The Broken Victory

Chapter 20: Riddle Me This...

Dumbledore was out for the rest of the semester. I didn't really care about that. I was placed back into my class's Transfiguration class, which was beyond simple. The other teachers and seventh years pitched in to finish teaching the classes, and amusingly enough my class got Zwipp. I could do no wrong in his eyes, and he even offered me a research position over the summer at school. He claimed that he was staying over the summer to finish up a few loose ends. I strongly suspected that meant nursing Dumbledore back to health and guarding the school, since, after Albus, Zwipp was clearly the most capable faculty member. Not only was I delighted to do further research and not have to shack up at the old orphanage, there was another motivation. Everyone at school was practically trembling with curiosity as to what had happened to Dumbly. No one saw him, and some suspected he had been taken to that loony bin hospital for crazed wizards. The thought made me smile, especially when Randy did his impression of Dumbledore gone round the bend, complete with drool and a wandering eye. You had to admit, Dumbledore was never completely there to begin with.

It wasn't true, though. The story that Dumbly was gone, I mean. I routinely checked on Dumbledore's room by spying through his window. He was gone for a few days at a time, taken quietly and inconspicuously out of the room, but he always returned. I shared this information with Simon, who was a bit more troubled about it than I was.

Sitting on the edge of his bed as we prepared for the ceremony to close out another school year, Simon seemed in deep contemplation. His brow furrowed and bottom lip protruding, he said more to himself, "It's not surprising that something like this is happening."

"Why yes, Simon. I believe they call this ceremony a ritual because it is done every year," I replied, smoothing my gray jacket with the Slytherin emblem shining. It really wasn't that hard to alter clothing, once one had the proper spells. I had received a few surprised glances the first time my clothing actually seemed properly fitted and new, but I couldn't have cared less. I was grooming myself for the future. Public appearance meant everything, as did the impressions one made. Dumbledore came across as an off kilter wizard who would never live up to his potential, with his mismatched socks and Muggle clothing. I, on the other hand, looked every bit the promising wizard who the teachers called the future Minister of Magic. I had fully immersed myself in the wizarding culture, knowing there was where my future lay. And I didn't even have to pay anything for it, though nobody knew that part.

Simon made no comment back, and when I turned, I saw him staring at the ground. "I was just kidding. I know you were talking about Dumbly."

Again I received no reply. Shrugging, I said, "Accio robe!" and the black dress robe I was pointing at flew neatly into my hands. Glancing over my shoulder in the mirror, I added, "Better finish getting ready. We have another House Cup to take."

As if on cue, Mara Vartan, a pretty Slyth fourth year who had green and silver streaks magicked onto her blond hair to show House loyalty, stuck her head in and said, "Hurry up. Stop primping in here. We all want to go down together. Solidarity, you know."

I saw Simon's eyes follow the pretty blond out the door and smiled. "I could make a love potion for you. Or cast a spell on her." No response. "Or a curse, depending on how you look at it."

I finally got a reaction out of him, but it wasn't what I expected. "I'm thinking about Dumbledore."

"Well, stop." I was the moniker of compassion.

"Tom, you know they put some dark curse on him. It has to be. That's why they've been getting all those weird herbs and had that Auror visit. They need information." Simon looked back down, in his own world again. "He's not getting any better, from what you've seen."

I picked up Randy's rat and threw it at Simon. "Again, stop it. Who cares? You're not a fan of his. And I can teach you better transfigurations than he can."

Simon stroked the petrified rat, calming him. "You know that isn't the point. No matter what you say, you know how good a wizard Dumbledore is. He's one of the few who can lift a finger against Grindelwald. Some think he's the only real defense against Grindelwald, in the end. I would think you, of all people, would care about that."

I was trained. I was in control. As the fear of Simon's reasoning began to bubble up as it did in the moments I let my mind wander on its own, I bit it back harshly. Smiling, I said, "Our pillar of reason. Simon, you are, like always, a beacon of practicality. I salute you." As I topped off my hat to him, I added, "But please correct me if I stand in the wrong; I was under the impression that your parents are in favor of Grindelwald. At least, you've never expressed worry about him before, even when one of us died from him."

Simon's jaw clenched as I brought up Dash. I knew I could push Simon like this. Emotion would not overwhelm him. It wasn't in his nature. All I had to do was present the facts of reason, and he would follow. It was his security blanket.

"Grindelwald is losing support, Tom. Either his followers are becoming more fanatical, or they are scared. He's beyond mad with power, and no one trusts him. I agree with some of his ideals, but there is a limit. If there was a good opposition against him, I wouldn't be opposed to it. But without Dumbledore, there isn't even an option, really."

"Oh, please. You're scared, and Grindelwald is losing sight of his platform. And that is good news. As for me, I can take care of myself. Although I am sure I was at the top of your list of concerns." I walked over to him as he stood up. He was almost as tall as I, though with lighter hair and less angles on his impassive face. "There are always options, Simon. You just have to make them. Look at those Muggles fighting the world war. You took Muggle Studies this semester. A tyrannical ruler whose zeal overcame his goals, now engaged in a battle of good versus evil...it's cute, how they copy us. If they can believe in themselves, ignorant as they are, you certainly can." I gave him a half smile and added, "Shall we?"

As I turned to leave, Simon's voice rang out behind me, a rich mingling of wryness and wonder. "I don't believe there's Muggle in you, Riddle."

My shoulders clenched as a rod of ice jammed itself up my spine. In my gut I felt sick, but I just said jokingly as my cross irritated my skin, "Haven't you heard? I was an immaculate conception. No Muggle in me!"

"So that's why your original father was so mad! Merlin's your biological dad, then?" Simon gamely played along, but I could tell he wasn't so certain it was a joke. I, unfortunately, was. To hear my fondest desire out loud saddened me, but I couldn't afford to brush this biological father aside so quickly. Even if he played no role in my completion of Salazar's legacy, I still owed my mother, my line, retribution.

The closing ceremony was a bore as usual. Dippet droned on, and we all blocked his voice out. The only upset was that the Gryffindors received the House Cup. Amid wild cheers, the Slytherins angrily complained. Dippet held up his hands and tried to shout over everyone, "Please! I know that, technically, Slytherin has the most points. But in all good conscience, I had to award Gryffindor another fifty for being so brave while their Head of House has been incapacitated. They exemplify their House's qualities. I know that you all will understand." Sitting, his face almost purple, he ignored the hisses from our table.

"Bollocks," Damien grumbled from further down the table. "It's pure Slytherin prejudice. If Zwipp canned it, we wouldn't get any points for keeping a stiff upper lip." For once I agreed with him. Dippet, while fond of me, wasn't too keen on most of the Slytherins. But then, he wasn't really a hands-on headmaster. He mostly deferred to Dumbledore, who clearly favored the Gryffin-apes. Looking up at the faculty table, I saw Zwipp purse his own lips in distaste. Even when he wasn't here, Dumbledore got his way. Typical.

The following month of research flew by in a sea of potions, charms and life. Who knew there were bell-shaped flowers as blue as ocean crystals that sprouted on the Hogwarts grounds every June? They were large and small, with winding, creeping vines that crept up every stump in the gardens. Every morning they opened with songs, and the leaves rose and extended as if in stretch to welcome the sun's feeding energy. Snuffy Bear, Winn's little brown rag of a dog, spent hours yapping at the plant, which playfully whacked her back and uncurled her tail so she could chase it.

But it was more than the raucous songs or pretty bells that implanted in my mind forever the memory of those playful spring blossoms. They gave me a far greater gift than the enjoyment of life. They gave me the key to immortal life.

It was an early Sunday afternoon when I was outside, working with those plants. The sun was only just rising, casting a reddish orange shadow over the landscape. Since these mystical plants only lived for one month a year, hiding beneath the ground the other eleven till their frail dispositions could handle the outside world once more, they required constant attention in order to get all the research done in time. Pushing Snuffy aside repeatedly, I was about ready to charm her legs off so I could finish my work when a different shadow cast itself over me.

A cool grayness enveloped me, and I looked up from the sweat stinging my eyes to see the ghostly figure of Albus Dumbledore. I had not seen him in a few weeks. Every time I had checked, his room had been vacant. But now, even with him hunched over me, I questioned whether this was really him. It was not only age with which his ordeal had scarred him. There was a vacancy in his eyes, an emptiness that had been glimpsed before but never dominated his face. It was accusing and guilty, calmness reached through terror. The edges were as hard as the bits of beard, so brittle they fell from his face, leaving empty patches of marble among the red hairs turned gray.

It shook me to my core and disgusted me, made my nostrils flair and brow furrow. He was human and something else, perhaps what is left when everything one defined oneself as has been deserted. I felt no pity, only awe that he had let this state befall him. He had obviously failed and been broken and had not the strength to either rebuild or gracefully end it all. I shuddered inside at such a prospect. Whatever respect I had had for him, for his misguided ways and perfect authority, his dark eyes sucked out at that very moment. From that moment on, in my deepest thoughts, he never again was called Dumbledore. The figure before me, shot down by powers he refused to contemplate, resided in the lower position of Albus.

We sat locked in that position, him keeling over me, eyes drawing me in, and I kneeling before him and the flowers in a classic though shallow posture of servitude. I had no game to play with what was before me.

The bells drowned out his shallow breathing as Albus suddenly lunged downward, pointing a crooked finger at me. A smile spread across his lips, stained yellow from whatever draught Zwipp had given him. He began to whisper, a chant in time with the humming tune of the bells. "A riddle you are, Thomas Marvolo, oh yes, indeed. A riddle you carry inside of you. But answer me this: what good is the answer to the riddle if only one person can get it?"

I stood up cautiously, dusting myself off. "Not much good, I would guess. A hollowed success."

Albus laughed, a single bark of a laugh, and fingered the plants. "Lovely, aren't they?" He spoke to himself, smelling the blossoms. "They only grow here at Hogwarts, did you know? Once they lived in Armenia, but it got too hostile there. They migrated down here, right around the time this school was built. They felt their secret could be kept here. This is the place for secrets, you do know." He laughed at that.

I crouched beside him, looking at the humming blue little ball. "What is their secret?"

Albus rocked back on his heels. "You have your secret; they have theirs. Everybody has their own."

"And you know it?" I asked, standing up and walking behind him.

He said in a voice that was slightly reminiscent of his old arrogant self, "I do indeed. They gave it to me." The clear implication was, of course, that it would not be shared with me.

I stood there, my hand gripping my wand as Albus leaned down to the earth to whisper in the bell's mouth. A writhing anger swam up my stomach staring at him. I doubted he knew the secret. He just wanted to seem important. That the plants I had worked with all these weeks would not trust me, a lowly Slytherin. I was not like him; I had not a Gryffindor's courage to stupidly go and have myself cursed. I did not understand the respect he carried for the lowly, for it was I who had been there and knew how terrible it was and knew that anyone who stayed down for any reason did not deserve life. He would never live up to the potential he had because of his fear masked as morality. And I, who had to fight for everything I earned, was left looked down upon by Albus and those like him because I saw them as they were. Posers of significance, seeing whatever they could not handle as wrong. It was weak and repulsive, and I could prove it. I drew my wand with every intention of wracking the truth out of Albus.

"Albus!" a voice cried out. I swear that man must be beloved by something. Frowning, I pocketed my wand as Albus swung around. Zwipp was running toward us.

"Hello, Odios," Albus said pleasantly. "Have you come out to speak with the flowers as well?"

"I-what?" Zwipp turned to me questioningly. I shrugged my shared confusion back at him. Zwipp placed a hand on my shoulder, guiding me behind him and placing himself between Albus and me. His face was a mask of patience. "Come now, Albus." He reached a hand out to him, which Albus stubbornly refused.

Rising on his own, Albus said in an upset tone, "I'm not a child, Odios. If you weren't as rigid, the plants might talk with you, too. Now I'm going to see to my library." And with that, he was off hobbling up toward the castle.

Zwipp and I stood there in silence for a moment, until I finally broke it, asking, "Do the plants really talk?"

Zwipp had a funny look on his face as he replied, "If they do and they chose Albus first, it makes sense they don't bother trying anyone else, doesn't it?" He saw my smile and hurriedly added, "Not that I am making fun of Albus. He is a great mind. Just...unconventional...especially of late." Zwipp wracked a hand through his hair in frustration. Zwipp, with his cold calculations and clear-headed reasoning, was often at odds with Albus. He must be bad off, to speak so freely to me. A nice advantage to be taken.

"I could sit with him for awhile," I offered to Zwipp. I had tried to do so before, but the adults had been very careful to keep Albus securely away. But the thought of Albus' library was too tempting not to try again. I saw gratitude and an ounce of surprise on Zwipp's face.

"That's very kind of you, Tom." He was too relieved to ask me why. I could see his mind wrestle. "He is better...more coherent at least. I suppose it would be alright. He's to have his sleeping draught and medicine now, anyway."

I followed Zwipp to his lab, where a smoking yellow potion had been fixed. On the table, I saw things like an eagle's heart, a vial of human blood, and other ingredients never before visible at school. I was impressed that Zwipp had managed to keep these hidden from me and wondered if they were legal. Not that it mattered to me. But would Albus have a problem with legality when his own health was at risk? I wondered. Probably not, the hypocrite.

Zwipp gave Albus the draught. I remained shielded by the doorframe, fascinated. I had never been in Albus' private rooms before. They were every bit as gaudy and haphazard as he was. The shelves were on angles, the walls were different colors, and candles rotated in dancing patterns of flickering fire above. It was odd and eccentric like the Transfiguration classroom.

Zwipp patted my shoulder as he exited. Albus was asleep almost instantaneously. I tested him to make sure. Pointing my wand at the desk, I said, "Mobilarbus paperweight!" I directed it discreetly at Fawkes, who squawked so indignantly I was sure the dead would wake. If Albus thought his baby was in danger, he would have got up. Of course, I could just claim that he flew in the way. Luckily, Albus was indeed dead to the world and did not stir.

I smiled at Fawkes and tried to shrug an apology at him. Fawkes circled overhead suspiciously before flying out the window. I ran to Albus' bookshelf. Nothing was written in any of the texts on herbology. I bit my lip, wondering. What could it be under? Then it hit me, and I smiled. It would be in Albus' history texts, known to the rest of the world as folklore. I scanned the shelves quickly, not knowing how long Albus would remain in this sleeping state. I didn't dare take the books out.

Finally, I came across a book called The Legends of Life. It caught my attention because it was so tattered it must have been perused a thousand times. Flipping through the glossary, I came to the plants section. On the fifth page, I discovered Albus' singing secret-teller. It was called The Lifesong because in ancient times it was revered as a source of life. It was believed that while the bells sang, they could draw the death out of a person whose heart was deemed worthy. It fed off the death it soaked up, but since there were so few hearts worthy, it had taken to blooming only one month a year. I smiled at the thought.

The last line caught my attention though. It read, "This myth possibly came about from the flower's use in the attempt at necromancy and resuscitation of life that had some success in the third century. However, since these practices are banned and have never proven to work completely, the powers of the flower have since been given over to legend."

I sat back, trembling with excitement at the thought. How could I have missed such an idea? There were infinite ways to cheat the obstacles of death that I had never considered! I could uncover the past by bringing it to my present. I could bring back Salazar and find out what his Chamber of Secrets was. I could bring my mother back and find out who my real father was. The past could predict the future better than any Divination class.

But I would need helpers. Supplies and books. Bodies too, probably. Spells like these often only worked in groups. It wouldn't be easy finding people, then figuring out a way to make sure they could not mess anything up. But I was capable of that, I thought. I had grown in the role of a leader, being the mentor and teacher to many already at school. This was just a different area of study, one I had already introduced Simon to. But Simon was bright and could see the advantages. The others would be more of a challenge. First I needed a way in.

That way did not come easy or soon. Weeks went by with nothing coming to my mind. Frustration filled me. I read every book on Dumbledore's shelf, and none did much good. I wasn't surprised. Our library's dark arts section was of little use as well. What was needed was Knockturn Alley...or an equivalent of it.

Then came the in. I do not say luck, because I do not believe in luck. Nor fate. I refuse to give up my autonomous control of life, like so many sheep do. I am sure things would have worked out anyway. The way they happened to play out, though, came with a letter from Sammy.

Occasionally over that summer, I had received letters from my fellow Slyths, most of whom wrote because they were curious about Albus. I told them nothing and had expected them to stop owl mailing me. However, the letter the old barn owl dropped onto my plate one morning in early august was different.

I recognized Sammy's elegant scrawl even before reading the letter, which said:

Dear Thomas,

France was terrible, and my sister is a bloody pain. Anyway, I have an offer to make to you. You simply will not be able to refuse this. Damien Malfoy is having a dinner party at his house next week. Primarily Slythies. I was going to take Randy, though I despise him at the moment, and then I thought of you. I am allowed to take someone, and Randy is probably invited anyway. But can you imagine the look on Damien's face if you came? He would absolutely die. Please come; our parents are invited as well, and it's going to be a dreadful bore. Seeing Minny turn purple at your presence might make it bearable. Owl me back as soon as you can.

Sincerely,

Samantha DeRosa

I had to smile. Sammy was as flighty in her letters as she was in person, but there was a clever drollness beneath that was tolerable. I was all set to go, but for another, less pleasant reason than being Sammy's amusement. The Malfoys no doubt had a large collection of dark arts books and artifacts. How to get to use them, however, was going to be quite a test.

This problem loomed over me even as I stood at the entrance to the Malfoy mansion. It wasn't as large and ghastly as I had been told. Granted, next to Hogwarts, it was probably the biggest place I had ever been to. But the grounds had plants and springs everywhere to keep them company. The mansion was tall and white, but the pillars and delicate designs everywhere made it busy and beautiful. I wasn't really surprised. Malfoy was too great a politician to not have impeccable taste.

Sammy flicked my arm disdainfully. She was dressed once again in red, but with less frills. Swinging her brown hair back, she said, "Go on and announce our names to the Squib." A servant of Malfoys was standing nervously to one side, announcing people as they came down the hallway into the main room. I did as she said without comment. Sammy held her breath as it was said and leaned over to whisper to me, "I can't look right at Minny, or I'll crack up."

"I'll look for you," I said. I had no problem spotting him. His face as I descended caused me unbridled delight. First a horrified white, then a mortified purple, and finally shading into a furious red. I conveyed as much to Sammy, who bit her lip. But other than Damien, few people took notice of us. In a room filled with high officials, two students were nothing.

Sammy spun us around to where her parents were standing. Both were of short stature and had pleasant features and cunning eyes. I was already taller than her mother, even in her heeled boots. I smiled evenly. After a few minutes, it was clear that I was no longer necessary, for Sammy had got her amusement already. I excused myself and trailed to the back of the main hall.

There I found Simon with Randy and three other people around our age. I recognized them from Hogwarts. Upon seeing me, Simon straightened up and made the introductions. "Tom, good to see you. Sammy said you were coming. She's a pip, isn't she? Anyway, this is Olivia and Gordon. They are in Ravenclaw. Both of their parents work with Mr. Malfoy in the Ministry. And of course you know Jerome." Jerome was a fellow Slyth a year ahead of us. He gave me a fair smile, which I returned. I had only spoken to Jerome on a handful of occasions. I knew that he was the Keeper on our Quidditch team and now was Captain. He was large and sturdy with a confident stance. He was also a close friend of Damien's.

I extended a greeting to Olivia and Gordon, both of whom gave me a respectful nod back. Then I pushed Simon out of their circle and down a ways so we could speak. His face was flushed, and, glancing at the glass in his hand, I wondered if he was fully sober. But the second he saw the serious look on my face, his eyes became unglazed and snapped to attention.

I told him about what I had found out in Dumbledore's study. I left out, of course, under what circumstances I had come across this knowledge. But those details did not matter. Simon's eyes grew wide, and his mouth gaped a bit. "Are you sure, Tom? This sounds ridiculous. I mean, do you think we could bring someone...or something...back from the past? From the dead?"

I had expected him to be dubious at first. But I also knew there was a longing in his heart to try this, to achieve what no one else could. He was a Slytherin, after all. "I'm not sure it will work, Simon, of course not. But if it could, think about it! We would be legends! We would have seen death, tasted it, and been able to suck it dry."

I knew he was wavering, so I played the wonderful Cicero argument. "I am not going to talk about why we should do it now. Let's forget about questions such as where else are we going to have the resources available at Hogwarts? The talent so confined? That this could be the only time in our lives for us to accomplish something so great...to be part of it. To put Slytherin on the map forever. I won't throw that in your face, because that doesn't matter...does it?"

Simon stared into his glass, a small smile playing on his face. When he looked up, I saw a knowing glance. "Cicero," was all he said.

I gave him a grudging smile and admitted, "I should have known you would know that. But it doesn't change anything. Was anything I said untrue?"

Simon shook his head. "No, Tom, you said everything right. All I want to know is what's in it for you?"

I was taken aback but didn't let it show. Through a stoic façade, I replied smoothly, "What isn't in it? It's the opportunity of a lifetime. No one can do it but us. And think--if we can defeat death, we hold the key to defeating Grindelwald. Not Albus. Not the Aurors, nor the Gryffin-apes. Because we have the talent. We have the courage to try it." I paused for a moment, staring through him before adding, "And I don't let chances go by. Ever. You can have in or not, but can you live with yourself for passing this opportunity up? You're the first person I am asking. But I can get others. Or I will find a way to do it alone."

Finished, I stepped back to get him in full view and added softly, "And I will not ask twice."

Simon's eyes never failed to reach mine. He was important but not irreplaceable. I was. I saw almost pride in his eyes that he had been approached first. He did not pass opportunity. It went against his nature. And as long as I could give it to him, he was mine. He nodded once, a movement so slight his curls barely moved. He raised his glass to me and said, "To...how did you put it...eating death?"

I laughed and clinked glasses, about to say, "Not exactly," when Damien beat me to it.

"Eating death is a bit extreme. I suggest just waiting until your appetite becomes used to good food like caviar." Simon and I spun around to see Damien before us. It was hard to believe how much he had changed in certain ways. His eyes had darkened to coal like Dash's, and his spindly physique had only grown more angular. But he had poise and a calmness about him that radiated from his dress robes. He didn't bother to hide the snarling look of disdain that he glossed me over with.

Simon drew in his breath, but I merely extended a civil smile of greeting. "Damien! Wonderful party."

Damien snorted suspiciously. "Right."

I gave Simon a knowing grin. "No, really. As a matter of fact, this party might just go down in history. An immortal night, if you will." Realization dawned on Simon of what I was doing. He looked both horrified and impressed.

Damien furrowed his brow, trying to figure us out. "Are you drunk, Riddle? How common."

"Unfortunately, I am not," I replied. Then I said, "But, seriously, as much fun as it is to torment each other, Damien, I do actually have a reason for being here tonight."

Seeing a possible edge of power, Damien folded his arms and waited. "Oh?"

Giving my glass to a small house-elf wobbling around with a huge, silver tray, I said, "Really. I have a proposition for you."

Damien waited a few seconds before impatiently waving me on. "Well?"

Shaking my head regretfully, I looked him over and said, "I am not sure if it is wise to bring it up now."

Damien rolled his eyes and spat in anger, "Just say it, Riddle. Get on with it."

I wagged my finger at him. "I only do so because we have a common ground on this matter."

"Really? A common ground. Us?" Damien sounded amused but intrigued.

Walking up close to him, so close I could hear his breathing and nothing else, I whispered, "We mourn the same death with no retribution. I can give us, and the world, retribution." Standing back, I saw the terror in Damien's eyes that I would name his father. But I said then so softly the wind had to strain to carry it to him, "Grindelwald, Damien. I know how we can get back at Grindelwald."

Relief flooded Damien's face before he replaced his stone façade. He studied me, seeing the best way to approach this. It would be ridiculous to claim that I lied, for he missed Dash greatly. I was giving him what society could not. A place to turn his helpless fury and vengeance. "What do you get in all of this, Riddle?"

I shrugged. "I have no love for Grindelwald. And I miss Dash as well." Dash, who had too much Albus in him. Who valued other people more than his own well being. He had ambition and would do anything however illegal, which had made him a Slytherin. His only downfall was that he would do that anything for others. That was his weakness. And as much as I could think fondly of him, I could no longer pity him. He was not a perfect figure for me to idealize. I did not miss him. My heart had closed that out long ago, when his death had been so in vain. Perhaps things would have been different had he lived. Most likely I would have outgrown him anyway, I told myself. And I doubted I was growing into someone he would still see as a young sibling. I could not see myself respecting him either now. But he would remain as he was in my memory. A true-blooded wizard who had taken to me and who I owed retribution to if I could give it.

I had no need of saying anything about the ambition fulfilling potential of this venture. Damien's mouth was flooding with hunger for power. I smiled. I had him. For my purposes, which I would entrust to no one, I had him.

Simon looked at me in grudging awe. "Your name's going to end up in everyone's home, isn't it, Riddle? With your death-eating."

I gave him a cool smile. "Not Riddle. I will be the flight of death. Voldemort." And I left Simon with that answerless riddle for now.