wait for my call." He placed his wand between his teeth and began to climb down.

When he was perhaps two body-lengths lower, he called up to Harry to join him, and Harry set his own wand between his teeth and began the awkward, one-handed climb down.

"It's… a bedroom," he said, when his feet joined Dumbledore's on the platform. The room—situated in statue-Salazar's chest-region, if Harry had to guess—was large but very, very simple. The bed was more of a cot, covered in a pile of blankets so thin and worn it was impossible to know what colour they might have been originally, and the same was true for the threadbare rug on the floor. The desk and small shelf might have been nice once—made of some dark wood—but the cushion on the chair had gone mouldy, and the wood was distorted from years in the damp. Even the mirror above the stone basin in the corner—remarkably unworn, but not plumbed in—was tarnished. "Do you think Voldemort—"

"No," Dumbledore said softly. "He likely rediscovered it and liberated whatever he wanted from it, but created it… no. No, I believe we are standing in an old refuge of Salazar Slytherin's."

Harry suddenly felt very young, and very insignificant.

Dumbledore swept his wand around the room, murmuring under his breath and Harry wandered over to look at the few books remaining on the shelf. A bookend carved from black stone and with an emerald eye kept them in place.

Ostendere me omnia, Harry thought, and braced himself for the brightness, but it was remarkably dull; it seemed there wasn't much magic at all in play, and that they were far enough below the school to not be caught in Hogwarts' usual dazzling magic. Finite, Harry thought, and—sure they weren't cursed—reached for the closest book.

It was written in English so old Harry didn't understand all of it, and its pages were faded and mouldy in places, but best he could tell it was a journal of sorts, which contained a collection of essays on the importance of blood purity and—on a loose piece of parchment—some sort of petition.

"Charming," Dumbledore murmured, peering over Harry's shoulder. Harry shut the book with a grimace and set it back beside the others. "No horcruxes here that I can detect, and no magic present that is more complicated than what opened the floor above us." He nodded back toward the ladder. "As such, I am happy to consider your detention concluded." Harry blinked, having forgotten entirely that he was in detention at all. "We may return to the school as soon as you're ready; I have deprived you of enough of your evening as it is."