A/N: I'm very sorry about the late update. The chapters seem to get longer with each one, however, and this one especially gave me trouble. Features: Return of the Stench, tons of surprises, and a kiss.
The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley
Chapter 5
---------
December 23
Warning: This journal entry has a high content of Malfoys, Ginny Weasley Idiocy™ and other largely unmentionable, unrepeatable actions, as well as thoughts. It might make you frown. It might make you cry. It might make you punch the wall in anger. And by Gods, it might make you swoon. Reader discretion is advised.
You have been sufficiently warned.
Today, I woke up in the early hours of the afternoon as a happy, untroubled, innocent girl, with mildly innocent thoughts. I said to myself, 'Ginny, we are going shopping today.' I was content. I made a list of items I needed. I made sure I had pocket money. I brushed my hair.
I was half sane.
After three long, devastating hours of preparation, I rushed out-well, more like waddled out, as all of those layers of clothing really constrict body movement-to catch the carriages taking the rest of the children to Hogsmeade village. I found myself sitting with Colin Creevey, his little brother and Alette. I felt nearly sociable, and almost liked. I have a suspicion the shower might have helped.
When we arrived in the quaint little village, I immediately separated myself from the others. Certainly, I could not mingle with Colin; all he wanted to do was buy some quaint little candles for his Mum.
They were here to do simple, puerile Christmas shopping. It required no stealth, no wit, no conniving. They were not shopping for a planned attack on the Hogwarts population. They were not shopping to seek revenge for a brother's evil deeds. They were not descendants of the two most brilliant pranksters of all time. Perhaps another day we could collectively press our noses against some posh and expensive store, wishin we had enough money to buy something.
After parting ways with the rest of them, I skulked around the streets a bit-it would look a bit suspicious rushing into things all at once. Apparently, trying to look as natural as I could was harder than it sounded. And maybe not so apparently, walking up and down the same street for a prolonged amount of time was not a good idea either.
"Oy! You there!" Greasy Nosed Knick-Knack Lady yelled from across the street. "Stop loitering on the street! Get!"
How dare she patronize me. I fixed her a glare through my overcoat, but I doubt she noticed. You could barely see any part of me through the clothes. I probably looked like a lumpy blob of no particular geometric shape. Or as Ron had so eloquently put it, when he found me wandering the streets after I had gotten yelled at: I looked like a giant marshmallow.
"No," Harry argued. "She looks like an Eskimo."
"A what-kimo?" Ron voiced back. Hermione sighed exasperatedly.
"A group of peoples inhabiting the Arctic coastal regions of North America and parts of Greenland and northeast Siberia," she droned almost robotically. Ron's frown deepened.
"Right, right. Those people."
"Honestly, have you never read--"
"No, and I'm not going to read Hogwarts, A History," Ron said stubbornly, crossing his arms. Harry nodded from beside him.
"I wasn't going to say Hogwarts, A History!" Hermione protested. "Haven't you ever read People of the World? It's a classic!"
Blank silence. In the distance, a child cried.
"No. You mean that gigantic tome that always sticks out awkwardly on the bookshelf, don't you?" Ron said slowly. He brightened a minute later, while Hermione slapped a hand on her forehead. "But congrats, Herm-you've learned how to read other books!"
"Hopeless!" Hermione roared. Ron smiled demurely (or perhaps, it was merely ignorantly, as he didn't notice Hermione practically shooting steam from her ears).
"Great," he said eagerly as he pushed his way into Honeydukes. "Let's celebrate with some candy, shall we?"
Harry yipped in approval, and Hermione fumed silently. I wondered why she followed them around when she could join other Hogwarts geniuses like herself and never have to suffer the idiocy of my brother, who, by all means, should not have any friends. It's a wonder anyone puts up with him, but there it is-the mystery of our intricate social hierarchy--apparently Ron Weasley is averagely popular. Nonsense, I say.
"Don't ever become friends with dolts like them," Hermione advised me wisely.
I shall never forget her words, or her unmatched bravery as she went forth and followed Harry and Ron into the candy store.
After making sure that Harry, Herm and Ron were safely tucked away in Honeydukes (Harry and Ron wouldn't be out for hours, now) I walked down the street opposite, avoiding Greasy Nosed Knick-Knack Lady. Already, my fists were sweating up in apprehension (but that may as well have been my mittens, warming charm included). It was a perilous journey to my destination. Rumors said that the place I was venturing to was cruel…heartless…cold, and ruthless.
I slipped on ice twice. Passer-bys had the audacity to laugh, not knowing what I was planning for them all. The cold wind bit at my cheeks. I was inches from starvation.
But at long last--I had reached journey's end.
Gladrags Wizardwear, the sign read proudly.
I walked inside.
"Anything on sale?" I asked hopefully as I neared the cashier. The old lady behind the counter did not seem to hear. In fact, her glasses were so fogged, I was not sure if she could see anything, either.
"Anything on sale?" I repeated, annunciating. Perhaps she did not understand my dialect. Still no answer. I was beginning to feel like a parrot.
"Right then," I said, waving enthusiastically. "Thanks, you old geezer." I walked away before I could be sure whether or not she was even breathing. I didn't like to meddle.
But on the bright side, at least she wouldn't notice anything when I began frantically searching for black cloaks. Would she bat an eye if I took one out for a walk, even, and didn't return it for a very, very long time? After all, Mum was always trying to teach me how to haggle. She would have been proud of me.
With this thought planted firmly in my mind, just in case things became desperate, I moved over to the back like a shadow. And aha!
I had found the sale rack.
But in fact, it was true, what they said: Gladrags was harsh. First, there was not much on the sale rack to begin with. Silly garments scattered here and there on hangers that looked like they would break any minute. Second, most of the merchandise on the sale rack had holes in them, or were otherwise cursed with dangerous spells, as a few signs announced, "DO NOT TOUCH." My chances of finding an exquisite, billowing black cloak did not seem likely. At least no one else seemed to be browsing the store. How embarrassing that would have been to be scavenging the clearance section.
"Watch it!" Quadruple damn. There was someone here after all, and I had thought too soon.
Moreover, I didn't have to turn around to see who it was. I could smell who it was.
"Malfoy," I said ominously.
"Oh, it's you, Weasley," he greeted somewhat amicably. "I-I couldn't tell, at first," he said awkwardly. Oh, goody, even he had noticed my blob-like appearance. I turned around suspiciously. He had a strange look about his face, as if he had just spotted a rare Chocolate Frog trading card and wanted it badly.
Hold on. I just realized why I haven't been able to stop making corny analogies to sweets.
A Few Minutes Later
Now that my body is replenished with chocolates, and my veins running thick with the sweet syrup, we can continue the illicit story of my (and Malfoy's, I suppose I should not disclude) various clandestine activities.
"Are you working here?" Malfoy asked quite seriously. "Well, that's good. Pocket money is good." He smiled lightly, before seeming to realize that Malfoys were not allowed to smile.
I believe that at this moment in our encounter, I stood as still as a statue, my mouth slightly agape. Amazing. In the five minutes since we had met, he had not uttered a single insult to me. He was obviously clinically ill; there was not a single shred of doubt now. A quick pepper-up potion perhaps, and he'd be back to being a small troll.
But he didn't look so sick. In fact, his cheeks were slightly tinged with color. So, I began to think the impossible: I was influencing him. Can you even begin to imagine a blonde Weasley, though?
It was either that, or he wanted something from me and decided to put his 'diplomatic' skills to use, as he had said so himself in earlier, less perplexing days.
"No," I said, rolling my eyes. Just because he had decided to be uncharacteristically and equivocally agreeable did not mean I would fall for the widely open trap. He was probably working out an elaborate plan to capture me, bind me in rope and ship me off to You-Know-Who's headquarters so that they could ask me top priority questions I could not reveal, such as, 'What color socks does Harry Potter prefer?'
"I do not work here, Malfoy. I've come here to shop, like normal people do." There. I was practically feeding him opportune moments to shoot me down. For example, here he could have said spitefully, "You're by no means a normal person, Weasley. First of all, you're poor. Second of all, you are an awkward, esoteric girl."
I tapped my foot, waiting patiently to get our meeting over with so I could cross off something on my to-do list.
Alright, so perhaps he was feeling a little slow today. I was a nice girl, and I understand that everyone was different in size. I would wait for my words to sink into his miniscule pea brain.
But soon, I grew tired of waiting. Was he just going to stare at my face (and therefore, my spots) like that forever? Just because he has a flawless complexion. Doesn't give him any right to rub it in.
"Well?" I snapped. "What have you got to say for yourself?"
He shrugged his shoulders. Well, at least that had been a fast response. Which meant he might not have been so terribly slow. Things were getting more and more puzzling by the second. It was always like this around Malfoy, and that was one reason I detested him with such passion.
But that was when I noticed it. Like a sudden beacon of light was spotlighting it, like it had been simply invisible before-
Malfoy had the prettiest black cloak I had ever seen.
And at that moment, I cursed him for his rich family, and his bottomless wallet. It was simple, yet waved elegantly in
the wind. It wasn't exquisite, but it was classy. And it was probably expensive.
So that crossed out number one on the list of how to acquire this cloak--Buy It Off Malfoy.
It's a common fact that if you don't buy something, you make something. But if you don't make something, you steal something.
And I decided then that I was going to steal something, for the first time in my entire life…
Oh, well. Stealing from Malfoy is actually like a public service. You can't call Robin Hood a filthy robber, can you?
"So, Draco," I flashed my teeth at him. "How are you again? I don't think I've asked today." The smallest of frowns crossed his otherwise content face.
"Fine, Weasley. But are you sure you're okay?"
And this was coming from a deficient Malfoy? Because that was what you were, if you carried that name and could not bring yourself to throw a strong barrage of derogatory comments when any Weasley was in view. I might have to tell his father about this.
"I am fine," I replied. "Are you here to shop for something in particular?"
"Well, no-" he stopped suddenly, and turned a little red. "I mean, yes, of course I am. Why else would I be in here?" He definitely had a plan to kidnap me. Ah, well, I could tolerate that, as long as I got my cloak.
"Say," I said. "Are you feeling hungry?"
"Ah," he seemed to contemplate wildly, his face frowning, then smiling slightly, then looking befuddled. I don't blame him. No one's ever asked him to eat with them, I'm sure. "Yes. I am." He patted his tummy as if to remind it that he was.
"Goody," I said, before dragging him out of Gladrags with me.
Minutes Later
Sorry. Ran out of chocolate frogs, had to raid Ron's stash. I don't know how he has so many.
It must have been a strange sight, anyway. You can imagine, a girl like me grabbing firmly onto Draco Malfoy's arm and grinning like an asylum runaway. My plan was that I would casually slip the cloak off of the back of his chair when he hung it down to eat. I would snatch it while he visited the loo, or something, and then make a wild dash for it.
"Here," I said. "Let's go eat."
"The Three Broomsticks?" he read the sign.
"Hurrah," I clapped my hands.
"You're taking me to a pub for lunch?" he asked me. I put my hands on my hips.
"And what's wrong with that? They have good butterbeer."
"I hardly think a butterbeer is sufficient nutrition."
Oh, great, so he was one of those kinds of eaters. He was probably used to having whole feasts served for midnight snacks. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew what was on the food pyramid. I wouldn't be surprised if he followed it like the bible. Ah, well. I suppose there is a reason his body seems void of fat.
"Know of a better place then, Mr. Metro Sexual Health Nut?" Well, it was true-have I ever spoken an outright lie? Just looking at the way he dressed was reason enough.
"I am not metro sexual," he sniffed, running a hand through his gelled hair.
"You are."
"I care about the way I look, Weasley, that's all. There's a difference."
I shrugged.
"Actually, there isn't, but if it pleases you…" I had to be nice, after all, if I was going to get that cloak of his.
"Just follow me," he grumbled. I daringly complied.
Some minutes later, I found myself in front of a café.
"Madam Puddifoot's?" I asked disbelievingly. Malfoy looked severely embarrassed as I said the name, for some reason. It looked kind of shady, in that pink and lots-of-flowers way. I had an eerie hunch that he was taking me to Voldemort's secret HQ.
"Come on," he said, taking my hand. "Just go in."
Aha! So he was threatening to transmit whatever disease he currently had if I did not enter his master's haven! Clever, but not clever enough. I yelped and took my hand away before shooting him a prim scowl.
"I don't like this place, " I decided as I sat down at a table with a pink lacy tablecloth. One table later, Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott were going at it. The poor dears had been kidnapped too? Was there no stopping Voldemort's enormous ambition?
"I don't like this place at all," I said weakly as I took off all of my layer of clothing and breathed. I watched to see if Malfoy would take off his cloak. He didn't, the protective bugger.
"At least we can get something decent to eat," he said. I raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Like what?" I asked, peering at the menu. Love Boat Special, one dish was titled. Apparently, Madam Puddifoot (alias Voldemort) liked to rename common foods, such as a turkey sandwich, into cute little sappy names, like Gobble A Little Love, the 'gobble' referring to a sound the turkey commonly makes. The moral of this is that even dark overlords have a sensitive side.
"And what will you two be having today?" Madam Puddifoot came hobbling along, a bright grin on her face. She was wearing a magenta dress with a white, heart shaped apron. Malfoy looked a bit green, but I decided that Madam Puddifoot was not Voldemort. However, the place was still under my radar, and way too pink to boot, so I gave Malfoy a fleeting I-Told-You-We-Shouldn't-Have-Come-Here-You-Controlling-Pig look, before turning sweetly to Madam Puddifoot.
"Well, see, we've never been here before…"
"Never been here before!" she gasped, as if that were some stupendous outrage. Rather immodest of her, really, to assume that all teenagers that age should feel compelled to dine amongst excess hues of reds and hot pinks, and set their cups on heart shaped doilies.
"Alright, then, you just let Madam Puddifoot take care of everything," she shined her teeth at us, before swaying out of sight.
"Bad idea, Weasley," Draco shook his head. "She'll feed us poison."
"What? You don't know what to order either!" I huffed. Or did he mean that Voldemort would poison us after all?
Malfoy grumbled nonsensically for a few moments, before deciding that perhaps I was right.
"You were right," he said weakly as he eyed the other couples making odd smacking noises from the other tables near us. "We shouldn't have come here. It's a bloody love fest."
I swelled with pride and nodded. Poor Malfoy probably had an allergic reaction to affection. As long as he didn't make me break out into a rash.
"Of course I was right, Malfoy," I said. "Woman's intuition-" But I never got to finish my sentence. I stood frozen at who had just sauntered in through the door.
"Shit," Malfoy swore, and shit was indeed the right word for it. Definitely major poo-poo.
"Come on, Ron, it's alright," Luna Lovegood said vaguely (wasn't everything she said vague?) as she dragged my brother into the café. I cringed. Wasn't he supposed to be at Honeydukes?
Ron was looking quite red in the face--and what self-respecting Weasley would not be blushing, in the face of such corny decor? But still, I could not help imagining just how redder his face would be if he saw me. I hoped he wouldn't pop a blood vessel. Or did I?
Now, anywhere else, anyone else, I might have not felt such spine-tingling fear. But I was in a love shack, of sorts, with Draco Malfoy. There was no explanation for it, unless I could plead insanity. But then again, Ron was never too sympathetic for the crazy.
No, I most certainly could not risk it. Ducking under the table clumsily, I scooted myself in the center, letting the tablecloth fall back down to cover me from sight. I could hear my brother and his girlfriend take a seat (honestly, my brother, a girlfriend? How is this humanly possible?) I grabbed Draco's leg. He yelped.
A moment later:
"What was that, Malfoy?" The distinctly gruff voice of Ronald Weasley, my unfortunate sibling.
"Nothing, you buffoon," came Draco's calm voice.
"Right, then. My date and I will just pretend you didn't just yelp." A pause. "Speaking of-where's your date?" Scooting slightly towards the sheer, lacy tablecloth, I peeked through to see Ron looking smug.
"She's coming, Weasley, don't worry," Draco said. Ron shrugged.
"I don't know, mate…maybe she stood you up?"
"Don't be silly. No woman has the power to stand me up." I could just see him rolling his eyes.
And then, the sound of footsteps and a new voice.
"Well? Where'd the young lady go?" It was Madam Puddifoot, and she was asking for me.
Quintuple damn.
"What lady?" Draco asked, slight panic in his voice.
"The red-haired one! She was right here!"
"Red-haired?" Ron butted in. "What's this, Malfoy? What red-haired girl is she talking about? Just making sure, you know. It's my duty to." Horseshit, it was most definitely not. He had no duties, except to make my life as hard as possible. He was succeeding.
When Draco didn't seem to be answering, I moved over and kicked his foot. I believe I applied quite a large amount of pressure to it, too.
"S-Susan Bones," Malfoy hissed, his foot twitching. "What? You thought I would be dating your sister?" I felt slightly injured by his tone. What did Susan Bones have that I didn't? A bosom, maybe, but did those truly matter in the long run?
"You're right," Ron said. "That's ridiculous. My sister doesn't date men, and especially not ferrets." Wasn't Ron feeling antagonistic today?
I couldn't stand behind under a table any longer. The air was quite stifling, even without the addition of Malfoy's feet. As soon as I heard Ron and Luna ordering, I kicked Malfoy again, this time someplace else. (His shins, you disgusting perverts, his shins.)
"That hurts, Weasley," he muttered in a tiny and very strained voice.
"Make him go away!" I said as loudly as I could without being heard.
"And how do you expect me to do that?" How dare he sound annoyed, as this was all my doing! It was not my fault my brother was the romantic café type!
"I don't know! Just do it, before I kick you again!"
The reaction was instantaneous.
"Hey, Weasley-" He was interrupted by a sharp clatter on the table.
"Well, here you go!" came Madam Puddifoot's cheerful voice. "One love boat for the lovely couple!"
Malfoy got up with a jolt.
"We're leaving," he whispered down to me.
"How?" I seethed.
"Sneak out a few minutes after I leave. Go through the back door, or something. Think."
With that, he pushed his chair back, mumbled something incoherent about his date, threw some money on the table and walked out the door.
What was so bad that he had decided to leave so suddenly?
No matter. I waited a few good minutes as he had said, then snuck out of the table in the opposite direction of where Ron sat. Keeping low to make sure I was not spotted (although Ernie MacMillan seemed to think I was bonkers. He even stopped snogging his girl long enough to glare at me disapprovingly. What right does he have to judge me?)
Spotting the back door through a dark hallway presumably leading to the kitchens, I practically crawled my way out of the heavily perfumed room and into the cold winter day-well it was more like evening, now. I had successfully wasted a day with Malfoy. Terrific.
"There you are."
Malfoy turned to reach down and help me off of the icy sidewalk. I brushed him off peevishly.
"Why'd you have to leave?" I whined. "I'm still hungry, you twit."
He shivered and shook his head.
"No," he said solemnly. "You would have left too if you saw what was on that love boat platter."
I gulped and shrugged, figuring it had been something overly cute and sappy and colorful.
And when the discomforting silence filled the space, as the both of us stared at nothing in particular, I realized I had been dragging this on for far too long. Due to Stupid Ron, I had forgotten all about the cloak, and now my plan was lost. Who else went to Madam Puddifoot's for lunch with Draco Malfoy, anyway? I had been foolish. Honestly, people were going to start talking, questioning my motives. This does quite irk me.
Focus, I told myself. Focus on the pretty cloak. No, stop looking at Malfoy's face. His cloak. You want his cloak.
I racked my brain for ways that I could persuade him to give it to me, on a loan, perhaps. Maybe if I offered to do his Self Discovery homework for a few days? Would that offer agree with him? No, he was far better in that class than I could ever be. And the more I thought, the more I realized that I had nothing that he could benefit from, which I guess is a good thing. I could only use means of threat.
And I only knew one effective way to threaten him.
"Malfoy, do you think you could do me a favor?"
He sighed from beside me and opened hismouth.
"What is it-mmf--"
I kissed him for a second time in my life. I hope it does not become a habit.
I say here and now, that I absolutely intended to break it off right then-just a second of mouth to mouth to remind him of the horrors of kissing me, and then I would break it off and ask-no, no, order him to hand over his cloak. You must believe me, that was my initial plan. But sometimes, plans don't go as expected.
I certainly did not expect him to kiss me back. And no, I do not mean, just stand there kind of still with our lips touching. It was…a kiss, in every sense of the word. It was wet. It's rather gross to describe it, so I'll spare you the details. If you want to know, then go kiss him for yourself. No, wait. Don't kiss him. Go kiss some other chap.
But you know what?
I felt all hot and bothered all of a sudden. I forgot that I was not supposed to feel hot and bothered by Draco Malfoy. I forgot all about not supposed to's for a second, and I should not have, I know.
Instead, I stood there like an idiot, being assaulted by Malfoy's lips and not complaining about it.
The worst part of it all is this:
A moment later, he seemed to realize his place, and pushed away forcefully. I sucked in a cool breath of air. He muttered apologies.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said firmly, looking slightly abashed. "It won't happen again."
I'll tell you a tiny secret, if you promise not to tell anyone else.
I felt regret, when he let go of me. I said to myself before I could stop the thoughts, 'Oh, I wouldn't mind if it did happen again'. My cheeks were flushed. I was lightly grinning.
And that is when I turned officially insane, by medical standards.
Later
Sorry to keep breaking off, but when one is writing something very scandalous, (such as my escapade with Malfoy) one must be careful. One of my roommates came in, and I was not about to let her in on how I have been gallivanting around Hogsmeade with Him.
If anyone gets wind of this, I am truly a dead girl. I believe I am not ready to be dead just yet. I haven't lived long enough-I've only been kissed twice, and by the same gigantic pumpkin who I most definitely should not be thinking of in a manner less than hateful. But most importantly, I have not done everything on my to-do list yet, and that is why I must not die.
The thing is, that stupid kiss didn't even earn me the cloak. Wouldn't you be rendered speechless, if some blonde Slytherin had just kissed you, quite literally, senseless? Yes, you would. I'm telling you, you would be knocked off your feet because it is not the same as someone kissing you briefly and affectionately, or even some Gryffindor boy kissing you, because a Slytherin kissing you does not happen every day. I was not staring dumbly because he was a good kisser or anything. No. He wasn't. He was simply adequately practiced. Do I dare wonder on whom? No. See? Those are the kinds of thoughts that land me in trouble.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. I was standing dead still on the sidewalk. I think I shivered after a minute or two, and that's when he seemed to realize with a sigh of relief that I was still alive.
"You're cold?" he asked, as if the concept of feeling was odd.
I nodded, realizing with a groan of my stupidity.
"I left my coats in Madam Puddifoot's," I said, rubbing my nose awkwardly. That was when he shook off his own cloak. My heart did a crazy cartwheel and threatened to go into cardiac arrest. I could not handle so much surprise in one day. Because really, how often was it that Draco Malfoy committed a selfless act?
"What's this?" I said aloofly nevertheless.
"You can wear it until I need it back," he shrugged, refusing to look at me.
I couldn't believe it.
1. Draco Malfoy had offered me his cloak.
2. He was being shy about it.
3. AND his cloak still reeked of that same cologne I had complained of earlier. Everyone knew that if you were going to give your cloak to some girl, it had better smell decent.
"What favor was it that you wanted, anyway, Weasley?" I looked up in surprise.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
"Oh."
"Well, I've got to go now," I said, even though I did not really have to. I just had some Christmas shopping to do for Harry, Herm and Ron, but nothing too terribly important. I was far too flustered to stay in his presence, though. It was better I gave him his cloak back before I was tempted to run off with it.
"Okay," he said, still not daring to glance at me. "I guess I'll see you around." Well, of course he would. We only went to the same school together. He said the stupidest things sometimes, didn't he?
Anyway, I handed him his cloak reluctantly, waiting for him to snatch opportunity away from me. Once he took it away, I would be left where I had started, looking for a proper costume fully put my plan into action. Oh, well. Maybe I could tailor one of my old school robes into a cloak, somehow. Better yet, I'd get Hermione to do it.
"It's cold out. You keep it."
When the words finally reached my ears and my brain processed the meaning, I whirled around to face him. But alas, it was too late.
He was gone. Like magic, except perhaps a bit more romantic.
Oh, God. I just used the word 'romantic' to describe something Malfoy did, didn't I?
And now I am feeling absolutely horrid about myself. I don't know if it's because of my blatant and willing fraternization with the enemy, or the stinking cloak that's lying on my bed. My roommates have already complained about the smell.
"It's not mine," I said monotonously, from the shock. "It's Malfoy's."
And then they stared on with interest.
I need some strong sedatives, quick. Or some alcohol. Any mind-numbing equivalent will do, I'm not choosy.
Even later than later
Did I mention, that I bought Malfoy a Christmas present? He probably doesn't even celebrate Christmas.
I know. I disgust myself, too.