Disclaimer: Story based on characters and plot owned by J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
My thanks go to beta readers ParseltonguePhoenix, Fenraellis, and Vlad the Inhaler. Also, the DLP crew give this a thorough once-over to catch anything stupid. And I'd again like to thank anonymous reviewer Diogenes for sage comments on earlier chapters.
I've got a bit of rewriting to do on chapters 11 and 12; unfortunately, I'm going on travel for work for a week or so. I'll try to get them up before I go, but if I don't update for a week or so, you'll know why....
Thanks to all who have taken the time to read and review. I appreciate very much your feedback on what works and doesn't.
CHAPTER 10
Underwater Tragedy
“Inflamare!”
A bolt of superheated water strikes one of the swarming water demons and it wails in pain. The screeches of the diminutive beasts, not much larger than a house elf, can be heard from all directions. Fleur knows she is in a hopeless fight, that it is only a matter of time before she succumbs to their numbers. She hastily fires another bolt.
“Relashio!” Cedric's spell is weak, his body, fatigued. The Hogwarts champion, who also chose to use a bubblehead charm, is making his stand to her left. To her far right, Viktor had been fighting the demons viciously, as a partially transformed shark, but she can't see him anymore. Judging by the larger number of demons she faces now, she thinks he has given up or freed himself from them somehow. She can't help but wonder what happened to Harry.
“Oh my. This looks bad.” a spectacled ghost giggles as it floats between Fleur and Cedric. Fleur glances at the other champion. Cedric has stopped casting spells, his arms and legs immobilized by the slender fingers of more than a dozen grindylows. Some are clawing at his bubble charm, trying to find a way to break through the magical membrane and release the air within. Others have their long fingers wrapped around his neck and his face has started to turn blue.
Fleur redoubles her efforts to fight off the demons. “Inflamare.” A grindylow's face bursts into blisters with her spell and it bellows in rage. Two wrap sinewy digits around her right wrist and a third wrestles away her wand. Using its deceptively strong, lithe fingers, it pries open her hand and releases her wand. The demons start to swarm onto her--she is defeated. “No,” she whimpers as she thrashes to avoid being completely immobilized. She manages to kick one in the forehead before they seize her legs too.
“The other boy is coming, the little one. I will go tell the judges and the healers will be here in a few minutes. Please try not to die before then.” The ghost winks at her, then floats up and out of her sight.
Fleur feels as much as hears a terrible sound, a low, deep growl. Her heart starts to beat furiously as she recoils in existential terror. The grindylows panic, keening in fear as they release her. In an instant, they have scattered and fled.
She locates her wand, which lies in the mud below, as the feeling of impending doom grows. Cedric has swum to her and the two turn to face a black humanoid swimming toward them amidst a terrible aura of sinister blue-black. Fleur's resolve weakens as the being approaches, her heart quailing at this new deviltry.
Mercifully, the terror lessens as it draws near. She notices that it has shimmering blue-black skin and webbed hands and feet. It wears goggles and has a mane of black hair that flows about it in the water. Its pale forehead bears a familiar jagged scar and she sees a wide smile on its face.
“Harry!”
He nods and motions for her and Cedric to swim behind him. The two follow Harry as he leads them further through snaky weeds and into the gloomy depths of the lake. Harry waves off the divers whom the ghost has brought from above to rescue the other champions.
Hermione awakens the moment she breaks the surface. She is dazed for a moment and then her face clears. “Harry?”
Her savior nods and bobs his head briefly below the surface to breathe, the gillyweed still in effect.
“But Harry, where's Luna? I was supposed to be rescued by Viktor.” Harry looks at her, stunned.
Cedric rises above the surface with Cho followed by Fleur, who has with her a young veela who looks much like her. Cedric turns to Harry, “I don't know what's going on below. After I got Cho, they took Luna away. I don't know where they are taking her, but they were being pretty rough....”
Harry nods, a determined look on his face. He had tried to retrieve Hermione and Luna both, not knowing which of the two was assigned to him. Judging by how he was chased off from Luna by aggressive, green-skinned mermen brandishing tridents, he had assumed that Hermione was his charge.
Harry hands a still-lethargic Hermione to Cedric and descends to swim back into the depths, his webbed feet breaking the surface as he dives. As he swims, he grabs another handful of gillyweed from his belt pouch, shoves it in his mouth, and swallows the pale green, rubbery stems.
He arrives a second time at the mermen village, several dozen cave-like structures of light brown stone and wood, somehow treated to resist rot and decorated in a myriad of mosaics made from carved bone and shells. He draws his knife, a long dagger the length of his forearm. He swims quickly toward the mermaid statues in the center of the village where the prisoners were bound before.
He swims past the statues where the other prisoners were bound and arrives at the one to which Luna was fastened, a life-sized carving of a mermaid holding a fish set atop a meter-wide, square-shaped base. His pulse quickens when he sees no sign of the girl--just a fragment of rope, cleanly severed. After a moment's inspection, he spots an opening in the green flagstone at the base of the statue, a chamber that was not there before. Swimming towards this peculiar opening, he sees motion to his left. He turns his head and sees an object moving quickly towards him. Before he can duck, he feels a leaden “thud” as his forehead is struck and the world turns black.
An icy gust blows off the lake and Hermione shivers, pulling the thick, woolen blanket tighter about her shoulders. Despite the bluebell flame in the jar she holds, she still can't seem to warm up. She stamps her feet onto the frozen ground and her breath puffs in the chill air.
Suddenly, the Headmaster lifts his robes and jogs spryly to the edge of the water. She watches as he gingerly tests the ward line at the edge of the water and, finding it is no longer in place, wades hurriedly into the lake until the water is level with the tops of his thighs. He pulls a hand-sized, pink conch from the folds of his now-soaked, silver and purple robes and blows a long, low tone. He replaces the conch and casts a bubble-head charm about his head.
After several minutes, the water near him swirls and a tail, looking as it were from an enormous, scaly fish, breaks the surface. A human-like head with green skin, untamed, light-green hair, and flint eyes rises abruptly from the water. Atop its head is an elaborate headpiece made of white and cream shells and pink coral and it holds an ornate trident. It spits out a long, angry chatter and shakes a gnarled fist at the Headmaster before ducking back under the surface. The Headmaster nods his head formally at the creature and bends at the waist to lower his head below the surface.
The two converse for almost a minute, during which Hermione finding herself holding her breath, before the Headmaster stands abruptly and flicks his wand upward, a sheet of water dripping off his arm. Just as his shield spell snaps into place, a trident flies out of the water and impacts the purple magical barrier, making a shower of orange motes and a resounding gong.
“That didn't go well,” a nearby voice says as the Headmaster backs out of the water, his wand trained on the merman as he does.
Harry struggles into consciousness as he finds himself choking. Panicking, his eyes bolt open and he notes that he is underwater, bound, his dose of gillyweed wearing off. He fights to free his hands and reach the gillyweed in his belt pouch, but they are securely fastened behind his body.
With a scream, he twists his right arm around his body, his left shoulder feeling a sharp, knife-like pain, and he just barely manages to stretch his fingers to the small pouch at his belt where his gillyweed is stored. His vision starts to blacken as he opens the pouch and flicks a piece of the rubbery plant into the water near his waist, where it suspends. He bends his knees to lower his body and, faint with oxygen loss, he bites greedily into the floating, worm-like mass.
A few minutes later, the immediacy of suffocation passes and he takes stock of his situation. He notes that he is still bound, his hands and feet lashed together. One of the eyepieces of his goggles is shattered and cracks spiderweb the lens. His captors have taken his long knife and the pen knife he carried in his pouch as well as his emergency portkey, but they apparently haven't emptied completely the contents of his belt pouches. In one compartment, he has several more doses of gillyweed; in another, the twins' products and the light sticks that Hermione had owl-ordered for him.
Luna is nearby, her body petrified. This is a small blessing, as Harry notices that she has a grievous injury to her neck. Were it not for the stasis spell, she would have bled out long ago. As it is, the dark water in the chamber is slightly pink from the trickle of blood from Harry's still aching head wound.
Their small cell is carved in stone with a small opening at the top that lets in a trickle of light, barely enough for Harry to see with his enhanced sight. Egress is prevented by a barred portal and he can't see much beyond the opening. Risking detection, he uses his mouth to activate a light stick that he manages to reach from his belt.
Harry rubs the side of his head repeatedly against the stone wall to slip the goggles off. They float to the floor, nearly out of his reach, but he manages to snag the strap with one of his magically elongated, webbed toes. He crouches and brings the goggles to his hands, where he pokes out the broken lens with a finger. Seizing one of the broken shards of glass in one hand, he tears at the ropes binding his hands. After several minutes, he frees himself and unties Luna, who bobs about the ceiling.
Swimming up to the portal, Harry looks out and sees a jagged tunnel, several meters in length, ending in an opening that he could swim out of if he were able to get free of the cell. Inside the tunnel are four mermen who stand guard, each holding a short trident. The cell door looks to be made of steel, but Harry's enhanced sight indicates magic all around it. He sees no obvious latch, so it is may be held in place by magic, possibly requiring a command word to open. He also notices, with some chagrin, that the bars are pristine, not affected in the slightest by corrosion or rot.
Harry looks at his watch, which has been rendered useless by the water and pressure. He curses, then grabs and eats another handful of gillyweed.
He considers his options. He could wait until his captors come for him to try to escape, but this seems unwise--they'll undoubtedly bring more mermen with them and he is not sure he will be able to escape the four he knows of here, much less others. Instead, he resolves to escape on his own timetable. He extracts from his pockets several of the devices that the twins had given him. He fastens charges to the stone ridge bordering the four corners of the portal. Then he tucks one of the projectile bombs into his belt. He pulls Luna behind him off to the side of the portal and sets the fuses on the shape charges.
A loud, teeth-rattling explosion sounds and the frame surrounding the door is pulverized. Harry darts to the now-freed door. Grabbing it with both hands, he wrestles it back into his cell, his rune-enhanced strength barely sufficient to maneuver the heavy portal.
Harry glances into the tunnel and sees mermen guards approaching rapidly. He arms and launches the projectile bomb toward the advancing captors and lunges toward Luna.
A second, larger explosion occurs sooner than Harry had expected. His left leg doesn't clear the portal opening and it is caught in the path of the blast. Harry screams as his femur and hip crack. His skin would have shredded had he not been wearing his dragon armor. Fighting through the agony of his fractured leg, Harry grabs Luna about her waist and clutches her tightly to his chest. He swims with one leg and one arm through the tunnel, stopping to take a trident from one of the slain guards as he passes.
“My god. It's been hours....” Hermione clings tightly to Viktor, who has his arms wrapped around her shoulders. They stand among a vigil of students and professors at the shore to await news of Harry's and Luna's fates.
“Harry will make it, Hermione,” Ginny says, patting her friend's hand. “Professor Dumbledore is searching for him.”
Cedric and Fleur stand at the shore and look out over the water as twilight draws near. Cedric holds a shivering Cho, Fleur, her young sister. Each pair has several blankets wrapped around them to ward off the late January chill.
Fleur looks behind her and sees Robért standing alone in the distance, his face an inscrutable smirk. She suspects it's not just from the satisfaction of cursing Draco Malfoy into the infirmary. Robért catches her eye for a moment and she senses a hint of something she can't quite place. Knowledge? She shudders and draws her sister closer to her. “Harry will be okay,” she whispers, a mantra that belies her worry.
Harry's body burns with adrenaline as he desperately swims from his pursuers. Despite his magically enhanced strength and stamina, he is fading fast. His trident is long since gone, having been buried in the chest of one of his assailants in the first of several skirmishes. He is out of explosives--all were used in his escape and the aftermath.
He switches Luna to his left arm to give his right a rest, the transfer shooting pain through his wounded shoulder. He notes that Luna has taken several more trident thrusts, but that she still isn't bleeding, the petrification charm remaining in effect. Harry's dragon armor has protected him, for the most part, from their attacks. He reflects that it is a small blessing, as he realizes that he has essentially no chance to escape now before recapture.
After another minute of swimming, Harry's pursuers surround him and a score of angry mermen approach warily. He is out of options. He ramps his aura up to maximum, hoping that if he can't hurt them, then maybe he can scare them off for a moment more. This has been a battle of moments: Survive a moment. Fight. Flight. Survive another.
An intrepid merman jabs at Harry's head. Harry dodges and catches the trident with his free hand. He tries to wrench it from the merman when he feels Luna torn away from him. Furious, he elbows the creature in the face and feels a satisfying crunch of broken bone and teeth. He forces the butt-end of the trident into the face of another, then rams the tines into the abdomen of a third. He screams in frustration as he feels a strong tug around his chest and he is pulled away from where he had released the girl.
As he goes limp from shock and exhaustion, he thinks, she didn't deserve this.
Third Tri-Wizard Task Ends in Tragedy
by Felicity J. Palaver, Staff Writer, The Quibbler
A student of the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry died yesterday when the third task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament ran into unexpected complications.
Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood. Chief Editor of The Quibbler, succumbed to injuries sustained during theTri-Wizard task. She and Harry Potter, youngest Tri-Wizard champion, were underwater for more than three hours before being recovered by Professor Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, who, as a trained aquamyrmidon, rode a giant squid to retrieve the hapless students. Potter is expected to recover.
According to sources, the students were kidnapped by merpeople in Hogwarts lake. This kidnapping took place during the third Tri-Wizard task, when Ms. Lovegood was under a strong paralysis hex and put into custody of the mermen, to be retrieved by her designated champion, Mr. Potter, as part of the task. According to eyewitness accounts, Potter first rescued another student, Ms. Hermione Granger, from the icy depths and had returned for Ms. Lovegood, when Lovegood and Potter were abducted from the scene.
Sources tell us that the mermen who kidnapped the students did so under threat of release of a drac, into their waters. Readers of the Quibbler will be familiar with the drac, a race of sea serpents that live primarily in the Rhône and natural enemies of the merpeople. Drac have voracious appetites, telepathic powers, and poor dental hygiene. They are distant, aquatic cousins to the celioparthi and possess some of their mind magic abilities, though not the inclination to steal clothespins.
It is clear from the evidence we have gathered that the conspiracy to capture Lovegood and Potter was orchestrated by none other than the Order of the Rosy Cross, a splinter cell of the Rotfang Conspiracy. The Order is centered in France and headed by an enigmatic figure called The Chevron. It is believed that the Order of the Rosy Cross was responsible for other high-profile assassinations and kidnappings, including the late Regina Forthcloud, celebrated seer and astrologist for ex-lead singer of the Hobgoblins and escaped mass-murderer, Stubby Boardman.
The reasons for the kidnapping are unknown, though it is believed that the target of the attack was Lovegood, as part of an effort to discourage the hard-hitting investigative reporting that The Quibbler has become known for. Further details will be reported as they unfold.
Harry Potter is known as the “Boy Who Lived,” for his having survived the killing curse of You-Know-Who fourteen years ago. This epithet is fitting, as he has now survived a vicious attack by the Rotfang Conspiracy as well. Mr. Potter is apprenticed to Professor Dumbledore and is not believed to have been turned by a vampire.
Our condolences go to the Lovegood survivors, father, Xenophilius, and maternal grandmother, Lucinda Ollivander, for their terrible loss. We at The Quibbler cannot help but question the safety of this event, now that two of the three tasks have ended in tragedy.
The ceremony is small and private, held at Xenophilius Lovegood's manse, a thoroughly bewildering, cone-shaped construction of mottled grey and red brick at the Ottery St. Catchpole, near the Weasley residence. Harry feels entirely out of place, having never really gotten to know the girl, but he feels obliged to attend.
He takes a cup of tea from a lozenge-shaped table beneath a trapezoidal window. None of the teacups match--the one he selects is decorated with animated leprechauns chasing a cat-like creature with moose antlers. The sitting room, where the reception is being held, is circular with a high ceiling painted yellow and decorated with a sinistral spiral mosaic of sea shells . On the floor is a large, circular rug, patterned similarly with a dextral spiral in rich brown, red, and navy hues. All horizontal surfaces in the room--the painted green window sills, the base of the low, flat, sofa set with glittering sequins, the bleached ash tables and chairs, the trapezoidal picture frames, tilt slightly upwards to left, an effect which persists no matter what direction Harry faces. He blinks his eyes in an attempt to forestall his growing sense of vertigo and the urge to lean rightward or spin around.
Xenophilius, the only one of the two dozen attendees whose head isn't tilted, wipes at a tear with a handkerchief he pulls from black robes with a tiger stripe print. He adjusts a knob on a device resembling a Wizarding Wireless, a wooden box with five white, ceramic knobs and three rabbit-ear antennae. Soft flute music fills the room, accented by occasional bird song. Looking up, he notices Harry watching him and approaches him. He grasps Harry's right hand with both of his and shakes it vigorously. “Mr. Potter, it means so much to have you pay your respects.” The diminutive man trembles slightly, his face showing profound grief as the music crescendos into a dramatic, sombre finale. “That was my Luna's favorite piece,” he says, breathless.
“I'm so sorry for your loss, sir.” Harry lowers his eyes.
“Never mind that, Mr. Potter. Can I call you Harry?”
“Of course, sir.” As if a switch were flipped, the man relaxes and smiles wistfully.
“Harry, you should know that you made Luna so happy when you chose her, of all the witches in the school, to be your companion for Ball.” He smiles genially, amplifying Harry's guilt. He ruffles Harry's hair and pats him on the head, an action which strikes Harry as odd from the shorter man. Xenophilius suddenly says, “Aha!” and turns to the side. Canting his head and squinting, he looks at Harry obliquely. “I see Albus has been scribbling his graffiti on you too.” He leans close to Harry and says, “Try not to let the Rotfang Conspirators take notice.”
Harry steps back, alarmed. “You have the sight too, sir?” he whispers, glancing about to see if they are being overheard.
“Of course, Harry. We all do in my family. Though I see there's more than just Albus's dribbles on you.” Harry can't help but feel completely flummoxed.
Xenophilius pats Harry on the shoulder. “Ah, Harry, don't grieve. She loved you in her own way. Our dear Luna is gone, but 'death is but the next great adventure,' is it not?” He smiles peacefully.
“Um, yeah, I guess so, sir.”
Xenophilius's countenance falls again, as fast as it had risen before and Harry feels incredibly awkward at experiencing the man's rapid mood swings. “Pish tosh,” he sniffs, “Death is a crushing bore, but we will see our loved ones again, if only to complain about the decor.” He conjures a hot pink The Quibbler business card. “Take this, Harry. I know we'll be in contact later.” He pats him once again on the head and turns sadly to greet others.
“Is there any further business?” The Headmaster scans the conference room from his position at the head of the long table and he sees that most of the occupants are looking weary. The staff shift uncomfortably in the slender, straight-backed chairs, all of which, save the one in which he sits, have been spelled to resist cushioning charms. He notes that patience and endurance in this staff meeting have waned--now is the ideal time to advance difficult measures.
“I have something I'd like us to discuss, Albus,” Professor McGonagall says, hesitantly, as she glances at the irascible potions Master. “Mr. Potter.” The Headmaster sighs inwardly as he projects a slightly amused persona.
Severus Snape sneers. “Please. What has Potter done now that warrants us all having to discuss the matter?”
“Severus,” the Headmaster warns, secretly happy that he may be able to belay this discussion in favor of a brief exchange on the Ministry's new accreditation requirements.
“If you will excuse me, I have potions to attend to. They are of somewhat higher import than conspiring with the staff to, what, pat Potter's head and rub his tummy?” The sallow-skinned man gathers his cape about him with a flourish and leaves. Dumbledore tries to catch the man's eye, but fails.
“Very well,” the transfiguration professors says, primly, “I am worried, Albus, about Harry. He has withdrawn more and more these last weeks. I never see him with his friends anymore. Outside of class, he's seldom seen outside that cloak of his...”
“Yes, Minerva. It seems that Harry is taking recent events rather hard.”
“He's been sitting in on my sixth year charms class,” volunteers Professor Flitwick, “and though his work is brilliant, as always, he hasn't spoken a word in class except when spoken to.”
Minerva says, “I've observed the same in my class.”
“Aye. Been watchin' him too, from time t' time. Right quiet, like summat's eatin' away at his insides.” Hagrid continues, “Hasn' come roun' to visit in awhile.”
The Headmaster nods at the half-giant, then asks, “Dirivana, anything you'd like to add?”
The arithmancy instructor taps her quill thoughtfully against her cheek. “Though I'm seldom one to comment on the affective, Headmaster, as it is incidental to most of what I tutor, I find Mr. Potter's self-imposed exile to be troubling. He was a joy this summer. Now, it's as if that 'spark' has left him.” The diminutive woman measures her words. “If you will pardon a subjective observation, Mr. Potter has become cold and driven, rather like me when I was younger; I would not wish that upon him....”
“Wraith,” interjects Professor Sprout. “That's what my Hufflepuffs call him, his new nickname. Cedric's tried to get them to stop the taunting, but even he can't get them to quit.”
The Headmaster removes his glasses and pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, all, for your illuminating comments. I assure you, your concerns mirror my own and I shall endeavor to speak with young Harry to see whether there is something we can do to assist him in this difficult time.” He stands and squares his shoulders. “Unless there is further pressing business, I propose we end this meeting and retire to tea.”
"...and in China, it's 'gan bei,' which translates to 'dry glass.'" Sirius has topped off Harry's and his glasses with Ogden's Finest, Special Reserve.
"I swear, Sirius, you've gotten drunk in every country in existence," Remus admonishes. The werewolf, inured to a lifetime of avoiding losing control, has moved to ice water after only a few shots. He silently summons Harry's and Sirius's wands and pockets them.
Sirius sticks his tongue out at his longtime friend. "Gan bei, Harry!" He tosses back his drink.
"Gan bei!" The Boy-Who-Lived-And-Got-Drunk shouts and tosses back the shot. He's lost count of how many he's had, but with the three well into their second bottle, he knows he's far "past his limit," whatever that means. Fortunately, as they are drinking in the sitting room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, he only has to crawl up the stairs to his room.
Harry sits quietly for a moment, then slurs, out of the blue, "I shtill wish I had done more--if only I hadn't done that stupid rune jo- joining at Yule..." Harry looks down at his hands and is mildly surprised to see his shot glass, overturned, twirling on its index finger.
"Harry, we've been through this. You had no way of knowing." Remus's gentle tone draws Harry out of self-reflection. "What you did was your best. Nobody blames you and you shouldn't either."
"But..."
"No buts, Harry!" Sirius sputters, "trust me, I know what it is to live with guilt. Your parents..." He can't finish. The convict's face screws up with grief and he buries his head in his arms and starts to sob.
"Me too," Remus says, gently easing the bottle away from Sirius. "Finding out after a decade of exile what you had to endure, Harry... I've probably betrayed your parents' memory more than anyone else alive. Except for Peter, of course."
"No. You've got nothing on Albus," Harry says quietly, gathering his thoughts and sobering some. "Guys, I appreciate this.” He stares sadly at the table and continues, “I liked Luna, but I guess I didn't know her very well. And maybe you're right, Remus--though I regret that she died and I'll probably always wish I had done things differently, I should save the blame for Albus. And the deathsnackers. And the fucking Rosicrucians...."
"Deathsnackers?" Remus asks, a wry smile on his face.
"Merlin's balls, I hope you don't talk like that in public!" Sirius says with a laugh. "I'd have to disown you or something."
Hary blushes. "What, and miss out on inheriting this?” He gestures clumsily to the shabby, ruined parlor, nearly falling off his chair in the process. “You're right though, it does sound pretty stupid. I'll keep trying."
"You are trying, Harry."
"Thanks." Harry tries to roll his eyes, but doesn't quite succeed, the alcohol affecting his motor control.
Sirius smirks. "So, Harry, what's the deal? No ladies, not even after our bird catching tuition this summer?"
"Um, the lessons were great, Sirius. I even think I had something going with Floo--Floor... you know, that French witch, for awhile. But then it sort of all fell apart. You heard she's engaged?"
"Yeah, a bad job with the two-timing veela." Sirius shakes his head. "You should have pulled a page from your old man's book, had a quick shag with her, then moved on."
Harry nods at his godfather. "Yeah, well maybe not the shag bit, but not getting involved would have been smarter."
"Far be it for me to agree with Sirius about matters related to the fairer sex, but he does have a point, Harry. Anyone you are close to is bound to be a target. It may be best to avoid relationships for awhile." He smirks. “Though there's nothing wrong with quick shags....”
Harry grins and nods at the werewolf, leaning back in his chair. After a few minutes, his quiet snores join Sirius's. Remus gathers the glasses and starts to prepare a hangover remedy for the following morning.