Chapter Text
Exhaustion.
It was all he could blame it on. He’d been working too hard at the Ministry; that must be it. Weren’t people going to laugh, eh?
Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived, vanquisher of Voldemort and the youngest head of the Auror Department in recorded memory, killed by a badge.
At least it looked like a badge.
You’d think that he’d have learned by now. In the magical world things which seem harmless can be more deadly than any weapon or spell. After all, didn’t Dumbledore almost get killed because of a ring?
Magic was treacherous like that.
Anyway, he’d come home from a long day’s work and thought to have a bath. Kreacher had died a few years back, Ginny and the Kids were out so he had the whole house to himself. He’d started the bath running and gone to search for some towels and a change of clothes. Without thinking he must have stumbled on Kreacher’s old nest in a little used cupboard and there it was. A small circular shape with some image carved into it. He’d just reached in and picked it up.
Next thing he knew he was looking down at his own body and feeling oddly…detached.
Was that really what he looked like? He somehow imaged himself to be a bit…taller, maybe a bit broader in the shoulder departments and, dare he think it, probably a bit fatter. Now he was outside looking in he thought he rather resembled scarecrow, and not a very well put together one either. Odd how disembodiment could make you see things differently.
Was this really death? Metaphysically speaking? It wasn’t like the last time when he’d been at some facsimile of Kings Cross Station. He was just here, in the same room he’d died in - if, indeed, he had died – floating above his prone physical form. Was this to be his fate for eternity? The ghost of a man killed by a badge.
Speaking of…
The badge was oddly sharper now, more noticeable, as if it was suddenly more real than everything else. It was still clasped in the hands of his lifeless body but it seemed to almost phase through it, as if his body wasn’t even there.
He felt drawn to it. The urge to touch it was overwhelming.
What would happen though? If he did reach out to it now that he had no body. Perhaps it would reunite his spirit and physical form, or perhaps not. It was almost torture, not knowing, and, really, he shouldn’t mess with things he didn’t understand, that’s what got him into this state in the first place, and yet…
…and yet it was still so tempting….
…just to reach out…
…reach out…
…and just to…
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It was difficult to describe the sensation. It was like falling and jumping at the same time, like being stretched and squeezed in equal measure, it was…odd.
Harry found himself gasping for breath, choking and coughing as he sat up and scrabbled in the dark, trying to find a light. He managed to find his way to some curtains and drew them back to let the moonlight shine in. Spasms of pain shot through his body as he stumbled around the room. He kept trying to regain control but it felt as if something was trapped, clinging onto his chest and gut, strangling him from below.
He fell over next to a cabinet and gave a series of hacking coughs as he knelt on his hands and knees on the floor, helpless. At last he felt something shift and, with an extremely unpleasant feeling, emptied the contents of his stomach on to the floor in front of him.
He opened his eyes wearily. There was some kind of plant, a root or something, definitely not something he remembered eating. He didn’t want to touch it, but he’d have to find out what it was, just, just, he’d just get cleaned up a bit first.
Raising himself onto his knees was the easy part, standing up required using the cabinet to support his weight as he pulled himself to his feet. There was a mirror upon the cabinet that suddenly caught his eye.
There was a man. He looked to be in his forties, perhaps early fifties, he was quite handsome in a pale faced “I’ve just thrown up over the floor of my bedroom” kind of way. He was mimicking every move Harry made.
Harry wasn’t an idiot. Of course he knew it was a reflection of his own body, except it wasn’t his body. Whatever that…badge had been, whatever curse or spell was set on it, it had transferred his mind into someone else’s body. Which could mean a couple of things. Either reincarnation was a thing and he’d died and stepped into someone else’s life half-way through, or someone else was in his body now. Neither thought was all that comforting.
The thing was, the face looked familiar. He couldn’t place it but he felt he’d seen it somewhere before.
Movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. It was a picture frame. He reached out to it on instinct. It was a family of four posing in a formal setting. The father – who was clearly the person who’s body Harry now inhabited – sat on a two-seated sofa and was glowering forward while throwing annoyed looks at his children, his wife was sitting beside him and currently looking over her shoulder for some reason – possibly scolding one of her children - one son sat dutifully at his parents feet though was clearly getting bored and restless while his brother was dancing from foot to foot at the side and glancing furtively away from the camera looking for all the world like he didn’t want to be there.
It was clearly a family that didn’t get along. Nothing like his own. He didn’t envy the man.
How old was this picture? It looked worn and faded and you might even think it unloved, but it sat beside this man’s bedside in a well-kept frame, so maybe it was a reminder of a more pleasant time. Maybe the man’s family had fallen apart and this scene, despite the dysfunction, reminded him of a time when they were prepared to put aside their differences for a little while and do something together as a family. Maybe this was all he had left to of those times.
That’s was kind of a depressing thought.
Suddenly the woman turned and looked at the camera with a scowl.
“Shit!”
There was no mistaking that woman. He’d had to deal with her screaming and cursing for many years. He’d never forget the furore she made when he finally got rid of her. He could still sometimes hear the screeching in his nightmares.
“I’m Orion Black”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The revelation that he had somehow come to inhabit the body of his godfather’s father struck Harry like lightning. He felt the shock travel the length of the body and tingle in the edges of his brain. Perhaps, given this, it was understandable that he had passed out.
He was aware of his surroundings. There was nothing.
No floor. No ceiling. No ground. No sky. No walls. No horizon. No end.
Nothing as far as the eye could see.
He was alone in a vast empty space. At least in this space he looked like himself.
Maybe this is what shock looked like from within. The mind stuttering to a halt so complete that it erased all thoughts and stopped all senses. But no, that couldn’t be it, because he was still thinking, still aware of himself and his situation. So maybe it was just superficial shock. Whatever.
He was Sirius’s father.
Or, rather, he was in Sirius’s father’s body. How messed up was that? How the hell did it happen? And, more importantly, how did he make it un-happen? He had no desire to be Orion Black, he had to get back to Ginny and the Kids and get on with his life. Time travelling and swapping bodies was never something he’d ever considered possible, at least to this extent, and certainly nothing he’d ever wanted. He had a good life now and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He had to get back.
A hand clasped his shoulder. He spun round and there stood Orion Black.
“Who are you boy?”
Startled, Harry looked into the eyes of the man whose body he woken up in. Orion Black looked worn down and ragged, sickly and tired, yet he carried himself with a sense of pride and grim determination. It was quite easy to imagine that this man had been formidable in his prime.
“er, I, I’m Harry…”
A grimace spread across Orion’s face
“Harry? A common name. Unsuitable. You are a Black are you not?”
“Er, no. No I’m not.”
“But you must have Black blood in you veins. A grandparent perhaps?”
“Maybe, I’m not sure. Why? What does it matter?”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter at all now. That you are here is proof enough. You could not be here if you were not a Black by blood.”
“What do you mean ‘I couldn’t be here’? Where is here anyway? What’s going on?”
Orion regarded Harry with a critical gaze for a moment or two before holding out his hand to the side. A cane appeared in his grasp and he struck it on the floor that didn’t exist. Immediately a large arm chair appeared behind him and he sat down imperiously.
“I am Orion, of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. You are here because I have brought you here.”
“You? You brought me here? How? Why?”
The seated wizard barely acknowledged the questions and continued on as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all.
“Once we were the most respected and revered family in Britain. Once to be a Black meant something. Now we are no one. Hated by our peers, scorned by our inferiors and despised by the world, and now, how could we fall any lower? To hate ourselves. We have turned on each other. Waged war against each other. Black against Black. A cycle of hatred so bitter that it will destroy our – my – family, and I found myself powerless to prevent it. ‘Why?’ You might ask. Because of love. My wife, Walburga, I have loved her with all my heart, adored her from the moment of our betrothal, and because of that love I pretended not to see, pretended not to know, as she turned away from her family and lead us to ruin, and now she seeks my end. She has poisoned me, and I shall die.”
“Look, tsk, all that’s terrible and all but what’s it got to do with me? What’s it got to do with…whatever the hell it is you did to bring me here.”
Orion stood in one swift, angry motion.
“It has everything to do with you boy! I am dying and if I die my family will be destroyed, I cannot let that happen! The Black family must continue on. It must survive! And you will help me.”
Abruptly Orion shook his head and tsk-ed in disgust.
“Walburga is a brilliant woman in many respects but she has no long-term vision. She thinks this Dark Lord will lead us to greatness again but he will ruin us. He has already claimed my niece and driven my son from me, now he seeks to claim my other son and to rule my family, and I will not allow it! Walburga wants me dead because she thinks I am holding the family back. She’s a fool, and fortunately, a fool who never cared for runes.”
Orion held out his hand and the badge appeared.
“I created this as last resort. I have ordered the House Elf Kreacher to keep it hidden from my wife, and to bring it to one worthy. He shall inherit my house.”
“You…that…that thing brought me here! You made that! What the hell?! What were you…what? What do you mean ‘worthy’? ‘Inherit your house’?”
“He of Black blood who is worthy shall inherit my house and all within it. I can trust no other. My life I give to the protection of my family and your life is mine. Even as we speak our souls are merging as one. There is no way back.”
“You, you, you asshole!”
Harry lashed out. The punch sent Orion careening back into the chair, tipping it over and leaving the Black prone on his back. Rubbing his jaw he sat up with a look of shock upon his face.
“You, you took me from my family! My wife! My kids! For what?! Because you screwed up?! To clear up your mess! Screw you!”
Orion pulled himself to his feet, still nursing his aching jaw, and sent a wary look at the other wizard.
“Hate me all you want but you are stuck here. You cannot return to your own time or body. For what it’s worth I do regret your loss, but that future is gone and you can never return to it. It may still exist in some reality but it is not one you will ever see again. You are, and will forever after be, Orion Black. You must save our family where I could not.”
The anger, the fury, had turned to despair, and Harry sank to his knees. He looked up as the other wizard and hated him more than he had hated anyone in his life.
“Just, just go away”
And Orion did, and once more Harry was alone in a world of endless nothing. He buried his head in his hand and wept for the family he had lost and the life that was stolen from him.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“Kreacher!”
Walburga Black prowled through the halls of 12 Gimmauld Place in a rage. She was often angry, at the world in general mostly, but today she had intended to be at Gringotts early yet had been delayed
“Where is that useless creature?”
Her husband was a paranoid man who had placed every protection possible over the house. The only problem was that it required a key to unseal the house in the morning and he had always kept that on him, and since he had taken to locking himself in isolation during the night Walburga had been trapped all morning.
If Kreacher was answering her she could have ordered him to take the key and bring it to her but for some reason he was not, and she could find him no where. This was frustrating and annoying because she was now the head of the household and he should not have been able to disobey her.
The last of the Baneberry had been added to Orion’s nightly tonic and, if it had done its job properly, he should be dead. She’d been poisoning him for weeks, ever since their confrontation about Regulus joining the Dark Lord, and he hadn’t suspected anything before, so he should be dead, yet the House Elf wasn’t answering her.
“Hear me Kreacher! When I find you I will break your body and turn it to dust! Do you hear me?! You miserable creature!”
Suddenly a red light flew down the hallway and struck her, forcing her wand from her grip and sending it sailing away down the corridor.
“Surprised, Walburga?”
Orion emerged from the darkness. Thin and frail and gaunt from the poison, he was supported by the House Elf, Kreacher who watched the scene in horror as his Master and Mistress confronted each other.
“O-Orion! What-what-what are you doing? You should be…”
“Oh? Is this concern? My dear wife, that’s so out of character. Did you think I was dead? Or perhaps dying?”
“N-no. N-not at all. I thought you were asleep. You-you’ve been ill a long time. I didn’t expect you to be out of bed, that’s all. You shouldn’t be walking around in that state. Kreacher! What are you doing?! Take him back to bed at once! He needs his rest.”
“I think not, my dear. I have had quite enough bed rest for the moment. Come. Let us talk in the drawing room.”
Orion gestured with his wand for his wife to move into the afore mentioned room and Walburga had no choice but to obey. She was disarmed and helpless. She could physically overpower her husband in his current state without any doubt, but he had the House Elf on his side so it would be foolish to try.
Walburga sat upon a sofa, rigid and tense. Orion gazed over her with a critical eye. The part of his brain that was Harry regarded the woman as a hideous creature. Perhaps she was once beautiful and charming but he knew her character, knew her dark side, and could not help but think of her as the harpy-like women who had tormented his godfather and tried to kill her husband. But the part of him that was and forever would be Orion still saw the woman whom he had loved with all his heart in spite of all her faults and even now he hesitated, even now he could not find it in himself to hate her, and now it came to it he could barely muster the will to punish her, not even for trying to kill him.
“Baneberry”
He threw the root upon the table.
“Poison, Walburga. You would poison you own husband. For what? Foolish dreams of glory from a false master.”
“Oh, Orion, if only you would see reason! The Dark Lord will make us great again! He will restore the Pureblood families to power, Blood Traitors and Mudbloods will perish and we will stand at his right hand! Cant you see? I did it for the family. For the Noble House of Black. I had to do it! You would never accept it, never admit the truth, you held us back!”
“I have told you before; the Dark Lord will not care for our family. He will use us until he deems us of no further value then throw us aside. I cannot let that happen.”
“You are wrong! Through the Dark Lord we can be great again! You stand in the way of greatness!”
“You are a fool, Walburga, I love you and I always will, but you are a fool. And now you have gone too far. You poisoned me, tried to kill me, and I cannot overlook that no matter how much I loved you.”
Walburga seemed to know that something had changed. She had often had blazing rows with her husband in the past – it was part of what kept the spark in their relationship alive – but he had always been angry then, now he just seemed…disappointed, heart-broken even.
Even she, though she had tried to kill him, still loved him in some measure. In her mind his attempted murder had never been personal but had been for the good of the family, and as she took in the weakened figure of her husband, emaciated and heart-broken, she couldn’t help but feel remorseful for her actions, she couldn’t help the sorrow that rose in her soul.
“Orion…I…”
She reached out to hold his hand
“I cast you out.”
“…what?”
Orion’s turned his mournful eyes to hers and gazed deep within. He shook his head sadly and raised himself up as imperiously as he could in his weakened state.
“I cast you out Walburga Black. Out of my house. Out of my family. You are no longer my wife. You are no longer of the House of Black. Forgive me.”
“You-you cant! Please! Orion, see reason! We can, we can work this out somehow. Don’t-don’t do this.”
“It is too late. What has been done cannot be undone, neither your actions nor mine. We must both learn to live with the consequences.”
Orion turned his back on his wife – former wife – heaved a heavy sigh and began to walk away. In shock and despair Walburga rose to follow him but Kreacher barred her way.
“Orion! Please?!”
Orion paused in the doorway and sagged against the frame. He looked over his shoulder and once more shook his head.
“I give you Kreacher. May he serve you well.”
“Orion?!”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
12 Grimmauld Place was quiet when Regulus entered. No one had come to collect him at Kings Cross, not even Kreacher, and he had been forced to floo home from the Crouch residence. Mr Crouch had been kind enough to let him do that after learning that he and Barty had become friends during the term, and when it became clear no one was coming to collect him.
This was highly unusual since his parent were often only too keen to show off how proud they were of him. Thus he entered the house with some trepidation, unsure of what he might find within.
“Kreacher?”
He called out for the house elf cautiously but no answer came. This was starting to scare him. First his parent no-showed and now his ultra-loyal house elf wasn’t answering. Maybe…maybe something terrible had happened.
Grimmauld Place had always been imposing. It was not a warm and loving house on its own, never mind not housing a warm and loving family, and now it seemed oppressive, as if the shadows were coming alive and baring down on him.
He was being silly and childish and stupid and foolish but oh! How he wished Sirius was here right now. Sirius would be foolish and stupid but he’d be brave and at least that would be something.
What if his parents were dead in the house somewhere? What if they’d been lying there for days without anyone finding them, waiting for their second born son to come home to some grizzly scene? They were always arguing with each other. What if they’d killed each other?
At last he mustered what courage he had and moved into the hall. A light was in the kitchen and he crept toward it. Carefully pushing the door open a fraction he looked inside.
His father sat at the table nursing a cup of something, it was hard to tell what. Regulus waited a minute or two just to make sure his father was alone before sideling into the room himself.
“Father? What’s going on?”
Orion tore his gaze away from the cup and looked at the newcomer with some confusion. Harry’s part of the mind was working more than Orion’s - Orion’s had gone into some shock over the days event – and he didn’t recognize the teenager immediate. What did he call him? Father? This wasn’t Sirius was it? Did he look like this as a child? A name tore itself from his throat.
“Regulus?”
The spark of recognition came immediately, and Orion offered his youngest son a sorrowful smile.
“Come, sit.”
“What’s going on Father? Where’s Mother? Why didn’t Kreacher answer me? What’s happened?”
“Your mother, heh, your mother is gone, and Kreacher with her. I let her have him.”
“Gone? What do you mean? Gone where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere. Gone. She tried to kill me.”
Regulus brain ground to a halt. He couldn’t comprehend what his father had just said. He had to sit down.
“Mother…did what? Tried to…”
“Kill me. Yes. Understandable really. She wanted control of the family, you see. She wanted you to join the Dark Lord, she wanted our family to follow him. I stood in her way.”
“But-but she-she tried to kill you?!”
“When a Black wants something they let nothing stand in their way, not even love.”
“How can you just, just sit there?! She tried to kill you!”
“What good will anger do me Regulus? I have lost the woman I love and nothing can change that. I punished her in the only way that would truly hurt her. I cast her out of the family. She will have to stand on her own now.”
It was not just the remorse and regret of Orion Black that had driven this man to his current state of depression. It was also the despair and loss of Harry Potter, who was still coming to terms with the fact that he would never again see his wife or children, and that they may never even exist now. The two combined to overwhelm the man that they now had become.
Orion turned his gaze back down into his cup and Regulus took in the picture his father presented. The elder Black was thin, gaunt and pale, his hair matted and greasy, his clothing unkempt and ragged, it looked as though he hadn’t slept or eaten in weeks, and upon that sallow and whitened face was a befuddled and sorrowful expression.
Regulus had never seen his father look so lost, so weak or so defeated.
Orion Black was a man who prided in his self-control. He never showed emotion in public, he never showed weakness of any kind publicly or privately, he was a hard man to know and harder man to love, and to his children he was a frightening figure of authority.
And Regulus had always been frightened of his father, yet it was hard, near impossible, to be afraid of the broken man that now sat in the kitchen of the family home.
“What will happen now?”
Orion blinked himself out of his stupor to look back at his son.
“What…?”
“What will happen now, with the family? And mother, what will she do, do you think?”
“Hmm…your mother will probably go to Cygnus and plead her case, tell him some sob story which paints her as the victim. Alphard wouldn’t listen to her, he knows her too well, but she’s always been able to manipulate Cygnus. I expect there’ll be some kind of schism in the family and we won’t talk to each other for a while, but it’ll blow over eventually. She wont go to the press at least, wont risk damaging the family’s reputation.”
Orion leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.
“…I shall have to make some kind of statement to the Wisengamot. Officially break any ties with the Dark Lord and make the family neutral. You, of course, will not be joining him or associating with his followers.”
“Er, um, yes father, but, erm, are you sure that’s a good idea.”
“Yes. I am. It’ll no doubt make us targets for the Dark Lord but that’s a price to pay. If the family must fall then it will fall on its sword. We are Blacks, and we follow no one.”
Abruptly Orion stood.
“But first, I must make things right.”
And with that Regulus was left alone in the kitchen with his thoughts as his father walked purposefully out of the room.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Fleamont Potter was sitting down to a late supper when there came a knocking at his door. He glanced up at the clock and saw it read eleven-thirty, then checked it against his pocket watch. Five minutes slow.
“A bit late for visitors.”
Nevertheless he put his meal to one side and rose from the table. Gathering his robes around him he began shuffling toward the door as quickly as his old bones would allow.
He wasn’t really old in Wizarding terms – some witches and wizards lived to over a hundred, some over two hundred – but he was close to seventy and felt old. Perhaps his combative youth had caused him to age faster, but when you’re name’s Flea you face an up-hill battle from the start and have to fight every day just to stand on even ground.
“Monty? What’s going on? Who’s calling this late at night?”
Euphemia Potter, his darling wife, emerging from their bedroom – downstairs to ease the strain on both – looked at him with a curious and slightly worried expression. She was four years older than him and suffered illness easily. It hadn’t always been thus, but she had been an experimental potioneer for forty years, and that line of work tends to weaken the immune system.
“I’m just going to find out my dear. Go back to bed.”
“We don’t usually get visitors this late. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“Don’t fret dear; I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Well make sure you have your wand just in case. You never know who it might be, and with this Dark Lord and his followers going about you cant be too careful.”
“Yes dear.”
He picked up his wand from its place on the fireplace as another flurry of knocks came upon the door, causing Fleamont to grumble to himself about impatient people lacking manners as he opened it.
In the dark of the night outside the house there stood a tall, thin and finely dressed man leaning upon a cane for support. He looked tired and haggard, and rather unkempt.
“Where is my son?”
“You…your son? Who?”
“Sirius. My son. I must speak with him.”
“S-Sirius. Well, he’s here, in bed of course. It’s the middle of the night.”
“I have to speak with him!”
“Well, cant-cant it wait till the morning? Or couldn’t you send a letter or something? It’s far too late to go around knocking on peoples doors.”
“You can’t keep him from me! You don’t have that right! I demand to see him!”
“No. Sir. You do not have the right to come to my home at this ungodly hour and demand anything. You can come back at a reasonable hour. Goodnight.”
Fleamont tried to close the door but it flew open as Orion Black burst inside and set off for the staircase.
“N-n-now see here! You cant just…”
“Sirius!”
“This is my home! You cant barge in uninvited!”
“Sirius!”
Orion took the steps two at a time as he purposefully ascended to the second floor of the building. Euphemia emerged into the hall in a state of worry having been disturbed by the noise
“Fleamont?! What’s going on?!”
“Call the Aurors, Euphemia. Quick!”
“What’s happening?”
“Quickly Mia! The boys are in danger.”
Fleamont did not spare a second glance back as his wife as he set off in pursuit of the intruder. He had heard horror stories about Orion Black from Sirius and was in no doubt that he could be cruel and violent – the proof of that had been the boy was beaten black and blue when he arrived having run away from his family home – and now, spurred by the worry that Orion had come will ill-intent to harm a child he had come to think of as a second son, he felt the age lift from his bones as he soared up the staircase.
“Sirius!”
Orion stood on the upstairs landing calling out for his son. The surge of adrenaline that had led him to force his entry and rush the stairs seemed to be fading and he was now leaning heavily upon his cane.
Fleamont emerged onto the landing a few seconds later and pointed his wand at the intruder, fully prepared to let curses fly within seconds. Orion turned to face him and his hand strayed towards his own wand.
“Dad?”
James emerged from his bedroom into the hall with Sirius on his heels, drawing attention to them.
“What’s going on?”
Everything happened in a moment.
Orion dropped his cane and crossed the hall in three steps, moving purposefully towards his son. Fearing the elder Black was about to become violent Fleamont raised his wand with a curse upon his lips. James, realizing who the intruder was, moved to block his path but was pushed aside while Sirius, surprised by the sudden appearance of his father, took a couple of steps back towards the safety of James’s bedroom.
The universe seemed to hold it’s breath as that one moment seemed to stretch for an eternity.
But then something unexpected happened.
“I’m sorry. Sirius. I’m so, so sorry.”
Orion reached out and drew his son into a crushing embrace. He drew a shuddering breath and dropped his head to rest on the younger man’s temple, before falling to his knees in before him, weeping openly.
“Forgive me. Please forgive me.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .