Odyssey of the Unspeakables

GrayEagle

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 23/12/2007
Last Updated: 23/12/2007
Status: in_progress

Luna lovegood has always been a tad on the... interesting side. But these days, she isolates herself behind the black doors of the Department of Mysteries, working as an Unspeakable. The dementors were foolishly thrown away by the Ministry of Magic, but are now returning with incredible strength. They have been named the Asuras, after the ancient Hindu demons. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Luna go on an epic quest to destroy the threat, and during the journey, fall for people they never knew they would love.

Chapters

1. Chapter One.

2. Chapter Two.

1. Chapter One.

Chapter O1

The Funeral

Disclaimer- For this entire fanfic, I have no control or authorization over Rowling's characters and ideas.

Sorrow crept between somber faces as an ebon coffin made it's slow precession up the hillside. The October chill set an eerie tone, people shivering in their bundles of clothing. Tears stung the cheeks of one man, the fiancée' of the casket. Inside held Ginny Weasley, a red-headed woman with a rebellious attitude and beautiful eyes. But those eyes had been set to sleep. The man's name was Harry Potter, whose stunning emerald eyes were creating pools of shock and despair. He had planned to be wed to Ginny Weasley in a mere month. The boy had been dreaming of that day for years, and still imagined seeing his own children one day leave on the scarlet Hogwarts Express train to the ancient school where he had so many memories. Harry remembered his first kiss with Ginny, together in the center of both the Gryffindor common room, and the attention of all onlookers.

Harry knew that day that he would never see Ginny Weasley again. That her grave marker was a turning point in his life, and an obvious omen that she was not the woman that would be his love. The tears stopped, and the raven-haired man hung his head solemnly as the box was lowered into the grave. It was too much; the shock alone could kill a man. It would take years for him to truly understand what had happened, and to realize that this was the beginning of the epilogue.

The coffin disappeared from sight as dirt slowly covered it. People dispersed, and one of the most independent and powerful witches of the age was gone from anything but memory.

xvxvx

Rain slowly shook itself onto the window panes of Harry Potter's house. The lights were off, and the house was dark, except for one dull lamp shining unwillingly onto the coffee table. The glass top was adorned with a simple stone cup-stand, and on it, a mug. The mug held the remains of coffee that had turned cold hours ago. Harry lounged, asleep on the couch. He had sipped for comfort, but instead made himself paranoid, and the caffeine kept him up late into the night.

The clock struck 3 in the morning, exactly 12 hours from the funeral's start. Green eyes opened, startled awake. Harry sat up, and rubbed his hand through his hair, giving out a moan. It wasn't a dream. Suddenly, his eyes wandered to a painting that hung on the wall. It held a small boy by a river and a field. The boy winked at him, being a magical painting, and having the ability to wink. Harry slowly progressed from his perch on the sofa.

The only noise was the soft creaking of the old floorboards beneath his feet and the soft tapping of rain on the windows. “Just one last time…” escaped his barely opened lips. Rough hands reached out, and grabbed the masterpiece gently. Addressing the child focused upon in the painting, Harry whispered an ominous riddle.

“Let all who guide their futures past

And all who speak their names last

Enter from the lands unknown

To speak upon the hidden stone.”

The boy winked again, and leaned forward with a squeal of old hinges. Harry sighed; that spell was similar to the one that the portraits in Hogwarts were sealed with. If the Fat Lady held the Gryffindor Common room, then what did unnamed masterpieces hold? There were many secret rooms in Hogwarts, certainly they were the keepers of many of the collection? Shaking his sleepy head slightly, Harry reached into the small circle, which had been magically hidden in the wall, and grabbed a velveteen box. Its purpose was to hold an engagement ring, but the treasure inside had more meaning and value than a diamond.

An excited Harry Potter flipped over the top of the box. Inside was a ring, with a split stone on the top. Harry had worked endlessly to preserve the Resurrection Stone, but it was eternally scarred from Tom Riddle's curse. Throwing the package carelessly back into the vault, the young man cradled the rock in his palm, longingly whispering inaudibly to it.

“Ginny… Please… Please Ginny let me say goodbye… I won't keep you long… Ginny…”

He pleaded for a quarter of an hour before the stone-embedded ring did it's job. The faded form of Ginerva Weasley took shape before his eyes, but her colorful face did not hold the same liveliness.

“Please Ginny, I won't keep you long… I just… I just wanted to say goodbye.” Tears formed in Harry's eyes again as he reached out for Ginny, but his outstretched hand went straight through her ghostly body. Tears began to pool in his emerald eyes again, and he wanted to turn away, to not let her see him cry, but he couldn't. He feared that if he looked away, she would be lost forever. He only wanted her now, he wouldn't keep her.

“You need to do this without me, Harry. You need to go.”

“No!” He didn't realize the vehemence in his shout until he said it. The pale woman embraced him in a hug, and for a moment, he was sure it was all a dream. Two years out of Hogwarts, and it was all a dream. They were going to get married soon, and nothing was going to be wrong. Right?

Suddenly, a dreamy, soft voice rang out in the house. Where had he heard that before? Ginny turned, startled, but knowing. Harry looked around. The voice was coming from everywhere. Where was this woman that called out?

“Ginny… It's time to say goodbye.” Who was that? He knew that voice!

“Harry, I need to go. It's okay. It'll be fine. You need to let go of me, though. I can't hold you back from what you need to do.” Ginny looked up at the raven-haired boy. She knew that Harry wasn't ready to lose someone this close after the war.

“Ginny…” The voice called out again.

“She's waiting for me. Don't be afraid of her, Harry. She will never harm you.” Ginny smiled, and gave the shocked male one last, loving hug before walking wordlessly into the kitchen, opening the front door, and walking out.

Mindlessly hoping to follow her, Harry ran out the front door. He blinked. There was nothing to see except for the puddles. There were no more hugs, only the cold wind swirling, howling. Who was that woman? The one with the airy voice?

Harry knew her. He knew he did.

xvxvx

The next few days breezed by. The Resurrection Stone was safely hidden, never to be used again, and Harry Potter had returned to his job in the Ministry of Magic. Although many wished him to be Minister, Harry had turned down the offer, explaining that he was too young, too inexperienced, and that there were many other eligible wizards and witches for the position. The Daily Prophet lapped up his rejection like a thirsty dog. Articles on Harry's stubbornness were the cover-news for weeks. Recently, he had been filtering through the cabinets in the back of his closet, where he kept snippets of articles that either upset him or meant a lot to him. A few were scattered across the floor.

“He claims he's too young for the job, but he didn't claim to be too inexperienced last spring when he defeated You-Know-Who!” scowled a horrified anonymous reader when I, Rita Skeeter, interviewed some of the citizens in the wizarding town of Hogsmeade. “Harry Potter's a coward. He just doesn't want any more pressure after the incident with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” said another livid citizen. It's obvious that he's going through some very emotional points in his life, and is having some problems getting over the death of his beloved Headmaster over a year ago. The poor child is having a very rough time getting over his tantrums during his school year, and refuses to have a private discussion with the Daily Prophet to fill in the details about his decision on turning down the Ministry of Magic's most prized position.

The witch, Rita Skeeter, had kept her place in the Daily Prophet. Both Harry and Ron constantly tried to convince Hermione to blackmail the journalist again, using her animagus secret to keep her from spreading nasty rumors, but she wouldn't oblige. Lately, though, Hermione wouldn't do anything Ron asked her to. In fact, they weren't on speaking terms. Harry seemed like a bridge between them, and this one seemed like it'd be there a long time. Hermione and Ron had seemed so excited to be dating during their year after defeating Voldemort, but within weeks of seeing each other, none of the stormy-rain cloud feeling had left them. The bickering never stopped, and every time they confronted one another, it would end in tears.

Harry vividly remembered the horrifying night that the doorbell on his flat rang softly. It only sung once, and it seemed lonelier than before, as if something had happened. He knew who it was before the door opened. The moment the wooden wall swung forward, a sobbing Hermione fell into his arms, dampening his sleeves. Her tears stained Harry's sweater, which was currently sprawled on the floor, aimlessly thrown aside the next day.

“Harry! Ron… he just… I knew it was coming… Didn't think… hard…” Hermione's sentence fragments managed to slip out between sobs, portraying her obvious pain. About an hour later, the brunette left the apartment, still sad, but no longer crying. Ron had called later that night.

The phone had an eerie sharpness to it that night. Harry picked it up, but he knew it was either from Ron or Hermione. He hated being the bridge in their relationship.

“Hello?” Oh God, he didn't mean to sound impatient.

“Harry?” muttered the unmistakable voice of Ronald Weasley.

“Yes?”

“Oi, Harry, mate, I can't believe I did this.”

The line stayed silent.

“She went over to you, didn't she?”

“Hermione?”

Now it was Ronald's turn to be silent.

“Yea, she came over.”

“Was it bad?”

“She was crying, pretty hard.”

“I feel horrible.”

“It's for the best in the end, I suppose.”

“I guess. I wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Thanks?”

“Bye.”

Harry and Ron talked like nothing was wrong past that day. They chatted about Quidditch and work, topics that guys enjoyed talking to each other about. But then again, Harry did still talk to Hermione. Neither of them mentioned one another, and the few times they all went someplace for `old time's sake', Hermione would leave, crying, and Ron would be more red than fried bacon by the end. Catastrophe.

xvxvx

Harry Potter stormed into his room, the door knob slamming against the wall. He ran his fingers through his own black hair, closing his eyes in fury. He knew that voice! That dreamy, airy voice! It had haunted him for the past four days, not letting him focus on work. Damn it. (He's a 19 year old guy, mom. He. Will. Sware. Occasionally. =P) Harry launched himself onto the bed, and leaned over the side at the newspaper slips that were strewn across the carpet. His fingers sifted through the waste, until they found a battered photo. One corner had been burned, and fold lines bent the page, but the characters still smiled. From right to left were his best friends, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Ronald Weasley, himself, Hermione Granger, and Luna Lovegood.

It hit him then and there. The blonde in the torn photo winked at him, and gave her usual knowing smile, before turning to Hermione, and laughing with the rest of the gang. They were all dirty, scarred, and wearing ripped clothes. It was directly after the War, and the six of them were grateful that there weren't any more serial killers threatening to destroy humanity. Of course, that was before the dementor attacks.

The hooded figures were banished by wizarding law, and some fool decided to poof them away with a wave of his wand. Blumbering idiot. Ministry twirp no doubt. The dementors were apparently slain. This only added to the feasting and partying after the war. But coldness came. Winter crept upon the shores of England early that year. Icy chills grappled the northern isle, freezing flowers and putting patterns on windows. And the gloom.

The impending doom feeling that rumbled up from one's stomach as they waited for it to happen. Like they'd never see a sunny day again. Uncanny fog swept over the land, and snow buried cars. The wizards knew what was happening. For the muggles, it was just another dragging day. Just another long, long day at work, and an even longer day at home. Dinner seemed more gray than usual. But for the wizards, it was the beginning of the aftermath.

Screams of terror shook the flat. Harry stood up, shaken from his thoughts, and pressed his fingers against the windowpane, staring wide-eyed out onto the streets below. The glass began to fog, and little spider webs formed on it in winter patterns. He flung the window open, knowing that it would freeze shut in a matter of minutes.

A blast of arctic air greeted him, and more shouts of helplessness from down below. A massive cloud of dark frost was parading about the town, wreaking havoc. Families fled for shelter. Suddenly, Harry found himself ducking beneath his bed, grabbing tightly onto the ragged picture from before, and a blast of dark energy splintering the flat.

Ah well, good thing I'm moving out in the spring.

But there was something more on the raven-haired boy's mind at the moment. A wailing widow hung out of her window, screaming helplessly as more of the dark forms entered the streets.

“The Asuras! The Asuras!”

The people of the wizarding world had begun to know them as the Hindu demons, the Asuras. They were dementors, no doubt, but they were recharged, monsters beyond belief. Another energy strike hit the woman's house, crumbling the architecture.

The Asuras chanted something that Harry couldn't decipher at the moment, but he knew would be important later. Scrambling on hand and knee, Potter hurriedly took a notecard and pencil.

Feles, noctis lussus nos hic.

Nos adveho per haud sanguis.

Nos reverto ut Urbs, Nemus.

Quod ut superstes calx nos vado.

Hmm, seems like Latin?

Luna would know. Luna Lovegood currently worked in the Unspeakables department in the Ministry of Magic, and knew over 40 languages, dead, and active. Latin would be easy. Another black energy blast shook the apartment. Time to go.

Harry felt guilty, apparating away from the terrorized muggles around him, but it was the Ministry of Magic's job to obliviate them, not his, and besides, he was retired now.

In a matter of milliseconds, the apartment was vacated, with only a photograph, two pairs of pants, a shirt, three socks, and a 19 year old man missing.

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2. Chapter Two.

Chapter Two.

Sunlight eagerly beamed down upon the blinking face of Harry Potter. He held a bruised arm as a shield, and squinted. The morning tasted delicious, with the dew sprinkled across the garden. A vivid white fence peeked out behind the mailbox and wildflowers planted in the lawn. The raven-haired teen pushed the gate forward, wincing as it creaked slightly. His shoes clicked against the stone path. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't have realized it was winter. It was late March, and it hadn't snowed in over a month. It was still winter, though. He wondered how Luna managed to get her flowers to grow so quickly.

The cotton-yellow cottage in front of Harry beamed proudly, showing off it's full window boxes and newly swept porch. The door had a screen on it, but the insides were dark. The shade was cooling in the odd warmth, reminding Harry of his business at the country home of Luna Lovegood. Rapping on the door, his knuckles were unbelievably sore. In fact, his body was sore. The boy hadn't realized his cuts until this moment, too focus on the Asurian message.

Waiting for Luna to answer, he pulled out the crumpled paper, careful not to rip it. His handwriting was hard to read, and dreadfully uneven, but he wasn't caring about it while his flat was being destroyed. He prayed that the dementors hadn't destroyed his moving boxes.

Feles, noctis lussus nos hic.

Nos adveho per haud sanguis.

Nos reverto ut Urbs, Nemus.

Quod ut superstes calx nos vado.

A few of the words he knew. Harry leaned against the wall, and took a pencil out of his pocket, re-writing the riddle in English, using his own Latin vocabulary.

Cat ___ us here

We come with no blood

We ___ to ___ ___

And to ___ ___ we go

Definitely Latin. Harry beamed at the thought of translating a whole line on his own, but there were still clusters he didn't understand. Noctis was a variation of night, but why was it different? And nemus was a variation oftrees. Luna would know. By the way, why hadn't she answered the door? He'd given her plenty of time. Harry knocked again, more urgently this time. It was getting chilly on the porch.

“Harry! I didn't know you were visiting!” A whispy voice sang from behind the teen.

“Luna, I need help.”

“Feel free to come inside, I'll be glad to help you.” Lovegood unlocked the door magically, being in the countryside, and walked into the home. It had tiled floors, marble countertops, a stainless steel sink, and a large plastic refrigerator. The kitchen was perfectly normal for any average muggle home, but for a wizard, it was completely out of the ordinary. Harry gaped at her wind chimes and tennis shoes, her note pads and frying pans. Had Harry not known better, he would have assumed Luna was a muggle. She didn't have any strange nick nack collections or moving photos of any sort. In the moment, Harry lost himself in the wonder that was her kitchen.

Luna came around the corner, prompting him of his duty.

“Harry, you seemed like this was urgent.”

He snapped out of the daze immediately. “Yes. I have a riddle for you, and I've translated part of it. I'm pretty sure it's Latin, and I think I spelled everything correctly, but there are some places where I'm not so sure, could you help me figure out what it means?”

“Auror things?” She questioned, giving him a raised eyebrow.

“Kind of.” He replied.

“Well, hand it over.” Luna stretched out her hand, and grabbed a ball-point pen.

Feles, noctis lussus nos hic.

Nos adveho per haud sanguis.

Nos reverto ut Urbs, Nemus.

Quod ut superstes calx nos vado.

Cat ___ us here

We come with no blood

We ___ to ___ ___

And to ___ ___ we go

“Fascinating.”

“Well? What is it?” Harry was impatient, since she obviously knew the translation.

“Harry, it is extremely important that you explain to me immediately where this riddle came from.” Her tone was deadly soft and urgent. What had he done wrong?

“It's nothing.”

“You don't seem to understand the value of this verse. It was a mantra, wasn't it?” What was Luna going on about chants now for?

“So? The dementors were chanting it while they were destroying the town, that's all! Just exploding my apartment, nothing else!” His anger was building up now. He was going to move out of that horrid flat in less than two months, and those stupid monsters come and blow everything up in his face. Blood began to ooze slowly from a scrape on his cheek.

“Were they normal dementors?” Luna managed to remain calm, but she still held a concerned tone.

“Of course they we-. Wait, no. They were those Azuran things.”

“Asuras.” Luna corrected him.

“Whatever. It's just some fancy title the public posted on them.” Harry snapped. He didn't have time for this! He needed to track their source, not stand around a countertop in England's countryside.

“Not whatever. The Asuras are the name of Hindu Demons, and that name is actually being used by the Ministry. It leaked out, and has been used in the press ever since. They are a mutated, super charged form of dementor that is more deadly and lethal than the first. Their coldness will freeze you if they become agitated, and their kiss is nothing compared to a blast of energy. They aren't wild animals. They're a passage between universes.”

Something told Harry that Luna had just spilled some confidential information from her Unspeakable's occupation in the heart of the Ministry of Magic. But he wasn't concerned about that at the moment. Passage. That was the key word. He remembered now. Luna, the woman who called Ginny away!

xvxvx

Suddenly, a dreamy, soft voice rang out in the house. Where had he heard that before? Ginny turned, startled, but knowing. Harry looked around. The voice was coming from everywhere. Where was this woman that called out?

“Ginny… It's time to say goodbye.” Who was that? He knew that voice!

“Harry, I need to go. It's okay. It'll be fine. You need to let go of me, though. I can't hold you back from what you need to do.” Ginny looked up at the raven-haired boy. She knew that Harry wasn't ready to lose someone this close after the war.

“Ginny…” The voice called out again.

“She's waiting for me. Don't be afraid of her, Harry. She will never harm you.” Ginny smiled, and gave the shocked male one last, loving hug before walking wordlessly into the kitchen, opening the front door, and walking out.

Mindlessly hoping to follow her, Harry ran out the front door. He blinked. There was nothing to see except for the puddles. There were no more hugs, only the cold wind swirling, howling. Who was that woman? The one with the airy voice?

Harry knew her. He knew he did.

xvxvx

“It was you!” He burst out mindlessly, reminding Luna quite a lot of Ron Weasley.

“Excuse me?”

“You're the girl! The one who called Ginny off!”

Luna's eyes got extremely wide, and she looked very, very scared. What was with her today? She was more serious than ever since he showed her the riddle.

“Go! Get out! Go on!” She practically shoved him out of the door, throwing the paper into his hands as the door locked behind him. The shutters flew together, and suddenly the Lovegood residence became foreboding and uninviting.

And as Harry opened the white fence gate again, he looked down at the note card, and smiled. She couldn't run forever. She gave the answer, and was simply waiting for him to figure out the question.

Cat of night sent us here

We come with no blood

We return to City of Trees

And to standing stones we go

BRIDGE.

xvxvx

Harry scowled, grimacing at the thought of being kicked out of Hermione and Luna's houses. Gathering his courage off the floor, he knocked smoothly on the wooden frame of the ordinary suburban home. 12 minutes later, the door slowly swung open, revealing a bushy-haired woman. Her auburn eyes peered cautiously out, and then, in a mere second, Harry felt a warm hug surround him.

“Harry! We haven't talked in a month! I've just been so busy, and I'm sure that you've been busy too! I was so scared when I saw in the newspaper that your town had been attacked, with you being ready to move out and everything! You can stay with me if you want, or you could stay with… him.” Hermione was talking at rapid speed, but when she reached the end, her voice became cold and vicious at the simple thought of Ron.

“Hermione. Breathe. I need your help.”

“Of course! Of course! Of course, of course, of course! What can I help you with, Harry? Come inside? Oh, it's been so long!”

Harry smiled slightly, as his best friend tripped over her own feet in happiness. He did feel sorry for not being able to keep in touch with her, but this was urgent. Hermione made way for the kitchen, but Harry grabbed her by the wrist, and led her to the living room. The windows were large, and sunlight spilled into them. Of course, wizards need privacy, and they aren't called magical for nothing. The two pressed through, the girl understanding that this needed to be discussed immediately, whatever this was. Hermione pulled out a small, scarlet book titled, Encyclopedia of Secret Libraries, and turned to page 14. Inside was a slip of paper, with some runes. Harry didn't recognize them, but Hermione obviously understood them.

“Kenaz isa sowulo laguz.” Once she uttered the runes, they rearranged themselves. Then, without warning, Hermione dragged Harry by his wrist through the bookshelf, placing the scarlet encyclopedia back on the shelf as she went.

The room in which they entered was enormous, but still cozy. The ceilings were domed, with intricate Greek frescoes and carvings along the stone rafters. Shelves lined the walls, and a fireplace was to the right. Grand artifacts from across the world donned shelves, and a table, with one corner covered in newspaper clippings, was the centerpiece. Wooden chairs with indigo cushions surrounded the table.

“Impressive, Hermione. You told me you had a secret library in your living room, but not a royal researching chamber!” Hermione gave him an icy glare, and sat both of them next to the table.

“You seemed urgent, Harry. What was the problem?” The raven haired boy sighed heavily. This could take a while. “Harry Potter, start talking RIGHT NOW.”

“Well, Hermione, remember when my apartment was destroyed by the Asuras-“

“Of course!”

“Hermione, don't interrupt.” She nodded. “Well, just before that, I was saying goodbye to Ginny, and I heard a whispy voice telling her it was time to die. Of course I was using the Resurrection Stone, and Ginny said not to fear her before leaving-“

“Harry! You said you'd never use it again! And obviously it was Luna! Don't you think, Harry? Whispy voice? Dreamy personality? We need to visit her! Why did you come here?!”

“Hermione…”

“Oh yea. Not through.”

“Well, after a while I figured out it was Luna, and then, the Asura attack happened. They were chanting something in Latin, I'll tell you in a minute. I translated part of it, and Luna did the rest. When I brought up her doing work with the dead, she got extremely angry and kicked me out. She was unusually serious during the riddle translation also.”

“Done?”

“Pretty much”

“Well? Do you have the riddle with you?”

Cat of night sent us here

We come with no blood

We return to City of Trees

And to standing stones we go

BRIDGE.

Hermione nodded quickly, silence growing between them as her brow furrowed slowly, as realization swept over the girl's face.

“Harry! Don't you understand? We need to talk to Luna right now!”

“Hermione, I already tried that.”

“Well try again! Don't you understand?”

“Hmmm… no?”

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, and began explaining at lightning speed.

“Harry, Luna obviously wrote bridge at the bottom to help you understand the riddle, but isn't allowed to tell you anything! Have you forgotten she's an Unspeakable? She's sworn not to tell you! City of Trees is a place that you can `bridge' over to the dead, otherwise she wouldn't get so scared when you talked about her talking to the dead, Cat of Night is a person, and they are going to a standing stone place. Dementors and Asuras don't have blood like humans and animals, so that would explain the second line, right? Hmmm… It also seems like City of Trees is where they come from. I'm sure that if we researched we could find something about this. I'm sure that the next Asura attack will be at a place full of standing stones… a museum? A gallery? We need to have Luna come here, we can't just let her get away! Unspeakable or not, we need to stop the Asuras! We could save hundreds of people from dieing!”

“Now wait, Hermione. I think I got the information, but I thought I made it clear that I don't want any more hero crap, no matter how much the paparazzi will lap it up!”

“Harry! It won't take long! They're already pouncing over the Asura attacks, saying how your'e behind it because you are jealous of people with parents!”

Harry's fists balled up in fury. “Oh really?”

“Yes! And you know what we need to do, don't you?”

“Does that mean I have to do it?” Hermione sighed at his stubbornness.

“Think of it this way- If we don't get the information from Luna, you don't have to do it, and then thousands of people die from Super Dementors!”

“Ugh. Fine, Hermione. Come to work with me tomorrow, and we'll corner Luna on her way to the Department of Mysteries.”

“Alright.”

“So… How do I get out of here?”

xvxvx

Oddly colored Victorian architecture peered down as a formally dressed Harry Potter walked briskly through the ebon marble hallways, passing offices and meetings as he went, eyes focused eerily ahead. His gaze did not waver when a familiar face spoke to him but instead, the emerald eyed man continued his stride towards the Department of Mysteries. Some heads turned, a few words were whispered, but it didn't matter to him anymore. They should be used to seeing him. He was sure used to their ugly rumors.

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