First the legal stuff. I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, plot, etc, (J.K. Rowling does) but I wish I did. This is not an infringement on her copyrights, it is just intended for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others. If you decide to sue, then you can have all my Bills. That's about all I've got.

Yes this is another Harry Potter in Azkaban story. I want to thank Medabart, Quillian, Sheyda, and Krtshadow, among others for the inspiration for this. I also blame them, because once this idea popped into my head it wouldn't leave me alone. This is not intended to be a Superpower Harry story, just a very powerful Harry. How much he is able to do will depend on the magic available in the area he is in. If you want a comparison for what he is able to do, I compare his power level and ability to that of the magic users in the Belgarion saga by David Eddings.

Yes the Title has changed from "So What". I think this is a much better title for this story. Also since a number of people complained when I posted Wizard of Silence in its entirety when it was completed, saying they wanted it as chapters separated by time, even though this story is complete, it will be posted at the rate of about 1 chapter a week. I hope you enjoy it.

Do Not Meddle In The Affairs Of Wizards
by Corwalch

Now You're Sorry!
Azkaban, July 16, 1997

They're coming. Harry climbed up on the stone slab that served as his bed and peered out the small barred window. The sun was just beginning to set and Harry knew without a doubt that shortly after it had set, two groups would be invading Azkaban. Voldemort's, who would no doubt try to recruit him, once he realised just how powerful Harry had become and would continue to become. And Dumbledore's who undoubtedly try to kill him

As he sat back down, Harry couldn't help wondering which of his enemies would reach him first the Order or the Deatheaters.

If he hadn't lost track of too many days, courtesy of the Dementors, then Harry estimated that he'd been here about ten months. Back when he'd started his sixth year, Harry wouldn't have thought his life, could get much worse after Sirius' death and then finding out that because of a prophecy that Trelawney made that he either had to kill Voldemort, or be killed by him, but it turned out he was wrong. It could get worse and had.

Barely two weeks into his sixth year, Harry had had his wand snapped by Dumbledore, expelling him from Hogwarts, then he had been arrested and subjected to a farce of a trial, accused of killing Neville Longbottom and being in league with Voldemort. Where all his former friends had gleefully stood up and given evidence about what an evil dark wizard he was. No one had listened to his protestations of innocence.

What few I was allowed to make, before they hit me with a silencing charm, Harry reflected wryly.

He shook his head again over the idiocy of the people who made up the wizarding world, including supposedly intelligent people like Dumbledore and Granger.

Dumbledork knew what the prophecy said. He was the one who'd heard the damn thing in the first place. How could he possibly believe that locking the one destined to defeat Voldemort up was a good idea? More importantly, how could that old fool possibly believe the tripe that Fudge was spouting about how he'd joined Voldemort and that he'd murdered Neville as proof of his loyalty.

Granger had done the unforgivable as far as he was concerned, along with her partner-in-crime. And thanks to the Dementors, that particular memory was etched in his mind forever.

As Fudge, Percy, and the group of Aurors were dragging him out of Hogwarts, they encountered the Gryffindor students who had apparently decided to give him a little send off. His housemates led by Granger and the Weasel, were waiting out on the lawn in front of the main entrance, with the heads of the four houses off to one side, and all his things piled up in front of them. As soon as his fellow Gryffindors had caught sight of him, they began hurling foul epithets at him.

Fudge had seemed quite pleased by their reaction to his supposed disgrace and had been more than willing to stand there while they verbally ripped Harry to shreds. Ron and Hermione had something more planned though. As one they raised their wands and shouted, "Incendious!"

His belongings burst into flame. Struggling against the iron grip of the two Aurors holding him, Harry wanted to try and save at least his Firebolt, the only remaining gift he had from his godfather, but he couldn't get free. As his things continued to burn and the Gryffindors to cheer at the sight, Harry saw Hermione was holding something else up. His photo album! She had waited until he saw her holding it before casting it into the flames.

Harry fought even harder trying to get free, but it was futile. Tears ran down his face, as he was forced to watch the only images he'd ever had of his parents burned to cinders.

The heads of House made no attempt to stop the impromptu bonfire. They just stood there and watched his things burn.

That was the last time he had cried. Even now, the thought that his friends and the members of the Order hadn't bothered to get his side of the story, made him angry rather than sad. They were all so quick to rush to judgement. It was apparently easier to believe Fudge's atrocious claims than to bother to think things out themselves. At first, he couldn't understand how Weasel and Granger could believe it though. Spending all the time they had with him, how could they really believe that he would dishonour his parents' and Sirius' memories by joining the person responsible for their deaths. These days he didn't care about their reasons. Every time he'd had to relive that particular memory for the pleasure of the Dementors, Harry vowed to make Granger, the Weasel, and everyone else pay for what they'd done.

Leaning back against the wall, Harry thought over the last few months. They had certainly been an eye-opener. In an attempt at self-preservation, his magic had begun working in a way Harry had never heard of before. He was now largely unaffected by the Dementors. They only made him mildly uncomfortable these days. He could also now feel the magic currents flowing about him. Apparently the "power the Dark Lord Knows not" was the ability to manipulate magic with his mind and will alone. What he wanted to occur would, if there was enough magic around to make it happen.

He couldn't wait until Dumbledork and Moldyshorts got here, so he could show them both just how much he'd learned in a place where magic was supposed to be impossible to do.

Hearing footsteps coming up the passageway, Harry resumed, his vacant, idiot look, so the guard or whoever was coming wouldn't get suspicious.


Earlier that same day
#12 Grimmauld Place

Dumbledore looked at the assembled members of the Order, including the two most junior members, Ron and Hermione, who were there in spite of Ms. Weasley's protests. "My sources tell me that Voldemort intends to attack Azkaban tonight, to free the Deatheaters imprisoned there..."

"Potter!" Ron spat. "He's going to release that filthy traitor!"

"I understand that is his intention among other things." Dumbledore told the assembled group. "It will be one of our objectives tonight, along with fifty ministry Aurors, to stop them and capture as many Deatheaters as possible. Our main objective is going to be to prevent Voldemort from getting his hands on Potter."

"Even if we must kill him?" Moody wanted to know.

Dumbledore's mind wandered back for a moment to the first time he'd seen the wide-eyed innocent Harry Potter enter the Great Hall over six years ago. Then his mind just as quickly jumped to the scene of he and Fudge bursting into a third floor room to find Potter standing over the body of Neville Longbottom, wand in hand.

He and Fudge had been discussing the progress that had been made in readying the wizarding community to defend itself against Voldemort, when Percy Weasley had burst into his office, looking pale. In panting breaths, the Minister's assistant had told them he just heard someone use the Killing Curse in the third floor corridor on the right side and what sounded like a body hitting the floor.

It had certainly been a good thing that young Percy had been wandering around the castle that day, reliving old memories and heard Harry cast the Killing Curse, otherwise the boy might have made good his escape.

Dumbledore had stood there staring, wanting to deny the evidence of his eyes, but he couldn't. Harry was there, standing over the body of the only other possible person who fit the prophecy. And when Priori Incantato had been done, it showed the last spell cast by his wand had been the Killing Curse.

Fudge, who was very prone to leaping to the conclusions he wanted to believe, had none-the-less, in this instance been right. Harry Potter had killed Neville Longbottom. How could he have been so wrong not to see this coming? Neville's death had to be in repayment for the Dark Lord's killing of Bellatrix Lestrange, a few weeks into the summer. The woman's mutilated corpse had been found near Little Whinging in Surrey a few weeks after the term had ended.

When he'd originally heard about her death, Dumbledore had thought it was Voldemort's punishment for her failure to get the prophecy, but now he was certain he knew why she had been killed. Voldemort had given Harry the revenge he wanted on Bellatrix for killing his godfather, in order to gain his loyalty.

The Headmaster hadn't wanted to believe that he had misjudged Potter that badly, but it was clear that he had. His attempts to mould Potter into the person he needed him to be to kill Voldemort had failed. Young Potter apparently hated him enough, for leaving him with the Dursleys, keeping secrets from him, and by his silence during Harry's fifth year, indirectly being the cause of his godfather's death, to join the person who had killed his parents in order to have his revenge.

"Dumbledore?" Moody's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Do we kill Potter, if necessary?"

Dumbledore looked sad as he nodded. "If it is the only way to keep him from rejoining the Dark Lord, then yes, kill him."


Azkaban, the main hall
Dumbledore, the Weasleys, Hermione, and about half a dozen Aurors were all that remained of the force that had gone to Azkaban to try and stop Voldemort. They had been herded into the largest wardroom, where Voldemort and his Deatheaters waited. There were a few Deatheaters still out in the prison who along with the Dementors who had remained at Azkaban, were looking for Potter.

"We found him, master." A voice announced as two Deatheaters brought the unresisting young man into the room.

"Excellent!" Voldemort glided over to the unmoving boy, looking pleased. "Where did you find him?"

"Up on one of the turret walkways, just standing there in the wind."

Voldemort put a finger under Harry's chin and raised his head up from where it was looking at the ground. Dumbledore could see the lifeless eyes and the dull, uncaring expression on Potter's face and felt satisfied that at least this Deatheater would be of no use to Voldemort.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Voldemort cackled. "And his condition is solely due to those on his own side."

"That's a lie!" Ron shouted. "Why are you pretending? We all know he joined you. He killed Neville Longbottom for you."

Voldemort pointed his wand at the gangly red head and almost lazily said, "Crucio."

Ron tried to resist screaming, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he quickly let out a shriek.

"Don't contradict me again, boy," the Dark Lord warned. "Potter never joined my minions, though we did want you to think that. Potter killed no one. He doesn't have it in him to kill, especially not a friend."

There was a pause as the remaining Order members and Aurors realised what Voldemort meant by his statements.

Their faces took on a look of a guilt as Voldemort added. "I had to remove the problem and you, Dumbledore and the Ministry very obligingly helped me. Thanks to you, your saviour is now a mindless idiot. One would have thought you learned your lesson after the first time, Dumbledore but you still view people as chess pieces to be discarded when they are no longer of any use or they no longer obey your orders. Locking up not one but two people in Azkaban who were innocent based on false evidence. If my sources are correct, Black managed to last here for twelve years, with at least some of his sanity intact. But the second, his godson and the wizarding world's only chance of defeating me didn't even last a year."

While Voldemort was gloating like some bad guy out of a muggle movie, Harry's eyes carefully noted the positions of the Deatheaters in the room and felt out the presence of the ones in the halls of the prison. He blinked his eyes once and all the Deatheaters in the room collapsed as if someone had thrown a switch shutting them off.

Voldemort fell silent, looking for the source of the attack then he started demanding, "Who did that? All Deatheaters to me!"

After enclosing Voldemort's body in an unseen, unfelt mental web, so that his soul could not escape again, Harry said in a very rusty voice, "I'm afraid they won't be able to answer you, Tommy boy."

Angry, Voldemort's attention returned to the Boy-Who-Lived and saw the eyes that had been empty, were now filled with emerald fire, though his face was still an expressionless mask. "So you are not quite as mad as you led the guards and everyone else to believe. Good I much prefer a challenge. It is a pity you won't join me, we could be great together, but having dealt with you a few times before, I know that you and I will always be enemies. Therefore you must be eliminated."

"I wouldn't be too sure of who is going to be the victor, if I were you." Harry countered, his gaze never wavering from the snake like face. "You see I have found that I can kill if given sufficient reason, and you, Tommy boy, have given me plenty of reason."

"Don't call me that!" Voldemort hissed, pointing his wand at the young man.

"Why not, it's your name, though not for very much longer." Harry continued, looking unconcerned by the fact that a wand, belonging to an extremely dangerous wizard was pointed at him, by said wizard. "As the phoenix is consumed so shall you be, only unlike the phoenix, you will not be reborn."

As the Order watched uncomprehendingly, deep green fire burst out of Voldemort's eyes and mouth. The body was quickly engulfed in the green flames and reduced to ash, like a phoenix on burning day.

Harry sighed, relieved that Voldemort was no more. He was free. His parents were finally avenged.

"Harry," Ron spoke cautiously to the unmoving figure in the middle of the room, trying to think of something to say that would help him recover their former friendship.

The dark shaggy head turned in his direction, and the expression on his face was anything but pleasant. "Do not ever speak to me again! You and Granger lost that right the day I was arrested. This is the only warning you will receive."

Dumbledore took a step toward the young man in the middle of the room, only to be halted by the glare from the emerald eyes that were peeking out from under the long shaggy bangs.

Harry pushed some of the hair out of his eyes and the Headmaster saw for the first time the streaks of white running through it. "Don't you say a word either, old man. I want nothing from you," Harry's raspy voice sounded very menacing. "As soon as I have my freedom, I am leaving your damned hypocritical world."

Dumbledore started to assure him that there would be a meeting of the full Wizengamot and he would be freed by tomorrow evening, but Harry made a sudden gesture as if throwing something at the floor near the pile of ash that used to be Voldemort.

Fudge appeared in the spot Harry had gestured at, wearing a pin-striped nightshirt and a cap with a little pompom on the end of it. His foot was raised as if he'd been taking a step up when he was brought there. A couple of the order members sniggered at the sight, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Hello Minister Fudge," Harry greeted the man. "Welcome to my little party. Over here, we have the remaining members of the Order and your few surviving Aurors. Scattered around the floor, and through out the passageways of Azkaban, we have the Deatheaters."

The portly little man blanched when he realised who was talking to him and where he was and shouted, "Guards!"

While the threads of magic that bound them to serving the Ministry, were tenuous at best these days, as long as they hadn't been completely broken, those threads would force the Dementors to answer his call.

A feeling of cold and despair began to fill the wardroom and Fudge looked at Potter eagerly, waiting to see the young man faint. He had heard all about the extreme reaction Potter had to Dementors but the boy was standing there looking unconcerned. As soon as the first Dementor reached the doorway, a bright silver orb appeared and raced to engulf it. When it shrank back down the Dementor was no longer there and the orb went out of the room. The people in the room, who were still conscious, saw the silver light flare brightly then shrink and flare then shrink again.

"You shouldn't have done that Minister." Harry's raspy voice chided the terrified man. "By the time my little orb has finished its work, there won't be a Dementor left in Azkaban."

"H-h-h-ow d-d-did y-y-y-you b-b-b-bring me here?" The Minister stuttered.

"I wanted you here." Harry told him simply. "I just wanted to talk to you and have you actually listen, without any of your toadying sycophants around."

"There is nothing you have to say, that I want to hear, Deatheater!" Fudge stated firmly, ignoring for the moment that a very powerful wizard had done the seemingly impossible and apparated him from his bedroom to Azkaban.

"Don't take that tone with me Minister." Harry countered just as firmly. "That pile of ash, you are standing next to, as those awake in this room can attest to, is the former Dark Lord Voldemort. And you could be next, if you don't watch it. After all, at this point, I have nothing to lose."

Fudge looked down and jumped back as he caught sight of the huge pile of ash on the floor. He collided with Dumbledore who had moved closer to try and help smooth things over. It was quite clear that whatever power Trelawney had said Harry would have, he had tapped into and the last thing the ancient wizard wanted to happen was for Harry to reduce the Minister to a pile of ash in a fit of anger. That wouldn't get the boy his freedom.

Realising who he'd backed into, Fudge turned to face the Headmaster and demanded, "What's going on here, Dumbledore?"

"He's not the one you need to ask Minister. I am." Harry told him.

"Then why am I here?" Fudge looked at Potter, unable to read anything from the expression on his face. "Do you intend to kill me too?"

"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have had to bring you here to do it." Harry told him. "You are here to correct at least two of the mistakes you've made, during your tenure as Minister."

"What mistakes?" Fudge blustered, "I've made no mistakes."

"What about denying the return of Voldemort, until he got in your face." Harry reminded the man. "You gave him free reign for a year before you admitted he was back. How many deaths can be laid at your feet because of that delay? How many muggle-born and muggles died because of your inaction? You've made a lot of mistakes and now you have the chance to correct a few of them."

"Since you were the one who brought up Deatheaters, lets clear the air somewhat." Harry gestured and a tall slender Deatheater rose from the floor and hung a few inches off the floor as if held up by a moblicorpus spell. "You really should start choosing your friends, sycophants, and assistants more carefully, Minister. You trusted Lucius Malfoy, even though he is a confirmed Deatheater. You ignored the fact that I told you he'd rejoined Voldemort after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, simply because he gave you money. I think he's over there, near Snape." Harry gestured toward the group of Deatheaters, lying on the floor behind the Minister, before raising a finger as if to say 'that's one'.

"Next we come to Delores Umbridge, during my fifth year. A power mad woman who was under the delusion that she could do whatever she wanted and there would be no consequences, simply because she was doing your work, which was to keep me and everyone else silent about Voldemort's return. Not only did she terrorise and torture the student body of Hogwarts for an entire year, but she set two Dementors on me before school even started, in an attempt to get me expelled." Harry raised a second finger, continuing to count off the Minister's mistakes. "And last but by no means least, we come to your current assistant, who is not only a toadying sycophant, but moonlights as a Deatheater."

There were stunned gasps from the Weasleys, as they realised who he was referring to, then Arthur said, "My son wouldn't do that! We may be having our problems, but Percy would never join the Dark Lord!"

"You think not," Harry countered. "Your son on Voldemort's orders framed me so I would be sent to Azkaban. He counted on your hatred of me, Fudge, to grease the wheels of justice so that I wouldn't receive a fair trial. He's probably also the one who killed Neville, given that he was the only other person in the area at the time."

Harry gestured again, and the hooded robe and mask were stripped away, revealing an unconscious Percy Weasley. "Behold the arrogant 'I'm always right and you're wrong' Percy Weasley! Looks like Peter wasn't the only traitor to be sorted into Gryffindor, was he. Nor," he looked back at the remaining Weasleys, who were staring at their brother in shock, "is he the only Weasley to betray friends and family."

As Harry raised a third finger, Arthur sank to the floor in shock, staring at his son's lolling head. This is going to kill Molly.

Harry snapped his fingers. "Wakey, wakey."

The lolling head moved and the eyes opened. Percy upon feeling he was upright, but unable to feel anything solid under his feet, thrashed about for a moment, til he heard a raspy voice say, "Hello, Percy. Long time no see."

The voice sounded slightly familiar, "Potter."

"Yes, Percy. You don't mind if I call you Percy, do you? Not that it matters, given that I just irrevocably destroyed your master, Moldyshorts." Harry told him, drawing his attention to the pile of ash on the ground. "I should call you shit-for-brains because of the choices you've made."

Potter moved to stand between him and the pile of ash, effectively pulling his attention back to the eyes filled with emerald green fire. "You've been a very bad boy, Percy, and the Minister is here to hear just what you've been getting up to, in your spare time, so why don't you tell him all about how you framed me for killing Neville."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Percy tried to look anywhere but at Harry, however when he saw the disappointed looks on his family's faces, he decided he preferred looking at Potter. "I'm not a Deatheater. I was a spy for the Ministry in his ranks."

"Percy, Percy, Percy." Harry just shook his head, looking disappointed. "I would have thought a career in politics would have taught you how to lie better. I got a real good look at Fudge's face after your unmasking, and it's quite clear that he knew nothing about your extracurricular activities. I know your kind. You, like Peter," Harry looked over at the minister who was still standing where he'd appeared, as if rooted to the spot, "who you and I will be discussing in just a bit Minister, are toadying little wimps, who wouldn't even sneeze, unless you were told to. Now start talking before I force the truth out of you in the most painful way possible."

Percy felt relieved as he heard the protests made by the others in the room. They wouldn't let this happen, no matter what they thought of him and his actions.

"Shut up!" Potter ordered, waving his hand in their direction and silence fell. "You lost any and all rights you may have had to tell me what to do when I was expelled from Hogwarts, and then condemned to Azkaban for a crime I didn't do. I will have justice and it will be done my way."

Harry's attention returned to Percy, and with an evil grin on his face, he asked. "What's it going to be Percy? Will we be having truth with or without pain? I know which I would prefer, but I'll let you decide. You have five seconds to start talking, or you start hurting."

Percy stared at Potter in disbelief as he counted off the time. The last thing he'd ever expected was that the Boy-Who-Lived could come across as more frightening than Mad Eye Moody and as scary as Voldemort.

Percy let out an unexpected shriek as he felt the little finger on his right hand suddenly break.

"Did you think I was kidding, or that I don't have the stomach to torture you? Well, think again. I will have my freedom and if I have to take you apart piece by piece to get it, well, so be it." Potter hissed, then moved closer and said in an even lower voice. "Thanks to you, I lost whatever scruples, I may have had about hurting someone. A fact that your master found out as I burned him to a cinder from the inside out." Potter stepped back and then spoke in a louder voice, "Every five seconds another bone will break, until you start talking and you had better make it the truth!"

"Harry!" Dumbledore called. "Don't sink to their level. You are better than this!"

"A pity you didn't realise that sooner, old man! Before you snapped my wand and then helped condemn me to hell!" Harry's voice was dripping with scorn. "Anyway he has a way out. All he has to do is tell the truth. The spell I've cast will know if he lies and will break two bones for every lie. If he remains silent only one bone will be broken."

Percy screamed in pain as a third finger was broken then he cried, "No more. Please, no more."

"Start talking." Harry ordered implacably.

Percy started talking, revealing the whole truth about the day Neville had died. He admitted to being the one who killed Neville Longbottom, after stunning Harry to get his wand, among other things.

Fudge stared at his assistant in horrified shock. How could he have made such a blunder? If word got out that his aide was a servant of Voldemort, and that he had been part of a conspiracy to get rid of the boy-who-lived, his career would be over. He was going to have to do some very fast damage control. He gestured to the Aurors and a couple of them came to take custody of Percy.

Once Percy had finished talking, Harry turned to look at Fudge. "Well, Minister?"

"Oh yes, of course, Mr. Potter." the Minister stumbled trying to come up with the right words to placate a very powerful and currently very angry young wizard who was clearly capable of performing wandless and wordless magic. "I'll have the papers clearing you of all charges drawn up once you return me to my office. As well as an official apology and compensation for your wrongful imprisonment."

The Minister was rather surprised when the young man's face remained an expressionless mask. He should have looked pleased or relieved, or something. Not uncaring. Wasn't this what he wanted?

"You and I have one more matter to clear up before that happens, Minister." Potter told him.

"What?" Fudge looked baffled.

"There is the matter of my godfather's wrongful imprisonment." Potter told him.

"Black?" Fudge looked confused. "He wasn't wrongfully imprisoned."

"Just like I wasn't." Potter pointed out sarcastically. "Sirius Black wasn't even given a trial! He was just shoved into Azkaban and forgotten." The young man paused and took a deep breath. "He will be forgotten no longer though and the wizarding world will know the truth. Accio Peter Pettigrew."

An unconscious body skidded across the floor, causing the Minister to jump back in surprise. As the body arrived at Potter's feet, he gestured and the robe and mask were stripped away to reveal a small balding man with a rat like face and a silver hand. Another snap of his fingers and the man awoke.

"Minister, may I introduce you to the late Peter Pettigrew. As you can see he is no more dead than you are. I expect him to be questioned under veritaserum, the way my godfather and I were not." Potter knelt down beside the man who was cringing on the floor, and hissed. "Don't bother trying to transform, I have bound your animagus ability. I won't have you getting away again, Peter. Remember you owe me a life debt and I expect it to be repaid, by your telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

Looking back at Fudge, Harry warned him. "I expect to read an accurate story in the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning about how my godfather and I have been cleared. No politics. No editorialising. No attempts on your part to make points with the public or make yourself look good, just to keep your job. If I do not see those articles, or you have done anything to try and make yourself look lily-white in all this, then Minister, your job will not last beyond the week, because I can assure you that I will be giving an interview of my own that Rita Skeeter would give her eye teeth for."

"It will be there, tomorrow." Fudge promised, well aware that if Potter made good on his threat, the wizarding public would probably use the Killing Curse on him, not just force him out of office.


Fudge barely had time to blink before he found himself in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, with Dumbledore and the remaining members of the Order and the Aurors who had gone with them. He looked around and found the Deatheaters lying in a pile near the fountain of Magical Brethren, and they were beginning to stir, just as the intrusion alarm went off.

People seemed to come from everywhere, wands out. Shacklebolt took charge, and made arrangements for the Deatheaters to be processed, except for Snape. Fudge looked around trying to find young Potter in all the chaos.

"Dumbledore!" Fudge called.

"Yes, Minster," He responded, coming over to join Fudge.

"Where's Potter?"

Dumbledore looked around in surprise. He couldn't see any sign of the boy anywhere. "I don't know, Minister. Perhaps you had better take care of those things, you promised him you would. I have a few things to take care of myself. It looks like it is going to be a long night."