Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Defiance of the Hero

Chapter 18 - Circling Closer to the Flame

You shouldn't let all the wrong in the world
bother you, because chances are you don't
know the half of it.

~~Megan Weilacher

There is something to be said for the ability of some of us to react in a situation that sheds all sense of normality.

Take, let's say, a car accident. Two cars - no more, no less - one travelling almost three times the speed limit, the other pulling out of a car park onto the same road as the first car. The driver of the car pulling out onto the road glances quickly left and right - and sees this other car still a good distance away, presumably doing the speed limit.

I've got enough time to pull out, the driver thinks, and even as they are thinking it their car is already halfway out onto the road. BAM!

Not even enough time to react. The maniac driving their car at three times the regular speed limit - let's say 140 kilometres per hour - doesn't even leave skid marks on the road because they simply do not register what they are seeing before they hit the first car, which - for whatever reason - was doing exactly that which they were licensed for.

In these situations Fate - if there is such a thing - usually allows the maniac to be able to walk away from such an accident. One car travelling that fast, hits another barely moving. The car that isn't moving is going to spin, if clipped on the bonnet, and come to a rest some sixty feet from where they were pulling out of the car park - with the engine shoved up into the passenger seat, and let's imagine - just for fun - that seat was already occupied.

The speeder is cushioned by their airbag, and get out of their car with maybe a bloody nose - most likely in a daze of shock as they see the occupants of the car they have hit.

Let's expand on this. It's a busy day, there are many pedestrians and witnesses to the accident - how many react, how many stand there in fear and shock themselves, how many reach for their phones to call the emergency services.

Surprisingly, next to no one will do nothing. It's been seen and done a hundred times - shock will paralyse you. It's human instinct to survive, to avoid danger. There is a good chance that instinct will override decency and what your brain and heart - your soul even - screams you must do. There is nothing wrong with that, you should trust your instincts. You're dead if you don't.

You're standing there; glass and metal are twisted and sprayed over the road. There is a man stepping out of his car with nothing more than a blood nose. You glance over, nausea already building in your stomach, to the other car and see that the driver now has their foot caught up past their ear. None of the occupants of that car are moving, but they are screaming. What do you do?

Shit man, you call for help!

But you can't - this is not a normal situation. Someone should be doing something, is that someone you? Think about it - oh no you can't, there's not enough time. Fifteen seconds have already past since the maniac ruined four lives - and nobody is doing anything.

Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock.

Say, can you hear that? It's the sound of the Reaper!

Twenty five seconds pass and now a lone man rushes past you towards the accident. He's run from over four hundred feet away. He's got a mobile phone, he's lived in this area his whole life, and yet he glances up at the street sign to make sure he gets it right as he screams the name of it down the small handset.

The screams have already stopped in the victim's car, and that adds some sense of realism to the accident. Jesus... you think, this is real! There are people dead or dying over there, and I'm just standing here. What... what do....I?

Indecision gnaws at you for a good ten, fifteen seconds - and it's been the better part of a minute now. Cracked glass in the car's windshield is like a spider's web, covered in a splatter of blood - Gods....

Soon enough you realise you can hear sirens in the distance, and relax - in spite of yourself - because someone trained to handle these situations is coming, it's not your problem. You begin to walk away; after all you need to go buy some useless shit like a pillow that tells the time - or something equally pointless built in a bankrupt society. We are, after all, only human.

You may talk about it later to someone you know - Yes... it was terrible. Truly horrific. Bloody idiot was going at least twice the speed limit - I stayed until the ambulance arrived, just to make sure...

We've walked away now, whilst the man with the cell phone is holding one of the victims who crawled out of the crashed car beneath him, his hands red with her blood, that same blood making a rather large red stain on the gravel and glass that litter the road.

The cell phone man no longer knows what to do himself as the bleeding woman dies in his lap. He's frozen now, with Death in his hands and behind his eyes. He can practically feel the life draining out of the woman in his arms.

The point of all that was we can't know how we would react unless forced into such a situation. Would you be the bystander, or the man on the cell phone? You don't know now, and you won't know until it means the difference between life and death for someone. You hold that power in your hands - the power to influence life and death.

We can't know how we would react; it's just one of those things. We may think we'd be quick, and brave, and jump right into the thick of it. But there are no guarantees, sometimes only self delusions.

Remember that, remember this, it could save someone's life. There is no room for indecision - Death doesn't like to be kept waiting.

****

Harry's life had been riddled with indecision and terrible acts caused by the slashing blood soaked blade of humanity. He had been walking the fine line between sanity and madness - although how many of us are sane in this world? - for years, and was tilting now towards the latter, if not jumping gladly into it.

When you kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite.

Harry stood on a wooden platform erected in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He stood, his hands clasped behind his back and his odd and even eyes staring out at the four hundred or so people gathered before him. Aurors, Ministry employees, hitwizards for hire... and volunteers.

After his brief visit with Minister Crouch five hours ago - Harry had managed two or so hours of sleep, and had been given command of the remaining Auror forces and anything else he could scrape together from the ruined and battle-worn magical community.

A committee of advisors stood behind him, after all he may have fought many battles, but tactics and deployment were not his thing. He would lead the army against an enemy force of Death Eaters, and for that the Aurors had chosen him as their leader. You wouldn't want to fight for someone who wouldn't want to fight next to you. Harry would stand.

Clearing his throat, Harry continued to gaze out at the assembled mass of colour before him. He saw many wizards dressed in Muggle clothes, like he was, and this was good. The majority however were dressed in the white robes of the Auror. Standing tall and proud, waiting for him to speak.

He did, after a quick glance to the members of his team and that of the Order of the Phoenix.

"There..." he began. "There are some things worth dying for."

Amplified and uninterrupted, perhaps sounding a little weary, Harry's voice echoed to every corner of the Atrium.

"Many of you here, in fact I'd say all of you here have lost someone close to you in the past two months. Nothing can be done to bring them back, I believe that to be a great truth - unchangeable - but their deaths do not have to be for nothing...."

Silence, nothing but a few shaky breaths.

"You have been assembled here now because we have learnt that the entire Death Eater force, led by Voldemort, is laying siege to the Muggle/Wizarding community of Saint Malo, on the north coast of France."

Gasps, some murmurs in a language Harry didn't know - but recognised as French.

"I know there are one hundred French Aurors in the crowd before me now, and rest assured you are all going home tonight. France has called for aid - the war would not be worth fighting here if we didn't help our only ally in a cold world."

As Harry spoke, a handful of Ministry employees began to hand out pieces of parchment with a few details upon them.

"For those of you who don't know the location, the parchment being circulated now holds the coordinates for Apparation as well as a rough guide to the terrain and layout of the city. We leave in five minutes, prepare yourselves as best you can. I will go first with the Order of the Phoenix and a few chosen others, and you will all follow a moment later - in groups of fifty. Understood?"

There was a small murmur of nervous consent.

"French Aurors already in the city have fortified a defence in the western rim. Many of the townsfolk are under Imperius and working against their will with the Death Eaters. Use stunners where appropriate. Let's go...."

****

4 hours later

The Côte d'Émeraude (Emerald Coast) stretches west from the oyster beds of Cancale to the broad beaches of Pléneuf-Val-André, a stunning coastline of rocky reefs and islets fringed with golden sand, vividly green shallows and aquamarine deeps.

The port of St. Malo is one of the largest on the Emerald Coast. It is famed for its walled city, accessible beaches and one of the highest tidal ranges in the world. And right now it was in flames.

Harry stood atop a large rooftop on one of the higher buildings in the city that he and the Aurors still held. He was dirty, tired, and had a bloodied bandage wrapped around a deep cut on his forehead.

He stood with his war advisors over a shaky table with maps of St. Malo, a guard of fifteen Aurors watching the action below grimly through the rising smoke and ash clouds. Thunder and lightning the likes of which had never been seen anywhere crackled across the sky in forks hundreds of feet thick.

This was another one of the increasingly frequent 'unnatural' disasters that were currently plaguing and destroying the world. Harry was well aware why it was happening, and he knew it was exactly the reason no Muggle emergency services or military assistance had arrived within the last three hours. France and many surrounding nations were being battered by this freak storm that had descended upon half of Europe. This small town was of little concern.

"They're pushing forward through here," Sirius Black said, pointing to a large grassy area in the centre of the port town.

Harry was barely listening. He was gazing out over the sea where a lightning show was lighting up the water for miles. Waves of great height toppled over the sea wall and had begun to flood the city. After a while this battle would either be won, lost... or drowned. Harry personally intended to win it.

"What's the move?" Dermas Trask asked, his hand on his sword hilt.

Harry sighed, and then readied himself. "Full attack at the centre - we either push them back now or flee. Either way this city is lost, we can at least take a couple of the bastards down before that happens."

Lightning flashed and it appeared for a few seconds that the entire sky was a deep, electric blue colour. It was so strong that Harry could taste the current on the air.

"World's falling apart..." Sophia Tréla whispered, looking at Harry with fear in her eyes.

Harry shrugged and turned away. He didn't know for sure that she was right, but he didn't know for sure that she was wrong either. Come the equinox, he thought. All will be decided.... if I'm fast enough... smart enough.

"Let's go," Harry said, the universes tearing themselves apart around him.

Time was all Harry had, and yet existence had none.

****

Tired, dizzy, bloodied, cold, afraid, and lost, Harry led the remainder of his Auror force forward onto the grassy plains in the middle of the city. Huge magical fireballs arced through the stormy sky overhead, and a group of special technicians shot them out with an accuracy few could have managed.

They didn't get them all though, and a group of seven Aurors were incinerated by the blood red flame meteors. I hate this part, Harry thought, as he watched the approaching Death Eater army. Several hundred, swelled with Muggle townsfolk under Imperius, and with Voldemort at their head.

The Dark Lord, Harry thought, his eyes growing cold and dark. His palms suddenly burst with blue lightning a million times more powerful than that which raged overhead. I'll kill him now, and the Death Eaters will flee.

The once green grass plain in the middle of the city had been reduced to ash and was littered with debris and pockmarked with lightning strikes. Behind Harry walked one hundred and fifty good fighters, not a one without an injury. To his left and right walked the people he knew best. Sirius, Dermas, Sophia, Tonks, Art Nuan, Grace Arnair, and, surprisingly, Severus Snape.

No more betrayals or lying in this war. The potions master had had to choose a side, and he had chosen well.

The two forces stopped two hundred feet from each other, black and white, good and evil, right and wrong. Harry was partially hidden behind Sirius, and he wasn't connected to this Voldemort, so it was going to come as one hell of a surprise when he stepped out and faced his enemy.

Like black roses in the wind, a voice that belonged to another enemy, Allarius, whispered in his mind, laughing.

"Shut up you bastard...." Harry whispered, understanding that he was actually communicating with the demon. The cloth of existence had grown so thin he wouldn't be surprised if Allarius could step into the real world soon enough.

Soon enough indeed, Potter. Ha Ha Ha! Go, fight your war. It is of little importance to our business. You're wasting your time fighting the inevitable.

Harry stepped out from behind Sirius, all the while fighting the voice in his head with what strength he possessed in his mind. From this distance he felt, more than saw Voldemort's shock and... fear at seeing the boy with the power to defeat him come back from the dead.

Surprise, asshole, Harry thought, and three hundred miles away the British Ministry lay in flames and ruin.

****

It had all been a diversion, after all. Voldemort had led seventy percent of his forces against the French port town, emptying the Ministry of all but its smallest defences. There was no time to activate the defence wards, as the Death Eaters portkeyed in and began to kill anything that moved.

The battle didn't last long, but many died and the British government collapsed within minutes with the death of Bartemius Crouch Sr. and his top people. Killed by his son who was released from the Ministry Holding Cells buried deep beneath the ground. The aging Minister had been at the front line in the defence of the Atrium. He had fallen with his ministry.

Gone down with the ship, one might say.

Thirty high profile Death Eaters were released from the Ministry, along with a boy Harry had known as Ethan Rafe. Voldemort's spawn from his more human days. Three magical explosive devices, much like the ones that had destroyed Trafalgar Square in Muggle London, had been planted on three key levels within the Ministry complex.

Twenty seven minutes after the Death Eater force had portkeyed into the Ministry, the devices exploded with enough force to reduce brick to dust, and metal to liquid. The Ministry collapsed in on itself, taking with it five hundred and forty seven lives.

The streets above the Ministry in Muggle London fell into the hole left by the Ministry, but this mostly went unnoticed by the Muggles themselves, as London was currently in flames from the tremendous power of the lightning storms overhead.

This destruction of the city, and most of Europe, was mirrored along every other Earth in the web of Existence. Cities fell, land burnt, oceans boiled, the sky was torn asunder, and only one small speck of life in this universe could do anything about it - but he had to wait sixty four days until the Sun was properly aligned in the sky.

It was all ending, and it would end with nothing left to mark the spot where we all used to live and play.... maybe, if time ran out - which it was.

****

It was always the same. Life taking life. Harry had expected it, even as he sent out long blue tendrils of lightning-fire from his encased glowing arms towards Voldemort, the Dark Lord Disapparated.

The Death Eater forces broke with the retreat of their Master, and Harry alongside one hundred Aurors, fought to take out as many as possible before they all fled. It wasn't about right or wrong anymore, it was about survival.

He was seeing black spots of fatigue before his eyes and knew he was dead on his feet. He needed sleep, needed to recover naturally from the Nundu poisoning he had suffered for over two months, as the world ended.

"Not again," Sirius sighed, as the side of Light was left alone in the flaming wreckage of the French town. He was cursing the loss of their main target, Voldemort. "When will it end?"

Harry shrugged, stunning the members of the townsfolk still under Imperius. "With any luck not for at least sixty five days."

They were both discussing different things, but Harry's was more important. Sixty four days, he repeated to himself in his mind. Equinox in sixty four days.

Harry could see what was happening to the Boundary that separated all worlds and universes. His curse scar, which was soaked in death and pain, had torn a hole through from his real world, to connect him once again with a being of supreme power and evil. A being that no longer looked human, and quite possibly never had.

The fabric of everything was thin, stretched, burning. Harry wondered with a sick feeling in his stomach how much longer that fabric could hold, before his link of pure evil tore a big enough hole to snap all the threads holding it all together.

Christ, what have I done? Harry thought. If given the chance, he would now choose not to have stepped into the Boundary all those months ago. His universe would have fallen if he hadn't, but every other one would have survived. But now... everything rested on his shoulders, and they were breaking.

It's too heavy, Potter, Allarius said within his mind. Sleep, and we'll talk... it'll hurt, but what doesn't anymore?

****

Two Days Later
62 days until the Autumnal Equinox

Hogwarts.

Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.

The ancient school was all that remained of Wizarding Britain. It had become a refuge in the days following the Ministry's destruction. Hundreds of magical tents lined the green grounds, tents bigger on the inside than out, and most of the students who had been home for the summer had fled to the only place they knew to be safe, bringing their families with them, of course.

Even the Muggleborn students had brought their parents, brothers, and sisters to the castle, which was also suffering the effects of worldwide destruction.

After the terrible storms of only two days ago, the weather had taken another dramatic shift, and as it stood now it was thirty five degrees Celsius in the shade. One hell of a change, and no one could do anything about it.

Magical cooling charms had been placed across the grounds by many wizards and witches, but this wasn't a heat that could be quenched by so little magic, as it was created by a greater magic. They would just have to sweat it out.

You can't save them all, Potter, a familiar, unwanted voice said in Harry's head. And soon you'll have killed them all. Ha ha ha!

Harry stood atop the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts, sweating in the unnatural heat that was rising in a hot bellowing wind around him. He was wearing black jeans and a white polo shirt on top of his basilisk armour, which he wore constantly now.

Having just awoken from a thirty six hour 'nap', Harry felt stronger and more alert than he had done in months. It had been almost none stop for twelve hours after he and the remaining Aurors had returned from France. They had returned to find the Ministry had been reduced to nothing more than a smoking hole in the ground.

After that they had come back to Hogwarts, where Albus Dumbledore was struggling to hold some sort of governing power over the Wizarding community. But it was gone. Britain was alone in a battle torn world, and Hogwarts was all she had left. Harry had been out with the Aurors, patrolling the grounds as more and more people fled to the castle. Voldemort was still out there after all.

He had decided to catch a few hours sleep after the patrol, and had managed to sleep for one and a half days. He had needed it. In that time several thousand people had arrived at Hogwarts, the powerful storms had been replaced by sweltering heat, and Allarius had killed him in many new and imaginative ways in the nightmares he could no longer escape or block out with potions.

Gonna have us some fun tonight, Harry, the voice of Evil said. You can't fight me forever, because forever doesn't exist anymore. We're down to days now, weeks. Time's fucked and so are you.

In spite of himself, Harry shuddered, holding the piece of parchment in his hands loosely. It was an important piece of parchment, given to him by Dumbledore half an hour ago. It held the location of Slytherin Fortress, one of the last things the British Ministry had ever succeeded in doing.

Loch Leven, the paper began. And that did make sense, once you saw it and understood the riddle.

Greet part of eleven, and leave a few from seven.

Fits. As well as it should.

Follow the lock and wood.

A play on words that further solidified the location of the fortress. Change lock to loch, and it made sense again.

The riddle also gave a staring point, through which, Dumbledore had surmised, the fortress would be revealed - if one were looking for it.

Ever you are true of blood, none but the heir, is the one.

A deep connection this one, and almost impossible to see - but, like with all good riddles, it fit perfectly once the answer was known. If that verse was taken as a metaphor for family, say Slytherin's family... or heir... the word Kin could be used to associate with that.

Fittingly enough, the name of the town that sat only seven miles east of Glencoe, was Kinlochleven. A forest, or wood, marked the edge of the town and ran alongside the loch. Slytherin Fortress was due north from that location, and would reveal itself to anyone with the purpose of finding it in their minds.

Having existed for over a thousand years, Kinlochleven was originally a Wizarding settlement, before Muggles had moved in. None knew it anymore, but this town was founded by Salazar Slytherin himself, as it was the site where he was born aside the loch.

But none of this matters, Potter, Allarius laughed in Harry's mind. It is over, after aeons on top of aeons it is all coming to an end. Armageddon - you know how often that happens? I don't either but I'd think it a safe bet if I put my money on sometime this year.

Shut up, Harry replied. Save it for the Devil, I'll be sending you down to meet him real soon.

Laughter.

All you are is a ball of mingled bravery and stupidity. Don't you understand yet, Harry? I am the Devil. You've messed with the best, Potter, now you'll die like the rest. Hey, that rhymes! Ha ha-

Using every ounce of will and power his ruined, tired, and more than a little insane mind possessed, Harry pushed the voice back to the abyss - to the Stream where, for now, it was amplified into his head from.

"What to do...?" he asked himself, and, perhaps, hoping for a higher power to hear him.

It didn't seem right that everything should fall to him. Where was God in all of this? His creation, if He did indeed create it, was about to be torn apart as if it were nothing more than a piece of paper. Harry was just a mortal, able to die, able to feel pain.

He had never much believed in God. Now he sat on the parapet of the balcony up on the Astronomy Tower, and questioned his belief - as all do at sometime. He saw the smoking remains of Hogsmeade in the distance, and the long billowing cumulus clouds that stretched for miles to the horizon and beyond. The last remnants of the great storms that had burnt the land. The forbidden forest seemed to shake in the heat, and a thousand or more tents shimmered upon the grounds.

But what was the point of it all when it could end so easily?

Life was fragile, Harry had taken enough of it to know that - but why was Existence so fragile as well? He was just one small spark of life among an uncountable number across infinite universes, and yet his one choice had doomed destruction across them all. Surely something as large as this would attract the attention of the Creator, if there was such a being - and what would it mean if there wasn't? - or at least one of His (or Her) emissaries.

Where are the bloody angels? Harry asked, an insane grin spreading across his rough and unshaven face. If anyone looked upon Harry at that moment, they would see the insanity he held in his eyes. One pale one deep. As he thought this, he realised he was thinking something else as well, and was completely shocked to realise he was praying.

God? You there? It's Harry, you know, Harry Potter.... I was just wondering... if you're not too busy... if you'd help us out with a little of the old divine intervention. You see, I sort of messed up and I don't think I'm strong enough to fix....

Harry stopped there as his forehead exploded with pain from his scar.

Oh, Potter! cried Allarius, and Harry could almost see him rolling around laughing. Prayer! You're getting desperate! Ha Ha HA HA! Haven't you had enough? Done enough? Seen enough? End it! Go on, just jump off this tower... SMACK! Blissful death.

Tears of despair and fear rolled down Harry's cheeks unnoticed.

ALONE!

Soon he'd have no more tears left to cry. He took one look at the ground below him several hundred feet away, took a shuddering breath, bit his lip in indecision for just a moment, and then jumped.

Harry jumped and closed his eyes, the heat being replaced by a cool wind that he fell through with nothing but the force of gravity to back him up. His hair blew up on the top of his head in a thousand separate strands that clung to his scalp and stood on end.

Buffeting winds sent him into an arc and a somewhat graceful spin in the air, his eyes flying open and observing the torn and dying world around him. Everything seemed so slow, as if he was floating down to the ground instead of plummeting. He felt as if, had he the urge, he could have counted and admired every stone of the castle tower he fell parallel to.

No longer having the need for glasses, Harry didn't fear losing his sight as the ground approached with an aching slowness. He felt his addled mind clear; he saw the rows upon rows of magical home-tents on the castle grounds, stretching right to the lake edge. The Auror patrols by the gates looked tired and dejected; he thought he could see that from this distance.

The wind had died down to almost a whisper, a faint memory of a faster time. Harry fell in slow arcing circles, his arms above his head and regret in his eyes. He had no intention whatsoever of transforming into a griffin, of saving himself.

Let it all fail, he thought. That'll stop the fighting, the wars, the suffering.

Halfway between the balcony and the ground, Harry closed his eyes again and felt time speed back up around him. The wind began gushing in torrents across his falling form, and the rush pulled his stomach up as his adrenalin pumped quickly.

He fell another eighty feet, and all was calm in his mind. He knew he'd now fallen too far for his griffin form to have any chance of saving him - and was, for all he knew, dead.

Shit I don't know that! Who's to say the fall will kill me? Nothing else works, why should this?

Smiling insanely and even uttering a small chuckle that was drowned out by the wind, Harry braced himself for the impact - no longer caring, it was over - Existence, and Creation fell with him, and he did not care.

He did not care.

...or did he?

They say, Harry had heard, that just before you die your life flashes before your eyes. Now Harry had nearly died hundreds of times, and never before had this happened. It did now. But instead of seeing his whole life, he saw bits and pieces of every death he had ever witnessed or caused.

Flashes upon flashes of life ending, by his hand or another. Sirius through the veil, the explosion of Number 4 Privet Drive, Ethan Rafe on the Muggle street, lines of Death Eaters and Aurors.

Meat in the goddamn grinder.

It'll all be for nothing if you end it now, you know, a different voice from that of the demon said in his head. And Harry thought this clam voice sounded like Ginny - his Ginny - the Ginny he'd left behind for insanity.

Fight it, defy it - that's what you do, Harry. That's who you are!

That voice belonged to Ron... the real Ron.

It's hard, it always will be. Never give up - never. It's dark, so turn on the light.

Hermione... the one he loved.

Hell of a mess, Potter. One HELL of a mess! Pull yourself together, son. Trillions of worlds are counting on you. Tens of trillions. You haven't even begun to fight yet.

That one sounded like Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody.

Choice, Harry. It's a universal constant - choice. Make the right one.

Albus Dumbledore.

Hey, Kid, not like this. You're better than that, better than any death.

Sirius Black... deceased.

Hearing voices is never a good sign, Harry. HAHAHA!

That was Allarius, and now only one hundred feet off the grassy ground Harry grit his teeth in anger - an emotion he knew and saw very well.

What he did next seemed so natural, so right, that Harry would never be sure if it was all him - ever - and not some higher power, his own perhaps, that had stepped in.

Divine freakin' intervention?

Clenching his fists, Harry opened his eyes and saw blue fire-lightning had encased his arms up to the elbows. Sprung forth from whatever deep well of strength resided within him. It shone and pulsated that deep electric colour as it flowed in currents down his forearms. It was different this time though; it felt heavier - less violent.

With a cry, Harry threw his arms outwards and long tendrils of blue fire erupted towards the ground, grasping it and spreading out across his back to form a cradle. Harry spun and flipped within a ball of lightning that was giving off sparks and that was completely harmless.

Almost instantly Harry felt his velocity lessen, as he was cushioned by his magic, saved by his magic. The blue lines of power hooked themselves onto the castle walls and ground as he fell the final few feet, and Harry felt only the slightest strain as they took his weight and carried him softly, safely, down to the ground.

Nothing was damaged. The grass he now lay on, gazing up at the cloudless sky, still shone faintly blue from the power - as did the castle walls, as did Harry himself. Time took on little meaning as he gazed skyward, feeling a whole new respect for the power he could wield.

Eventually, it may have been a second it may have been a day, Harry blinked and as he did he heard an ache as the ground around him stretched and long, green storks grew before his very eyes. He sat up, twenty feet from the outer wall of the Astronomy Tower in one of the castle quads just before the tent-field really began. He sat up, and gazed around himself in silent wonder.

There were roses, roses growing into life before his very eyes.

Harry could still see the faint glow of his blue ... magic, he supposed - though he felt it may be something beyond that... power in the ground and wherever it shone more stems shot up and bloomed into amazing white roses. Vines of stunning brilliance crawled up the once clear castle walls and, once again, white rose buds bloomed across them - adorning the tower.

A field, a field of roses. Not black, but white.

This was the hottest day for this part of the world in history, but Harry felt a cool breeze that seemed to come from himself and the beautiful plants he had created - nullifying the temperature. Making it normal - bearable. Drops of dew sprung from within the hearts of these flowers, flying on the wind and catching in his messy hair.

Harry laughed, clear and true and honest. It was the first time in months, perhaps years that he had ever laughed so truthfully. It seemed to give power to the cool breeze, which intensified and relaxed him beyond anything he had felt for months.

They're real, he thought. Not magic... made by magic... but not magic. They're natural. That feels right.

It was almost impossible to feel sad and pain sitting in this mingled patch of inherently good roses. His problems and feelings of only a few minutes ago were forgotten, and Harry regained something he was sure he had lost forever.

Hope. The white rose was hope - and he was the white rose.

Also, Harry felt refreshed - changed, purer. He had, subconsciously, used his magic for creation instead of destruction. He could not remember the last time he had done anything but use his awesome power for destruction, to fight. This was different, the exact opposite.

It doesn't just destroy, he thought.

I don't just destroy.

Happy days.

****

1 Day Later, 1 Day Less

The entire Auror force now numbered one hundred and seventy six and every last one of them was guarding Hogwarts. Two and half months of constant war against Voldemort had weakened their, and his, ranks. The world had also been tearing itself apart quite spectacularly, and this had made Apparation and Portkey use sketchy at best.

The disasters plaguing the world had made Portkeys impossible to program properly. People were appearing hundreds of miles away from their set destination - and sometimes not at all. There was too much inconsistency in the atmosphere and magic. It had grown thin... stretched... weak, as existence began to fail.

The same could be said for Apparation, although it was a hell of a lot more accurate - but not one hundred per cent anymore. There was a good chance one could Apparate into a wall or leave half of themselves behind, even if they did everything right. At Hogwarts, Dumbledore had advised against Apparating away from the castle, and staying within the ward lines at all times. His advice was heeded.

Far up in the backwaters of the castle, four students sat in the armchairs by the fireplace in the red and gold Gryffindor common room. Ron Weasley sat next to Hermione Granger on one extended chair, while Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom sat together on another. Couples next to couples.

Due to their close friendships, and for the two Weasley's involvement with the Order of the Phoenix, the four of them had been back at the castle for a few days now - the first among many to return to the only safe haven in the world.

A Wizarding wireless was playing across the room - a repeat of the final show which was now on constant loop beneath the remains of Diagon Alley. It would play such as it was for roughly four months before the magic that kept it going ran out. But by that time it wouldn't matter, as no one would be left to hear it....

"Can you believe this?" Ron Weasley breathed, his arm across Hermione's shoulders tracing small circles on her right one with his fingers almost absently. "No Ministry, no Diagon Alley, no nothing. All that's left is Hogwarts."

"It's unbelievable," Hermione whispered, her eyes distant and tear streaked. "There isn't even any contact with the Muggles since Portkeys aren't working. Too far to walk and...."

"And it wouldn't matter anyway," Neville sighed, his hands shaking involuntarily. "London was reduced to ash from those storms the other day.... it's ... it's...."

"It's over," Ginny finished. "Hogsmeade's gone as well. For all we know all that's left is Hogwarts... in the entire world!"

Hermione waved her wand and cast another cooling charm around their small area by the empty fireplace. That was another thing; the entire Floo network was down - the worldwide network.

Dark days.

Perhaps four dozen other Gryffindors moved about in the common room, casting cooling charms and talking in imperceptible whispers - all afraid.

"Do you think... do you think You Know Who's doing this?" asked Ron, voicing what they were all thinking.

Hermione was shaking her head though as soon as the question was asked. "No... whatever's happening, he's not powerful enough to cause it. I don't think anyone is."

Silence and then,

"What about Harry Potter?" said Neville.

Ron frowned and after a moment's thought shook his head and cast a cooling charm of his own. "No... if anything, he's probably trying to stop whatever's happening. He just... I just get this feeling about him, and it's not a bad feeling."

Ginny sighed and sat up straighter in her chair. "Yeah, I got that as well - when he's close by it's like... I feel I could do anything, absolutely anything - and it would be right, I'd be doing a good thing no matter what it was."

Hermione cast a cooling charm across her sweaty and flushed face, relishing the cool breeze. "Has anyone seen him lately?" she asked. "I saw him last night - coming in through the castle doors with a rose in his left hand. He was smiling and...."

"And what?" asked Ginny.

Hermione shrugged. "Glowing. He was glowing faintly blue. I could only see it when he moved into the light, but he was definitely blue."

"A rose..." Neville said, shaking his head. "The courtyard on the east side of the Astronomy tower was full of them this morning - hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. Half of those camped out on the grounds were walking amongst them because it was cool, the breeze coming from them was cold. Do you think it was, Harry?"

"We could find him and ask him," Ron speculated, stroking the small fuzz he had growing under his chin. "But I guess he might not even remember us now. Seamus says he was out for two months in the hospital wing - sick. And we did only meet him once or twice before that."

Neville chuckled. "Yeah, when he kicked the shit out of Malfoy."

"I'm glad that git's gone," Ron muttered. "Him and half the Slytherins - gone to join their fathers with You Know Who most likely."

Hermione renewed the cooling charm; the heat was damn near unbearable, and sighed. "You're probably right,' she said. "Shame though...."

Outside, two thousand people ambled in and around the grounds - and more were arriving every hour. Dumbledore was hard put to it to find and/or conjure magical apartment tents, but many had been salvaged from the ruins of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley before transportation went to hell - and as long as the raw materials were at hand, many more could be created.

There was a rough community system developing out on the grounds, and a temporary kitchen set up by the house elves to feed the hungry masses - many of whom were Muggles - until better accommodation could be built and provided. There were people, magical folk mostly but many Muggles not shy of labour, with enough skills to construct proper homes, walls, houses that were a hundred times bigger on the inside. It would all appear in time, within the next two weeks or so.

"When do you think this heat will die down?" Ron asked tiredly, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Don't think the weather can be forecast anymore," Hermione replied. "Soon, hopefully."

"It'd help if the Prophet was still printing," Ginny mumbled absently, gazing out at the shimmering heat through the window across the room.

"It'd help if a lot of things were still working," Neville whispered. "Do any of you guys feel that it's not going to get better?"

Silence, what could be said to that? They all felt it, everyone in Hogwarts did. Everything was ending, including life, and that made them sensitive to the chaos existence was in. Time was not a luxury, it was all but over. Nothing could be done.

Hope was dead and buried.

****

The Room of Requirement had served many uses over the long centuries of Hogwarts's history. In times of crisis it could become a war room, or a broom closet. A place for young teenagers to hide, or mingle. The uses were infinite, and yet it always came back to one basic use.

A meeting room - a room used to discuss the fate of the Wizarding world.

Seated in the room now, at an elongated table with fifty polished and cushioned dark oak chairs, were those who had taken it upon themselves to turn Hogwarts into the last community in Britain. Basically the last form of governing body in the United Kingdom... perhaps the world.

At the head of the table sat, who else but, Albus Dumbledore. The oldest and most revered wizard alive in this world. Sitting opposite each other down the long table were all the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry's hand picked squad, various Ministry officials that had survived the destruction, a group of Muggles representing their interests from the growing number out on the grounds - the enchantments had been lifted from the castle, making it visible to all.

At the opposite end of the table, sitting with his head leaning in his left palm on the arm of the chair, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a white polo shirt - complete with basilisk armour - was Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Saviour, Hero, Warrior, Wizard.... teenager.

The meeting had only just begun and already Harry could tell that it was going to take hours at the current rate of discussion. He saw that most at the table were justifiably frightened at what had, and what was, happening to their world. Destruction, mayhem and untold chaos. It had been a hellish year for all.

Harry looked around at the many familiar and unfamiliar faces with tired eyes, one pale one deep green. He saw Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Dermas Trask, Sophia Tréla, Art Nuan, Albus Dumbledore, Grace Arnair, Nymphadora Tonks, Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Molly Weasley, Fred and George Weasley, Amelia Bones, Severus Snape... and many others.

The room had been required to be cool, cold against the sweltering unnatural heat the rest of the world was suffering under, and it had done this by using the flames from the dozens of torches on the wall - blue flames - to generate cold air, instead of heat. This cast a pale blue light over the occupants of the Room of Requirement.

"We cannot ignore the threat still presented by Voldemort," Albus Dumbledore spoke from the end of the table opposite Harry. "Hogwarts must be defended."

Nods of agreement from the wizards and witches, the magical folk, but uncertainty from the half a dozen Muggles in the room. One of them, an old man who looked to be about seventy or eighty, stood up - pushing his glasses up off the bridge of his nose as he did. He was the designated speaker for the Muggle representatives. Dumbledore nodded to him.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gents," he began, gazing up and down the table, glancing curiously at Harry for a moment longer than was comfortable and then turning to address the headmaster. "Ma name's Glen, Glen Thomas. My grandson is one of the students tha' attends this school, and I've been chosen by ma friends here to speak for us non-magical folk. What we'd like to know is, as none of you seem to be able to honestly tell us, who's this fellow Voldemort?"

"A wizard," Dumbledore replied. "A dark wizard intent on destroying all he deems unworthy. That would include everyone in this room, including you, Mr. Thomas. He is powerful, but not invincible - and we can expect him to attack this castle. You must understand, the Wizarding world has been engaged in war for twenty years with the Dark Lord Voldemort - we have only recently come close to defeating him."

"A bit of a bastard this fellow then," Glen Thomas decided before sitting down silently. Harry was the only one that laughed, and to many it sounded insane.

"Getting back to the issue," Dumbledore cleared his throat, glancing with concern at Harry. "I fear that with his ability to bypass the castle wards, Voldemort may move to strike us down soon. His remaining force is larger than our remaining Aurors - which Remus tells me is just over one hundred British Aurors and about sixty French."

Remus Lupin nodded, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "We would have even less but it is impossible for the French to return to France - unless they wanted to walk or take a carriage, but then there's the English Channel to negotiate. As you're probably all aware... Apparation, Portkeys, and the Floo network are all impossible now. Everything is out of alignment."

"What do we believe is happening to have caused this?" Sirius Black asked, glancing pointedly at Harry. All his feelings were telling him that this boy, this enigmatic stranger, knew the answer.

It was Dumbledore that replied though, and his answer wasn't too far from the terrible truth.

"Magic has fallen out of balance," he said fearfully, gravely, despairingly. "It may repair itself, given the proper catalyst, or it may continue to degrade. We have no control over this, and we have to assume that other magics may begin to fail. Be prepared, my friends."

"There is no precedence for this," Arthur Weasley exclaimed, fear in his eyes. "Why now? What's caused this?"

Everyone in the room fell silent, thoughtful, regretful. There were more than one or two looks cast in Harry's direction, but his remained expertly blank, and he met every gaze with a disconcerting one of his own.

"We should get back to the defence of Hogwarts," Sirius Black said after a long moment had passed.

"The main problem here is we have too few to guard so many," James Potter said. "One hundred and fifty to defend near two thousand children and Muggles - one or two wizards and witches might fight, but...."

Glen Thomas was on his feet again, clearing his throat. "We're not entirely helpless, you know, son," he croaked, looking James up and down. "I've seen one or two wars during my life, I know how to fight - I'm willing to bet half the teenagers out on those green grounds you've got out there would fight as well, given the chance.

"Now," he continued. "I know it's not right when kids have to clean up our mess. But we have to work with what we can - my grandson Dean will fight; he's already told me so... We may not have your magics but with what I've heard hear you may not 'ave 'em much longer either. So what I'm suggesting is you use us... us Muggles, and let's say everyone over sixteen years of age."

Glen sat down with a grim look set upon his face, and once again Harry was the only one with a smile on his face - except this time it was one of respect.

There were cries of disapproval and more than a little outrage at his suggestion though, and it soon fell into full on bickering. Harry watched it all with increasing frustration - although he did notice that both Glen and Dumbledore didn't reduce themselves to arguing, they looked silent and thoughtful.

Harry already knew who the leaders were in this room, and was not surprised one of them was Muggle.

After Dumbledore raised his hands for silence, Severus Snape asked the question almost all of the magical folk were thinking. True to his background in espionage, Snape's voice held no emotion - time had gotten beyond that - and it was asked in an indifferent tone. The implications of this question, though, would decide the fate of all those at Hogwarts over the coming months.

"Do you truly believe, Mr. Thomas," Snape said, his greasy hair sprawled out on top of his head, his arms tucked into the folds of his robes, "that Muggles can stand against magic? What do you intend to use to defend yourself? Your grandson?"

Silence as Glen was given a chance to reply. He stood up again, in the manner of an expert orator, and once more cleared his throat. "As I've said, sir," he addressed Snape. "I've served in many wars - ex-SAS, I am, for those who know what that was.... or is... can't be sure it still exists what with no phones, but it was the most highly regarded military organisation in our world, or so I'd like to believe anyway."

"Where's this going, Mr. Thomas?" Snape snapped, losing his cool.

Glen frowned, and continued a little tightly. "This castle is just a little north of the English-Scottish border, and to the west of Glencoe. If memory serves, and it usually does, sir, the town of Dumfries wouldn't be far from here. A few hours drive in a car, a few days walk without, but there is an SAS training ground there."

Lily Potter stirred nervously in her seat, glancing at the old man. She knew of the SAS, she had grown up a Muggle, but was Glen suggesting....

"I suggest we head down there," Glen said. "A group of us go down there and see what's what. Whether or not the town's still up and running, and whether or not the military will help us. And... well, if no one is there... the weapons may still be, if you understand me."

That hung in the air for a few decisive moments, and Harry was happy to see Dumbledore actually thinking about this suggestion. He decided to speak up for the first time.

"Muggle weaponry, barring anything electronic, would work at Hogwarts, wouldn't it?" he directed this question towards Dumbledore.

The Headmaster nodded slowly.

You're sure this is a suitable application of your time? A real voice in Harry's head that wasn't his own whispered.

"It's a good idea," Harry stated. "It'll give us an edge over the Death Eaters."

Well shit... why don't I just come back later? When you're not busy, hmm?

"What I think we should do is concentrate on the defence of Hogwarts for the next fortnight - no more and no less - after that, if Voldemort still lives, we head on over to Slytherin fortress and force him out finally."

Half of those seated along the polished oak table gasped when Harry said this, but they all saw the deadly seriousness in his eyes. This would happen with or without them.

"What do you suggest for the defence of this castle, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked, valuing his opinion - probably more than anyone else's at the table.

Harry stood up, asserting himself. His head throbbed from the connection to Allarius, as existence failed, but it was bearable. "I say we do as Mr. Thomas suggested," Harry stated. "And a whole lot more on top of that."

"Such as what, Commander?" Sophia Tréla spoke, exerting a cool calm not many felt.

"Muggle weapons can and will stand the test against magic. I say we equip Muggles with them, if we get some, and any wizard who wants one. We also need to begin building defences - a wall around the perimeter right up to the lake, wide enough for three men to walk abreast upon it. There are enough with the skills here to do that, as well as some proper housing for the two thousand or so out there.

"We pull our thumbs out, defend what we have left as well as we can with what we can, and then take the fight to Voldemort if he doesn't come to us. Can anyone give me a reason why we shouldn't do this?"

Snape smirked. "Because it is madness, Potter! You want to turn Hogwarts into a fortress!?"

"Yes I do," Harry said. "The world is tearing itself apart out there." He pointed vaguely at the wall, meaning the world behind it. "There may be more threats than just Voldemort... people can do terrible things to survive... everything becomes more dangerous when you're looking out for yourself."

"What are you saying?" asked Dermas Trask, his hand on his sword hilt.

Harry sighed and sat down, running a shaking hand - something he hid well - through his black hair. "We have no links to anything beyond the castle gates. Millions died in those storms a few days ago, we have to accept that and move on now. That's hard but I don't have time for anything else. All of our transportation magic is down, and Owl Post isn't working either. We have to defend what's left, and that is Hogwarts. We do whatever it takes with whatever it takes.

"Think about it.... you'll realise I'm right. I don't want to be, but I guess that's just my lot for this game."

Dumbledore was rubbing his old forehead, his age lines prominent and shadowed blue in the cool torchlight. When he spoke, his voice sounded resigned - agreeable.

"This place was a school for one thousand years... not a fortress of war, Harry. I believe you're right... but, like yourself, I wish you weren't."

Harry nodded slowly to the Headmaster. "I guess that's approval for the plan. Now let's make it work. We're going to be fighting for freedom here, freedom from oppression, from fear... from death.... but freedom is not free, it never is. It costs us in souls, and we pay Hell for that.... We're going to do this, and do it right."

The next four hours were spent discussing and detailing Harry's, Glen's, and Dumbledore's basic idea, and reinforcing it with many others, changing and rearranging, before coming up with a rough plan to begin with. In the end it wasn't much, but then they didn't have much to work with.

Six hours after he had entered that room, Harry emerged last alongside Dumbledore and those he may have called parents - James, Lily, and Sirius. The other members of the committee were dispersing left and right along the corridor, in groups and alone, and Harry walked with his hands in his pockets.

"Good meeting," he commented to the small group around him. "Productive, if nothing else."

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore. "I have to say I did not think we would get everyone to agree on the key issues. We have you to thank, in part, for that, Harry."

Harry waved his hand dismissively and the five of them were the last to start walking down the breezy corridor. Harry in the lead next to Dumbledore; James, Lily, and Sirius chatting warmly a few steps behind them.

"It's your birthday soon, Harry, isn't it?" Lily asked when they turned a corner.

Harry thought for a moment and realised she was right. He had forgotten, and really who could blame him? But yes, in a few days he turned seventeen - he felt a thousand times older.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

Sirius gasped and put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "We've got to at least have cake. You're going to be an adult."

James sighed and tried to smile. "Legally an adult, anyway."

"There's not enough time," Harry said pragmatically. "Just forget about it...."

"We can't do that!" Lily exclaimed. "You... you're-"

"Dead," he whispered. "You don't want to be celebrating the birthday of your dead son.... excuse me."

Without looking back, and walking with a hunch - as if some invisible weight were draped across his shoulders - Harry turned alone into another corridor that would lead towards the Entrance Hall. They had a job to do, after all, and to tarry would be foolish.

Might grab some food from the elves first... he thought briefly before his thoughts turned back once again to the Boundary, and the damage he had inadvertently caused.

Harry knew that whatever damage had been wrought upon this world, was mirrored in every other world along this string of universes. That meant his world would have suffered the losses, the damage, the pain of all these unnatural disasters.

It was catastrophic. Millions were already dead - there was no saving them, he hadn't even been given the chance to. They were gone....

No, he told himself. I could... can... will... fix it. Somehow...

"Even if it takes me a hundred years to fix it, I will," he whispered.

Didn't your grandmother ever tell you not to say the worst out loud? I know mine did....

****

Friday August 1
51 Days until the Autumnal Equinox

It had been less than a week since the meeting in the Room of Requirement, and in that time the Hogwarts grounds had been magically transformed into something that vaguely resembled its former self.

Large stone and wooden buildings had sprung up in neat rows to replace the magical tents that had been housing the refugees, for use of a better word, that were still now flooding to the castle in numbers reaching on average two hundred a day.

None of those arriving had news of the outside world beyond seeing little life and a hell of a lot of destruction.

These structures were much like the tents, but whereas a single tent could house a family of seven comfortably enough, these buildings could house two hundred and fifty in magical comfort. They were a lot smaller on the outside than inside of course, and a lot of magical energy had gone into their construction.

Harry himself had leant raw power into their supports, and that had been more than enough,

No bigger than a normal four bedroom two bathroom Muggle home, sixteen of these structures ran in twos from the edge of the lake to about halfway across the castle grounds, with more going up daily. It was like one street that housed just less than three thousand Muggles and Magical folk.

The Muggles were more numerous, being about three to every one wizard, but they all worked together to exist in their growing community. Many were still clinging on to the belief that they wouldn't be here long though, and may soon return to their homes, that some form of their governing body must remain somewhere, that the dream of society couldn't have ended in a few days.

Almost daily a group of Muggles would head out of the magical atmosphere around Hogwarts - protected by a group of Aurors - and out onto the high ground surrounding the charred remains of Hogsmeade. These Muggles had portable telephones, mobile phones that still had some power, they tried to call or contact anybody from this location.

None of them got so much as a busy signal. The phone network was dead.

Also, around the long perimeter of the Hogwarts grounds, a large twenty foot high wall had been under construction for the past few days. It stretched from a few feet into the lake, along the length of the face of the Forbidden forest and up near Hagrid's cabin. It wasn't completed yet, wouldn't be for a few more days, but it would be impressive at twenty feet high and seven feet thick.

Defence was most important, as those in charge kept telling everyone.

Those in charge... in the end it really came down to three figures out of three thousand. Two were old men, one Muggle one Magical, and the third was a teenage boy who felt like an old man.

Albus Dumbledore
Glen Thomas
Harry Potter

They had all shaped the community into what it was in their own ways, and it wouldn't be what it was without them. Dumbledore saw to it that everything was kept in order, and Glen acted as liaison between Muggle and Wizard, whilst Harry was the hands-on bloke.

Shortly after the meeting in the Room of Requirement, on the same day in fact, Harry had called together all those who possessed some skill in construction, transfiguration, and ancient runes. There were a surprising amount of people who did, as if those needed to build this community had managed to arrive first. Harry had called them together and construction had begun.

This could be seen, perhaps, as a sign that not everything was working against Harry.

Planning was done by the Muggle constructors, transfiguration for furniture and home comforts by the Magicians of course, and those capable of carving ancient runes had magically enhanced the inside of the buildings to house not a family of four, but a family of two hundred and fifty.

Within the boundary of Hogwarts, the weather had cooled down tremendously - by at least thirty degrees Celsius, and thousands were thankful for this, though only a handful knew the reason why. As soon as one stepped outside of the construction line that marked the edge of the wall being built, the temperature went through the roof - gaining every degree it loses inside the castle grounds.

This localised area of cool inside the Hogwarts grounds was due to one factor though, and it was Harry's doing.

White roses.

No one could, or ever would, explain it. Alongside the wall being built and around the entire perimeter of the castle in a giant circle, Harry had walked and planted white roses. Thousands of them in a line several feet thick, with few gaps - the most notable one keeping the castle gates clear - that repelled the heat and, Harry believed, would repel any other weather phenomena thrown their way.

The white roses didn't exactly counteract the damage being caused by his scar and Allarius' black roses, but they slowed it down - weakened it. It had taken a few days and many laps of the perimeter alone, but Harry had given life to thousands of undying white flowers that had given tremendous respite from the heat.

Outside of the perimeter the world burned, people who had survived were dying, and everything continued its descent into hell.

Fifty days and counting now, folks. Can the fabric of existence hold itself up for that long?

Harry sat alone once again upon the balcony at the top of the Astronomy Tower. His mind's energy was currently being spent wrestling with Allarius, who was unstoppably growing more powerful in his Stream-confines. It was a disturbing thought.

It's going to be a near-thing, Potter. Gods almighty.... I'm talking down to the second here.

Why do this? Harry asked him tiredly.

Every story must have a villain, Harry... Yours has more than any other, but you're doing alright, ain't ya?

Depends what you mean by alright, he replied, gathering his will to force the demon from his mind. It seemed he couldn't escape having a being of immense evil inside his head. That was also a disturbing thought.

Don't you ever tire of fighting, boy? Tire of the game? Allarius' voice sounded gleeful and genuinely curious.

Constantly, Harry sighed. Now piss off. I've got work to do.

****