Chapter Five: In Which, Suddenly, The Characters Have Emotional Depth
'Cause she's sort of cool.
The Hogwarts Express was unusually quiet. Harry supposed he shouldn't be surprised; three months is a long time, after all. Time enough for parents to change their minds, time enough for raids and attacks and more than time enough for death.
He glanced over at his side bag, which has his mother's blanket tucked carefully inside. After he'd revived from his sort of … passed-out state, he'd gone more carefully through the box and found a folded piece of paper on the bottom. It had said the words "Happy Birthday" inscribed in his aunt's neat cursive scrawl, but the number had been scratched and re-written so many times that Harry could barely make it out. If he was right – and he wasn't entirely sure that he was – she had tried to give him the blanket almost twelve times.
Harry shook his head. The many sides of his aunt would never cease to surprise him.
"It's strange, isn't it?" He tore his mind from his thoughts and glanced up at Luna. She was settled happily in the corner, Quibbler in hand as usual. He thought that if anything was to stay the same during the past few months, it was fitting that it should be Luna. The rest of the occupants of the cabin – Ginny and Neville – turned to look at her; Ginny's expression was bare, but Neville looked as nervous as he always did whenever Luna spoke.
"What's strange, Luna?" Ginny asked, absently pulling out a small notebook and a quill. He blanched, watching her write the date above the words, Dear Journal. She noticed his stare and smiled a little sadly. "I'm the type of girl who needs one," she said simply, with a shrug.
Neville eyed her curiously, but Luna didn't seem to notice the exchange. "It's strange that Hogwarts has gotten so small over the span of ninety days." She frowned for a moment, and Harry prepared for a moment of solemnity, maybe even a community heart-to-heart. But then she brightened suddenly. "I suppose that means Gryffindor has an even better shot at Quidditch this year! That's great, just great," she said happily, before turning her mind back to the Quibbler.
Neville caught Harry's eye and a small smile cropped up at the corners of his face. "Fantastic," he said unenthusiastically to Luna, waving a finger in the air. "Ra-ra-Gryffindor." Harry paused, having never heard Neville make a sarcastic comment in his life. Ginny didn't seem thrown, though, and simply laughed.
"Right there with you, Nev," she told him, rolling her eyes playfully. "Of course, you know I'll drag you out to every single match so that you can cheer for me."
Neville smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Like last year, you mean," he stated dully, dropping his head into his hands. "Spare me." Harry's stomach did an involuntary flip as he watched the exchange. It had never occurred to him that Ginny had friends outside of – well, him. It had never occurred to him that she had male friends – friends that she dragged to Quidditch games and hugged afterwards, maybe she even kissed them on the cheek. Maybe she even let them get her a drink and fell asleep on their laps when she'd had too much of the spiked punch.
He had a sudden vision of Ginny, clothed in her Quidditch uniform, surrounded by adoring males. She was laughing heartily, her hand on Neville's arm, and smiling flirtatiously with all the blokes around while their girlfriends stood off to the side, fuming.
The realization hit him much the way that the Whomping Willow had in third year: he was jealous. Of Neville Longbottom.
The thought made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he focused instead on the scenery outside. He wondered how much longer the Prefect meeting was going to be, and which of the seventh-year Prefects had made Head Girl and Boy. Hermione was probably Head Girl, of course, or at least she would be if McGonagall had her head on straight. Head Boy though, puzzled him. He just couldn't imagine who it might be.
The glass opened with a slam. Hermione stood in the open doorway, fuming. Ron, amused, stayed a few paces behind her. Harry arched an eyebrow as she threw herself onto the seat beside Ginny, and the two girls began to whisper furiously. Ron seated himself a little more calmly beside Harry and murmured from the side of his mouth, "McGonagall didn't tell us who the Head Boy and Girl are."
Harry frowned. "Why not?"
Ron shrugged, taking his travel-chess from his pocket. "Why does McGonagall do anything? I swear, I think being barmy must come with the job description of Head-person around this place. Care for a game?"
Harry shrugged his agreement and settled himself down to lose.
By the time they arrived at Hogwarts, Hermione had calmed down a bit and was rationalizing McGonagall's decision to keep them in the dark until the banquet. "It's probably for a show of leadership," she was saying as the three of them stepped into a carriage (Ginny opted to travel with Luna and Neville, and Harry felt another uncomfortable twinge of annoyance at his year-mate). "You know, to impress the younger kids. I mean, it's the biggest award that a student can get, so obviously it should be sort of … flashy. Especially now, when leadership is so important, you know?"
Ron rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up to rest on her lap. "So, tell me the truth, 'Mione. How long ago did you write your acceptance speech?"
She glared at him, shoving his legs onto the floor. "Shut up," she snapped. "I have done no such thing." Harry and Ron exchanged the quickest of glances, but she caught it and told them both huffily that just because she had earned some credit as a student and they hadn't didn't mean that they had the right to torment her successes. "Not, of course, that I'm sure I'm going to get it," she hastened to add, blushing. "I just mean that I am in the running, so of course I've thought about it, is all."
By that time they'd arrived at the front gate and piled out onto the sidewalk. Harry stole a glance at the thestrals, which were snorting and impatiently pawing the ground. He smiled a little, at one, wondering idly if it was the thestral he'd ridden to the Department of Mysteries. They rejoined Neville, Ginny, and Luna on the way to the dorms. Ginny wore a pensive, almost dark expression, which upon seeing the three of them did not improve in the least. She was chewing her lip, something that Harry had learned was reserved for time of especially deep thought or the height of fury, when she was so angry that she couldn't even speak.
He wondered idly if Neville knew what it meant before mentally slapping himself.
"Well, what time do you boys want to meet down here?" Hermione asked, pulling her trunk out of her pocket and examining it for any damage.
Ron shrugged, throwing himself tiredly onto the couch. "Ask me that in two days," he told her, shutting his eyes.
"You can't miss the banquet, Ron," she said shortly. "What if you're Head Boy? What would that say to the younger students?"
His eyes snapped open as though he'd never considered the idea before. "I – I couldn't be Head Boy," he told her slowly, blinking. "That makes absolutely no sense. Why would McGonagall do that?"
Harry grinned slowly as the thought took hold in his brain. "Why does McGonagall do anything, mate?" He asked. "Being barmy comes with the job description, remember?"
Ron rocketed to his feet, halfway up the stairs before Harry could even blink. "Well – just in case, we should meet around – say – six." Harry frowned, opening his mouth to point out that dinner didn't start until six-thirty, but Hermione elbowed him in the side, giving her head a little shake.
"Sure, Ron." She watched him disappear up the steps with a little grin and then said, "Six means that we'll actually be ready to go by around six-twenty. Please, Harry, this is Ron. Haven't you learned anything?"
He grinned. "Good point." He followed Ron's lead up the stairs, and vaguely heard Ginny say softly to Hermione, "You think he's got a shot?" before he opened the door to his new dormitory and stepped inside.
"What do you think?" Ron stood nervously in the center of the room, his school robes neat and tidy, hanging just a little too short on his tall frame. Harry arched an eyebrow from his bed.
"I think you look like you always do," he said honestly, standing and swiping the crumbs of sandwich from his shirt. "Can we go now?"
Ron glanced at the clock. "It's six-fifteen!" He squeaked, and then cleared his throat, embarrassed. "We're late," he said, slightly calmer. "Let's go."
To nobody's surprise, Hermione was already seated down in the Common Room. She was bouncing her leg up and down on the carpet, studying her watch every five seconds until noticing their descent. "Finally!" She cried. "You said six," she told Ron accusingly. "It is now six-fifteen."
He shrugged, also looking a little nervous. "Yeah, well, you know, I had things to do."
"Like change your robes seven times," Harry muttered under his breath. Ron's cheeks colored slowly and Hermione's mouth twitched, obviously forgiving him.
"Let's just go, all right?" Ron said hurriedly, walking so quickly that by the time they reached the Great Hall, Harry was nearly out of breath. They took their regular seats and Harry could barely focus on the sad state the school's population was in, the two of them were bouncing around so much. Still, it was hard not to notice – the Gryffindor table was more filled than the others, but Ravenclaw had almost a third missing, Slytherin hadn't fared much better, and Hufflepuff had lost a good half. There were maybe forty or fifty first years.
McGonagall stood, and abruptly everything stilled.
"For those returning, welcome back," she said slowly, her voice sharp as always. "And for those who have just begun their time with us, welcome." She seemed almost … nervous, addressing the students, and Harry couldn't help the small grin that fought against his lips. "Although the world outside is changing, I would like the student body to know that the world inside these walls will remain as it always has, with only very minor exceptions. All rules and regulations that have always applied still do – for you first years, there are lists of such things in your House dormitories. I recommend that you get a copy from the library and learn them well." She sent them her patented McGonagall-stare, and Harry knew with certainty that her advice would be taken in the promptest manner. "In regard to Quidditch … " here she paused, and Harry felt his stomach drop, knowing what was about to come. How could Quidditch continue? They'd dropped it until further notice.
He'd expected it.
"Over the summer, the other professors and I discussed the matter of its continuation. After many, very passionate, meetings, we have come to our final decision." She took a deep breath. "Quidditch will be suspended until further notice." There was a loud outcry from the students, but she held up a hand in such a Dumbledore-manner that it was instantly quieted. "I say this for good reason. It is obvious that, since your safety is our highest priority, we cannot continue the games outside. However, Quidditch is an integral part of this school, as well as recreation for hard-working students. In light of this, we are building a magical … dome of sorts around the Quidditch arena. Although this does restrict the game, it is better than no Quidditch at all. We expect construction to be finished in a few weeks."
Harry felt himself burst into a grin and saw that Ron was doing the same. Loud whoops and cheers erupted, and McGonagall let them be happy for a few moments before raising her hand again. "On that note, I would like to wish you all the very best school year – have fun, work hard, and most importantly … be safe." She sat down to the applause and Harry watched the briefest moment of relief pass over her face before she turned stony once more.
"Well, that was unexpect – " Ron began, plopping himself down on one of the great couches before a furious Hermione cut him off.
"I don't believe it!" Both boys jerked to stare at her. "She didn't announce the Heads! I don't believe this!"
Harry blinked, puzzled. Hermione was right – there had been no mention of the Heads at all. He frowned, more bewildered than anything else. Ron, however, was still on a high from the news about Quidditch that he just shrugged. Harry grinned – whatever might happen, at least Ron had his priorities straight. "Whatever," he said cheerfully. "What does it matter, anyway? You've got it Hermione, everyone knows it."
"I don't know it," she snapped. "And no one else does, either." She paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.
Ron rolled his eyes. "What are you getting yourself so worked up about? It's just some stupid title, Hermione."
Her eyes bulged at him. "Just some stupid title?" She hissed, and both boys knew that Ron had made a rather large mistake by undermining the authority of Head Person. "I have worked my entire Hogwarts career for this stupid title! Call it what you will, Ronald, but it is more than just a title to me." She paused, before adding snidely, "And anyway, just because you couldn't handle it doesn't give you the right to scoff at it."
Ron bristled, standing up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Guess," she snapped.
Harry sighed heavily, sitting awkwardly on one of the chairs, not liking the direction that his conversation was headed. "You know what?" Ron shook his head, his face crimson as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "Maybe I don't judge myself by what sort of awards I get! Maybe I'm not such a snob that I think that my worth in life is based entirely on some stupid badge!"
"Of course you wouldn't, because you're an entirely different branch of snob!" She stepped towards him, prodding him forcefully in the chest. "You think that the things that you happen to care about are the only important things in the world! You think that you're hobbies are the only ones that are worth anything in this world! But you'd never even pause to think that there are other things that matter than Quidditch, chess, and – and – Lavender Brown!"
Ron blinked, momentarily thrown before laughing. It wasn't, Harry noticed, a particularly nice laugh. "Look who's talking, miss 'I'm-Sorry-that-I-Can't-Play-Chess-With-You-Right-Now, I'm-a-Little-Too-Busy-Not-Having-Any-Sort-of-Life'!" He sneered at her. "Sure, maybe Quidditch and chess aren't the only things in this world, but at least I know that! They may be my favorite things to do but they're not all I do – I also, did you know, happen to have friends that I enjoy spending time with, and a bunch of now-second-years that I hang out with sometimes, because hey, they feel cool when there's an older kid who actually takes the time to know them. What about you, Hermione? Did you take the time to get to know any of the younger kids? Did you pause to think, hey, maybe those kids are lonely and scared, and it would make them feel good to think that someone older and cooler cared about what they thought of the food, or their dorm rooms, or what their favorite game is?"
She opened her mouth to respond before shaking her head. "No, but – "
"No. That's right. And what about friends? What about all those people outside of your little book-club-buddies? Huh? What about people that you just like to hang out with – people that aren't me and Harry?" She didn't say anything and he nodded. "Yeah. There aren't any. Because you can't tear yourself away from your books and the friends that you think are smart enough for you."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, surprised at how quickly the argument had flared up. Ron, he thought, had this stored in him for a very, very long time. Maybe even for years, and it had just been getting out in very, very little bits but piling up so much faster that he wasn't really emptying it at all.
He stood, backing slowly towards the stairs as the shouting escalated. Hermione, now in tears – although weather it was because she was hurt or because she was so angry, he couldn't tell – was shrieking almost incoherently about how sick she was of all the fighting and she just had enough of him and his stupid pig-headedness.
He was already halfway up before he noticed that Ginny was perched miserably at the top of the stair well. She smiled half-heartedly up at him, scooting over and making room for him to sit. "Isn't it great to be back?" She asked sarcastically, glancing in the direction of Ron and Hermione. "It isn't Hogwarts without the two of them going at it."
Harry offered a little shrug, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I guess not." He paused before asking carefully, "What were you so upset about earlier?"
She glanced at him in surprise. "You noticed?" She asked, before blushing. "Sorry – I didn't mean it that way." He shrugged, waiting patiently for her to continue. If he'd learned anything about Ginny, it was that she hated to be pushed, and the only thing to do to get her to talk was to wait. "I was just … thinking," she said slowly. "Remember, at Dumbledore's … thing, how we talked about you leaving?"
He nodded slowly, cocking his head at her. "Sure. What of it?"
"Well – when are you going?" He blinked, unsure if he was supposed to be insulted or not. "That came out wrong," she said quickly, before he could react. "I just meant that … I had thought you would leave before school even began. And I kept thinking – tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. But the three of you hung around, and kept hanging around, and now we're here and I don't get it."
Harry frowned, suddenly realizing that she was right. The plan had been to leave right after Bill's wedding – but then things with Ginny had started going well, and he'd thought, well, a couple of days. And they'd fallen into their research and narrowing down who it could be – rather successfully, he thought – and soon the days were gone and it was almost September. None of them had really spoken about actually leaving, and then suddenly they were on the train to Hogwarts.
"I don't … know," he said honestly. "I guess … I guess we just never set a date, and then … "
She was looking earnestly at him. "You don't want to go, do you?" He studied his hands, not wanting to really have to answer that question. But she didn't say anything else and he knew that she had more patience than he ever would.
"Of course not," he said finally, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "But I have to."
Ginny didn't speak for a moment. "Are you scared?" She asked finally, her voice small. "And don't lie," she added sternly, shooting him a look. He didn't speak, choosing instead to stare down the steps and wish that he hadn't come up here at all. She sighed. "Fine, don't answer," she told him with a careless shrug. "I'm just asking because, well, I am." She smiled a little. "Scared, I mean."
An inaudible shout came from downstairs, and Harry was strangely grateful. He squirmed, wanting to get up and walk away. She sighed. "I'm telling you that in confidence," she said abruptly. "If you ever mention it to anyone again, you'll truly feel the Wrath of Weasley Women."
Despite himself, he grinned a little. "Duly noted," he told her, and she swatted his arm. She was opening her mouth to speak when Ron abruptly interrupted them, storming up the stairs.
"She needs to get that pole out of her arse," he informed them furiously as he pushed passed. Harry and Ginny watched him disappear into the seventh-years dormitory, where he would find Dean and Seamus (who were both, Harry thought, the perfect blokes to commiserate with, as Dean was sore over Parvati and Seamus had recently been dumped by Lavender). That thought startled him.
"I wonder where Neville is?" He said aloud.
"Oh, he's off at the greenhouses," Ginny said absently. He jerked to stare at her, biting the inside of his lip to keep from blurting, What? Why – how do you know that?
"That's … great," he grit out instead. She shot him a confused look, but didn't push the issue, instead standing up.
"Well, goodnight Harry," she said, awkwardly patting his head. "See you in the morning." She grinned in the direction of the dorms. "And good luck with The Prat."
He stared after her, concerned with the fact that he was more worried that she knew were Neville was then about his two best friends, one who was undoubtedly in tears and the other who had likely smashed all of his belongings and likely some of Harry's, too.
"Bugger women," he muttered.
The next morning, he woke slowly. Ron was still in a sour mood, Dean and Seamus had already gone, and Neville was cheerfully neatening his bed. Harry glared at his back, unconsciously willing him to trip or something.
Ron waited for him at the door. "Are you coming, or what?" He snapped. Harry sighed, grabbing his books from his bed and nodding, checking quickly under his pillow to make sure his blanket was still there. He felt sort of stupid, having a blanket, but at the same time, it was different than some sort of – of blankie, like the one that Dudley'd had 'till he was thirteen. It was his last gift from his mother.
Part of him wished that she'd left him something a little more manly, like a t-shirt.
He felt guilty thinking that, though, and quickly buried the thought in his mind. He had more important things to worry about, he told himself, than whether or not he was manly. Still, he couldn't help but notice that Neville didn't have a blanket.
He growled, annoyed at himself, and felt his mood sour almost as darkly as Ron's. The two found Hermione waiting in the common room as usual, but Ginny was missing. "She went ahead with Neville to meet Luna," Hermione explained shortly, and Harry's grip on his side-bag tightened considerably.
Halfway through breakfast, he brought up the topic that had been bothering him all night. "We need to figure things out," he announced between bites of eggs. Ron grumbled incoherently and Hermione took a dainty sip of water. He lowered his voice, "About the Horcruxes."
"Yes, Harry," Hermione said patronizingly, and he told himself to stay calm because she was still angry at Ron. "That's easier said than done."
He rolled his eyes. "Well, we have to get a move on. We can't hide out in Hogwarts forever, waiting for the knowledge to suddenly appear."
Hermione shifted guiltily. "All right, you're right," she admitted, speaking directly to him and ignoring Ron completely. She paused, biting her lip. "Listen, Harry … " she took a deep breath. "I was thinking … "
"What a surprise," Ron muttered.
She shot him a glance, but other than that didn't rise to the bait. "I was thinking," she continued, "that maybe … " she took a deep breath.
"Out with it, Hermione," Harry said flatly.
"I was thinking that maybeweshouldenlistGinny'shelp." There was a heavy pause in which Harry pretended to consider it.
"No." It was Ron who'd spoken this time, but Hermione continued to ignore him.
"It makes sense, Harry," she pressed. "Ginny's smart – one of the best in her year, if she'd bother to apply herself a bit more. And she'd bring a fresh point of view. Besides, you know as well as I do that she'll find out what we're up to eventually. We might as well make it on our terms, so that we can let her know what we want to and keep the rest secret."
Harry paused. It sounded so … un-Hermione-like to suggest lying at all, especially to one of her best friends. "No," Ron said again. "I don't want her involved."
"Well, it's a little late for that," Hermione spat. "She's already involved. At least this way she would be helpful and involved."
Ron turned to her finally. "And how is she involved? She's not dating Harry anymore, she's not a member of the Order, You-Know-Who doesn't even know that she exists. In what world does that spell 'involved'?"
Hermione pursed her lips. "Except that he does know that she exists, because he possessed her."
"His diary possessed her," Ron corrected shortly.
"Yes, and he was part of his diary. He knew that he was possessing her when it happened, Ron. When you drop your soul into something, you tend to keep track of it. And anyway, you can't just … cut out a piece of your soul. You can still feel it. He knows what's happening to all of his Horcruxes – he even knows that some of them have been destroyed. That's why his attacks are getting more brutal and frequent. He's getting scared."
It was delivered in such a flat tone that Harry blinked at her. He hadn't considered that Voldemort would know what was happening to his Horcruxes. Ron looked suddenly sick. "So he – he knows about Ginny? He knows that she – she helped to destroy a part of his soul?"
"She's a threat to him, Ron," Hermione said, almost gently considering that she clearly still hated every hair on his head. "The least we can do is to keep her educated."
Harry bit his lip. "Look, if you can find out a way to get her input without telling her everything, then that's fine. But Ron is right. Ginny … Ginny should stay out of it."
Hermione studied him for a moment, her stare penetrating. "You know," she said quietly, "Neither of you tried to protect me." She gathered her things and stood, marching meaningfully from the table.
Harry had the feeling that her words had some sort of deeper meaning – the problem was that he had no idea what it was. Ron turned to him with a shrug, stuffing a sausage into his mouth. "I told you she was mad," he said.
A Brief Interlude
Hermione found Ginny in the library, deep in discussion with Luna. She took a seat patiently beside the blonde and waited the conversation out, until Luna decided that she had to write a letter and Ginny turned her attention to the brunette.
"All right?" She asked carefully, seeing her friend's pensive look. Hermione played with her hands for a moment, not saying anything for a few moments.
On the one hand, she knew she was right. She knew it. The boys were just being pigheaded and loving, in that weird, round-about-way that they had. Ginny was Ron's little sister, his only sister, and Harry's first real girlfriend/the girl he still obviously fancied.
On the other, she'd never done anything quite this … underhanded before, and she knew that if either boy ever found out, she'd be in more trouble with them than she ever had before. Even maybe, she knew, to the point of no return.
The question was: what was more important? The lives of millions, or her friendship?
She was troubled that this was such a difficult choice.
"There's something that I need to tell you," she said slowly, feeling her stomach knot. "Ron and Harry don't know I'm doing this, and they don't want me to. Ginny," she grabbed her hand across the table. "They can't ever know about this, okay? Never."
Ginny frowned, her expression unreadable. Then she shrugged. "Okay," she said simply.
"In that case," Hermione said, taking a deep breath, "I – we – need your help…"
Hermione, Harry noted with some concern, looked almost … happy. It wasn't that he wasn't glad she was feeling better, of course, only that her happiness had a sort of … smugness to it that made him nervous.
Ron was examining the locket, frowning in consternation. "This is so … familiar," he said slowly.
"Of course it is," a new voice said as Ginny placed herself beside Hermione. Ron and Harry scrambled to hide the paperwork, but Hermione just sat back against the couch. Ginny arched an eyebrow but didn't challenge them. "That's the locket that was in your room the summer when we stayed at Grimmauld Place."
Harry froze. "…What?" He asked, his voice quiet.
Ginny arched an eyebrow, clearly confused. "You don't remember?" She asked. "It was in Ron's dresser drawer. I found it when I was looking for a shirt." She paused. "I thought it was his – I was going to tease him about it." She shrugged. "I guess I never did."
Ron shook his head slowly. "No," he told her, "You didn't."
Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Think, Ginny. You're sure this is the locket?"
She nodded, leaning away from him. "Of course I'm sure," she said irritably. "Why? What's the big deal?"
Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry silenced her with a glare. She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. "No reason," he lied. "It's, uhm – or rather, was my mother's."
He didn't know where the lie had come from, and he felt himself stiffen. He'd never lied to anyone before, not this smoothly and intentionally. Ginny was eyeing him strangely and then asked, her voice low, "She had two of the exact same necklace?"
He winced, and that smug look overcame Hermione once more. "No," he said, and struggled to find an answer. "Uhm…"
Ginny stood, abruptly, shaking her head. "Whatever," she snapped, her voice harsh. "If you aren't going to tell me the truth, don't tell me anything. Good luck with your stupid necklace."
She stalked off, and Hermione shook her head disgustedly. "Well done," she snapped at him, and he felt suddenly as though any lingering anger that she'd felt towards Ron – neither had apologized, but the argument had somehow been put in the past anyway – had shifted onto him. "Really well done, Harry."
He looked away, not really having an answer. Ron was grinning, though. "Well, this is perfect! We know where it is!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure, but how do we get it?" We can't just … leave."
Ron arched an eyebrow. "Why not?" He asked cheerfully. "We've done it before." She paused, scrambling for words.
"It's – it's different now," she said.
"It's – we're – well – it just is, okay?"
And then, very abruptly, she began to cry.
Author's Notes: Well, this is unbeta'd because I haven't updated this story in, uhm, forever, so I'll be fixing it soon. But I had an Attack of the PA today and wrote so much that it seemed stupid to wait to put it up.